A Winter Scandal by Candace Camp Page B

pressing into her lips, then pulling away, leaving behind the tingling awareness of him. Now his kiss was hot and searching, his arms enveloping her. She could feel the hard tensile strength of his body all the way up and down her. His scent filled her nostrils, his heat surrounded her. And his mouth … she could not even describe what his mouth did to her, the pandemonium of sensations that flooded through her, igniting her nerves and melting her muscles. His lips caressed and teased; they entreated her to taste the full pleasure of his mouth even as they demanded her response. His tongue invaded her, startling her into a little jerk of surprise. Then, as he caressed and explored, Thea was even more stunned to find her own arms curling around his neck, her tongue twining with his.
    He deepened their kiss, his hands sliding down to brazenly cup her buttocks, lifting her up and into him. She felt again, as she had on the ride over, that pressure against her, this time harder and more insistent, and she wanted, wildly, to rub her hips against him just to discover his response. That would be madness, she knew, utter wantonness, but even so she had to firmly clamp down on her desires to keep herself from moving. It was equally difficult to restrain the whimper that threatened to bubble up from the throat, and she had to curl her hands into the cape of his coat to stop them from sliding up into his hair.
    Gabriel pulled away from her finally, raising his head and staring down into her face with something like shock in his eyes—mirroring, she suspected, the astonishment in her own face. His hands fell away, and he took a step back, turning aside. Thea’s mind was a jumble of thoughts, chaotic and vivid—no, not even thoughts; they were too illusory and tumbling to be called that, only sensations and emotions. She yanked up her hood, hiding her face in the shadows of it. Picking up the candle, she mumbled, “I must—the baby …”
    Throwing open the door, she rushed out into the evening, not looking back to see if he followed her. The candle blew out as she hurried along, but Thea needed little light to walk the familiar path. She did not spare a thought for whether Gabriel could find his way without it—the man was the devil himself and sure to see perfectly in the dark.
    She flung open the door to the kitchen and swept inside, stopping short as she took in the familiar sight of Mrs. Brewster drying a pot.
    “Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Brewster greeted her cheerfully. “Did you find what you were looking for? Where did you go, now, the church?”
    “Yes, um, that’s it, exactly.” Thea turned jerkily away and hung up her cloak. She took her time, wondering guiltily if her lips looked as if they had been kissed. They felt swollen and tender, and it seemed to her that surely they must be reddened and bruised as well. What if Mrs. Brewster guessed what she had been doing? The housekeeper’s eyes had always been sharp as a hawk’s. Thea pressed her chilled fingers against her lips; she could feel the trembling in them, the same trembling that vibrated all through her body.
    The door opened behind her and Lord Morecombe stepped in. Thea could not even glance at him; she was sure her face would give her away.
    “No, we didn’t find anything,” she said to the housekeeper. “I must, I must look a mess—there was such a wind.”
    Thea slipped out of the room, not looking back at either of the other occupants. She heard Gabriel greet Mrs. Brewster, his voice smooth, with none of the nerves or strain that afflicted her. Of course, he would not feel anything. Stealing kisses in the church vestibule was doubtless commonplace to him—well, perhaps not commonplace in the church vestibule, but the kisses, yes, the kisses themselves were something he was most familiar with. No one could kiss like that without a great deal of practice. She felt sure Gabriel did not experience this weakness of the knees or the heat that burst