Page 20 of The Cornish Bride

Crouched as far forward as she could go, Ysella glanced to her right, where Oliver was lashing the bay with his whip. Did she want to win that badly? Or did she want him to kiss her? Part of her, the competitive side of her that never liked to lose, fought against the side of her that longed for the touch of Oliver’s lips on hers.

Lochinvar began to slow. The going was heavy after all the rain, and all uphill. Perhaps the bay was a fitter mount. After all, Ysella had been in London for two months, so perhaps all he’d been having was a gentle hack with one of the grooms. At this rate she was going to lose without even trying.

The bay surged ahead, the end of the track in sight. Oliver pulled his horse up and Ysella brought Lochinvar to a halt beside him, his chestnut flanks heaving and flecked with foam.

“I think I win,” Oliver said, his eyes hot with… what? Triumph? Desire? Were her own eyes as hot? Because she did want him to kiss her. Oh yes, she did. Without a doubt. Definitely. It would be her first ever kiss with a real man. Her heart, that had raced with the effort of the contest, showed no sign of slowing.

Oliver pushed the bay so close that his leg rubbed against Lochinvar’s sweaty side, his eyes locked on hers. He leaned towards her, his face only a foot or so from hers. “Are you ready to surrender my prize?” His voice had taken on a husky depth. The tip of his tongue slid around his lips, as though hungry to taste hers, and a shiver ran through her from head to toe.

Her heart thundered faster still, her stomach did a convoluted back flip, and her breath came fast and urgently. She was really going to be kissed. At last. The chaste one Archibald Hatherleigh had stolen when she was twelve didn’t count. This was the real thing. A kiss from a handsome man. A kiss from the man she loved. The man who loved her. Didn’t he?

She leaned towards Oliver as though drawn by a magnet. His face moved towards hers. So close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She closed her eyes. Her fingers tightened on the reins as his lips touched hers. How cool and dry they felt at first. He pressed his closed mouth against hers for a couple of seconds that seemed to last forever. Was this how being kissed should feel? Memories of much the same kind of kiss from Archibald rose to her mind. Was this what all the fuss was about?

Then something wet slid between her lips, forcing them apart. Something moist and demanding. His tongue. She started with shock, but his hand came up behind her head and stopped her retreat. Her lips opened under his pressure, her teeth parted, his tongue invaded her mouth. Did this mean he was giving her a baby? Not if Morvoren was right. She’d just have to hope she was.

But… was this kissing? Was this what Kit and Morvoren did? What every couple did? Probably, if Morvoren was to be believed. This quite delicious and daring entry of a part of another person’s body into one’s own. This invasion of her mouth. A glorious shiver of ecstasy trickled down her back to her stomach, and then lower. Good heavens! What wasthat delicious feeling? Her own tongue met Oliver’s, unbidden, as though two wrestlers sparred, and his mouth pressed ever harder, demanding more. His other hand—was he no longer holding his bay’s reins?—moved to her breast.

This time she did start back so hard he couldn’t hold her. His roaming hand fell to his horse’s neck and he laughed. Was that an even greater look of triumph in his eyes?

She gave a little nervous laugh in return, frightened by how much she’d liked what he’d been doing, even when he’d touched her breast. She felt very grownup, but at the same time flustered and confused.

He gathered up his reins. “I’d best be getting back to my hostelry. As I said I would, I’m staying at the Castle in Marlborough. It turns out to be a very fine establishment. Perhaps I can call at Ormonde Abbey tomorrow? If you’d like that?”

Like that? Of course she would. Common sense prevented this reply though. Instead, she gathered up her own reins and inclined her head towards him. The man who had just put his tongue down her throat in that wicked fashion and provoked a reaction she didn’t understand. “That would be most pleasant, Oliver. I’m sure my brother the Viscount will be pleased to meet you.” They sounded like two casual acquaintances, not two people who’d just shared the most intimate of moments. Should she be disappointed?

With a knowing smile, he turned the bay away from her, and set off back down the track in a steady trot. Ysella watched him go, until at last a bend in the track concealed him. She’d better return home herself, before someone noticed her absence and reported it to Mama.