by Robyn DeHart
“Do you not have anything to say?” he asked.
“I’m not certain what to say.” She frowned, then the lines in her forehead smoothed and she gave him a little smile—two dimples pierced her cheeks. It was a most becoming smile. Genuine. She really was quite fetching.
“That is quite amusing, Mr. Middleton, but I should think you had better use of your time than teasing a girl like me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, since you cannot be serious, it must mean that you are playing a joke on me, and while I’m sure you find it vastly entertaining, I do not share your humor in the situation.” She tilted her chin up ever so slightly. “Were I not the kind of woman I am, I might have my feelings hurt by your mockery.”
Damn. He hated to lie, but he had no choice. He needed her. For his paper. “I assure you I am not mocking you. I came here to express my honest intentions of courting you. You mentioned a need to marry, and I find you utterly charming.” Well, at least that wasn’t a lie—she was charming. “I thought if you would have me, I would like to throw my hat, as it were, into the pile and try to win your hand.”
She released a giggle. The throaty sound played havoc on his nerves. “Into the pile?” she asked.
“Correct.”
“I don’t believe there is an actual pile, sir.”
“Richard Foxmore is courting you, is he not?”
She nodded curtly. “He is.”
“And are you engaged?”
“Not officially.”
“Has he ever proposed marriage?”
She smoothed her hands across her skirt. “No, he has not. But I believe he and my father have discussed it.”
Richard was a spineless bastard. He no doubt was dragging his feet, waiting for a better offer elsewhere. All the while, he strung Claudia along. “If he has not proposed to you, then he lays no claim on you. I am free to court you. Isn’t that correct?”
“I suppose that if a girl is not engaged and is not necessarily in love with one suitor, then she is in a position to accept other suitors.”
Interesting. “So you admit that you do not love Richard?”
She visibly bristled. “I did not say that. I was speaking hypothetically. Whether or not I love Richard is, frankly, none of your concern.”
A sharp tongue too. She became more fascinating by the moment. A breeze fluttered a stray curl to rest on her cheek. He fought the urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear.
“Why is it so hard to believe that I would court you when you have one suitor already?”
Her eyes narrowed, and tiny lines fanned out in the corners. “You and Richard are…different.”
“Aside from our birth positions, how exactly are we different? We are both men who obviously share similar taste in beautiful women.”
She stiffened. “Do not mock me, sir.” Her words came out slow and tight.
He’d hit upon a sore spot. She wasn’t beautiful in the fashionable sense—she was shorter and fleshier than most women, but she had a beauty all her own. Her blond curls whispered for a touch, and her perfect mouth begged for a kiss. And her breasts—he didn’t even want to think about what her breasts needed.
What he had to do was convince her she was desirable. Considering his half-aroused state, that shouldn’t be too difficult.
“I was not trying to mock you.” He let his words settle a bit before he continued. “So tell me, what is it that Richard does to woo you? How has he won your heart?”
She frowned. “You’d like to know what, precisely?”
“What does Richard do—how does he court you?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it.
“Let me take a guess. I would wager he recites poetry.”
Her head snapped up.
That was so like Richard Foxmore. To ensnare people with words. Not his own, he would guess.
“So he probably quotes poems that mention that your hair is the color of sunlight on a warm day. And that your skin resembles the smoothest of creams. Or perhaps he declares your eyes to be the color of the bluebells growing on the hillside.” Those bluebell eyes widened, but she never looked away. “Your mouth, oh, your sweet mouth—he would say it was shaped like the most perfect of rosebuds.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip. “Am I getting warmer?”
“He’s said some things like that. Only I don’t believe I’ve heard those particular phrases.” Her brow furrowed. “Who wrote them?”
He leaned in closer to her. “No one. I just said them.”
“I see,” she said in a near whisper.
“I cannot court you like that, Miss Prattley. I hope you don’t mind. But when I look at your hair, I don’t think of sunshine.”
Her frown deepened. “You don’t?”
“No. I think of thick, rich honey that I want to pour onto my tongue.”
“Oh.”
“And when I see your skin, I don’t think of cream.”
“No?”
“No. I think of the finest of satins that I want to glide my fingers across.”
“Oh my.”
“Your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes, your eyes, I don’t think of bluebells. I think of the bluest of water and the way it’s slippery against my skin when I dive beneath the surface.”
She licked her lips and nodded slightly.
“And your mouth. I don’t think of rosebuds or any other flowers when I look at your mouth.”
“You don’t?”
“No. The only thought I have when I look at your mouth is of warm, slow kisses that last all afternoon.”
“Oh my goodness.” She leaned in a little closer, and it was all the encouragement he needed.
With one arm, he pulled her closer, then dropped his mouth to hers. It was a kiss meant to prove that he was serious about courting her. A kiss meant to show her she was desirable. But the instant his lips touched hers, he forgot all about his intentions.
Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his. With only a tiny amount of coaxing, he was able to open her mouth and explore inside. Her warm breath mingled with his. When he swept his tongue in her mouth, she stiffened slightly, but then released a throaty moan that sent blood rushing to his groin.
He knew he should stop the kiss and get the hell out of here. But she felt so good. Tasted so sweet. He deepened the kiss and felt her fingers lace through his hair. Her tongue tentatively moved against his. Her lack of experience was evident, but her clumsiness only fueled his arousal. Damn, but he wanted her. Right here, right now on this bench in her father’s garden.
He fought the urge to groan and forced himself to end the kiss.
Her eyes remained closed, and her breath came in shallow puffs. Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
“I don’t believe you have a future as a poet, sir.”
Was she serious? That was her response? While his pants pulled tight across his erection, she thought of poetry. “I should think my poetic words the last thing on your mind.”
“Yes, well, I merely thought that likening my eyes to bluebells is frankly not that clever. I believe I’ve read that in many a poem.”
The kiss, meant only to make an impression on her, had missed its mark and instead made a big impression on him. Devil take it! He needed to get out of here.
He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “Claudia, it has been a pleasure seeing you today, but I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment. I do hope you’ll allow me to call on you again sometime.”
She only nodded, then stood and went to her painting.
He watched her back for a few seconds, then turned to leave.
Damnation! He hadn’t come to her house intending to kiss her or he sure as hell would have…Would have what? Prepared himself? Never would he have thought he’d have to prepare himself for kissing Claudia Prattley.
Yet kissing her had proven a serious temptation and had done things to his body that a mere kiss hadn’t evok
ed in years. Perhaps since he was a young man in school. And she hadn’t been affected at all. Which made no sense. His kisses generally had even the most tarnished of women swaying in his arms. But not Miss Prattley. No, she merely blinked at him, then dismissed him as if he’d done nothing more than shine her shoes.
Derrick mounted the carriage steps, then sat with a huff. More than bloody likely, he’d just been caught off guard. Or, rather, he’d spent too much time staring at her bosom and he’d been aroused before the kiss. None of it made sense.
But she wouldn’t get off this easy. No. Now it was war, so to speak. He would do whatever it took to make Miss Prattley weak in the knees. She would swoon over him before this was done. After all, if he was courting her, he might as well teach her the way a real man acts. Poetry! Imagine spending all his time with a willing, desirable woman and doing nothing more than spouting poetry. Richard was a buffoon.
Oh my goodness.
Claudia sank back on the stone bench and brought her hands to her cheeks. Her face felt warm, indicating she blushed, just as she suspected. She’d never before kissed a man, and still she knew that had to be the kiss to end all kisses. Her entire body felt jiggly, as if someone had taken her apart and put her back together wrong.
She trailed her right index finger along her lips. They were slightly swollen. She didn’t feel like herself. She’d never been the girl that men stole kisses from in the garden. Especially not men like Derrick Middleton. He was as handsome as she was plain. It just didn’t fit.
Courting her. Indeed. He was funning with her. And she didn’t find it the least bit amusing. Her stomach clenched. What could possibly motivate a man to toy with a woman’s emotions like that? Surely he wasn’t heartless. He seemed the very image of a gentleman.
Well, perhaps not a gentleman in the strictest of terms, but he was kind and well-mannered even if he did steal kisses from unsuspecting women in their gardens. There had been nothing gentlemanly or well-mannered about that kiss.
Or about her response. Heavens.
He had certainly left rather suddenly. As if something in the kiss had reminded him of something. More than likely, she’d done something dreadfully wrong, and he’d immediately come to his senses. Men like him could have any woman of their choosing. And they rarely dallied with innocent women like her.
In fact, no man had ever ventured a dalliance with her of any kind. She knew it was because of the way she looked. She was plump, and men didn’t like plump women. It wasn’t as if she’d asked any of them, but it was quite evident. She could count on her hands how many times men had asked her to dance.
But she made the most of her situation. She didn’t need a line of men asking her to dance. She’d found her future husband; she was simply waiting for him to propose.
Her mind wandered back to Derrick’s kiss. Tingles spread through her body. Gracious. And the simple way he said her name—it seemed to roll off his tongue as if he’d been saying it forever. Her name had never sounded as good as it did in the deep timbre of his voice.
Precisely what was she to do with another suitor? A charade of one or not, Richard was bound to notice sooner or later.
She had one suitor who said he intended to propose, who had never so much as let his mouth linger on her hand. And another suitor who wasn’t really a suitor at all, who’d just this afternoon done amazing things with his tongue in her mouth.
What was she supposed to do now?
Chapter 4
“Poppy, have any of your suitors ever kissed you?”
Poppy looked up from the chessboard and eyed Claudia suspiciously. “On occasion, I suppose a few have stolen tiny kisses behind a plant or on a darkened balcony.”
“Real kisses?” Claudia ventured.
“What do you mean, real kisses? They kissed me. That’s real, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” Claudia said, with more enthusiasm than she’d intended. “Yes, those are real.”
“No, that’s not what you meant.” Poppy’s eyesnarrowed, and she pointed her pawn at Claudia. “What are you hiding?”
Claudia shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Well, I…I overheard some girls talking, and they were most explicit about the way one of them had been kissed.” She scooted her chair closer and leaned forward. “She said that the man put his tongue in her mouth.” She sat up quickly. “Can you imagine?”
“I’ve heard of such kissing. But I’ve never experienced it.”
It was scandalous even to discuss such a thing in the Livingstons’ front parlor. She should be ashamed of herself. But curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she’d simply had to ask Poppy. Poppy had so many suitors, but of course she had never been kissed in such a way. She wasn’t a tart, as some people clearly were.
Claudia squirmed in her chair and tried to focus on her play. “I’m certain it’s not the thing decent people do,” she added.
“I don’t believe kissing has anything to do with decent or not-so-decent people. Why the sudden interest in kissing?”
“I was merely curious. That’s all. It’s your move.”
Poppy moved her knight, then her head snapped up. “Did Richard kiss you?”
“No! Of course not. He’s never.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not even on the cheek?”
“No. Is that not normal?”
“I don’t know, Claude. I don’t think so. Perhaps Richard is afraid of what your father would say.”
“You’re probably right.” But she wasn’t so positive. A sickening feeling lay in her stomach like day-old bread. “It’s not me, is it?”
Poppy shook her head. “Absolutely not. Not possible. Perhaps he’s waiting until you’re officially engaged.”
Claudia sipped her tea, but the lukewarm liquid did nothing to soothe her anxiety.
“You could ask him,” Poppy offered.
“Ask him what?”
“Why he hasn’t kissed you.”
“Are you mad? I could never do that.”
“Well, then you could kiss him.”
“Gracious, no.”
Poppy shrugged.
“Have you ever kissed a man?” Claudia asked.
“Once. I was fourteen, I think, or was it sixteen? Jared Hendricks. We were staying in the country, and he came to visit his grandparents who lived nearby. He spent the entire summer chasing me, and one day I let him catch me, and then I kissed him. Just to see what it was like.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t that memorable.” Her nose wrinkled. “I recall he smelled funny.”
Derrick hadn’t smelled funny at all. He’d smelled rather delicious, if she remembered correctly, like sandalwood and mint. But it did not matter what he smelled like. Richard was her beau.
“Suppose I want Richard to kiss me. Short of having him chase me around the garden, do you have any suggestions?”
“My mother always told me that you know if a man wants to kiss you because he looks at your mouth. Does he ever do that?”
“Your mother told you that?”
“She wanted me to be prepared.”
Claudia couldn’t recollect Richard ever looking at her mouth. But Derrick certainly had. She’d never been so aware of her own mouth as she had been in the presence of Derrick Middleton. If Poppy had only told her this piece of information yesterday, she could have been more prepared for today’s kiss. She could still feel his lips on hers. And the thought of running her fingers through his hair—he must think her a complete harlot. That was probably why he left in such a rush.
“Claudia?”
“What?”
“Does Richard ever look at your mouth?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Hmmm…well, that’s at least somewhere to start. From now on you’ll know that if he looks at your mouth, he wants to kiss you.”
“That’s only helpful if he wants to kiss me. How do I get him to want to kiss me?”
“Be more
friendly with him, not so formal. Touch his arm when you talk to him. Lick your lips. Make sure you look in his eyes when you’re talking.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I read a book on it once. And my mother. She’s been tutoring me in the ways of catching a husband since I could talk.”
“I think the first thing I must do is figure out a way to get him alone. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll simply select a time when Father is out of the house and invite Richard over to sit in the garden. No. That’s no good. I’ll invite him over for tea.”
“What’s wrong with the garden?”
That was where Derrick had kissed her. “Richard prefers the indoors.”
“How positively shocking. Are you certain you want to marry him?”
“We’ve been over this. It doesn’t matter much if I want to marry him.” She took a deep breath. It didn’t matter, but it should. She should want to marry Richard. Her father wanted her to, and she should be loyal to that. She met Poppy’s gaze, then said, “Yes, if Richard wants to marry me, then I want to marry him.”
“All right. So you invite him over for tea. And then what will you do?”
“I’m not certain. I suppose we will have a talk. Richard likes to discuss the latest with Parliament. I’ll listen attentively and wait for my opportunity. And then I’ll ask him to kiss me.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t? “Why is that?”
“Because—”
“It isn’t proper,” Claudia said, interrupting her friend before Poppy made her look a complete fool. “What was I thinking?”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I was merely thinking that if you’re bold enough to ask a man to kiss you, then you’re bold enough to simply kiss him,” Poppy said.
“Simply kiss him,” she repeated. “I’m not positive I’m bold enough to do either.” She straightened in her seat. If she could kiss a relative stranger like Derrick, then she could certainly muster enough nerve to kiss her beau. “But it’s time I became that way. I’m going to be Richard’s wife. I should be able to have a kiss when I desire one.”
