‘Just that if you’d like to try then I’d be more than happy to oblige.’
‘You would be...’ He hadn’t thought that her eyes could get any bigger, but apparently he’d been wrong. Fortunately, the expression in them was more bewildered than offended. ‘Are you offering to kiss me, Mr Whitlock?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because...’ He started and then stopped, considering for a moment. In all honesty, he was somewhat surprised by the suggestion himself. He couldn’t even blame it on the port since he’d sobered up a good hour ago. It wasn’t a gentlemanly offer. On the contrary, it was downright ungentlemanly, only now that he’d made it, he found himself somewhat ardently hoping she’d say yes. ‘Well, for a start, because you helped me earlier and now I’d like to help you. I admit that kissing isn’t something I’d usually suggest to a young lady, but we might consider it as a practical experiment, a way to work out how you feel about the whole process.’
‘I see.’ She lifted her chin, looking down her nose at him. ‘So kissing me would constitute your good deed for the day?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I told you, I’m more than happy to do it.’
‘How gallant of you to say so.’
‘Forgive me—’ he couldn’t help but smile at her sarcasm ‘—I didn’t mean to imply any selflessness on my part. I’m sure I would enjoy the experience, too. It would just be one kiss, one single, solitary, utterly harmless kiss.’
‘Something tells me Gilbert wouldn’t see it that way.’
‘Gilbert? That’s the name of your suitor?’
‘Yes.’ She blinked. ‘What’s wrong with Gilbert?’
‘Nothing, only I’m Mr Whitlock.’
‘Because we’ve only just met!’
‘True, but since you’re thinking about kissing me, you might at least call me Cassius.’
‘I never said I was thinking about kissing you.’
‘But you are?’
‘No!’ She shook her head so emphatically that auburn hair tumbled forward over her shoulders. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Why not?’ He let his eyes follow the lustrous waves downwards. They reached to just below her breasts. If she were naked, the sight would be quite tantalising. His imagination was already running riot... ‘I don’t suppose you could shake your head again?’
She ignored his request. ‘How could I marry Gilbert after kissing someone else?’
‘You wouldn’t have to tell him.’
‘That would be even more wicked!’
‘All right then, tell him the truth: that you needed to know what the experience was like.’
‘Then he’ll say that I should have asked him to kiss me.’
‘Exactly!’ Cassius grinned triumphantly. ‘Only he shouldn’t have needed to be asked. He should have done it already. That’s as good a reason as any for not marrying him, in my opinion. The man’s clearly insane.’
‘Mr Whitlock...’ she pursed her lips, looking and sounding like an archetypal schoolmistress ‘...either you’re teasing me or you’re a Lothario.’
‘Millie...’ he shifted closer, emulating her tone ‘...if I were a Lothario, then I wouldn’t have asked if you wanted to be kissed, I would simply have done it. Then I would have found us another bottle of port and made some excuse to escort you upstairs. You were the one who came down, remember? And I believe you were also the one who first mentioned kissing?’
‘Oh, yes...’ her brow wrinkled ‘...so I did.’
‘And, as for teasing, I assure you that my offer is entirely genuine.’ His leg brushed inadvertently against hers, though since it was there he didn’t bother to move it away. ‘The truth is I’d rather like to kiss you. Your lips look quite extraordinarily kissable, especially now.’
‘Why especially now?’
‘Because you look so surprised.’ He brought his face alongside hers, murmuring into her ear, ‘Is it really so inconceivable that I might want to kiss you?’
‘Honestly?’ A small tremor seemed to run through her before she moved her head back to look him in the eyes again. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Nobody’s ever wanted to before.’
‘Only as far as you know.’
‘Well, yes, but...’ She drew her bottom lip into her mouth and sucked, unconsciously, he was certain, though the gesture struck him as intensely sensual. ‘Just one kiss?’
‘Just one and we’ll stop whenever you want. We don’t even have to talk about it afterwards. We can talk about something else entirely. The East India Company in China, for example. Personally I consider their behaviour reprehensible, but Peel and his government seem deter—’
‘Cassius?’
‘Yes?’
‘I think I’d prefer not to talk about the Prime Minister right now.’
‘As you wish. I’m a Whig myself...’
‘Cassius?’
‘Yes?’
‘You can kiss me. Just once...’ her pupils seemed to swell as she spoke ‘...and just as an experiment.’
‘With pleasure.’
He lifted a hand to her cheek and drew her face gently, but steadily, towards him. Her eyes opened wide for a split second and then closed as his lips touched against hers, though she didn’t pull away as he’d half-expected she might. On the contrary, she swayed closer, actually increasing the pressure of the kiss as she let out a small, barely distinguishable sigh. The sound seemed to warm his insides, heating his blood and making his heart skip a beat and then start to pump at twice its usual speed. Her lips were just as kissable as they’d appeared, velvety smooth and tasting of hot, sweet tea. Perfectly delicious, in fact. He slid his tongue between them, stroking the inside of her mouth, also delicious, then brought his other hand up to slide through the soft red waves of her hair.
She reached for his shoulders and a bolt of desire, startling in its intensity, shot through him with the force of a bullet. Damn it. He let his hand fall from her hair. This was a mistake. So much for one utterly harmless kiss. With this woman, he had a feeling that one kiss would never be anywhere near enough. He wanted more, much more, several hours’ worth of more, in fact. Which meant that he had to stop now before all the blood rushed to the lower half of his body and he lost the ability to make rational decisions.
He broke away, clearing his throat to disguise the ragged sound of his breathing.
‘Well...’ He picked up his cup and drained the contents in a few short gulps, doing his best to adopt a suitably detached expression. ‘I think, as experiments go, that was quite satisfactory.’
‘Ye—es.’ Her own breath emerged in shallow gasps as she looked at him dazedly for a few moments and then seemed to come back to herself, wrenching her hands away from his shoulders. ‘It was...illuminating.’
‘Good.’ Apparently his throat needed clearing a second time. ‘Then I hope it helps you come to a decision.’
‘A decision?’ She looked confused. ‘Oh, you mean about Gilbert. Yes, perhaps I’ve misjudged him, after all.’
‘What?’
‘Well, as you say, the experiment was quite satisfactory. Perhaps kissing him won’t be such a problem.’
‘But that wasn’t the point!’
‘Yes, it was. We were trying to establish if I liked kissing in principle.’
Cassius rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling unreasonably offended. Had they been trying to establish that? Now that he thought of it, he’d said something similar. Only he’d been so intent upon kissing her that perhaps he hadn’t thought the idea through...
‘Well, yes, I suppose. Or at least I was trying to prove that kissing can, should, be pleasurable, but kissing one person isn’t the same as kissing another.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because everyone is different.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell me that before?’ Her tone was accusing. ‘You said that kissing you would help me to imagine kissing Gilbert!’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes!’ She blinked. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘I’m not entirely sure I remember.’ He clamped his brows together. ‘Perhaps you should try imagining it now?’
‘I can’t right now! It wouldn’t be right.’
‘No, perhaps not. Here.’ He picked up her cup of tea and handed it to her. What was it his aunt had always said? Nothing like a cup of tea in a crisis. And if this wasn’t a crisis he didn’t know what was. ‘Drink up before it gets cold.’
‘Thank you.’ She took a few sips, watching him warily out of the corner of her eye before putting the cup down again and standing up. ‘I ought to get back to bed. It’s very late.’
‘Of course.’ He stood up, too, making a small, awkward bow. ‘I hope that you sleep well, Miss Fairclough. I apologise for the misunderstanding.’
‘Not at all.’ She seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. ‘It was my fault, too. Perhaps we should just forget it ever happened?’
‘Consider it done.’
‘Thank you.’ She started towards the door and then stopped, half-twisting her face back towards him. ‘When you say it would be different with Gilbert, how different exactly do you mean?’
‘Well...’ He felt an unmistakable pang of jealousy. ‘I suppose that depends on how much you feel like polishing some brass right now.’
‘Oh... I see. Well, goodnight then, Mr Whitlock. I hope that you don’t have any more bad dreams.’
Cassius waited until the parlour door had closed shut behind her before dropping into his armchair. No matter how bad they’d been before, he had a feeling his dreams for the rest of the night were going to tell a whole different story.
Chapter Five
Millie crept through the hall on tiptoe, tensing as she lifted the latch of the front door and then lowered it with a soft click behind her. The sun was just coming up over the treetops and in the early hush of dawn even that tiny sound seemed too loud. Pulling her cloak tighter around her, she hurried through the gates that stood next to the house and out on to the road, relieved to be away from the scene of her disgrace. Thankfully the snow had stopped some time during the night and the village was only a mile down the road, or so Cassius had told her when she’d first appeared on his doorstep. Now she just had to hurry before he woke up and came after her.
Would he come after her? She glanced nervously back over her shoulder, a wave of heat washing through her body at the thought. He’d been fast asleep in his armchair when she’d crept into the parlour to retrieve her cloak, but she was afraid it was something he might do if he woke up and found her gone. He’d said that his conscience wouldn’t be easy until he’d escorted her to her door, but the thought of seeing him again made her feel mortified. After the scandalous way she’d behaved, she doubted she’d be able to look him or any other man in the face ever again. She hadn’t even dared look at herself in the bedroom mirror that morning.
She was a scarlet woman! Or if not completely scarlet, then definitely pink. Salmon-coloured maybe. She’d kissed a man, a man she’d only just met! A man with hypnotic blue eyes that had seemed to peer into her very soul and whose lips had unleashed a torrent of new and extraordinary responses in her body, each more shocking than the last. For a few wicked seconds she’d surrendered completely to a feeling of light-headed, breath-stealing, almost painfully intense pleasure. And why? Because for one brief moment curiosity had got the better of her. Because she’d liked him and the way he’d talked to her as if she really were intriguing. But mostly because she’d wanted to know how it would feel to be kissed.
Well, she’d certainly achieved that. She hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep afterwards, her whole body wide awake and tingling all over. Now the problem was going to be trying to forget it.
She shook her head, determinedly attempting to displace the memory. She wouldn’t think of him or his lips or eyes, hypnotic or otherwise, ever again. She wouldn’t think of him at all. She only hoped that he wasn’t invited to any of the festive events her cousin had planned...
Her steps faltered at the sight of a young woman, bundled up in a woollen shawl, trudging towards her from the direction of the village.
‘Good morning.’ Millie nodded her head as she passed, doing her best impression of a woman out for an entirely plausible jaunt in the snow.
‘Morning, miss.’ The woman’s gaze darted quickly to her face and then away again.
Seized with an even greater sense of trepidation, Millie pulled her bonnet forward and increased her pace, making her way as quickly as her impractical evening gown would allow through the snowdrifts. Fortunately, she didn’t meet anyone else before she reached her cousin’s red-brick manor on the outskirts of the village.
‘Millie!’ Lilian Fairclough came flying out of the drawing room, flinging her arms around her the moment she entered the front door. ‘What on earth happened? Where have you been? We’ve been so worried.’
‘You have?’ Millie looked at her mother in surprise. She’d taken the absence of search parties on her way as a good sign.
‘Well...yes.’ Her mother looked shame-faced. ‘Or at least we have been since five minutes ago when I came down to breakfast and Alexandra asked me how you’d been on the journey home. I had no idea you’d stayed to wait for me.’
‘It didn’t occur to me to mention it last night.’ Alexandra came to stand behind her mother. ‘I just assumed that you’d gone straight to bed.’
‘I thought that might happen...’ Millie kissed her mother’s cheek reassuringly ‘...but it’s all right. I’m here now.’
‘Did Lady Fentree send you home in her carriage?’ Alexandra peered out of the window. ‘Has it left again already?’
‘No. I walked back.’
‘She let you walk? In this weather?’
‘Actually she doesn’t know anything about it. I was out in the garden when I heard the last carriage leave and I thought it would be pleasant to make my own way home, although in retrospect I suppose that was somewhat foolish of me.’
‘But surely you haven’t been out in these temperatures all night?’ Her mother looked horrified.
‘No, I came to a house and the owner gave me shelter.’ She made a show of removing her outer garments, horribly aware of her cheeks reddening. ‘Is breakfast still out? I’m famished.’
‘You can have all the bacon and eggs you want.’ Alexandra took hold of one arm while her mother took hold of the other, leading her through to the dining room. ‘We’re just so relieved that you’re all right.’
‘Ah, there she is!’ George Malverly waved a fork from one end of an oval-shaped mahogany table. ‘Didn’t I tell you she’d show up in her own good time? She’s resourceful, this one.’
‘I appreciate your confidence.’ Millie took a seat beside him with a smile. Alexandra’s husband was a good twenty years older than his wife, but their marriage had been, and remained, a love match. At seventy years old, his figure was becoming increasingly portly and his nose a somewhat startling shade of red, but the roguish glint in his eye never failed to make her laugh.
‘Been out for a morning’s perambulation, eh?’ He nudged her arm across the corner of the table. ‘Good for the complexion, I should imagine.’
‘Fresh air is good for the complexion, George.’ Alexandra sat down opposite. ‘A snowstorm is dangerous.’
‘What? Oh, yes, quite right, but she’s here now and looking as fit as a fresh-faced fiddle. No damage done, I’d say.’
‘Where was it you found shelter, dear?’ Her mother sat down beside Alexandra.
‘Just a house on the road. Could you pass me the toast, please?’
‘Well, that certainly narrows it down.’ Her mother exc
hanged a glance with her cousin. ‘It’s mostly woodland between here and the Fentrees, isn’t it?’
‘Nearly the whole way.’
‘Where’s the butter?’
‘There’s only one house I can think of and that’s empty.’
‘I think I’d like marmalade this morning...’
‘Who was it that sheltered you, dear?’
‘Oh, I meant jam. Strawberry preserve if you have any?’
‘Millie?’ Her mother lifted an eyebrow. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you’re being rather evasive.’
‘Am I?’ She smeared butter on to a piece of toast and then put the knife down, acutely aware of two pairs of eyes watching her like constables across the table. ‘Oh, very well. It was a gatehouse. There was a drive leading somewhere, but I couldn’t see any other buildings close by.’
‘It must have been the one belonging to Falconmore Hall.’ Alexandra looked surprised. ‘The drive’s a good two miles long, but I didn’t think anyone lived in the gatehouse any more.’
‘They don’t.’ George speared his fork into a piece of kipper. ‘Not for the past two years.’
‘Well, there was someone there last night.’
‘Yes, but who?’
‘Who?’ Millie took a deep breath, scooped up some strawberry jam and dolloped it on to her bread. ‘I believe he said he was the estate manager.’
‘A man?’ Alexandra pressed a hand to her mouth with a look of horror.
‘An estate manager?’ George looked thoughtful. ‘Falconmore must have hired somebody new. Seems odd when Linton’s been doing the job perfectly well for fifteen years, but there you go. New man, new ideas, I suppose.’
‘What do you mean?’ Millie paused with the toast halfway to her lips.
‘Oh, the former Marquess died just about a year ago. Tried jumping a fence he shouldn’t have, poor fellow. I suppose the new Lord Falconmore thinks it’s time for some changes.’
‘George!’ Alexandra interrupted her husband sternly. ‘Falconmore’s staffing situation is irrelevant. Millie spent the night alone in a house with a man!’
‘Did she, by Jove?’
Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess Page 5
