experiment.”
“An experiment?”
He moved close enough to reach around her and pushed the door shut. He braced one arm on the wood panel, caging her in. “A kiss.”
“A kiss?” she squeaked. She tried to step away, but the door was at her back.
“Are you always so repetitive?” He’d cornered his prey, and now anticipation lit a fire in his blood.
Her spine stiffened. “Are you always so brazen?” she tossed back, chin lifted in defiance. Her eyes darted to the door handle, and his lips quirked in amusement. He had escaped from an amorous pursuer a time or two, but a woman had never run from him.
This one wouldn’t either.
Just to be certain, he took a step back, giving her a bit of space. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them in his waistcoat pocket. He captured one of her hands in his, interlacing their fingers, and waited to see her reaction. She was watchful, a little wary, but she didn’t try to pull away.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think a kiss is too great a sacrifice to make. If this courtship is going to have any chance at succeeding, we need to be able to convince society of our mutual attraction. If I can make you believe I desire you, then I will have succeeded on my part.”
He leaned in and spoke against her ear. “And if you can convince me that you want me in return, you will have succeeded on yours.”
A tremor ran through her body.
“Shall I kiss you, Diana?”
“I didn’t think rogues asked for permission.”
Henry was unsure whether she meant to question him or challenge him with her words, but issued as they were in a breathy, unwittingly seductive voice, everything in him responded.
“You’re right. Rogues don’t ask for permission. We take what we want.”
“Oh?” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
He tensed at the sight of that pink tongue flicking over those luscious, full lips.
“I want to kiss you now.” His words were barely more than a whisper.
She swallowed hard and inclined her head ever so slightly, either giving him permission or signaling her understanding that he would take what he wanted. He didn’t care which. At this point, a kiss between them was as unstoppable as the changing seasons or the turning tide. At this point, their kiss was fate.
The hand holding his turned to a vise as Henry settled his free hand around Diana’s neck. Her body stiffened, eyes squeezing shut, at the first brush of bare flesh against bare flesh. Against his palm, he felt the frantic pulse in her throat.
He feathered his thumb against the rigid line of her jaw, soothing and stroking. As her heartbeat began to slow, he luxuriated in the sensation of skin softer than swansdown beneath his fingertips. After several long moments, she released a shaky breath, inhaled deeply and tilted her head back, waiting for his kiss.
The movement exposed the slender column of Diana’s throat, an expanse of ivory skin patterned with those intriguing freckles. She was so pale, he could see the fine network of veins running beneath the surface of her skin; the faded blue lines mapped the way to her heart. She was fragile, he realized. He needed to be careful, or he might hurt her.
He lowered his head, appreciatively noting that he didn’t need to stoop. He touched his lips to hers gently, almost in greeting, trying to remember the last time he’d kissed such an innocent. He couldn’t recall. As he had no wish to end up caught in the parson’s mousetrap, he deliberately restricted his attentions to widows, actresses, and other women of questionable virtue. He lifted his head, smiling at the realization that the territory of this kiss was as uncharted for him as for her.
Untangling his hand from hers, Henry cupped the back of her head. His hands looked enormous in comparison with the delicacy of her features, and he reminded himself again to be gentle with her. Angling her head back further, he twined his fingers in the silky curls at the base of her
“An experiment?”
He moved close enough to reach around her and pushed the door shut. He braced one arm on the wood panel, caging her in. “A kiss.”
“A kiss?” she squeaked. She tried to step away, but the door was at her back.
“Are you always so repetitive?” He’d cornered his prey, and now anticipation lit a fire in his blood.
Her spine stiffened. “Are you always so brazen?” she tossed back, chin lifted in defiance. Her eyes darted to the door handle, and his lips quirked in amusement. He had escaped from an amorous pursuer a time or two, but a woman had never run from him.
This one wouldn’t either.
Just to be certain, he took a step back, giving her a bit of space. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them in his waistcoat pocket. He captured one of her hands in his, interlacing their fingers, and waited to see her reaction. She was watchful, a little wary, but she didn’t try to pull away.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think a kiss is too great a sacrifice to make. If this courtship is going to have any chance at succeeding, we need to be able to convince society of our mutual attraction. If I can make you believe I desire you, then I will have succeeded on my part.”
He leaned in and spoke against her ear. “And if you can convince me that you want me in return, you will have succeeded on yours.”
A tremor ran through her body.
“Shall I kiss you, Diana?”
“I didn’t think rogues asked for permission.”
Henry was unsure whether she meant to question him or challenge him with her words, but issued as they were in a breathy, unwittingly seductive voice, everything in him responded.
“You’re right. Rogues don’t ask for permission. We take what we want.”
“Oh?” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
He tensed at the sight of that pink tongue flicking over those luscious, full lips.
“I want to kiss you now.” His words were barely more than a whisper.
She swallowed hard and inclined her head ever so slightly, either giving him permission or signaling her understanding that he would take what he wanted. He didn’t care which. At this point, a kiss between them was as unstoppable as the changing seasons or the turning tide. At this point, their kiss was fate.
The hand holding his turned to a vise as Henry settled his free hand around Diana’s neck. Her body stiffened, eyes squeezing shut, at the first brush of bare flesh against bare flesh. Against his palm, he felt the frantic pulse in her throat.
He feathered his thumb against the rigid line of her jaw, soothing and stroking. As her heartbeat began to slow, he luxuriated in the sensation of skin softer than swansdown beneath his fingertips. After several long moments, she released a shaky breath, inhaled deeply and tilted her head back, waiting for his kiss.
The movement exposed the slender column of Diana’s throat, an expanse of ivory skin patterned with those intriguing freckles. She was so pale, he could see the fine network of veins running beneath the surface of her skin; the faded blue lines mapped the way to her heart. She was fragile, he realized. He needed to be careful, or he might hurt her.
He lowered his head, appreciatively noting that he didn’t need to stoop. He touched his lips to hers gently, almost in greeting, trying to remember the last time he’d kissed such an innocent. He couldn’t recall. As he had no wish to end up caught in the parson’s mousetrap, he deliberately restricted his attentions to widows, actresses, and other women of questionable virtue. He lifted his head, smiling at the realization that the territory of this kiss was as uncharted for him as for her.
Untangling his hand from hers, Henry cupped the back of her head. His hands looked enormous in comparison with the delicacy of her features, and he reminded himself again to be gentle with her. Angling her head back further, he twined his fingers in the silky curls at the base of her
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