Quinton reminded himself to have a talk with his coachman later, but was not sure whether to upbraid him for his poor driving or thank him. Landing atop Lisette Hamilton seemed to be a continuing test of his principles and willpower. It was also heavenly.
Neither of them moved. Nor uttered a single sound. In fact, they barely breathed at all. Their gazes were drawn to each other and they could not look away. The swaying of the carriage rocked them back and forth in a hypnotizing motion. Time hung suspended between them once again. Temptation and desire warred with the consequences and the consciences within their beings.
But this time, Quinton felt his resolve slipping away . . . He was so close. The wild beating of her heart pounded in his ears as he watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest under her velvet cloak. The allure of her lips, the force of her own longing reflected in her sultry eyes, and the feel of her warm body beneath his were more than a man could bear. Within the privacy of the carriage, Quinton could easily kiss Lisette to his heart’s content with no one there to see. No one would ever know. Every inch of his being cried out for her. Wanted her. Needed her. Longed to possess her.
Looking into her deep green eyes, now heavy-lidded with desire, he knew she felt the same way. Which did nothing to cool his ardor.
Logic told him to remove himself with all haste and put a respectable distance between them, all while begging Lisette’s forgiveness. But at that moment logic and good sense had no place in his mind. Or in his body.
On the edge of a steep precipice, he let loose an anguished growl before he took her mouth in a ravenous kiss. Lisette kissed him back just as hungrily, her arms reaching up around his neck, pulling him to her. The satisfied little sigh that escaped her parted lips before he touched them excited him beyond measure. He could not get enough of her luscious mouth. In an instant they were locked in a passionate embrace. Heat flared between them as their mouths and tongues devoured each other. Their kisses increased in intensity, consuming them, fueled by a forbidden desire and the need to take what they could while they could.
In spite of the heavy cloaks and gloves they both wore, he pulled her tightly against him, settling himself quite firmly between her legs. She sighed, most unmistakably, with pleasure and it almost undid him. Breaking their kiss, he reached his hands around and pulled his gloves off, and with greater haste removed his coat, flinging it to the floor. His eyes on her, he lifted her hands and gently began to remove her gloves. One by one he slowly released her fingers from their leather coverings. The feel of her silken hands, warm and soft, intertwining with his, took his breath away. He undid the clasp of her cloak, opening the front. He lowered his head and captured her mouth in another kiss.
So lovely was she, that he could drown in her scent and softness without a moment’s hesitation. Then his hand slid down with deliberate intent to cover her breast. Even through the layers of clothing he could imagine the feel of her, and he squeezed her with unbridled need. Her back arched at his rough caress, and her fingers splayed in the hair at the back of his neck.
God, how he desired her! Never had he wanted any woman the way he wanted Lisette Hamilton. There was something about her that drew him to her. His desire to remove her cumbersome clothing, to feel her naked skin against his own and to possess her body completely and thoroughly, threatened to overwhelm him.
“Lisette, Lisette,” he murmured, kissing her soft cheeks, the curve of her neck.
With a trembling hand, he raised up the skirts of her gown bit by bit, caressing the length of her stocking-clad thigh. Again, Lisette sighed at his intimate touch, melting into him, arching against him. She clung to him, her mouth pressed hungrily against his. Her bare hands wound around his neck, weaving through his hair. Her response thrilled him. She did not protest his advances, and in fact seemed to welcome them. Rock hard with need for her, he realized he could take her right then and there in his carriage.
That terrified him.
Alarm bells rang in his head. This was far too dangerous. The consequences were monumental.
Uttering a strangled cry, he broke away from their embrace, and an anguished sob tore from her throat. He maneuvered to a sitting position and pulled her up so she was cradled in his lap, then he wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head against his chest, and he stroked her back as they both regained their normal breathing.
Christ. How did she do this to him? How had it come to him almost taking her in a moving carriage? He should be ashamed of himself.
“Lisette,” he whispered low in her ear. And a pretty, delicate ear it was, too.
“What are we doing?” she asked softly.
There was a wealth of emotion in her question, and his heart longed to give her the answer that his head would not allow him to give. He said simply, “I wish I knew.”
“We promised this was not going to happen again.”
“Yes we did.”
“I’ve never . . .” Her voice was as soft as rose petals.
“I’ve never been kissed like that before.”
A thrill of pride and possessiveness welled within him at her sweet confession. He did not want to think of anyone kissing Lisette the way he just had. Ever. He also had to wonder what was wrong with old Henry that he hadn’t kissed his beautiful fiancée that way after so many years together.
Then it struck him. Quinton had never even kissed his own fiancée that way. Lady Emmeline did not inspire within him the desire to kiss her. He doubted that she ever would.
But Lisette did.
And he held her in his arms most lovingly. If Lisette were his fiancée, he would have married her already because he wouldn’t have been able to wait any longer with only her kisses to sustain him.
He lowered his head and kissed her again, his mouth covering hers in a swift and sure motion. She clung to him, her lips hot on his. Before drowning within her completely once again, he pulled back.
“You mean he has never kissed you like that?” he asked, intent on knowing that he was the only one who had elicited such passion in her. He knew it, but he wanted to hear her say it.
With a slow movement she shook her head. “Never.”
He asked low, “Do you like when I kiss you that way?”
She met his steady gaze without blinking, without wavering. “Yes.”
The passionate look in her eyes almost undid him then and there. If he had her in his bed right now and not a carriage, he would make love to her for days and days on end. His thoughts bordered on the torturous. He had to stop.
“Oh, what are we doing?” she asked again in a distraught whisper.
What the hell were they doing? He was not sure what she wanted him to say. Did she expect him to declare his love for her? Did she want him to renounce his engagement to Emmeline and marry her instead? He expected that was what a woman wanted after kissing a man in such a way. To be married. Lisette was not a girl to be trifled with, and he knew that, in spite of his careless handling of her just now. She was worthy of more than he could offer, for he could not marry her.
She wanted an answer. She deserved a decent answer and he had none to give.
“Do you have feelings for me?” Lisette bit her lip in nervousness.
“Yes.”
The answer sprang from his mouth before he could consider his options because he simply could not lie to her. He had feelings for Lisette that he didn’t even know existed before this. Feelings that left him shaking with desire for wanting her. Feelings that woke him in the middle of the night and occupied his mind all during the day. She was all he thought about, dreamed about. Hell yes, he had feelings for her. He was consumed by his feelings for her. She was in his carriage right now because he could not control his feelings for her.
Quinton pressed a gentle kiss on the silky curve of her cheek. “Do you have feelings for me, Lisette?”
Again, the honesty in her green eyes, cloaked in the shadows of the carriage, astonished him. She did not flinch away, did not look ashamed. “
I couldn’t allow you to kiss me like this if I didn’t.”
He knew that. And that was what had troubled him. Lisette was not a light skirt. She hadn’t even kissed her fiancé properly after all those years, and Quinton had no right to be kissing her now. Because they were both promised to others, the two of them had entered very, very dangerous territory.
But then again hadn’t they entered it over a week ago in Brighton? Hadn’t they rushed headf irst into it when they had kissed so passionately on the beach?
“Oh, my Lisette.” He sighed her name, pressing kisses into her hair. He continued to hold her in his arms, her head resting against his chest, breathing in the sweet scent of her, marveling at the softness and perfection of her body next to his.
Night fell and he could barely make out the delicate features of her face in the dimness. Neither said another word until they reached her home, and the carriage finally came to a stop.
Before he released her, Quinton kissed her cheek again, afraid that kissing her on the lips would only ignite another passionate embrace that would be too painful to end. He was loath to let her go. He whispered her name in her ear once again.
“Don’t follow me out,” she murmured thickly. “Just go.”
She squeezed his hand tightly before she removed herself from his lap, and the sudden loss of her warmth chilled him. She gathered her gloves and things together, straightening her skirts and neatening her appearance as best she could. He, too, donned his coat, gloves, and hat. In spite of her protests, he leapt from the carriage and helped her down. It was the least he could do, and it gave him a few more seconds with her. He held her a moment longer than he should, wanting to keep her with him.
“Thank you for taking me home,” she said. “I had a lovely afternoon.”
“I did, too. And you are most welcome.”
“Good night, Mr. Roxbury.”
“Good night, Miss Hamilton.”
After one last longing glance at him, Lisette hurried up the steps and into the house. He stood there for a moment, watching where she had just been a moment before. He wanted nothing more than to drive off with her in his carriage and keep her with him forever.
If only it were that simple.
20
See the Blazing Yule Before Us
“Where have you been?” Paulette demanded as Lisette walked through the front door of Devon House. Paulette’s hands were on her hips in indignation, the scowl on her face indicating her annoyance. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I’m sorry. I lost track of time,” Lisette mumbled, wondering if her disheveled appearance revealed what she had been doing in Quinton Roxbury’s carriage. Luckily her hood covered her tousled hair. She still trembled from his kisses and all they had said to each other.
It was such a dreadful mess.
If she could just get to her room and have some time to collect herself before facing her sisters, it would be better. Maybe she would declare a headache and stay in her room. Yes, that might be best. She truly did not have the energy for Paulette’s questions. And Juliette. Juliette’s keen eyes would be sure to see the torment in Lisette’s expression.
“Mother’s here. She arrived hours ago,” Paulette continued. “We’ve been waiting for you all afternoon. Why you would be out on such a night in this terrible weather, I’ve no idea—Lisette? What is the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Lisette said without stopping.
“I have a terrible headache.” She hurried up the staircase and fled to her bedroom.
Her mother! Good heavens! The last person she needed to confront right now was her mother. The woman who had practically thrown her at Quinton Roxbury’s feet! This untenable situation was entirely her mother’s fault! If she had not suggested they walk on the beach, she and Quinton would not have kissed. If she had not invited him to supper, they would not have continued talking and getting to know one another. If her mother had not angered her, she would not have stormed out that day in Brighton and run into Quinton at the curio shop and Quinton’s friends would not have seen them almost kissing and would not have told Emmeline Tarleton.
And she would not have gotten in his carriage this evening.
Would she?
Once in the relative haven of privacy in her bedroom, Lisette flung off her cape, leaving it in a careless heap on the floor. She hurried to the cheval glass mirror in the corner near her cherrywood dressing table. Taking stock of her reflection, she thanked heaven above that her sisters had not seen her. Her hair had come loose from its pins and her auburn locks hung past her shoulders. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks still red. There was a bit of tenderness on her cheeks from rubbing against Quinton’s stubble.
She looked like a well-kissed woman.
Although Paulette and Yvette would not suspect anything, as married women Colette and Juliette certainly would. And perhaps even her mother.
She ran a hand through her long hair, removing the last of the pins. The taste of Quinton Roxbury remained on her lips, and she could smell his scent on her. She breathed deeply and sighed, wishing she were still in his arms.
Staring at herself, she wondered what it was about her that attracted Quinton Roxbury. Or attracted Henry Brooks for that matter. What was it that aroused the passion in one man yet not in another? What kept Henry from kissing her all these years, and what prompted Quinton, in a matter of days, to kiss her within an inch of her life? Was it the way she looked? Was it the way she acted? Why had she allowed Quinton Roxbury, a man she barely knew, to take such liberties with her person when she had never allowed Henry Brooks any? Quinton had had his hands on her breasts. He had been lifting her skirt before he stopped.
And she had not wanted him to stop. She had forgotten she was in a carriage. She had not cared that she was promised to another man. She had disregarded everything important in her life except his kisses . . . The soft, breathy kisses he placed along her neck that made her shiver. The warm, sweet kisses that made her heart flip over in her chest. The deep, ravenous kisses with swirling tongues that made her toes curl and made her long for more.
And God help her, she wanted more. She had wanted to remove her cloak, her gloves, her gown, everything. She longed to feel his heated skin naked and pressed tightly against hers. She ached for him to touch her in intimate ways too scandalous to give name to.
Trembling, she turned from the mirror and flung herself on her four-poster bed.
Oh, she knew what happened between a man and a woman. There had been a thick medical text in the bookshop that explained the act in great detail. A Complete Study of the Human Anatomy and All Its Functions, by Doctor T. Everett, had been hidden behind a shelf in the back room, and she had secretly read it when her father and her sisters were not around.
Knowing what she knew and knowing it should only be done between a husband and a wife had not stopped her from wanting to do such things with Quinton in his carriage earlier that evening!
The truth of her feelings shocked her to the core.
She had never thought about doing anything of the sort with Henry, the man she was supposed to marry. She knew she would have to eventually, of course, but she had not given the matter much attention at all. Now she could only imagine doing such things with Quinton, yet Henry was the man she should be thinking about doing those intimate acts with. Not a man engaged to another woman!
What was it about Quinton Roxbury that elicited such passion in her? Whereas with Henry she felt none of those feelings, even when she tried.
She lay there on her back for a long time. Thinking. Wondering. Deciding.
Slowly she removed herself from the bed and retrieved her reticule, which lay discarded on the floor beside her cloak. Reaching inside, she found the note from Henry. She had been nervous and angry when she read it earlier on the street with Quinton near her. Note in hand, she returned to lie upon her bed and read it more carefully this time.
Lisette,
A matter of great
urgency has arisen with an important client and I must travel to Portsmouth with all due haste to attend to things personally. I regret to inform you that I cannot meet you this afternoon as planned. I know you understand that you have my deepest apologies. I shall return within a day or two.
Yours,
Henry Brooks
Lisette stared at the words from her fiancé, the man who was supposed to love her. There was not a word of affection within the lines. The note was efficient and businesslike, as Henry always was. One would never guess from reading it that they were meeting to have her engagement ring fitted properly. Or that they were close in any way. He could have been her solicitor and nothing more.
She had been so mortified in front of Quinton Roxbury to learn that Henry was not meeting her after all. And was ashamed by the enormous sense of relief that had consumed her at the same time. Quinton had wanted to meet him, but she had not wanted Henry to know about Quinton.
A knock on her bedroom door caused her to sit up. “Come in.”
“Good evening, ma petite!” her mother said, entering her room. Paulette trailed behind her. As Genevieve leaned on her gold-handled cane, which she used more for dramatic flair than out of actual necessity, she made her way across the room and sat on the end of the bed. “Que qu’il se passe, ma fille? What is the matter? Why have you not been to see me yet? What is it? Are you not feeling well?”
Lisette wondered at the highly unusual turn of events. Normally she was the one who comforted her mother when her mother felt unwell. “I’m fine, Mother. Just a touch of a headache.”
It Happened One Christmas Page 17
