Page 65 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
She glanced toward her sister. Westcliffe reached out and wrapped his hand around Claire’s. “They won’t get into any mischief.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they’re too busy gazing at each other to notice that we’re not directly behind them to ensure they behave.”
She scowled at him. “Why do you care so much about what the dog has found?”
He pulled her. “Come along. I’ll show you.”
They ascended a small rise, and she could have sworn that Westcliffe was leading the dog more than the dog was leading him. They went around the tall brush and the tree.
“So what did he find of such interest?” Claire asked.
Westcliffe grinned, snaked his arm around her, and pulled her flush against him. “A spot away from prying eyes.”
Before she could protest, he was kissing her deeply, intimately, as though they were alone in her bedchamber. She should have shoved him back. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck. It seemed that the moment his mouth touched hers, she had no will to do anything except welcome him.
He had such a skillful way of plundering her senses. Everything came alive. He did have the good graces not to touch her hair, for she was certain he’d have created a mess that would have made it impossible to deny what was happening within the shade of the towering tree.
He dragged his mouth to her ear. “We should go home now.”
Pressed up against him as she was, she was well aware of his readiness. She was surprised he didn’t hike up her skirts here, more surprised that she might not have even objected. She could barely contain her disappointment when he was the first to step back. His gaze roamed over her, and everywhere it lighted, she tingled.
“Yes,” she rasped, “we should inform Beth.”
Turning, she staggered back with a small screech. Beth was standing there, an amused smile on her face. Lord Greenwood had the good manners to have his back turned, his gaze turned upward as though he were trying to determine how clouds remained in the sky. At that moment, Claire’s opinion of the young man soared.
“Well, it seems my sister and her husband are the ones in want of a chaperone,” Beth teased.
“The very fact that we are married signifies that we are not in need of a chaperone,” Claire said tartly to cover her embarrassment at being discovered.
“But such public displays.” She tsked. “I daresay if you weren’t married—”
“But we are married, so any further discourse is nothing except irritating.” She began marching down the incline. “Come along. We’ve had quite enough of the park.”
She was halfway down when Westcliffe caught up with her and offered his arm. She placed her hand on it and slowed her step. “I cannot believe I am setting such a bad example.”
“As you said, we are married.”
She glanced over at him. He was smiling again. She so loved his smiles. “I think you enjoyed getting caught.”
His grin grew wider. “I cannot deny there is a certain added excitement when the risk is there. Perhaps someday we’ll do more than kiss someplace where the threat of discovery is great.”
She shook her head. “Never.”
But he merely looked satisfied, and said, “We shall see.”
Good Lord, he was correct. Just the thought that someday …
* * *
Sprawled in a chair in Anne’s parlor, Westcliffe watched as she paced. He remembered a time when he’d thought her magnificent in her fury, but now she seemed somehow diminished, petty, spoiled.
A half hour earlier he’d received a missive from her: I must see you. Now.
So he’d dismissed his investment manager and rushed over here, expecting to find her ill or in some sort of dire emotional distress. Instead, she’d greeted him with nary a word, simply a look that might have sliced a man to ribbons if he were dependent upon her affections.
Her reddish blond hair was piled into an elaborate coiffure, every strand in place. He couldn’t recall ever seeing a strand out of place unless she desired it. Nothing escaped her. She was wearing a white dress with a voluminous skirt that she continually grabbed and snapped around so it didn’t interfere with her quick steps and sharp turns. Her red lips disappeared and reappeared, depending upon how hard she was pressing them. Her breaths, like her movements, were agitated.
