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He tipped her chin up. “I didna say that.”
“You said I wouldn’t have been meeting with a lover. It’s the same thing.” He would not get out of apologizing for this insult by pretending not to have said it.
“Nay, ’tis not the same thing at all.”
Ha. “Yes, it is.”
“If you had met a lover, it would have been obvious.” Her attention was caught. “It would?”
“Yes. You would have returned to the ballroom mussed.”
She flipped her hand, dismissing his statement. “I could have straightened my appearance.”
“Your lips did not look kissed.”
What an interesting thought. “They didn’t?”
“Nay, they did not.” He sounded so certain.
“What do kissed lips look like?”
“Fuller, ripe.”
What did he mean? “Your lips become fuller when you kiss? This is most interesting.” She folded her hands in her lap, letting her fan dangle from her wrist. “Pray continue. What do you mean by ripe?”
He made a strangled sound, but answered her. “Like a peach that is ripe. Soft and juicy, ready to eat.” His eyes glittered with intensity as they fixed on her unkissed lips.
She sat silent for a moment, thinking about what he had said. It did not seem possible. Ready to eat? “Are you quite sure, my lord? I have never seen anyone’s lips look like ripe peaches before.”
He laughed softly. “’Tis no surprising if you have never been kissed.” She drew herself up, indignant that he could believe such a thing. “I am four and twenty. Of course I have been kissed.”
“No doubt your experience is broad.”
His sardonic tone annoyed her. “I am quite serious. However, I find it odd that I have never experienced the kind of kissing you speak of.”
“’Tis no surprise. ’Tis the kiss of a lover.” She expelled a tiny puff of air. “Oh.” She thought for a moment. “So you meant it when you said you would be able to tell if I had met a lover.” She was still uncertain, but perhaps he had not insulted her attributes again.
“Yes.”
She sighed. “I feel much better.”
He raised his brow in question.
“Yes. I do. I believe we can return inside. I’m sure my aunt will have no cause to cross-question me now.”
“Not yet.” He spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because lessons are best learned through experience.” She would have asked what he meant, but his mouth covered hers. His lips caressed hers softly over and over again.
The few fumbling kisses she had received in the past paled in comparison to this gentle onslaught to her senses.
Annabelle felt bewildered by the sensations shooting through her. She had never felt this desire to get closer to a gentleman. She wanted to press her body against his and curl her arms around his neck. The thought was so shocking that it broke the numbing effect his kiss had on her limbs. She pushed against him and pulled her mouth from his.
He would not let her go. She could not catch her breath. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She tried to sound firm, but knew she failed miserably.
“Nay, I should have done it sooner.” His first kiss had been gentle and probing, this one was full of passion. His lips demanded a response from her, but she did not know what. All thought of resistance had faded and she sought to experience more of the wonderful sensations brought on by his caress.
Putting his arms around her, he pulled her across his thighs, settling her on his lap.
He must have removed his gloves because she could feel the warmth of his fingers against the nape of her neck. She shivered with longing.
The fragrance of the garden mixed with his masculine scent, sending her further into the maelstrom of passion. His tongue roved over her lower lip. He wanted something, but she couldn’t tell what. Her mind felt fractured like light splintering off the crystal of a chandelier.
“Open your mouth for me,” he whispered against her lips.
It seemed natural to obey. He tenderly swept her mouth with his tongue. It felt so incredibly wonderful. It must be sinful. She linked her hands behind his neck and closed her eyes, melting against him.
Laughter broke through the passionate haze surrounding them. He groaned and pulled back slightly. “Belle, we must stop.” She did not react to his words, but remained melted against him with her face nuzzled against his shoulder. She could not get enough air and her mind was fuzzy. Gently disentangling her arms from him, he set her back on the bench. She slowly opened her eyes.
His were dark with desire. She thrilled at the knowledge his desire was for her. He smiled. The moonlight illuminated his expression. Satisfaction shimmered in his gaze.
“Now you look kissed, Belle.”
Chapter Five
William considered the practicality of ridding himself of the Scotsman’s presence…permanently. If he had the funds, he could hire it done, but he was unsure of soiling his own hands in that way. Perhaps it would be unnecessary.
He could not believe that even the uncouth man continued to pursue the unremarkable Lady Annabelle without knowing of her secret fortune. However, pursue her he did. The laird had waited for the chit to return from fixing her hem, just as William had done, forcing William to do so in the shadows.
And then, when she had not shown, the Scotsman had found her first. William had only spied her returning from a walk in the garden with the other man.
Looking quite flushed. If he did not know better, he would believe the couple had been engaging in a passionate tryst. But he could not believe that of a proper English lady, even a dowd like Annabelle.
Annabelle shivered and yawned as she made her way to Aunt Griselda’s room. She had slept very little the night before, restless with thoughts of Ian’s kisses. Those of a lover, he had said. Whatever the term, they had left her breathless and wanting more.
She fervently wished that Diana and Robert were already in Town. Her brother and his wife had promised to arrive sometime this week. She prayed it would be soon. She desperately needed to talk to someone about her relationship with Ian. Aunt Griselda would not do. She would likely fain
t if Annabelle admitted kissing Ian in Lady Markham’s garden. Either that or insist on posting the banns. Neither reaction appealed.
Ian stirred her passion, but passion was not love. He did not believe in love.
Annabelle was almost convinced that she was having her first encounter with the emotion. What a muddle!
Stopping at her aunt’s door, she peeked in.
“Don’t stand there peeping around the door like some child caught sneaking treats from the tea tray. Come in and tell me what had you woolgathering on the journey home last evening.”
Annabelle moved into the room. Lady Beauford sat up in bed, the heavy damask draperies pulled aside. A tray with chocolate and the remnants of breakfast reposed beside her on the ice blue coverlet. Beneath her attractive lace cap, the dowager’s face was wan.
“Aunt Griselda, are you feeling quite the thing? You look a bit peaked.” Taking an imperious inventory of Annabelle’s appearance, Lady Beauford harrumphed. “This from a gel who doesn’t know any better than to dress like a governess when she’s expecting gentleman callers?”
Annabelle quelled under her aunt’s scrutiny. Her choice of dress had made sense in her chilly room. Knowing that it was unlikely to be warmer anywhere else in the house because the dowager had a tiny idiosyncrasy about saving money on coal, Annabelle had opted to don a fawn-colored wool dress. Its only claim to fashion the suitably high waist and long sleeves puffed at the top. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. This particular argument with her aunt was long standing.
“It is uncommonly cold this morning. Had you noticed?”
“It must be. You are wearing a perfect fright of a dress. You look like someone’s housekeeper.”
First a governess and now a housekeeper. It could only get worse. It would not do to give in too easily, though. “Never say so. This is a perfectly reasonable dress especially for a day like today with no fires lit.”
The argument had at least brought the color back to Lady Beauford’s cheeks. “In my day, gels were not so worried about comfort as looking their best when callers arrived.” Going forward to adjust the shawl around her aunt’s shoulders, Annabelle said,
