Page 56 of Make Mine a Marquess

He stood and pulled her to her feet. She met his kiss with equal abandon, their tongues twining. She clutched his biceps then his shoulders, then dug her fingers into his hair. When her nails scratched his scalp, it was like a lit match to hay.

His world tilted upon its axis. Holding back was beyond him. The kiss changed and he crushed her to him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and his hands traveled down her back. She fit perfectly against him, every curve and quivering muscle.

“God, the feel of you,” he murmured against her lips. “The taste. I’ve wanted to kiss you each time you won against me.” He heard his own harsh breathing.

“Oh, only then?”

He’d wanted to do much more than that. “You are lovely when you play. Your blue eyes sparkle. I’ve dreamed of you.”

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with unmistakable passion. “You did?”

“And you? Tell me you haven’t thought of this?”

“It’s wrong,” she said.

“No one knows that more than me. After all, Willard is my cousin.”

She touched her lips, a look of confusion flashing in her eyes. “I should leave.”

At the sight of her distress, he felt like a blackguard. He didn’t want to cause her pain. And for the moments consumed by their kisses, he hadn’t thought of revenge.

Only pleasure.

She would muddle his brain. Veer him off course. He needed her to spend time with him, and he must avoid any threat of distraction. “If I promise not to touch you, will you still come and play?”

“I…I do not know.”

He nodded. “I can only hope you will continue.”

After she left the room, he realized the cat remained. Sitting on her preferred perch of the sofa in the room, Mimi’s piercing eyes watched him, seeming to say, “Don’t hurt my mistress.”

His resolve hardened, along with his deep-seated hatred for Willard. Revenge could not come fast enough.

…

Phoebe’s mind was in turmoil when she returned to her bedchamber. Seconds after she shut the door, a low knock sounded.

“Your mother requests your presence in her chambers,” Anne said.

Of all the times for her mother to summon her, it was the worst moment. She touched her lips with a trembling finger. They felt swollen from Landon’s kisses. Would her mother be able to tell?

And why summon her now? It had to be about the evening’s activity. Knowing her mother, she would instruct Phoebe which gown to wear.

Phoebe’s heart still beat fast in her chest from the kiss. It had been wondrous. Marvelous. There was no other way to describe Landon’s skill. Helpless, she’d kissed him back with all the pent-up need she’d bottled inside. The swim in the lake, the hours they’d played backgammon, the times they’d ridden together, had culminated in a passionate moment. She’d longed to touch him, to feel the muscles beneath his jacket. His hair was softer than she’d imagined, his shoulders hard.

Goodness. He’d been the one to break the kiss.

It had been horribly wrong. She’d known he brought out her passionate nature. Even talking about her charity hadn’t helped. He hadn’t admonished her or tried to talk her out of it. He hadn’t threatened to tell her parents. He admired her.

Even more troubling, she wanted to meet him again and play. She looked forward to the game, their challenging matches, of sitting across from him. It was all so confusing.

Phoebe smoothed her hair before knocking on her mother’s bedchamber door. She was surprised to find both her parents waiting for her. Her father had his own adjoining chamber and rarely intruded upon her mother’s domain.

A trickle of unease ran down her spine. There could be only one reason for both parents to summon her.

Lord Willard had spoken with them.

Bloody hell. She wanted more time. The house party was passing too swiftly, and she was not ready to become Lady Willard.