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He stared at her with dark, unreadable eyes. A muscle in his jaw ticked as his fingers rubbed her neck.
“They talked of business, of money. I didn’t realize it then, but I think my father might have been asking for a loan. As they spoke, they shared a drink, and then two.” She was stalling, sharing all these details. But the truth sat like a pit in her stomach.
“What happened then?”
His voice was quiet, so quiet, but she recognized the edge that laced it. He was angry. With her?
“The viscountess came in. Asked me to accompany her to the music room. I remember being relieved. I could sense the tension between my father and Wallaby even if I didn’t comprehend the conversation.”
His hands tightened on her back. “What did she do?”
The lump in her throat tightened. “She brought me down the kitchen instead.”
Ken relaxed a bit, drawing her closer. “For a snack?”
“No…” She swallowed down another large lump, her throat still thick. The words burned and so did her eyes as she stared at the flickering candle. “She told me that I shouldn’t even be sitting in her parlor, that I should be down with the servants. She said…” Mirabelle shook her head, the story rushing out now that she’d started.
“That I was bastard trash dressed like a lady and that I and my brothers would never amount to anything.” A sob broke the last word apart as her hands fisted in his shirt. “But I’m going to prove her wrong.”
“She is wrong,” Ken answered, his hand slipping down her back as he traced her spine.
The quiet certainty in his voice took her by surprise. “You…you really think so?”
“I do,” he said and suddenly his mouth was on hers.
This was not the quiet, gentle brush like the last time. This kiss was hard and possessive and utterly consuming as his mouth moved over hers.
Her breasts were crushed against his chest, the feel of him making her nipples hard as his tongue probed between her lips.
And then she was lost. She forgot everything else—the fact that she’d just shared a piece of herself she’d never shared with anyone.
The knowledge that if they weren’t quiet, one of her brothers might wake.
She’d not become Ken’s wife because she’d been forced upon him. That wouldn’t prove anything. And even if by some miracle he did want to wed her, she wouldn’t accept until she could prove that the Smiths were worthy.
Her hands came up his neck until they reached his cheeks, and she held his face as she kissed him back with all the passion that had been building between them for days.
He swiped his tongue into her mouth again, but this time she met it with her own. And as they tangled together, desire hot and white burned through her. She brushed her hands over his ears and into his hair, cradling his head even closer to hers and they kissed several more times, the pace growing more leisurely until…
It just stopped.
She kissed him again, but this time, he did not kiss her back, and as her eyes slid open, she realized that his were firmly shut.
Pushing back a bit, she studied his face as his mouth parted and a decided snore erupted from his lips.
He’d fallen asleep!
Her outrage quickly turned to mirth. He looked lovely like this, relaxed and young, his body molded to hers. Surely, he’d not remember any of this tomorrow, which was all for the best. Still, there was a small piece of her that wished he would.
He’d judge her, see the truth in the other lady’s words. She knew that. But he’d also made her a little lighter for listening.
She slipped from his arms and grabbed the tray, knowing she’d have to eliminate the evidence of this late-night tea party. She and Ken were scheduled to have their real teatime tomorrow.
But somehow, she doubted he’d be up for it. Still, she’d get her boon. And she’d use it to make herself the most sought-after lady in London.
CHAPTERTEN
Ken woke,his head threatening to split in two. He held his pounding skull in his hands and cursed his own foolishness. Why had he drunk so much last night?
