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“I wonder...” one of the ladies said, but her voice trailed off.
“Wonder what, dearest?”
“I really shouldn’t say it.”
“You’re among friends.”
“Do you think her sister sent her to England to be rid of her? Imagine having her underfoot when you’re trying to rule a country.”
The princess froze. And then she made a move as if she meant to step out. Or lunge. Joshua had no idea what she might do, but could imagine her flinging herself at them, or worse, saying something that would be repeated far and wide. Not to mention, any attention she drew to herself she would draw to him. He wasn’t thinking clearly, but he had the idea that there was only one way to keep her quiet until the magpies had left. He caught her chin and forced her to look at him. And then, as if in a mad dream, he touched his lips to hers.
Actually, he did more than touch. He pressed, molded, nibbled her lips with his, and the sensation of it rocked him. He hadn’t expected her lips to be so velvety soft. He hadn’t expected his hand to go around her nape and draw her into him. He certainly hadn’t expected her to kiss him back, her lips parting beneath his, her chest rising to press against his, her hand sliding up to his neck, her fingers caressing his ear.
He circled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. He was torn between wanting to hold her as close as possible and bending over to brace himself and gasp for air. Could she feel his heart slamming against his ribs? Could she taste how long it had been since he’d kissed a woman? Forever, that was how long.
But whatever she thought, her kiss was just as needy, and she had a grip on his body. Not an entirely physical one but binding just the same.
He moved his lips across hers and felt every inch of her body against his, soft and pliable, and yet full of strength. The pressure of his kiss intensified, and she must have sighed, because his tongue was suddenly in her mouth, sweeping her teeth, her tongue, and the valleys of her cheeks. He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek in the very spot he’d wiped away mud just days ago.
He’d gone round the bend. He couldn’t stop kissing her, and she showed no signs of wanting it to stop. He was kissing this woman like there was some arrangement between them, like she had agreed to be his lover. And she was kissing him back like she would a fiancé, giving him the sort of kiss that was dripping with the promise of what would come on a wedding night.Oh, God, he’d lost his fool mind, he really had, and he thought he might explode in that corner with all that want.
Her body curved into his, melting against him, and he heard the other women leaving, still talking, talking, talking. They could talk all night and he would kiss the princess all night. It was the most arousing kiss he’d ever had, and if there was any doubt of it, his body was hard and pressed against her belly, and he could feel himself slipping away into the grip of unparalleled desire.
But just as the ladies left, he heard the tinkle of her tiara, finally dislodged, tumbling onto the floor of the balcony.
He reluctantly lifted his head and gazed down at her face. Neither of them spoke; he ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.
She was gazing at him as if she hadn’t realized who had been kissing her until this moment. “What wasthat?” she whispered.
An excellent question. “I didn’t know how else to save you.”
“Saveme?” She sounded incredulous, as she should be.
“If you’d made a sound, they would have seen you hiding in a corner. With a man you hardly know. You may trust that word of it would have reached the ballroom and everyone in it before you righted your tiara.” He bent down and retrieved her tiara. He brushed it off, pushed that white streak braided with gold back from her temple and fixed the tiara on her head. She watched him as he did it, for once entirely speechless. He wouldn’t have thought it possible.
The tiara sat a little crookedly, but he was satisfied it wouldn’t fall again. Unless...well. He wasn’t going to kiss her again, quite obviously. That would send the wrong message.
The princess was slowly nodding, as if she’d just come to understand something. As if she was seeing an apparition. Maybe he was seeing one, too, because he couldn’t take his eyes from her, either. He was surprised by how luminous she was in this moonlight, how her hair looked silver and gold, and there were so many thoughts tumbling in his head that he couldn’t put together a coherent thought. Such as how his body had responded in a way it hadn’t in years, and how tightly wound it left him. Jesus, he wished he could chop some wood right about now.
The worst of it was that he didn’t know what to do next, how to extract himself from the experience of that kiss in the moonlight. How did one stroll away while the sensation of it still thrummed in him? But what alternative did he have? To stay was to invite familiarity. To go was to save himself.
That was what he would do. But he couldn’t stop himself from brushing his knuckle against her cheek before he went. And when he dropped his hand, she touched the tips of her fingers to the bit of skin he’d touched.
“They are probably looking for you,” he said.
“Let them.”
“If I may offer a piece of advice?”
She said nothing, just stared at him.
“Don’t listen to them. They’re very wrong about you. They can’t hide their jealousy for your looks or your position.”
Her luscious lips parted and he was reminded of that kiss all over again. “Do you say that to be kind, or do you really believe it?”
“I not only believe it, I know it.” He didn’t dare say more. Anything more would open too many doors in him that needed to remain closed. “It looks as if the balcony is clear. I’ll go first. Good evening, Your Royal Highness.” He stepped out from behind the tree. She looked almost wild-eyed as he walked away, and just before he went through the door, he looked back over his shoulder.
She was still staring at him. But she had righted her tiara.
