Page 29 of This Marquess of Mine

This kiss was devouring. Desirous. Dangerous.

A groan caught in her throat at the first touch of his tongue to hers, and her arms swept around his neck, dislodging his grip on the coat. It slipped from her shoulders and fell to her feet just before his hands curved around her back and her own fingers sifted through the soft hair at his nape.

She’d been kissed before, but never like this. Never had she felt this way, like she couldn’t catch her breath, like she’d never truly breathed. Like she was sinking and somehow only this kiss—his kiss—would keep her from going under.

She nipped his lower lip with her teeth, and he sucked in a breath, his hands skating down her back to curve around her hips and cup her bottom. He gripped her, tugged her closer, and she gasped at the press of his hard length against her belly.

Desire licked at her insides, and she arched her hips, welcoming the fire, succumbing to it, spurred on by the stark, irrefutable evidence of his arousal. Evidence that he was right there with her. That he desired her, too.

Their tongues tangled, hands gripping and exploring, and Olivia sighed against his lips, breathless but too far gone to care.

Her body was his for the taking. He had only to ask.

“Griffin…” she whispered.

With a rough groan, he tore his lips from hers and stepped back.

Olivia’s eyes fluttered open and she pressed the back of her hand to her bruised lips, her heart thudding in her chest.

She raked her gaze over his face, seeking answers, seeking something. But there was nothing to see, no hint of feeling, no clue to his thoughts. Even his eyes had cooled.

“Why did you do that?” she asked faintly. Why did you stop?

He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged. “To prove a point.” His tone was casual, dispassionate even, as if he’d proved a thousand points this way. “And to lift your spirits.”

The haze of desire lifted, sniffed out by his words, and Olivia swallowed in a futile attempt to ease the ache in her throat. “I see,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm considering her heart was at her feet.

What a fool she was, thinking he’d kissed her because he’d wanted to. He’d made his opinion of her perfectly clear, and one kiss—one pity kiss—changed absolutely nothing.

“Did it work?” He tipped his head to one side and smiled at her, as if awaiting his accolades for a job well done.

She wanted to throw rocks at his head.

Instead, she returned his smile, compelled by pride alone, and nodded. “It did, yes. Thank you, my lord. That was…most kind of you.” She bent down to retrieve his fallen coat then handed it to him. “I really do have to return to the ballroom now. But I shall see you later, yes?”

Without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel and strode up the path with a straight spine and unhurried steps. Mustn’t let him think we’re running away.

Once she’d rounded the hedgerow, she allowed herself to breathe again, drawing in a slow breath to clear her mind before she reached the ballroom. A dull ache throbbed in her chest, even as her lips still tingled from that kiss. It was an unsettling dichotomy. But then, it wasn’t the first time Griffin had unsettled her.

She was determined to make it the last.

Shoving the dratted man from her mind, she approached the house and slipped into the ballroom, scanning the crowd for the duke.

She must find him and apologize for her behavior. She should never have pressed him like that. She would blame it on the moon or something. A romantic mood had come over her, she would say, and it would never happen again.

He would forgive her. He had to.