He looked down at their joined hands, turning hers this way and that, seeing the contrast no doubt. His was large and tanned, his nails clean but short, leaving the very tips of his fingers exposed. Hers was small and slender, her skin creamy, her nails delicately rounded as was proper. Yet, when she looked at her hand covered by his, she felt anything but proper.
She tried to pull away, but he kept it and moved a step closer.
“I know a better way,” he murmured and before she knew his intention, he tilted up her chin and bent his head.
His mouth brushed hers in a very brief kiss. So brief, in fact, she almost didn’t get a sense that it had occurred at all. Almost.
However, she did get an impression of his lips. They were warm and softer than they appeared, but that was not to say they were soft. No, they were the perfect combination of softness while remaining firm. In addition, the flavor he left behind was intriguing. Not sweet like liquor or salty like toothpowder, but something in between, something . . . spicy. Pleasantly herbaceous, like a combination of pepper and rosemary with a mysterious flavor underneath that reminded her . . . of the first sip of steaming chocolate on a chilly morning. The flavor of it warmed her through. She licked her lips to be certain, but made the mistake of looking up at him.
He was staring at her lips, his brow furrowed.
The fireflies vanished from his eyes as his dark pupils expanded. The fingers that were curled beneath her chin spread out and stole around to the base of her neck. He lowered his head again, but this time he did not simply brush his lips over hers. Instead, he tasted her, flicking his tongue over the same path hers had taken.
A small, foreign sound purred in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Kissing Rathburn was wrong on so many levels. They weren’t truly engaged. In fact, they were acquaintances only through her brother. They could barely stand each other. The door to the study was closed—highly improper. Her parents or one of the servants could walk in any minute. She should be pushing him away, not encouraging him by parting her lips and allowing his tongue entrance. She should not curl her hands over his shoulders, or discover that there was no padding in his coat. And she most definitely should not be on the verge of leaning into him—
There was a knock at the door. They split apart with a sudden jump, but the sound had come from the hall. Someone was at the front of the house.
She looked at Rathburn, watching the buttons of his waistcoat move up and down as he caught his breath. When he looked away from the door and back to her, she could see the dampness of their kiss on his lips. Her kiss.
He grinned and waggled his brows as if they were two criminals who’d made a lucky escape. “Not quite as buttoned-up as I thought.” He licked his lips, ignoring her look of disapproval. “Mmm . . . jasmine tea. And sweet, too. I would have thought you’d prefer a more sedate China black with lemon. Then again, I never would have thought such a proper miss would have such a lush, tempting mouth either.”
She pressed her lips together to blot away the remains of their kiss. “Have you no shame? It’s bad enough that it happened. Must you speak of it?”
He chuckled and stroked the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip as his gaze dipped, again, to her mouth. “You’re right, of course. This will have to be our secret. After all, what would happen if my grandmother discovered that beneath a façade of modesty and decorum lived a warm-blooded temptress with the taste of sweet jasmine on her lips?”
An Excerpt from
FINDING MISS MCFARLAND
After a calamitous debut, Delaney McFarland is determined to find a husband—no matter what that proud, arrogant Griffin Croft thinks. Griffin usually avoids disaster and women who invite it. Yet with a fiery beauty like Miss McFarland, courting trouble is undoubtedly more fun than playing it safe.
“Do you have spies informing you on my whereabouts at all times or only for social gatherings?”
Miss McFarland followed Griffin for only a moment before she pursed those pink lips and smoothed the front of her cream gown, embroidered with rows of spring green ivy. “I do what I must to avoid being seen at the same function with you. Until recently, I imagined we shared this unspoken agreement,” she said.
“Rumormongers rarely remember innocent bystanders.”
She scoffed. “How nice for you.”
“Yes, and until recently, I was under the impression that I came and went of my own accord. That my decisions were mine alone. Instead, I learn that every choice I make falls beneath your scrutiny. Shall I quiz you on how I take my tea? Or if my valet prefers to tie my cravat into a barrel knot or horse collar?”
“I do not know, nor do I care, how you take your tea, Mr. Croft,” she said, and he clenched his teeth to keep from asking her to say it once more. “However, since I am somewhat of an expert on fashion, I’d say that the elegant fall of the mail coach knot you’re wearing this evening suits the structure of your face. The sapphire pin could make one imagine that your eyes are blue—”
“But you know differently.”
Her cheeks went pink before she drew in a breath and settled her hand over her middle. Before he could stop the thought, he wondered if she was experiencing the fluttering his sister had mentioned.
“You are determined to be disagreeable. I have made my attempts at civility, but now I am quite through with you. If you’ll excuse me . . .” She started forward to leave.
He blocked her path, unable to forget what he’d heard when he first arrived. “I cannot let you go without a dire warning for your own benefit.”
“If this is in regards to what you overheard when you were eavesdropping on a private matter, I won’t hear it.”
He doubted she would listen to him, even if he meant to warn her about a great hole in the earth directly in her path, but his conscience demanded he speak the words nonetheless. “Montwood is a desperate man, and you have put yourself in his power.”
Her eyes flashed. “That is where you are wrong. I am the one with the fortune, ergo, the one with the power.”
How little she knew of men. “And what of your reputation?”
Her laugh did little to amuse him. “What I have of my reputation will remain unscathed. After all, he is not interested in my person. He only needs my fortune. In addition, as a third son, he does not require an heir. Therefore, our living apart should not cause a problem with his family. And should he need companionship, he is free to do so elsewhere, as long as he’s discreet.”
“You sell yourself so easily, believing you’re worth nothing more than your father’s account ledger,” he growled, his temper getting the better of him. “If you were my sister, I’d lock you in a convent for the rest of your days.”
Miss McFarland stepped forward and pressed the tip of her manicured finger in between the buttons of his waistcoat. “I am not your sister, Mr. Croft. And thank the heavens for that gift too. I can barely stand to be in the same room with you. You make it impossible to breathe, let alone think. Neither my lungs nor my stomach recalls how to function. Not only that, but you cause this terrible crackling sensation beneath my skin, and it feels like I’m about to catch fire.” Her lips parted and her small bosom rose and fell with each breath. “I do believe I loathe you to the very core of your being, Mr. Croft.”
Somewhere between the first Mis-ter Croft and the last, he’d lost all sense.
Because in the very next moment, he gripped her shoulders, hauled her against him, and crushed his mouth to hers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
VIVIENNE LORRET loves romance novels, her pink laptop, her husband, and her two teenage sons (not necessarily in that order . . . but there are days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is the author of Avon Impulse’s “Tempting Mr. Weatherstone” and the Wallflower Wedding series. For more on her upcoming novels, visit her at www.vivlorret.net.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
BY VIVIENNE
LORRET
Winning Miss Wakefield
Daring Miss Danvers
“Tempting Mr. Weatherstone” in Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Daring Miss Danvers copyright © 2014 by Vivienne Lorret.
Excerpt from Finding Miss McFarland copyright © 2014 by Vivienne Lorret.
WINNING MISS WAKEFIELD. Copyright © 2014 by Vivienne Lorret. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JUNE 2014 ISBN: 9780062315762
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062315779
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Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series Page 22
