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Rosaline sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh, I see. It sounds awfully mercenary when you say it like that.”
“Yes, it is. I’m sorry, Rosaline, but there it is.”
She shrugged, a most unladylike gesture. It made Benedict smile. “Well, I hardly know the man. I shan’t break my heart over it.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Benedict was suddenly, horribly aware that his heart was thumping much harder and faster than it ought to do. He took a step forward, barely aware of what he was doing.
Rosaline didn’t move back, but her body stiffened.
“We shouldn’t be in here.” She said suddenly.
“Yes, you already mentioned that. It’s off-limits.”
“No, I meant we’re an unmarried, unchaperoned couple alone in a dark, quiet room, far away from the rest of the party. It’s not proper.”
“And here I was thinking that you didn’t care what was proper.”
“Ido care. When it suits me, at least.”
Benedict had to smile at her honesty. “I admire your frankness. It’s not something I encounter too often. Not in high Society, at least.”
Rosaline’s eyes were still fixed on his face. He wasn’t sure that she was even blinking.
“Well, if you’ve said what you needed to say, let’s get this over this. The party, I mean.”
Benedict took another step forward. He moved slowly, so as not to spook Rosaline. She rather reminded him like a doe at bay, on edge and ready to bolt at a wrong move.
She didn’t move, however. She stood right where she was.
They were barely a hand’s breadth apart, now. Rosaline’s chest rose and fell with shallow, rapid breaths. She’d barely blinked before, but now her lashes were fluttering like trapped butterflies.
“I’d better get it over with, then.” Benedict murmured. He curled a finger under her chin, and she minutely lifted her face. Her lips, full and pink, had fallen open just a little. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and that was Benedict’s signal.
He bent down to meet her lips, vaguely aware that Rosaline was standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him back.
He kept his finger on her chin, determined not to grab at her or pull her close or to do anything at all that would make Rosaline feel trapped. She’d come to the party and come to the sunroom of her own accord. He would not ruin this.
Asmall hand came up to land on Benedict’s chest, palm sliding up over the fine, rich material, all the way up to the base of his throat. Benedict tilted his head, deepening the kiss and eliciting a small, involuntary sigh from Rosaline.
He felt her fingertips graze the soft skin at his neck, and he shivered.
That did away with the last of Benedict’s restraint. He crushed her to him, not caring that she could feel the press of his arousal, not even knowing whether she would know what it meant, only that he had to have her now, and they were not quite close enough.
He slid his hand around the nape of her neck, with just enough presence of mind not to push his fingers into her hair and irrevocably ruin her hairstyle and slid the tip of his tongue over Rosaline’s bottom lip, her jaw reflexively slackening to give him entrance.
Perhaps that was the instant that scared her away, or perhaps it was the sensation of real, warm skin under her fingers, but Rosaline abruptly broke away.
Benedict was left unbalanced, wobbling forward for an instant before he regained his composure and his balance.
Rosaline had leapt back, putting more distance between them than before. She stared at him, eyes wide and panicky, her lips redden and damp. Benedict longed to kiss them again, but that was of course of the question.
“Rosaline?” he said. It had been meant to sound like a firm yet curious question but came out tremulous and breathy. Rosaline only shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It… it was not your fault.”
“No, itwasmy fault. I know what I’m here for. I ought to remember it, and I can’t let you forget. I’m such a fool, carried away by a dance and some pretty dresses and a fine house. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
