Page 26 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
He chuckled, a low, warm sound that rippled down her spine. “Forgive me, but I’ve never been particularly skilled at pretending indifference.”
“Then you must learn,” she retorted, though her voice lacked conviction. The glint in his eyes, the easy confidence in his stance all made her pulse trip faster.How wretched!
He leaned one hip against the desk, arms folding with lazy ease. “I must confess, it was hardly a proper kiss. Your mouth isn’t even swollen, and there are no love bites marring thatdelicate throat. I daresay we both displayed remarkable restraint—though we were clearly eager to keep kissing until… well, propriety prevents me from finishing that thought. Unless, of course, you wish me to.”
Her lips parted. “You are intolerable.”
He smiled, eyes glinting. “Fortunately, I’m charming enough to make it forgivable.”
Maryann pressed a hand to her temple, half in frustration, half in self-preservation. His smile, his scent, the way sunlight gleamed across his forearms, it was all too much.
“I only came to thank you,” she said, though her voice trembled slightly. “For the fine company you provided last night. Your kindness was… most unexpected, but deeply appreciated.”
“You may cry on my shoulder whenever you wish,” he said softly.
Her throat tightened. “It is best we work hard to maintain proprieties between us, my lord. That way…”
That way I will not fall in love with you and lead my heart down the bitter path of pain and unfulfilled longing, she finished silently, unwilling to give breath to such foolishness.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I shall see to Sarah’s lessons.” She turned, intent on fleeing before her cheeks betrayed her completely.
“Miss Winton.”
His voice, quiet but unyielding, stopped her mid-step.
She turned halfway, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, my lord?”
He studied her for what felt like an eternity, then said quietly, “There is nothing to forgive. A single kiss will not change anything between us. There is no need to overthink it—I promise you that.”
Her breath caught. For one wild, dangerous instant, she almost believed him. She only curtsied and murmured, “Good day, my lord,” before fleeing the room.
Once in the corridor, Maryann pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Her heart raced wildly, her pulse a traitorous flutter beneath her skin. The air still carried his scent—clean soap and something darkly masculine that clung to her senses. She drew a deep breath, but it did little to steady her. Relief, confusion, and something far more perilous tangled within her.
One thing, however, she knew beyond doubt: she had not imagined the heat in his eyes. No, the viscount was not indifferent. He had not kissed her out of pity or gallantry. He had wanted her—truly wanted her. And that knowledge frightened her far more than any scandal or impropriety ever could.
CHAPTER 11
The morning sunlight gilded the rolling lawns of Hardwick Manor, laying soft gold across the expanse of trimmed hedges and marble fountains. Sebastian guided his stallion through the sweeping gravel drive, the rhythmic fall of hooves muffled by the hush of early summer air. A lark trilled somewhere in the distance, its song echoing faintly across the green.
He had received his mother’s note two days ago, reminding him of her garden fête. The invitation had been phrased as a request, though they both knew Lady Hardwick rarely requested anything she truly wished to see done. He sighed and adjusted his gloves. It had been years since he’d attended one of her entertainments, and the thought of enduring the stifling pleasantries and simpering smiles of debutantes filled him with a weariness that no brandy could remedy. Still, she was his mother, and despite their differences, she rarely asked much of him. And he had always indulged his mother.
If he were being truthful, the notion of attending alone suddenly seemed less agreeable. He found himself wishing—quite irrationally—that he had invited Miss Winton and Sarahto accompany him. Maryann would have enjoyed attending; the air was fresh, the roses in full bloom. He could almost imagine Sarah racing across the lawns, her laughter ringing like bells.
And Maryann… well, she would have found some quiet corner to observe it all, her soft smile half-curious, half-delighted, especially if she saw her sisters. His jaw tightened as he recalled the last few days. She had been avoiding him, deliberately so. He could hardly blame her after the kiss they’d shared, though it had haunted him every waking hour since. The memory of her mouth, soft and trembling against his, yet ravenous, still burned.
By God, it had taken every ounce of control not to drag her back into his arms, to tear away every barrier between them and bury himself in the soft, molten heat he knew would undo him completely. The thought alone made his muscles tighten with wanting.
He raked a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “This is not what I should be thinking about now.”
He spotted movement in the distance. A cluster of ladies strolled the grounds, parasols tilted gracefully against the sun. Among them, two young women caught his attention—Miss Elizabeth and Miss Vivian Winton. Both were dressed fashionably, laughing at some jest shared among the ladies. His chest warmed at the sight. They looked well. Better than well, actually. It seemed his mother had taken a liking to them, which surprised him. He wondered if they thought about Maryann. It was now three weeks since they last saw her and little Sarah.
He swung down from his horse, handing the reins to a waiting stable lad before crossing the expanse of green.
“Sebastian!”
His mother’s voice floated toward him—refined, commanding, yet tinged with unmistakable pleasure. LadyHardwick descended from the terrace steps leading to the gardens with practiced grace, her ivory muslin gown rustling faintly, a picture of serene authority amid the fluttering colors of her guests.
“Mother.” He smiled, taking her gloved hand and kissing her cheek. “You are radiant as ever.”
