Charlotte pushed herself out of his arms. “I’m much restored! Thank you!”
For an instant he looked startled, almost bereft, and Charlotte’s heart gave a queer little hop.
“Here.” He reached into his pocket. “Put this in your mouth.”
“Pardonme—”
“God’s teeth, must you argue?” Warrick drew out a candy and unwrapped the paper. “It’s only a peppermint.”
Charlotte’s hands quivered as she took it, but she schooled her face. She’d hate for Warrick to think that she remembered his peppermints, let alone that they still held meaning for her.
“You’re aware that most men keep snuff in their pockets?” she said as the taste hit her tongue. “You and Julian are both so mad for sweets, it’s no wonder you’re friends.”
But Warrick was in no mood for distractions.
“Damn it, I should have chased the highwayman off at once. You looked so calm—I had no idea you were afraid.” He studied her, and for the first time in ages, there was no thunder in his gaze. “Why did you give him your earbobs when you didn’t have to?”
Charlotte looked up at him and found it difficult to look away. It would set an ugly precedent toexplain herselfto Warrick, and yet his face was free of judgment for once.
“He was young and he had an army pistol—did you see? I wondered if he was back from the war. Now he has enough for a proper start, if he wants one. Still, Ilikedmy earbobs.”
Especially as she had so little jewelry left.
“I don’t understand you,” he said.
Charlotte could almost taste his frustration.
“Better not try.”
The words were meant to be tart, but they softened as they hit the air, becoming breathy and almost yearning.
Warrick’s gaze fell to her lips and lingered, lighting little fires in-side her.
The air between them thickened and pulsed, and Charlotte wasn’t sure if he was the first to step forward or if it was she.
It’s Warrick, she warned herself. But her arms, as disobedient as the rest of her, looped around his shoulders anyway. His palm slid up her waist and slowly down again, as if he couldn’t help himself. As if his hand had waited for years to learn her shape.
She hardly noticed as she pushed up on her toes and his head lowered slowly, so slowly, giving both of them plenty of time to back away.
This kiss had built for three years, which was perhaps why Charlotte gasped when Warrick’s lips touched down, light as a damselfly, on hers. Everything fell away—the breeze on her neck, the coolness of the forest, even the thick loam beneath her feet—leaving only this one man and the slight feathering of his breath as it met hers.
“Christ, Charlotte.” Warrick’s voice slurred, and he caught her fat bottom lip between his teeth. She gasped and his kiss grew bolder, almost relentless, as if her mouth held secrets and he was determined to lick them from her. When Charlotte made a small noise low in her throat and licked him back, his whole body shivered.
Warrick.
Why does it have to be Warrick?
Her mouth drifted over the wide, salty column of his neck, so strong and yet vulnerable. He pressed her against a mossy tree trunk and his fist tightened in her hair as her fingers wrapped around the lapels of his coat. With a ragged, pained breath, he—
“Christ!” Warrick stepped back, his lungs going like bellows. “Christ. Lady Charlotte, my apologies!”
Charlotte’s brain whirled drunkenly and her body swayed toward him. Even her hair seemed to quiver with longing, as if it might shoot across the sudden divide and pull him close again, tying his miraculous mouth down against hers. But her brain, thank goodness, staggered back to life.
“No need to apologize!” Her voice was high and tight, pulled taut like a string on a violin.
“I forgot myself entirely. I ought to make clear—” Warrick dropped his gaze to the ground, then raised it again to stare fixedly over her shoulder. “I’m not a suitor, of course.”
“No, of course not. Quite!”
