“Henrietta.” He took the path that brought him around the flower bed, close to her. “I am no paragon.”
She blinked. “It seems to me that you have been reviled for doing someone a kindness, for preventing a wrong. I know a little something of what that is like.”
She stood facing him, so self-reliant, so utterly composed, and showing not the slightest sensual awareness of him. He couldn’t bear it when his every sense was so full of her that it nearly brought him to his knees.
Her coolness was a taunt, a defiance. He wanted to awaken her. He wanted her to know desire, that hot, liquid tide. He wanted her to feel that pull tohim.
“Henrietta.” His voice was a low growl. “You have clearly never been kissed.”
“I, sir, am kissed daily. I have more than my fair share of kisses.”
“Not from children, you wet goose. The kiss of a man.”
“Oh, that. There was a boy who worked for Miss Gregoire who was always trying to kiss us. He made a game of it, whomever he could catch.”
“I said, the kiss of aman.” He moved closer, and she stepped away, giving him a wary look. Her skin had the same luster as her pearls.
“Of what possible interest could this subject be to you?” Her voice wavered.
“Now that you will have suitors, you should know how to kiss.”
“I do not intend to go about kissing my suitors.” She batted at the branch of a fruit tree that tangled in her hair as she backed into it.
“Ah, but they will try to kissyou. And you will want to kiss the man of your choice.”
“It cannot be all that difficult.” She went perfectly still as he reached up to free the budding branch from the pearls in her hair. Her breathing came fast and shallow. He smelled moonflowers, her.
“On the contrary, it takes some practice to kiss properly.” His hands itched to draw her to him. But he knew enough of seduction to know that she had to close that last inch. He wanted not just her mouth but her surrender.
She regarded him with a suspicious pinch to her lovely full lips. “And you are so gallantly offering to teach me.”
He lifted his shoulders. He was aware of the fine fabric against his chest, the cling of the pantaloons to his thighs. Hisskin had come alive with sensation. “I am in proximity and suited to the task. I have some experience.”
He could do this. He was good at it, expert. She would fall into his trap, yield to him, let him touch her. And then she could breathe some of her light and purity into him.
“I can only imagine that you do.” She tapped her finger against her lips, thinking. He watched the movement, entranced.
“I suppose I should know something of the skill,” she said after a while. “I would not wish for my husband to think me clumsy, should I have one.”
Her husband would wish to be the first and only man to kiss her. Any man would want to be the first to awaken Miss Henrietta Wardley-Hines. To fix her complete attention upon himself and bask in the radiance of her desire.
Darien nodded as his throat closed. “Yes.”
“Very well.” She stepped close and lifted her chin. “You may show me how it is done, then. I prefer to learn from a skilled teacher.”
He looked down at her face, turned up to him like a flower blossom. Her dark lashes feathered over the elegant curve of her cheeks. A few locks of hair curled delicately at her temple. From this vantage the slope of her nose looked graceful, and below that the broad mouth with its soft, inviting lips.
Darien took a firm grip on his instincts. If he kissed Henrietta with everything in him, he would go up in flames, and that would not do. He did not intend to lose his head over the girl, merely teach her a lesson.
He gathered every errant emotion and shoved the lot to the bottom of his mind. This was a maneuver he had practiced a great deal. Cool, calculated distance—that was the goal. He throttled any excitement at the thought of kissing Henrietta Wardley-Hines and instead made his mind cold and empty. Now he was in a position to instruct.
He bent his head and placed his lips on her warm, pliant ones. He brushed his mouth across hers, once, twice, like a painter preparing a canvas. He paused a moment, and she waited, lips slightly parted, her whole body still. He nudged her lips apart with his own, and she complied. He repeated the gesture, pushing her lips open, and she dutifully followed suit.
Her mouth was warm and delicious, and the scent of her fogged his brain, but she was not yielding. He ran his tongue along her teeth, pressed his lips against hers in one last caress, and lifted his head, his breath ragged. His self-control held by the slenderest thread.
She blinked, then focused on him. Her eyes were deep and entirely clear, her brows divided by a small, furrowed line. She twisted her strawberry lips into a small grimace.
“Is that it?”
