Page 57 of This Marquess of Mine

She wondered at that remark, and nearly asked him what he meant by it, but something made her hesitate. His reputation was none of her business, true, but it was more than that. It was self-preservation.

She did not want to think better of him. Her defenses were shaky enough already.

“Well, I envy your exaggerated reputation,” she said. “Men may do as they please, while us women must be good every day of our lives.” She shook her head. “If the ton knew I had kissed fourteen different gentlemen, I would surely be tossed out of London like so much spoiled fruit.”

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “It isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t.” She had long thought society’s dictates were unjust, but what could she do about it? One must have power to effect change, and women were all but powerless. Perhaps one day that would not be so.

“Fourteen, eh?” Griffin said thoughtfully.

She folded her arms over her chest. “Too many for your delicate sensibilities?”

He smiled. “Certainly one too many from Roger Osterbrook.”

“True.”

He draped an arm along the back of the bench and cocked his head to one side, regarding her openly. “So, if Osterbrook gave you your worst kiss…”

Olivia froze.

“...who gave you your best?”

The question grated like an unwelcome surprise, and she turned her back on it, shifting to face the garden where his knowing gaze could not reach her.

“That is an impertinent question, as you well know.” Her tone was light, but with a hint of warning, too; one she hoped he would heed.

The bench creaked and then Griffin was beside her, his hands in his pockets, his gaze on the sky. “I’d still like to hear the answer,” he said.

Gripping the ends of her shawl, she stepped forward, away from him, his proximity a complication she could not afford. Not if she wanted to keep her wits about her.

“You first,” she said, infusing the words with a teasing lilt. “Who gave you the best kiss you’ve ever had?”

“You.”

She froze, warm tingles unfurling in her belly. She heard the shuffle of his footsteps as he drew near, felt the warmth of his body at her back, and she let out a breathless little laugh as she turned to face him.

“You’re teasing me,” she said faintly, searching his face for a smile, a glint of mockery and finding none.

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

Her breath stuttered as his hands curved around her waist and gently pulled her in, his eyes ablaze.

“No,” he whispered. And then he covered her lips with his.