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And she’d walked toward him, plucking the orange from his hand as he’d plucked it from the tree. She didn’t peel a piece away from the skin, as he had done. As would have been the ladylike thing to do. Instead, she bit into the tender flesh, sinking small white teeth into the wet, ripe fruit. A thin line of juice trickled over her chin, but she didn’t wipe it away as she chewed. Ramsey had found himself entranced by that thin line of juice. He couldn’t look away.
“Is there something amiss?” she’d asked, all innocence. But he could see in those bright blue eyes she knew exactly what she was doing. If he’d been George, he would have offered her his handkerchief and made some mention of the weather. It was a hot evening, and his coat clung to him. The tendrils of her dark hair were damp and curling at her temples, and he wondered if her gown felt as oppressive as his coat and knee breeches.
He wondered if she would feel damp and hot as the sultry night.
And because he wasn’t George, he reached out, with one ungloved finger, and swiped the line of orange juice from her chin. Then he put the finger into his mouth to taste it.
She watched him, her light eyes growing dark. He knew that look, knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But she was George’s. The engagement wasn’t formalized, but George had all but staked his claim.
And didn’t that make her even more irresistible?
He reached for her again, cupping the back of her neck. He waited for resistance, felt the heaviness of her hair under his palm. Thick and long, he could picture it splayed under her on sheets of satin.
The satin would be cool against their hot, sweaty bodies.
He felt no stiffness and drew her to him, paused when their mouths were inches apart. Her breath, smelling of the orange she’d tasted, fluttered over him. He watched her lips part. She had flawlessly formed lips. They were perfectly pink and almost childlike in their sweet shape. He bent and delicately tasted her. He knew at any moment she would push him away or slap him, but until then he would enjoy this brief lapse in her sanity.
To his surprise, her lips moved under his. Despite the heat, her mouth was cool, and he found himself claiming more of it and still feeling unsatisfied. She opened her mouth and he delved inside, taking what he wanted and being taken in return.
She kissed like a wanton. Her tongue clashed with his, stroked his, and as she did so, her body pressed against his. She was hot and breathing hard. He could feel her breasts heave against him. His hands stroked down her back to wrap about her small waist. He knew it was cinched with a corset, but it still seemed impossibly small. He pulled her against him, against the hardness of his erection, and waited for her to protest. Instead, she dug her hands into his hair, freeing it from the queue.
Ramsey wasn’t certain who possessed whom at that moment, and he wondered how far this would go. He knew where his body wanted it to go, but he couldn’t do that to George.
Or could he?
“Stop,” she breathed, just as his resolve wavered. “I can’t.”
He lifted his mouth but kept their bodies locked together. Her hand was still in his hair, he noted.
“You’re managing quite well, Miss Newton.”
She released his hair. When she stepped back, he saw the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. They were red and swollen now, the innocent blush of pink long gone. “Managing what, my lord? To act like a doxy?”
“No, of course—“
“I should have turned back as soon as I saw you in here. But I didn’t.” Her gaze was direct and honest, and his hands itched to circle her waist again.
“No, you didn’t. Why is that, Miss Newton?”
She shrugged, looked away. Absently, she reached out and stroked the leaves of a potted lemon tree beside her. “Because I wanted this to happen.” Her gaze flicked to his again. “I wanted to see what this would be like.”
“I can show you again…”
She held up a hand to stay him. “No. I will marry George. He’ll ask me any day now. I plan to be a faithful wife.”
Ramsey snorted softly.
“I know. That’s an oxymoron, but I do like a challenge.” She turned, and he realized she was leaving. He needed to speak, to say something to stop her, to keep her there. Logically, he knew her leaving was best, but now that he’d had a taste of her, he didn’t want her to go.
“You don’t have to marry McCullough,” Ramsey said.
She looked back at him, her expression filled with surprise.
“I could…” But he couldn’t say the words. He wanted to say them. He’d thought enough about making an offer for her, but now that the opportunity was before him, he couldn’t force his mouth to cooperate.
She raised her brows and made a point of waiting.
Silence.
