His little wife-to-be tasted of mint with a dash of honey. He could have drunk from her all day. He could havelivedfrom her, if such a thing were possible, as a bee did from a flower. For while this was not his first kiss—far from it—he could not recall another that had stolen the ground beneath his feet and spun his entire world on its axis.
Abigail may not have been experienced, but she was earnest. She wasintoxicating. And he was completely enthralled by everything about her.
Her taste.
Her scent.
Her unconventional beauty.
Her clever, clever mind.
Even her stubbornness captivated him, but it was her kiss that consumed him.
Again and again, he dipped in to sample what had been promised but never explored as the snow that had been lazily falling off and on all morning began to flurry in earnest, scattering sparkling flakes of white across his shoulders and catching on her eyelashes. The cold whipped up and around them, but couldn’t penetrate the haze of heat emanating from their passionate embrace.
Spinning her away from the wall, he took her place against it, gathering her up and into his arms as he leaned his full weight against the hard, unforgiving brick without breaking the kiss. The hand in her hair slid downward, following the length of her spine before settling possessively on the curve of her bottom and pulling her snug against the pulsing heat of his loins while he plundered her lips.
By its own design, her leg hitched upward, curling around his waist in a way that brought them from intimate to downright sinful, and if they weren’t in an alley...
But they were, he reminded himself on a shuddering exhale of breath as he reluctantly lifted his head. Theywerein an alley, and the future Viscountess of Brunswick deserved far more than to be ravished in the snow beside a pile of soot.
“Where are you staying?” he asked, and when she told him, he walked her there, right to the doorstep, and tested his tenuous self-control by pressing a kiss to her temple before stepping back. “I’ll come for you at half past nine tomorrow and we’ll ride to the church together.”
“What... what should I wear?” To his smug delight, her expression was still every bit as dazed as it had been when he’dended the kiss. A testament to his passionate prowess, no doubt. Or she was merely settling into shock after the abrupt turn in events over the past two hours of her life.
“Whatever you’d like,” he murmured, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
“Half past nine?”
“Half past nine. Look for a black carriage.”
“They’re all black.”
Stephen grinned. “Then look for me. I’ll be the chap bounding up the pavement to collect his beautiful bride.”
A spark of sobriety flickered in her gaze. “Physical attractiveness is a relative means of—”
“Beautiful,” he repeated firmly. “You are beautiful, Abigail.”
Her brow furrowed. “No one has ever called me that before.”
“Well you’d best get used to it.” He reached past her to open the door and gently nudged her over the threshold into an entry hall with a crackling fireplace and worn, but meticulously dusted, furniture. “I take it your room is upstairs?”
She started to nod, then stopped. “You cannot accompany me. We are not yet married.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, even though he already was.
In quite intimate detail.
“Half past nine,” he told her one final time before he retreated into the falling snow. “Don’t forget.”
Her nostrils flared. “I have anexcellentmemory.”
He grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Abigail.”
“Half past nine. In a black carriage.”
He tapped a finger to the side of his head. “You do have an excellent memory.”
