out his breath. “Fine.” He collected his cloak and tossed it over his arm. “But only because you asked me to.” He walked to the window, pausing by her to whisper. “When you next see Huntley, think about our kiss.”
He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his, their gazes locking. For a long time, he remained thus, looking deeply into her eyes. A wild rush of thoughts flew through her: Perhaps just onemore kiss— If only Papa hadn’t made such a mull of things— What if she didn’t feel anything at all with Huntley—
Wulf smiled and dropped his hand. “Think of me, Moya.” He turned and crossed to the window. He glanced outside to make certain no one was in the courtyard, and then, with a final heated look and a swirl of black cape, he was gone.
Eight
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe The meeting has occurred, the introductions made, first impressions accomplished, and now all that’s left is to make certain our two lovely candidates spend a lot of time together . . . a lot of time together. Preferably alone.
Two days later, Lily stepped onto the wide portico where the guests milled about, talking and laughing in small groups as footmen served trays of iced lemonade. She carried her bonnet by its ribbons as she strolled to the eastern edge of the terrace, smiling at those who greeted her.
The vista was breathtaking. The late-morning sun spread a golden glow over the lawn, which raced down to the lake on one side and the river on the other. A faint wind stirred the skirts of Lily’s blue walking gown, and she shivered.
The shiver brought on by a cool breeze was vastly different from one caused by being kissed by a green-eyedprince. One type made one want to run for shelter, while the other made one want to beg for more.
Despite her determination not to, she glanced about, but he was nowhere to be seen. Yet. Over the last two days, he’d been at every amusement planned by the duchess: the opera singer brought in from London, a battledore tournament with lavish prizes, a late-night whist party. He was an amusing companion, his blunt assessment of every event sending her into giggles when she least expected it, but his presence had greatly hampered her ability to spend time with Huntley. Fortunately, today’s picnic offered a chance to remedy that.
Still, Wulf had been true to his word and no longer importuned her with outrageous declarations. But while he was on his best behavior verbally, it seemed that he never lost an opportunity to touch her. They were seemingly innocent touches—a brush of his hand over hers, his chest against her arm, his foot by hers under the dining-room table—so she could hardly protest, but each one reminded her vividly of their embrace in the library.
Before that day, the few kisses she’d shared had been shy, timid, and decidedly chaste. She now realized they’d also been passionless. But then she’d kissed Wulf, and now she knew what to look for. Now, all she had to do was entice Huntley into a kiss.
Sadly, the earl was far more polite than Wulf, who would never let a thing like propriety stand betweenhim and the woman he wanted. If Lily wanted a kiss from Huntley, she’d have to win his confidence and then maneuver him into a private meeting. If he didn’t come up to the mark and sweep her into his arms, then unladylike as it might be, she might have to kiss him. But at least then she’d have the reassurance she sought—that passion lurked between her and Huntley, too, but was just more subtle than the roaring sensuality that Wulf enjoyed sparking.
She was certain that, with time, she and Huntley would have the same passion that Wulf inspired.
The wind stirred again, and she rubbed her arms vigorously and glanced at the door. Perhaps she should run back to her room and fetch the red cloak Dahlia had lent her. Lightly lined, it was the perfect wrap for early spring. She walked toward the door, but just as she reached it, the
He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his, their gazes locking. For a long time, he remained thus, looking deeply into her eyes. A wild rush of thoughts flew through her: Perhaps just onemore kiss— If only Papa hadn’t made such a mull of things— What if she didn’t feel anything at all with Huntley—
Wulf smiled and dropped his hand. “Think of me, Moya.” He turned and crossed to the window. He glanced outside to make certain no one was in the courtyard, and then, with a final heated look and a swirl of black cape, he was gone.
Eight
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe The meeting has occurred, the introductions made, first impressions accomplished, and now all that’s left is to make certain our two lovely candidates spend a lot of time together . . . a lot of time together. Preferably alone.
Two days later, Lily stepped onto the wide portico where the guests milled about, talking and laughing in small groups as footmen served trays of iced lemonade. She carried her bonnet by its ribbons as she strolled to the eastern edge of the terrace, smiling at those who greeted her.
The vista was breathtaking. The late-morning sun spread a golden glow over the lawn, which raced down to the lake on one side and the river on the other. A faint wind stirred the skirts of Lily’s blue walking gown, and she shivered.
The shiver brought on by a cool breeze was vastly different from one caused by being kissed by a green-eyedprince. One type made one want to run for shelter, while the other made one want to beg for more.
Despite her determination not to, she glanced about, but he was nowhere to be seen. Yet. Over the last two days, he’d been at every amusement planned by the duchess: the opera singer brought in from London, a battledore tournament with lavish prizes, a late-night whist party. He was an amusing companion, his blunt assessment of every event sending her into giggles when she least expected it, but his presence had greatly hampered her ability to spend time with Huntley. Fortunately, today’s picnic offered a chance to remedy that.
Still, Wulf had been true to his word and no longer importuned her with outrageous declarations. But while he was on his best behavior verbally, it seemed that he never lost an opportunity to touch her. They were seemingly innocent touches—a brush of his hand over hers, his chest against her arm, his foot by hers under the dining-room table—so she could hardly protest, but each one reminded her vividly of their embrace in the library.
Before that day, the few kisses she’d shared had been shy, timid, and decidedly chaste. She now realized they’d also been passionless. But then she’d kissed Wulf, and now she knew what to look for. Now, all she had to do was entice Huntley into a kiss.
Sadly, the earl was far more polite than Wulf, who would never let a thing like propriety stand betweenhim and the woman he wanted. If Lily wanted a kiss from Huntley, she’d have to win his confidence and then maneuver him into a private meeting. If he didn’t come up to the mark and sweep her into his arms, then unladylike as it might be, she might have to kiss him. But at least then she’d have the reassurance she sought—that passion lurked between her and Huntley, too, but was just more subtle than the roaring sensuality that Wulf enjoyed sparking.
She was certain that, with time, she and Huntley would have the same passion that Wulf inspired.
The wind stirred again, and she rubbed her arms vigorously and glanced at the door. Perhaps she should run back to her room and fetch the red cloak Dahlia had lent her. Lightly lined, it was the perfect wrap for early spring. She walked toward the door, but just as she reached it, the
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