He rose onto his knees, placing a hand on either side of her legs, and leaned toward her. Gillian pressed back into the headboard, heart rising.
“Are you certain?” he said. “Because when you fell, it was your right leg you favored.”
The heat of mortification pricked her scalp as she stared back at him, speechless. He’d known all along she’d faked it, and still he’d touched her with unseemly familiarity. And she knew why, too. To punish her—because he was a black-hearted knave!
He leaned closer so his face was mere inches from hers. “We’re to be wed in three days, Gillian. If you want something from me, this subterfuge is not necessary.”
“Want something?” she squeaked indignantly, trying to roll off the bed, but he caught her, pushing her back against the headboard, a frighteningly wicked gleam in his eye. “Whatever could I want from you? I hurtbothankles!”
“Oh?” His brow creased with mock concern. But it was enough to make him sit back, taking up her other ankle. “Well, let me see to that one as well.”
Gillian could have bitten her tongue off as his handsslid up her skirts, past her knee, to remove the other garter. He knew she wasn’t hurt. Why was she allowing him to continue this charade? She wasn’t at all certain, but for some reason, she was. She should have kissed him a moment ago, when he’d called her on her ridiculous scheme, but she’d been too mortified to admit to such machinations.
His hands spun the same sorcery they had on her other foot. But this time she stayed tense and alert, aware that he was watching her the whole while, gauging her reactions. She had a sneaking suspicion she’d get her kiss tonight—and likely more than she’d bargained for, which brought a sheen of perspiration to her temples. She tried not to squirm, wanting this torture to end and yet longing for him to touch her more, to slide his fingers higher. . . .
He raised one of her feet, bent his head, and kissed her ankle. Gillian stopped breathing. She stared down at the black head bent over her foot, shocked and scandalized—and unspeakably aroused.
“Such a pretty ankle,” he murmured against her skin. “A shame for it to be bruised.” His breath was warm, and his other hand slid further up her calf. When his mouth touched her ankle again, she felt his tongue.
She jerked her leg away, tucking both ankles safely beneath her skirts. “My lord!” was all she could think to say. Her voice was breathy and thin.
He sat on her bed, one long, muscular leg bent in front of him, the other hanging off her bed. “I don’t like games, Gillian, and I thought you better than that. Be direct with me and we’ll get on fine.”
He shamed her. She looked away, embarrassed she’d made such a fool of herself. How could she think him stupid enough to fall for her silly virginal schemes? She was tempted to inform him that she wanted nothing from him and send him away so she could wallow in her shame. But the philter. He’d drunk it. Perhaps that’s what had prompted him to kiss her so improperly. Somewhat emboldened by that thought, she said, still staring down at her skirts, “I was hoping you would kiss me again.”
She didn’t hear him move, so she was startled when his finger tilted her chin up to look at him. She met his black gaze, waiting, pulse throbbing erratically in her throat. He studied her face.
“All this for a mere kiss?” he said doubtfully.
Gillian nodded.
“I’m flattered,” he murmured, leaning toward her. She watched him, fascinated, as his long black lashes lowered, seconds before his mouth covered hers. Then Gillian’s own eyes fluttered shut, lips tingling from the contact. His hand slid beneath her hair, cupping the back of her head as he pulled her forward and tipped her head back.
This kiss was nothing like the last one—which had been a perfectly lovely kiss. There was no softness in him as he parted her lips to kiss her deeply. Gillian’s hand flailed out to grab onto something, and he caught her wrist, bringing her hand to his chest and holding it there. Her head spun, and when she parted her lips to suck in more air, he pushed his tongue into her mouth.
Gillian melted, vaguely aware that his hand nolonger held hers trapped against his chest. Her arms had slid around his neck to draw him closer, and his hand was full over her breast, the palm open, stroking and shaping it, while his other hand turned her head to taste her mouth deeper yet.
His kiss laid her bare. Despite everything, she wantedhim,not just rescue from France, not just elevation to a countess; she wanted the man. She’d not realized how much until he’d kissed her. It bloomed inside her, pulsing in time with the wild beating of her heart. She pressed closer, kissing him back, relishing in the slow and purposeful slide of his tongue against hers.
She did not know how long they kissed, or what would have happened—their marriage would have been a sure thing, she suspected—but she was not to find out.
Rose’s voice roused Gillian from her stupor. “Er—should I come back?”
Gillian tore her mouth away and strained away from Kincreag, but he held her fast, his dark eyes burning down at her. “Next time,” he said in a low voice, his breath warm on her upturned face, “just ask me, and I’ll be happy to oblige.” Then louder, he said, “I was just leaving.” He did not take his eyes from Gillian.
“I see that,” Rose replied dryly.
He appeared unashamed of the situation they’d been caught in and not nearly as affected as Gillian was, evidenced by his regular, calm breathing. He straightened slowly and bid them both a good evening. When the door closed behind him, Gillian chanced a look at her sister, whose eyes were practically popping out.
“Was that a garter in his hair?”
“Uhm . . . aye. He seems to like me better now,” Gillian offered, her cheeks flaming.
“I noticed.”
Rose strolled over to the bed and stared down at Gillian’s bodice. Gillian glanced down at herself and saw that several of the hooks had been undone. It gaped at her side—that explained why she’d been able to breathe deeper. Her breasts felt heavy and fuller than usual, the nipples excruciatingly sensitive. She quickly rehooked her bodice, binding her breasts up tightly.
Rose bent to pick something up and straightened with one of Gillian’s hose dangling from her fingertips, brows arched nearly to her hairline.
