Page 52 of Vanquishing the Viscount

Her mind screamed that she should give him no more ground than she’d given Charles, but her body took no notice. She was completely under the spell James was weaving with his gentle touch, his teasing lips, and his gradual coaxing of desire.

She felt him opening up to her, inviting her to touch him, to explore his taut muscles and broad shoulders, to run her hands over the mounded biceps beneath his jacket. The dry heat of his body spilled through the cloth, igniting her fingertips, making every touch a new exhilaration, a fascinating discovery.

This was a man who put heart, soul, and body into his kiss. She felt melded to him, as if they were one being.

All too soon, he pulled away. Long before she’d finished exploring the magic of his kiss. She swayed toward him, her hand pressing against his chest.

Where it encountered something hard and flat in his inside breast pocket. Most men would have had a handkerchief, or perhaps a pocket book in there. But this was oval in shape, like a picture frame.

“What’s this?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. It would be a picture of Belinda, wouldn’t it?

Or would it?

James’s hand closed over hers. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a picture of…my brother Nathaniel.”

Her brows snapped together at his hesitation. Why ruin a wonderful moment by lying to her? Keeping her voice nonchalant, she said, “Oh, but I’d love to see it. Is it a miniature?”

“Um…not exactly. I don’t want to depress you with a picture of my dead brother.”

“James, I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth.” She used her best schoolmistress voice, trying to make light of something that was making her feel increasingly uncomfortable.

He pushed a hand through his hair, then exhaled slowly. “You’re quite correct. Very well, I’ll show you, but you’ll think me a damn fool.”

He released her hand, removed the oval case from his pocket, and gave it to her.

Heart thumping in trepidation, and wishing to goodness she’d curbed her curiosity, she walked over to the nearest lantern and opened up the hinged frame.

He hadn’t been entirely untruthful. There were two portraits enshrined there, one of a young man in military uniform who bore a strong resemblance to James. This must be the deceased Nathaniel.

The other portrait was a sketch of a woman’s face, drawn in three-quarter profile.

Her face.

She went numb, not sure what to think.

A moment later she felt the warmth of James’s presence at her back.

“It was foolish of me to keep it, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice soft, flowing over her like silk on a summer’s day. “How presumptuous of me to carry your picture, when for most of our acquaintance, we’ve barely been friends. But I hoped you wouldn’t always think me detestable.”

“Oh, James!” She turned to him, not knowing what to say. She loved that he’d been carrying her picture, and she hated herself for thinking so poorly of him for so long. He deserved much more from her.

“I’ve overwhelmed you with the suddenness of my declaration,” he continued, accepting the portraits back from her trembling fingers. “My feelings have been banked up for…well, for eternity, it seems. Forgive me. Having suffered one disastrous affair of the heart, I don’t want to suffer another through my lack of self-control.”

Her heart full, she looked up into his beautiful face, framed in moonlight, and wondered if another kiss would be out of the question. But how did one go about asking?

Before she could marshal the words, he took her hand and wrapped it over his arm as he gazed around him. “We’ve apparently escaped detection,” he said. “But for the sake of your reputation, I must return you to our party immediately.”

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Don’t apologize. Um…but there’s something you need to know.”

Never mind that kiss she craved—that could wait. She ought to tell him about Charles. Not that he should consider him a rival—for she could never think of Charles in that way—but because the men were friends, and if she didn’t tell James, she knew Charles would. She didn’t want any misunderstandings arising.

James pressed a finger to her lips, smiling down at her. “Come now—there’s no need to talk. If I’m forgiven, then I’m satisfied. Isn’t that the band striking up again? I demand you dance with no other man than myself. And in return, I promise to control my unruly feelings and display the gallantry you should expect from me. But before we join our party, I must tell you how happy you’ve made me in accepting my advances.”

She’d accepted his advances? Then, that must mean…

His swift pace had brought them level with the Rossburys’ supper box. She was running out of time to speak freely. “James—” she began in earnest.

“Not another word. Let’s keep our secret for the time being and show a nonchalant face to the rest of world.”