lover," she
countered, knowing full well that she would kiss him in
the end. A test, she told herself Nothing more.
"Ali, but my current inamorata is in London at present," he said, his hands encircling her waist, drawing her closer still. "And I'm here in Devonshire. What's a man
to do?"
"Oh, very well." Taking a deep, fortifying breath,
Eleanor raised herself on tiptoe and cautiously pressed
her lips against his. She gasped when she heard his
sharp intake of breath, just before he crushed her to
him.
She knew precisely then-the moment his lips parted
hers-that she'd failed the test. God help her, but she'd
failed.
Chapter 8
Damnation, where had she learned to kiss like this?
Frederick's mind reeled as he deepened the kiss, exploring Eleanor's soft, yielding mouth with his tongue. Her
own tongue boldly met his, eager and inviting as she
tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
His breathing now ragged, he traced her bottom lip with
his tongue, all but intoxicated by the feel of her in his
arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, her heart
pounding furiously in rhythm to his own.
He should have known she would be as tempting as
Eve, once he broke through that tightly guarded restraint of hers. His lips trailed down her throat, lingering on the spot where her pulse thrummed against her
skin. She tipped her head back, a soft moan escaping
her lips. His mouth moved lower still, across her collarbone, to the base of her throat, and back up again to
her trembling lips.
Taking her with him, he stumbled back a few paces
and pressed her back against the solid trunk of an oak,
his own feet planted wide. She did not resist as he
parted her lips once more, his hips pressed against her
belly, his erection throbbing against her.
Allowing his hands to freely roam her body, he
brushed his palms across her breasts, nearly exposed
now in her bodice's opening. Unable to resist, he slid
one hand inside, across her smooth, silky skin to her
hardened nipples. One flick of his fingers made the sensitive skin pebble tightly, and he felt a shudder run
through her body.
Bloody hell, but he wanted her. Hard and fast, against
the tree. He couldn't, of course. But damn, how he
wanted to.
He had to stop this-now. Now, his mind screamed,
his entire body afire as she squirmed against him, pressing urgently against his erection and driving him mad,
even through the layers of fabric that separated them.
Groaning fiercely with the effort, he tore his mouth
from hers. "Dear God, Eleanor," he said, his voice laced
with unquenched desire. "Are you trying to kill me
yourself?"
For a moment she said nothing, leaning against the
tree for support, her legs visibly shaking. She looked
dazed, slightly disoriented as she tugged the bodice of
her gown back to its rightful place.
An innocent-he'd finally sunk so low that he'd trifled with an innocent. It took him a moment to find his
voice.
"I apologize, Eleanor. It's that damned frock of
yours."
Still she said nothing.
"Will you say something, love?" he prodded, reaching for her trembling hands. "Did I hurt you?"
"N ... no," she stuttered, her eyes finally appearing
to focus. "I'm not hurt. I'm only ... Dear Lord, what
did we just do?"
"We stopped; that's what matters. I did not compromise you. And even if I had, we're still betrothed, technically
speaking, are we not?"
"No. No," she repeated, her voice rising. "I hope to
marry Mister Whitby."
"You barely know the man," Frederick countered.
"I know him well enough to know he would not do ...
what we just did_. . -. this."
She was probably right; the man seemed to be a
bloody eunuch. "No, likely not," he conceded. "And that
is what you want in a husband?"
She nodded. "Precisely so"
A burning anger rose in his breast, though he could
not credit it. "Then that's what you'll have," he said
curtly. "If you'll excuse me" He bowed sharply, dismissing her. Reaching up to
countered, knowing full well that she would kiss him in
the end. A test, she told herself Nothing more.
"Ali, but my current inamorata is in London at present," he said, his hands encircling her waist, drawing her closer still. "And I'm here in Devonshire. What's a man
to do?"
"Oh, very well." Taking a deep, fortifying breath,
Eleanor raised herself on tiptoe and cautiously pressed
her lips against his. She gasped when she heard his
sharp intake of breath, just before he crushed her to
him.
She knew precisely then-the moment his lips parted
hers-that she'd failed the test. God help her, but she'd
failed.
Chapter 8
Damnation, where had she learned to kiss like this?
Frederick's mind reeled as he deepened the kiss, exploring Eleanor's soft, yielding mouth with his tongue. Her
own tongue boldly met his, eager and inviting as she
tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
His breathing now ragged, he traced her bottom lip with
his tongue, all but intoxicated by the feel of her in his
arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, her heart
pounding furiously in rhythm to his own.
He should have known she would be as tempting as
Eve, once he broke through that tightly guarded restraint of hers. His lips trailed down her throat, lingering on the spot where her pulse thrummed against her
skin. She tipped her head back, a soft moan escaping
her lips. His mouth moved lower still, across her collarbone, to the base of her throat, and back up again to
her trembling lips.
Taking her with him, he stumbled back a few paces
and pressed her back against the solid trunk of an oak,
his own feet planted wide. She did not resist as he
parted her lips once more, his hips pressed against her
belly, his erection throbbing against her.
Allowing his hands to freely roam her body, he
brushed his palms across her breasts, nearly exposed
now in her bodice's opening. Unable to resist, he slid
one hand inside, across her smooth, silky skin to her
hardened nipples. One flick of his fingers made the sensitive skin pebble tightly, and he felt a shudder run
through her body.
Bloody hell, but he wanted her. Hard and fast, against
the tree. He couldn't, of course. But damn, how he
wanted to.
He had to stop this-now. Now, his mind screamed,
his entire body afire as she squirmed against him, pressing urgently against his erection and driving him mad,
even through the layers of fabric that separated them.
Groaning fiercely with the effort, he tore his mouth
from hers. "Dear God, Eleanor," he said, his voice laced
with unquenched desire. "Are you trying to kill me
yourself?"
For a moment she said nothing, leaning against the
tree for support, her legs visibly shaking. She looked
dazed, slightly disoriented as she tugged the bodice of
her gown back to its rightful place.
An innocent-he'd finally sunk so low that he'd trifled with an innocent. It took him a moment to find his
voice.
"I apologize, Eleanor. It's that damned frock of
yours."
Still she said nothing.
"Will you say something, love?" he prodded, reaching for her trembling hands. "Did I hurt you?"
"N ... no," she stuttered, her eyes finally appearing
to focus. "I'm not hurt. I'm only ... Dear Lord, what
did we just do?"
"We stopped; that's what matters. I did not compromise you. And even if I had, we're still betrothed, technically
speaking, are we not?"
"No. No," she repeated, her voice rising. "I hope to
marry Mister Whitby."
"You barely know the man," Frederick countered.
"I know him well enough to know he would not do ...
what we just did_. . -. this."
She was probably right; the man seemed to be a
bloody eunuch. "No, likely not," he conceded. "And that
is what you want in a husband?"
She nodded. "Precisely so"
A burning anger rose in his breast, though he could
not credit it. "Then that's what you'll have," he said
curtly. "If you'll excuse me" He bowed sharply, dismissing her. Reaching up to
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