‘A fine assessment from someone whose own grandfather belongs in the House of Lords,’ he responded.
‘He is only a baron,’ she replied. ‘Of the ladies you’ve courted, not one has been less than the daughter of an earl.’ She regretted the words immediately. They all but announced she’d been spying on him. Even worse, they might sound like a needy demand that he notice her.
In the dim light she could see the surprise flash in his green eyes. But his reply was innocuous enough. ‘You think I should cast a wider net?’
‘I think you should care less about the succession and more about choosing a woman who is right for you.’
‘As you have done, in waiting for the perfect man?’ he said.
The words were as sharp as broken glass. They hurt. She turned away, looking back down the hill and shifting along the bench so she was not so close to him. ‘We are not speaking of me.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said quickly, sliding after her so he was close again. ‘You are right. We are not. It is no business of mine what you choose to do with your life.’
‘Then, why are you meddling with it?’ she said, still looking away.
‘Because I care about what happens to you,’ he admitted. ‘Even more so now that I have met your grandfather and seen how he treats you.’ He rested one hand on her shoulder and reached to take her hand with the other. ‘I won’t leave you here, Lou. I will get you away from him. I swear.’ He wove his fingers between hers until they were pressed palm to palm, as if sealing a pledge.
Was he pulling her towards him, or had she turned her body to his? The hand on her shoulder slid to her back. They were so close she had to tip her head up to look into his eyes, which lowered to meet her gaze.
And then, he kissed her.
His lips were warm. He tasted like their port. She could smell the flowers of the garden under the scent of his cologne. Her free hand was trapped between them. She slid it along his side, holding him and surrendering to the moment.
Perhaps she had given in to fantasy, after all. Kissing Thomas Carew in the garden was a dream she’d enjoyed many times. But she’d never imagined the way his even breaths quickened as his tongue touched hers, or the faint scratch of stubble against her cheek. Or the urgent pressure of his hand against her waist as the kiss changed from the innocent touch of lips to the masterful possession of her mouth.
She pressed her body to his, feeling small and soft against his broad, firm chest, wishing she could mould herself like clay and touch him with every inch of herself. He felt it as well, she was sure. His hand was moving, exploring her, back to hip, mapping curves and claiming each inch he touched.
There was so much more to discover. It would be heaven to feel him on top of her. To lie back, staring up at the moon, and let him do what he wanted. What she wanted. His hand wascupping her bottom. His other hand could touch her breast if he could reach it. She could help him.
She leaned back.
He leaned forward.
She slid off the bench and landed on her bottom in the damp gravel beside it.
None of the fantasies had ended like this. Perhaps they should have. This was just the sort of thing that happened when she was close to the duke. The fact that she’d made it most of their day together without stumbling or humiliating herself had been close to miraculous.
He was staring down at her, horrified. ‘Louisa! Oh, my God, I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’ He stood and reached for her in one graceful move that made her feel even more clumsy. His hands were on her again, but instead of caressing, they slipped into her armpits and lifted her like a doll until she was back on her feet.
‘I am all right,’ she said, smoothing her skirt and making sure her bodice was covering everything it should. ‘Just fine.’
She could feel her face freezing into the usual polite smile she wore when she was around him. The one that hid what she was thinking and feeling until she could get away.
‘I only came out to see if you wanted to join us for cards,’ he said stiffly. It was as if he wanted to wipe away the last few minutes, like a scribble on a chalkboard, and return them to their usual semi-formal friendship.
‘I think I shall retire early,’ she said, a little too brightly. ‘Tell Percy that I am fine, but a touch tired.’
‘Let me escort you back to the house,’ he said, offering his arm.
‘Of course,’ she replied and took it, taking care not to scuff her slippers on the loose stones of the path, or trip over the threshold as they came back into the hall. As he closed the doors behind them, she turned without a further goodbye and went tothe end of the corridor so she could take the servants’ stairs up to bed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Another game?’ Percy shuffled the cards again and smiled at his friend over the pile of mother-of-pearl chits accumulating on his side of the table.
‘Of course,’ Thomas said, wishing he’d suggested they bring the brandy decanter to the table, so it would be in easy reach as they played.
‘Since it is just the two of us, I should have suggested chess. You are not on your game this evening, and I might have beaten you for a change.’
