Kiss Me Again

by Cecilia Gray

  “Now that both you and Mr. Crawford have danced with Charlotte, she is the hit of the ball. Look, there! A line of admirers keeps her from fetching her own refreshment!”

  A low headache burned at his temples. Bridget was right. A group of young men was fighting for the honor of bringing Lottie a drink that she did not even appear to want, and despite her protests, they kept insisting. Didn’t they know that if she said she didn’t want a damned drink, she was being sincere?

  Could she truly not want to marry him?

  He panicked at the thought.

  “You are simply the best, Lord Savage,” Bridget said in her typical dramatic fashion. “I know you to be a good friend to my husband, but to extend that friendship to Charlotte by lending your support is above and beyond. I imagine—Oh, you look unwell. Is it the champagne again? Drat, I will check on it immediately.”

  Damon watched as Charlotte finally managed to escape the ballroom, although her new admirers flocked to her side as she went to enjoy the outdoor portion of the festivities.

  He realized his error immediately. Charlotte had been his asset to make matches for her sisters. Now he needed an entirely new asset to make Charlotte his own.

  Charlotte likened these boys to flies on a cow’s hide. They would not leave her alone and she had been forced to seek refuge outside, where only half had the tenacity to follow. Was this how Sera had felt her entire life? A nuisance was what it was. She also recognized them for the mindless herd they were. While a dance with Reece Crawford might not have been enough to drum up interest in her, a waltz with Lord Savage had certainly done the trick. What had he been thinking? He rarely danced. She supposed she had driven him to drastic measures in forcing a conversation after refusing his ridiculous suit. And claiming he had wanted to marry her from the start? Balderdash.

  “Miss Charlotte, you are looking for me, I hope?”

  She’d been so angry thinking of Damon that she had stalked right past poor Reece, who had been waiting patiently for her arrival by the refreshments tent abutting the archery field, where a line of archers were setting up their targets. Reece looked uncertainly at her new ring of admirers.

  She supposed she was going to have to be the one to deal with them. After promises of later dances and accompaniment in the hunt, she was finally left alone to accept Reece’s offer of lemonade in a cool tin cup, and his arm, as they began a stroll around the pond.

  “This is very refreshing,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Your sister adds fresh herbs to the mix. It livens up the taste.”

  Good Lord, they were going to have a conversation about lemonade. She had to put a stop to this. “Did you come directly from Leeds, Mr. Crawford?”

  “I have the pleasure of spending the summer with my brother in London this year. It is my first time in the city, and I welcome any advice. How do you spend your summers?”

  She couldn’t very well say that she plotted with Damon to marry her sisters to English gentlemen. It just wasn’t the sort of thing one said in polite company. Or any company other than Damon’s. “I enjoy riding,” she said. “Do you ride?”

  “Not very well,” he confessed. “I’m always worried for the horses.”

  “But they appreciate a strong hand.”

  “You ride very well, Miss Charlotte.”

  She glanced sharply at him.

  “I saw you once,” he explained. “At my brother’s wedding.”

  She could not recall him there at all. In her defense, Robert had an inordinately large family. She was sure Robert himself could not remember the names of all his brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. Even Dinah could not name them all.

  “I ride well enough to stay upright,” she said modestly, though what she’d wanted to say was that she was more competent than most men. Damon had said so, and he wasn’t one to toss out idle compliments, particularly when horses were involved.

  There was a brief moment of silence. Was she supposed to say something charming and witty? It had been so long since she’d had a suitor that it was as if she’d forgotten all the rituals.

  “Mr. Crawford, how do you plan to divert yourself in London?”

  “It is such a diverting city, isn’t it? I’ve never seen such a place. The musicales, the museums. All excellent. You will have to tell me of your favorite places.”

  Her face flushed. She had a favorite place, but good Lord, she could not tell him of it. She’d only been on one occasion, with Damon, and truth be told she had snuck in. Although he would take her again if she asked, she was sure of it.

  That was always the thing about Damon. No lectures about how ill advised something was. No protests. No shock at her desires. Drat, was he right? Would he be a good husband for her on that merit alone? But no, it was not enough. It would not be enough.

  But clearly neither was love. Because Reece was looking at her with such admiration—and not just admiration, with a kind of adoration that would bloom into love. But it would not be enough to fool her heart.

  “Miss Charlotte?” he repeated. “Have I lost you to far more entertaining musings?”

  “Oh, not at all,” she said, laying a hand on his forearm. “I was merely considering your question about my favorite spots in London.”

  “You must share your list the moment you have it set in your mind.”

  That, she knew, would be completely impossible since at the very top of that list was Damon’s notorious gambling den, the Stakes.

  “Oh, you know, the usual diversions,” she said.

  She blushed at the memories of her favorite diversion—and more specifically, his mouth. Damon was not above using her obsession with his kisses against her, had even confessed to it the night they’d met. And there had been one other night just a year later, at Woodbury, when she’d felt his kiss once more.

  Chapter Four

  February, four years ago

  Woodbury, England

  Charlotte bolted upright in bed. Something or someone had shaken her, and while the moon allowed a sliver of light through her window, her bedroom was shrouded in shadow. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she gasped, making out a tall figure at her bedside.

  A hand clapped over her mouth before she could scream, the fingers warm. She relaxed, recognizing Damon. Something about his hands, his scent, the way he held himself—it was all familiar to her despite their brief acquaintance.

  Seemingly reassured that she would not give him away, he dropped his hand and sat on the edge of her bed. His weight pulled the covers tight across her lap and caused them to slip down her chest.

  His gaze fell for a moment to the lace neckline of her nightgown, but quickly darted back up to her face. “We have a runaway bride.”

  “Sera? No, she can’t have.” She was out of bed in an instant, searching for her shawl in her wardrobe, the hardwood floor chilly beneath her bare feet.

  Damon was seeing her in a nightgown, with bare feet. He was the first man to do so, besides her father and the butler, she supposed—when she was nine, she’d had a nightmare about being pierced by antlers and had awakened screaming. The butler had been the first to come running. But those incidents were a far cry from this moment with Viscount Savage. Yes, they had shared many nighttime assignations before, but always in full dress. Until now.

  She was not self-conscious about her hair, which he’d seen unbound. But she was aware of the goose bumps puckering her skin. The tight, dense nature of her calves. How the nightgown stretched across the breadth of her backside. Even in the darkness, he must have noted these things. Noted how different she was from the women of his acquaintance. The lithe, lightfooted fairies who fluttered through ballrooms. Not like her—she always seemed to bump a hip or a shoulder into someone. The need to cover herself made her hurry.

  Damon followed close behind her as she scurried about her room, his voice a low murmur. “I saw your sister with my own eyes. She was outside, walking down the road toward the village
.”

  “Walking?” Charlotte squawked, dropping her shawl. “Well, it will take more than this shawl to retrieve her, then. Leave me. I need to dress.”

  “And where would you have me go? If you recall, I wasn’t exactly invited to this wedding.”

  “Well, you can’t—” Couldn’t what? Stay in this room while she dressed? Had they not already crossed all bounds of propriety when he’d approached her months ago and recruited her to this cause? “One moment, then.”

  To his credit, he turned away without needing to be asked and crossed his arms to wait. She chose a simple moss-colored dress with long sleeves and found a matching pelisse that she buttoned to the neck. “My hair,” she said, touching the curls. She could barely maintain it with the assistance of her lady’s maid.

  “Allow me.” He was behind her an instant, his hands gathering her hair atop her head. He reached for the pins from her dresser and slipped them through the strands. They stood closer to the window now, and she watched him in their reflection. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed. She blinked in surprise when his gaze rose and locked with hers.

  “You are very good at this.”

  “I am very practiced at it.”

  She forced a smile, although she did not like to feel as though she were like any other woman of his acquaintance. “I’m happy to know my hair is in good hands.”

  “My skill is a moot point. You have lovely hair.”

  She managed not to gasp at his words, although her lips parted. He had promised her something she had never imagined when he came to her months ago: complete and utter honesty in all things. Still, it always took her by surprise when he said what he was thinking.

  “Hair is what one compliments when there is nothing else to compliment.” Her sisters heard no end of compliments about their slim figures, beautiful smiles, and high cheekbones.

  “You shouldn’t underestimate the appeal of a lady’s hair, Lottie.” His hand brushed her neck. “Do you have any idea how many redheads I’ve bedded since last we met?”

  “Am I to speculate or is this a test of my mathematical acumen?” Would her heart ever stop pounding? “I could wake Dinah if you’d like us to perform a more complex analysis.”

  He smiled and dropped his hands. “Sera could not have gone far on foot.”

  His mind moved like lighting sometimes, a flash of one topic, a bolt of another, then nothing while she would stare and wait for a return to one or another. “She can’t have been in her right mind,” she said. “Maybe she is suffering from a sleep affliction. I have heard rumors of men who awake to find themselves in the kitchen, having enjoyed a full meal they cannot remember.”

  “I suppose such a medical explanation might account for it. I by no means could see her face, but her movements—the hesitation in them, even—pointed to no undue influence.”

  Sera? Run away? “I can’t believe she would run from her obligations to Tom.”

  “She has an example of a jilted Abernathy fiancé running from her already. Why should she not return the favor?”

  “She is not vengeful. And if she were determined to be, on foot seems the least sensible way. Our father is the world’s fastest man,” she said, referring to his parcel-shipment service. “It isn’t as though we need to resort to pedestrian modes of transportation.”

  She started for the door, but turned when she realized he had not followed. He stood by the window that she now realized was open, although her maid had definitely closed it before Charlotte had fallen asleep. No wonder the floor felt so chilled.

  “This way,” he said, gesturing downward and picking up a rope he must have rigged to her windowsill. “It will be more discreet.”

  “And more dangerous,” she murmured.

  “If you would prefer we risk the servants hearing, then—”

  “No.” The rapid beating of her heart, the quickening of her breath, the utter excitement of being alive—these were why she had agreed to this madness. “I am happy to use the rope.”

  It wasn’t as if she was inexperienced at climbing out of windows. Descending along the wall of the house was not at all difficult, and she was happy to have chosen a dress that allowed her to maneuver. Damon had also placed knots along the rope on which to rest the feet and give additional traction for the hands. Still, her shoulder muscles trembled with the effort of holding herself up.

  Her palms were stinging by the time she reached the ground. She looked down at them, finding a blistered rash from the rope. He took her hands, rubbing the skin.

  She winced.

  “My pardon.” He brought her hand to his face. With a leisurely pace that made her think she was imagining it, he extended his tongue, and laved her palm with it in one long, slow lick. Then he pursed his lips to blow cool air over the wound.

  While he may have had the intention of soothing the burn, he had inadvertently set every inch of her skin afire. “I am well.” She pulled her hand away, her voice raspy.

  He took her at her word. In fact, he seemed barely to give his intimacy a second thought. “Excellent. My horse is nearby.”

  Now that the fog of sleep—and of being near Damon—was fading, her mind began to tick with possible motivations for Sera’s actions. Perhaps she merely meant to clear her head. The anticipation of the wedding must have been overwhelming for her. Surely if she truly meant to run, she would have used a hired conveyance or at least enlisted one of her sisters to help.

  Or Damon could have been mistaken. It could have been someone else. A servant on the way to an illicit assignation or perhaps even Sera’s maid, if she had taken the liberty of borrowing Sera’s cloak.

  “We ride together. No time for sidesaddle. Do you agree?”

  “Of course,” she said. When she was with Damon, she felt she could do anything. They operated with the authority of the Crown, and it gave her a confidence to do the things she otherwise ought not. She hiked up her skirt to her thighs, thrilling in the feel of the strong horse beneath her.

  Damon leaped up behind her and belted her waist with his left arm, his chest flush with her back. She fought for nonchalance.

  “Hold tight, Lottie.” He fisted the reins in his right hand.

  With that, they were off, the weight of him pressing her against the steed’s neck as its galloping legs chewed the ground beneath them. The wind rushed against her face, and she clutched at the pommel. Damon’s thighs squeezed around her, his arm holding her upright.

  The galloping stallion should have felt beyond dangerous, especially on uneven ground with only the moon to light their way, but Damon wielded the reins with utter control. The same way she imagined he controlled all aspects of his life. While she was merely a passenger, her legs quivered at the effort of holding still, and an unladylike sheen beaded on her forehead.

  He pulled back on the reins as the road gave way to a small village with gravel paths. The stallion’s hooves crunched against them as they slowed to a walk. “She could be anywhere,” he said, his breath caressing her ear.

  “She only knows the local tavern,” Charlotte said. “We stayed there once, before the arrangements between our families were made.”

  He maneuvered the horse toward the establishment and stopped in a dark, empty alley. With quick movements, he dismounted and tied up his stallion, murmuring comforting words to it as Charlotte slid her way down its ribs. Her knees were weak, but she held firm. They approached the tavern together, heading straight in, when suddenly, Sera came marching out.

  And then Christian Hughes, the famed pugilist and one of the wedding guests, quickly followed her.

  Charlotte froze. They would see one another. And then what? There would be so many questions, so much scandal. Damon wasn’t even supposed to be in the neighborhood. They would—

  Damon grabbed her waist and spun her around. She felt the brick exterior of a building at her back, Damon in front of her. He covered her body from view and his head swooped down. His lips claimed hers in a lon
g, savoring kiss. She was too shocked at first to appreciate her situation or his intentions, but soon she closed her eyes and melted against the wall.

  One of his hands threaded through her hair as he laid his other palm flat along her neckline. He tilted his head and she sighed. His mouth moved to suck on her lower lip. Her eyes widened, but he deepened the kiss and she had to clutch the lapels of his coat.

  She vaguely heard a squeal, and he pulled his head away to glance behind them toward the road. Christian had thrown Sera over his shoulder and was carrying her away. It was enough to snap her out of the hazy fog of desire.

  “He’s kidnapped her!” she said, starting forward.

  Damon held her still, and when she glanced up at him, she saw a wary expression, as if he was afraid of what she might do.

  “We need to rescue her,” Charlotte implored.

  “I think he is rescuing her,” Damon said. “Christian is staying at this tavern and must have discovered Miss Sera attempting her escape. He’ll see her safely returned.”

  Charlotte wasn’t so sure, but a moment later, Christian’s coach emerged from the innyard, both of them within and sitting on opposite sides. “She wasn’t running away,” Charlotte said. “I know it. It was something else. Let me go!”

  He glanced down in surprise, as if just now noticing that his body held her trapped against the wall in a thoroughly compromising position.

  “I suppose this is where I should apologize for the kiss,” he said. “But when you agreed to become an asset for the Crown, that included all the work entailed therein.”

  “I did not ask for, nor do I need, an apology,” she said. “You were quick to keep us from discovery. Know that, should you not have my consent, it will become very apparent.”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “Come. Let’s set you back to rights.”

  She followed him, but secretly, she was not so sure she would ever be in her right mind again.

  Chapter Five

  Belle birthday crush