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Chapter One
London, England
Late July 1814
“Where is that bloody groom?”Miss Delilah Rollins muttered under her breath. She clenched her fists and stalked around the side of Tattersall’s auction house, searching for the missing servant.
Normally, such crass language was not included in her vocabulary, but she had reached her limit with the scoundrel. She had begged her father to relieve the worthless man of his employment, for other than drinking and swiving maids in the hayloft at her father’s country estate, he wasn’t good for much else. When it came to her father’s prized Arabians, he tended to shirk his duties more often than not. Of course, she didn’t mind doing the work, had picked up the slack numerous times for she knew the importance of having a healthy stallion with a flowing mane and a coat that shone with a particular gloss, but the days when the auction was taking place, as a female, she was forced to remain along the sidelines and not sully her hands with such menial tasks. She had a reputation to uphold as the daughter of a baron, after all. When it came to Jasper Rollins, Baron Kingsworth and his highly, sought after mounts, many of which were purchased directly from their fellow aristocracy, she took care not to be too careless.
However, this particular groom would most certainly be her downfall, simply because of his annoying disappearing habits when it mattered the most. She’d noticed Hercules had been acting lethargic, and she feared that the grain he’d been consuming had gone bad. Likely because someone hadn’t bothered to check and ensure that it was fresh.
Delilah tossed her head, uncaring that the dark ringlets her maid had been so meticulous about curling that morning were already starting to fall. But then, her naturally straight hair refused to hold a shape for long, and summer was especially bad about causing it to wilt.
She glanced down at the hem of her pale yellow day dress and cringed when she noticed that the hem was starting to stain, the result of her efforts traipsing through the stalls around the auction house. She just prayed it was drying mud she was walking through, but something told her that she wouldn’t be so lucky.
Frustration causing her to walk even faster, she turned the corner of the outbuilding, intent on looking through them all if needed, when she abruptly crashed into a wall. But considering the object moved and grasped her arm, and pressed her against something decidedly warm, she began to realize it was something else entirely.
Once the initial shock had worn off, she glanced upward, and speech promptly left her when she met a pair of translucent green eyes. Her mouth promptly fell open, for she had never met a man with such striking irises, and with the dark ring rimming them, they were quite compelling. With thick, dark lashes and ebony hair to match, she was quite spellbound for an instant. Surely no other man that she could dream up could compare to this Adonis with his sculpted jawline with a hint of dark stubble, a straight, aquiline nose, and slash of intimidating brows. Combined with his plain attire that filled out nicely in all the right places, he was, in a word, quite… delicious.
It was the slight smirk on his chiseled lips that brought her back to reality. She laid her hands on that solid chest and pushed lightly. “Pardon me, sir. I fear I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going—”
His hold remained steadfast. “Aye. That is apparent to both of us, lass, since ye ran into me.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. He was Irish? She barely withheld a snort. That would explain his mocking sense of humor. No doubt the ladies found him charming in that section of the world. “Yes, well, I did say I was sorry, so I will be on my way…”
She allowed her words to trail off, thinking that he would release her, perhaps even offer her a gallant farewell before he trotted on his merry way.
He did the exact opposite.
Those mesmerizing eyes dropped to her mouth and darkened to the color of a deep emerald. “Have ye ever been kissed, lass?”
She blinked, for surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”
“Ye know. A kiss. Two mouths meeting in an intimate gesture.”
This time she frowned. “Yes. I’m well aware of what a kiss is. I just don’t know why you—”
“Not just any kiss,” he corrected. “But a proper kiss. One that makes ye weak in the knees.”
She squared her shoulders, even though her mind was pricked with unwanted interest. “What isn’t proper is this conversation. I’m a lady—”
He snorted. “And that means ye don’t deserve to be kissed like a woman should?”
Delilah couldn’t believe she was still standing there. This was the most absurd conversation she had ever had, and likely ever would. And that was likely the reason why she continued to remain there and face off with this infuriating Irishman. “I never said that. I just meant to infer that my personal life, kisses and all, is not any of your business.”
He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. “I take that to mean no. What a pity, for ye have a mouth meant for kissing. And lots of it. By a man that knows how.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re that man.”
“Aye, lass. That I am.” He didn’t even hesitate and for that reason alone she had to laugh.
She lifted on her tiptoes so that she could stare him more squarely in the eye. Each word she said was enunciated clearly. “You are without a doubt the most arrogant, the most conceited, the most—”
His mouth slammed down on hers.
For a moment, Delilah couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, for she was stunned that this man, this stranger, had dared to take such liberties, but once the sensation of his lips moving across hers began to register in her brain, she was actually… intrigued. It was true that other than a quick peck or two from one of the local village boys when she’d been younger, Delilah hadn’t partaken of a “proper” kiss before. Certainly nothing like the toe-curling fascination that he was causing to skate across her skin.
While it was bad enough allowing this man to kiss her, it wasn’t until his tongue slid slowly over the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open to him, that she complied out of sheer curiosity. She should put an end to this—immediately—but when his tongue swooped inside of her mouth, darting in and out as if mimicking something much darker, something much more intimate, her hands only clenched into fists on his jacket, rather than shove him away from her like she should have done.
For a woman who was supposed to have a care for her reputation, she had suddenly allowed herself to throw caution to the wind. And that was not like her. Delilah liked things orderly and neat, not haphazard and disheveled, as this Irishman clearly was.
She forced herself to break away from him, for she was indeed, rather weak in the knees. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “You overstep yourself, sir!”
“Aye. I tend to do that.” He winked at her, clearly unrepentant. He leaned closer to her and whispered near her ear, “But ye enjoyed it all the same.”
She gasped in a mixture of outrage and… a bit of arousal. “I most certainly did not!”
His gaze roamed over her face. “And yet, the rosy flush on yer face would say differently.”
Delilah instantly put her hands over her cheeks, which were quite warm. With a huff, she flounced away from him, although her neck prickled with his laughter at her departure. “I’ll see ye soon, lass.”
