She was out of the chair in an instant. “You know what, the weather still looks rather fine to me. I think I shall see if I can match the flowers to any in the gardens. I may ask Lizzy to join me if she is not occupied.”
Philip was two steps ahead of her, literally and figuratively. By the time she reached the door, he was already there, his palm pressing against the wood to keep it shut.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” she urged impatiently, her back to him. “I should like to be alone.”
“We both know that isn’t true,” he replied.
She tried to yank on the door handle, but her pulling was futile against his strength. All he had to do was lean forward slightly with his weight, and there was nothing she could do.
“Please, Your Grace. I need to clear my head.” She turned around, her eyes fever bright. Desperate, not with panic, but with something he couldn’t quite decipher.
“Not so soon, my bride.” He pressed his other palm to the door, his arms bracketing her head, holding her there. “It seems we need to set some rules, you and I.”
You are every bit a devil, and I keep wandering into your hellfire.
Selina couldn’t take a full breath, trapped between Philip’s muscular, warm body and the door. There was a gap between them, but it might as well not have been there for all the difference it made.
How was she supposed to argue or protest when all she could think about was his broad chest straining against the buttons of his waistcoat, or the fact that his collar was open, revealing his corded neck, or what his powerful arms might feel like if she gripped them? Not that she could hope to get a hand around them.
Lifting her attention to the dangerous territory of his lips… the rush of blood in her ears didn’t quite drown out the sound of his words.
“Rules?” she managed to cough, taken aback.
“Yes, rules. You have heard of those before?”
She swallowed. “I have, but?—”
“Here’s one,” he interrupted, the dip of his head bringing that sweet mouth closer to hers. “You cannot walk away from me unless I’m done with you.”
It took a great effort to press herself further back into the door. An even greater effort to narrow her eyes at him in defiance as she replied, “Well, what makes you think I would follow your rules, Your Grace?”
“This.”
She had expected words, not the sudden crush of his mouth against hers. Shocked, hands instinctively reaching for his lapels to steady herself, she forgot all about the book. It dropped to the floor with a thud, her mind absently wondering which page it had landed on.
Any other thoughts soon vanished. Every bit of her—body, mind, soul—was swept up in the fierce graze of his kiss. Each catch of his mouth teaching her what to do, guiding her. Even so, it took her a second to quieten her shock enough to kiss him back.
He seemed to smile at the first daring press of her lips, and his arm snaked around her waist, his body closing that useless gap between them.
She kissed him harder. Instinct was a powerful thing, and hers was taking over. Maybe now she could refer to the countless secret books she had read as research and time well spent, although what she had devoured in those novels was nothing compared to this.
Thiswas what she wished she could have read about: the heat, the intensity, the way each graze of his lips connected to every nerve inside her, firing them up; the primeval nature of it, urges and intuitions that had been lying dormant, waiting for an opportunity to come alive.
She tightened her hold on his lapels, and his body pressed into hers, pushing her back into the door. His hand was on her neck, his thumb running down her throat, and as he caressed down to her bosom, her very breath responded to the touch.
Like some kind of sorcerer, he had control of her entirely.
A searching hand followed the curve of her breast, grasping for soft flesh. Even through her dress and stays, she felt it as if there were no barriers between them at all. And when he dipped his head to kiss the swell of her breasts, she arched to meet the burn of his lips.
She had become a wild thing, untamed and unrestrained, every part of her yearning for every part of him, even those parts that were as yet unknown.
His mouth found hers again, his tongue flicking against hers. The strangely thrilling sensation prompted her to try it for herself. Her tongue glided against his, her kiss turning hungrier, more fervent. Eager to know more, experience more.
But as his hand slid down the valley between her breasts and traced a line along her stomach, moving ever lower, the maid’swords from this morning whispered through the ragged sound of mingled breath.
He has not been able to devote himself to one lady at any one time. I will have to share him.
Then again, if she never knew what it was she would have to share, then perhaps it wouldn’t be a cause for future strife. If she never allowed herself a taste, she wouldn’t hunger for it.
