Page 53 of Sinfully Daring

He smiled then, his expression one of such joy it felt as if the fates had given her the greatest power in the world, the ability to make this lovely man happy. Still, kissing him was a rather daunting prospect, even though she wanted to, very much.

“Don’t be anxious,” he said, correctly interpreting her sudden attack of nerves.

“I’m sorry, it’s only I… I’ve never done this before,” she blurted out, embarrassed.

He stared at her. “Never? Not even a stolen kiss under the mistletoe?”

She shook her head. “After Eliza… well, Papa is rather overprotective, you see.”

Not wanting to reveal exactly how scandalously her sister had behaved when pursuing her husband, she did not elaborate. Not that Rosamund found it scandalous; her sister’s determination had only impressed her… which probably accounted for their father’s anxiety.

Sebastian grinned, a rather wolfish grin that made her stomach lurch.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” she scolded him.

“Impossible, sorry,” he replied, still grinning.

Rosamund blushed and looked away and he chuckled. “Let us start slowly, then. Come here.”

He slid his arm about her, and with gentle pressure, urged her closer. Rosamund leaned into him, relaxing against his body until she was nestled against him, her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes on a sigh, her nerves melting away as the rightness of it sank into her bones. He nuzzled her hair, inhaling.

“You smell divine,” he murmured. “Like strawberries.”

She bit her lip, glancing up at him. “Lady Aisling gave me a wonderful recipe for my hair to keep it shiny. It’s made with crushed strawberries.”

“Ah,” he said, clearly amused. “I approve.”

“I always wondered if you would smell spicy,” she said and then felt silly for having admitted such a thing.

He quirked an eyebrow in surprise but looked pleased, so she reached up, daring to smooth her fingers over his brow.

“Why?” he asked, holding still beneath her touch as her fingers trailed over his cheek.

“Because your eyes are the colour of spice. Like gingerbread sprinkled with brown sugar,” she said, getting lost among the flecks of gold she saw now she was so close to him.

“And do I?”

Rosamund dared to turn her face into him, the fabric of his coat soft beneath her cheek. Inhaling, she smiled, delighted. “You do,” she exclaimed. “There’s a woody scent, cedar I think, and… and nutmeg, but something else too, something sweeter, citrus and… Oh, lavender,” she said in surprise.

“Ah, for that you may blame my housekeeper. She insists on sachets of dried lavender in every drawer and wardrobe.”

“You smell good enough to eat,” she said, laughing, though her laughter died abruptly as she noted the way his eyes darkened.

“My lord?” she said, nervous now.

“Sebastian,” he corrected her, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “We’re engaged, remember?”

“I remember,” she whispered, finding it hard to breathe.

“Rosamund,” he murmured, and slid his hand to the back of her neck as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers.

Rosamund closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation. His lips were soft and warm, gentle upon hers, but the reaction his kiss provoked inside her was not soft and warm but electric. His kiss burned with a fiery heat that made her blood feel like brandy in her veins, ready to burst into flame. Rather stunned, Rosamund pulled back to stare at him.

His warm gaze searched hers, full of concern. “No good?” he asked, and she heard the anxiety in his voice now.

She blushed, uncertain how to tell him that his kiss was dreadfully provoking. Looking away, she focused her attention on an elegant group of white delphiniums that swayed in the breeze.

“Do you trust me?”