Page 56 of This Marquess of Mine

Griffin shifted on the bench seat and crossed one leg over the other in a distracting display of graceful, unhurried strength. She swallowed. He moved like no other man she had ever known. It was frustrating how regularly she seemed to notice.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “Your worst kiss. Who gave it to you?”

“You want the gentleman’s name?” She shot him a reproachful look. “Would that not violate some centuries-old code of honor amongst men?”

He smiled at that. “Come. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Well…” She wrinkled her nose. “It was Roger Osterbrook, if you must know. He had fishy breath and presumptuous hands.” The unpleasant memory sent a shudder up her spine.

“Did he harm you?” Griffin’s voice was low but hard as iron, and a silly little thrill shot through her. She ignored it.

“No, but I did harm him,” she said with no small amount of satisfaction. “I kneed him right in his delicate bits.”

He chuckled. “Good.”

A companionable silence settled between them and neither said a word for several moments as a gentle breeze rustled the trees around them. A lone nightingale trilled in the distance, its song soft and sweet.

Olivia shifted on her feet and let her head fall against the smooth pillar. She should probably return to the party soon. She would be missed.

Perhaps just a few minutes more.

“Does that happen often?” Griffin asked her, his tone quietly curious. “With men?”

She lifted her head. “What? Presumptuous hands?”

“Yes.”

“Not terribly often, no.” She threw him a reproachful look but kept her tone light. “I don’t let just anyone kiss me, you know. Silly and shallow I may be, but I am not totally without scruples.”

His chest rose and fell with his sigh. “I know you’re not,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things. It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

She swallowed, surprise and pleasure warming her chest. She had not expected an apology from him.

“I admit to enjoying the company of gentlemen,” she said with a shrug, “but I am not a flirt.” A rueful smile tugged at her lips. “I can understand why you would draw such a conclusion, though, after my behavior that night in the Stevensons’ library.” Her gaze fell to the floorboards, and she toyed with the fringe on her shawl. “I am not usually so forward, but I had overindulged on mulled wine and I’m afraid it made me a bit…foolish.”

She looked at him, saw his lips curl at the corners, but she could not decipher the message in his smile.

“Was that the only reason?” he asked. “The mulled wine?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I will admit to feeling some small measure of curiosity, as well. I did wonder a time or two what it would be like to kiss you.”

This, it seemed, was a night for confessions.

“Only a time or two?” Griffin pressed a hand to his heart as if wounded.

She rolled her eyes, battling a smile. “Yes, during those rare moments when I wasn’t fantasizing about strangling you instead.”

He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dark. “So?” he asked. “What was it like?”

He would ask that, the scoundrel.

She held silent for a long beat, chewing on her lip as if giving the question a great deal of thought. “You are…not unskilled,” she finally said.

“A glowing endorsement.”

The wry drawl brought a smile to her lips. “But surely the Marquess of Keswick, breaker of hearts, needs no endorsement from me. Your reputation is endorsement enough already.”

He huffed out a sigh. “My reputation is greatly exaggerated.”