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“Is that why you peeked beneath my blanket? To check whether my bits and bobs had been damaged?”
Artemisia flared her eyes wide with mock innocence. “What other reason could an upstanding lady such as myself have for committing an indecent inspection of a total stranger? I was only trying to help.”
“I’m sure your curiosity was perfectly innocent,” he said dryly. “Artemisia, despite your professed principles, you are a woman who clearly likes to have a good time.”
“That I do,” she agreed easily. “Unfortunately I must act dreadfully serious all the time lest people think me a fool, or worse, wicked.”
“Are you wicked?” he asked, his breath skimming past her cheek. He inhaled the scent of her and felt his cock stir with interest. Get down, he scolded it. We are dancing, not that other thing you like to do so much.
The music slowed. Other dancers edged away to take sips of beer while the fiddler considered his next song. Henry rested his palm on the small of her back and didn’t let her pull away. Not that she made any attempt to do so.
The moment stretched awkwardly between them. There was only one way to break the tension. Henry cupped her chin and bent his head.
Artemisia’s breath hitched. She didn’t protest when he brushed a feather-light kiss to her lips. The light contact was enough to send his blood surging southward. He angled his head and kissed her again, more firmly. He shifted his weight forward fractionally to get closer to her soft curves. Distantly, he registered violin music starting up. A wheezing accordion joined in.
“If you want to be wicked with me tonight, all you have to do is ask,” he said. “One word from you and I am your plaything, or I shall never broach the subject again. Which will it be, Mrs. Longwood?”
5
ARTEMISIA
“I think you need another leech treatment,” Artemisia said stupidly.
“I am not putting leeches in my breeches,” Henry said firmly. “On my face was bad enough. Besides, I cannot bring myself to consider how many of those foul things would be required to diminish my current state of—”
“Not for that!” Artemisia’s laughter bubbled over. She tried to keep it in by clasping one hand over her mouth, covering the lips that he had just kissed, and apparently gotten himself into a state over. Daring to dart a glance down, she choked at the sizable ridge tenting his slightly-too-tight and too-short trousers. Wheezing, she thumped herself on the chest.
“You’re terrible,” she declared when she could speak again.
“You love it,” the rapscallion murmured.
“Unfortunately correct,” she conceded. “I do enjoy an occasional vulgarity. Customs and propriety are important, but a bit of naughtiness lends spice to the dreariness of life. Just don’t make such jokes within earshot of the children,” she said sternly.
“Do you see any?” he asked, glancing around the common room.
“No.” She tugged his sleeve. “That’s enough exercise for you, sir. Time to rest.”
In truth, she didn’t want to be amongst strangers anymore. The way they looked askance at her, but not Henry, after that kiss, made shame roll down her spine.
“Are you resting with me?” her companion asked with heavy innuendo.
“I shouldn’t,” Artemisia demurred.
“Have you considered that possibly, you should?”
She shook her head vehemently, staggering a little as they mounted the stairs. The wine and dancing had gone to her head. “Absolutely not. You are injured. You aren’t in your right mind. One of us has to make good decisions.”
“What is a good decision, Artie?”
Now he decided to use her embarrassing diminutive. The rogue. The cad. She was half in love with the man already and she didn’t even know his true name.
“A decision you won’t regret later.” She punctuated this statement with a hiccup and promptly tripped on her own skirt. “Drinking that second glass of wine was an example of a poor decision. I rue it already.”
“You’re not inebriated. You’re nervous.” Henry righted her again and helped her mount the few remaining stairs.
“I am not,” she protested indignantly. How dare he be right?
“There is no such thing as a life without regret,” he said.
