“I wasn’t going to!” she shouted. He half expected her to stomp her foot.
He scoffed, absently placing his hands on his hips.
She let out a low growl of frustration and closed the distance between them, her finger poking him in the chest.
Again.
“I was tempted, but I was not going to kiss him.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You licked your lips,” he stated accusingly.
She reared her head back, her expression fierce. “That is your evidence against my word?” She gave a humorless laugh and pulled her finger back. “People lick their lips all the time when they are about to speak.”
“Or, when they are about to kiss,” he added triumphantly.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before so I wouldn’t know!” she retorted hotly. “So if that is your only evidence against me—”
“You parted your lips next,” he interrupted.
She gave him the most irritated expression. “You just parted your lips as well, to speak!” she replied hotly.
He had to admit, his argument wasn’t gaining traction, not when she didn’t understand the mechanics. Individually, licking one’s lips and parting them was normal, but . . . in a kiss it was . . . telling. How did he explain that? Wasn’t this something a mother or a governess explained?
He was out of his element.
But he was also unwilling to give up. No. The gauntlet had been thrown and he wasn’t about to back down.
“You simply don’t understand,” he said.
“Clearly! Since I’m licking my lips and opening my mouth during this conversation and not once have you accused me of trying to kiss you!” she argued.
And damn it all, she had a point.
But what she didn’t know was that it was damned hard not to want to kiss her.
As if pushing the temptation further, she licked her lips.
And he had the stupidest, most ill-advised, and reckless impulse ever.
He tipped his head, quickly assessing the distance between them. It wasn’t much; she was nearly stepping on his toes. He met her gaze, then studied her features, resting his study on her full lips. After he’d looked his fill, he met her curious but not unaccepting expression.
He licked his lips.
She mirrored the movement, her lips parting just a fraction of in inch as she took in a shaky breath.
“I’m . . . that is . . .” she trailed off, swallowing. “Talking.”
“You indeed are,” he murmured softly, then lowered his head to trace the line of her cheek with the edge of his nose, inhaling deeply the faint and inviting fragrance of lavender.
She released a shaking breath. “Oh.”
“Still talking,” he whispered against her skin.
“That’s what . . .” She let out a tight breath, then breathed in again. “What happens when we open our . . . mouths?” she finished.
He reached up and traced the length of her arms with his fingers, tickling her skin softly till he reached her shoulders, then grasped them warmly, holding her in place.
He trailed several kisses from her cheek, along her jaw to the base of her neck. Her pulse pounded against his lips, her heart feverishly pumping. He smiled at the reaction she was experiencing from his attentions.
Though, truth be told, his heart was pounding just as fast.
His mind kept telling him that he was riding a dangerous line.
He kept telling his mind to shut up as he feathered kisses up her neck to the base of her ear. She tipped her neck just enough to grant him further access as she let out a soft sigh.
“You aren’t talking anymore,” he whispered into her ear, then nipped the earlobe teasingly.
“I . . .” she murmured, then didn’t finish.
He wasn’t ready yet; he wanted every coherent thought from her mind, he wanted to drive her so mad with need that she couldn’t whisper even one word.
He trailed his fingers along her shoulders, to the base of her neck and down the lines of her back as he kissed down to the hollow of her throat, lingering there as his tongue swirled against her skin.
“Anything else you wish to add to the conversation?” he asked, proud of himself that he was able to trail together any words at all. His body hummed with need.
When she didn’t answer, he knew he’d won.
But victory wasn’t complete, not without the prize.
He leaned back to meet her closed eyes. When they opened, they were unfocused and hungry.
He lowered his head.
She licked her lips.
He was a breath away.
She parted her mouth.
And he claimed the prize.
Her kiss was warm, untutored, and inviting all at once. Like a cool, refreshing lake in the middle of a hot summer day, the sensation was as electrifying as it was delightful. Her lips were soft, her scent intoxicating, and she willingly leaned into him with the smallest invitation from his hand on her back. He released her from the kiss, but only to tip his head in the other direction and claim her lips again. He wanted to taste her from every direction, in every way. Like taking a drink of cool water only to realize you were parched with thirst, one kiss wasn’t enough, two wouldn’t be enough. He drank her in, reminding himself that she was innocent, that she was learning to accept and return a kiss, when what he wanted to do was ravage her utterly.
He knew his control was wavering, and whatever honorable shred of his dignity remained gave him the strength to slow the kiss and end it.
Yet, as she opened her eyes, a sobering realization tickled the back of his mind.
Rather than simply collecting the prize of her kiss, he might have forfeited something more important.
His heart.
God save him.
Heathcliff was going to kill him.
Chapter Seventeen
Grace’s lips still tingled from Lord Sterling’s kiss more than half an hour after it happened. She still couldn’t quite fathom that it had occurred, or even how.
Well, she knew how. She wasn’t an idiot, but well . . . one moment he was arguing with her, the next moment she was melting in his arms.
Like a wanton woman.
Wasn’t she half in love with Lord Westhouse? How could she accept another’s attentions easily? Was she a strumpet in ladies clothing? How had she never even suspected such a nature lurking within!
Her mind kept spinning like the dancers in the middle of the room as she stayed rooted to her place beside Samantha.
Lord Sterling had returned her to Samantha’s side as soon as the kiss ended, not saying one word about it.
Damn the man.
As soon as she could think coherently, she was going to have plenty of words to say regarding it.
First of all, why?
He didn’t love her.
She was quite certain he didn’t even particularly like her, but he’d kissed her.
And it wasn’t an innocent-type kiss.
Granted, she wasn’t exactly an authority on the subject, but she was quite certain her assumption was correct.
It was a kiss that spoke of passion, desire, and all those other words she had heard but never experienced.
Till now.
It made her want more.
To experience it all.
Yes, if she needed any further confirmation, the last thought sealed the truth. Clearly she was a strumpet at heart. That was the only explanation.
Good Lord, what was she to do?
She’d studiously avoided glancing about the ballroom, half terrified to meet the gaze of either gentleman; rather she kept her gaze ahead as her mind continued to process all the mixed emotions of the evening. Lord Greywick had collected her for the first waltz shortly after she’d returned to Samantha’s side. The dance had progressed well enough, she hadn’t stepped on his toes more than twice, but she was too distracted to be much of a conversationalist.
When the waltz ended, she had remained in her place, and rema
ined there still, uncertain on how to continue. What did one do after experiencing a kiss like that?
“Are you well?” Samantha asked, breaking into her swirling thoughts.
Grace turned to her, nodding once. “Yes.”
Samantha tipped her chin. “You’re certain?” Her hazel eyes were concerned as she narrowed her gaze slightly.
Grace took a silent breath. “Yes. I’m merely . . . thoughtful,” she answered, staying as close to the truth as possible to keep from a lie, but still not revealing the entire truth.
“About?” Samantha inquired softly, her gaze shifting to the surrounding area as if making sure they didn’t have eavesdroppers on their private conversation.
As if there was any privacy to be had in a London ballroom.
Grace gave her head a slight shake, hoping that Samantha would drop the subject, at least till later.
“Very well,” Samantha remarked, but her tone indicated that she was simply biding her time till she’d ferret out the truth.
Grace didn’t begrudge her intrusion; rather, she practically welcomed it. If she ever needed any assistance in life, it was now. Though, Grace was not particularly sure if she would mention the kiss with Lord Sterling. Perhaps she would just ask some questions in generalities that would hopefully be enough.
The current dance ended and another took its place, all while Grace’s thoughts continued to pour through her like water. Who knew that a kiss could be so confusing?
She’d always assumed that a kiss would be telling, would indicate a decision, something that clarified.
Not something that utterly confounded her, made the situation even cloudier rather than bring it into focus.
Apparently, she had much more to learn about love other than just the tingling feeling.
And was a kiss an indication of love? She had always assumed it was, but that assumption was on its ear now since she was certain Lord Sterling didn’t love her.
And she was equally certain that she didn’t love him.
Attraction, however, was an entirely different story.
And again, she was back to square one, just as confused, without any progress toward an answer to even one of her millions of questions.
And the one person who could answer her inquiries was the very person she wasn’t exactly wanting to speak to, at least not yet.
But life didn’t wait till you were prepared, that she was certain of, and it was proven true once more as a familiar voice greeted Samantha from the other side of Grace.
“Lady Kilpatrick.”
Grace held her breath, her heart speeding faster like a horse galloping. She released the tense breath only to trade it for another, waiting for his address of her.
Or would he not?
Did she want him to?
Good Lord, would the questions never end?
It was then that she realized that rather than wait, she could take some initiative.
Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
She turned to face Lord Sterling, regarding him as coolly as she could with her face burning with a blush she couldn’t suppress.
Well, so be it.
“Miss Grace,” he greeted her politely.
As if they were having perfectly proper tea.
Not as if he’d kissed her senseless no more than an hour before.
Well, if he wasn’t going to act as if anything happened, she could follow suit. “Lord Sterling,” she replied coolly.
“Ah, perfect timing,” the viscount commented as he walked up to their small, somewhat tense party.
As if on cue, the strains of a waltz began, and to both her delight and her horror, Lord Sterling offered his hand for the dance.
She’d forgotten he’d already requested it through the viscount earlier.
And she was thrilled to accept the opportunity perhaps to ease a bit of her curiosity.
Trepidation replaced the horror at the knowledge that she’d surely step on his toes, probably more than she would have normally, simply because she would be under stress.
She accepted his hand, and swallowed her tension as they made their way to the center of the dance floor.
He placed his hand at the side of her waist; the warmth seeped through her, heating her very soul in a way she’d never experienced. It was different when Lord Westhouse held her in the frame of the waltz. Her whole body reacted to the heat of Lord Sterling’s hand, causing her already pounding heart to take flight.
She forced her reactions to the back of her mind as she held her chin high and placed her hand on his shoulder, and the other hand within his. Even through her glove his hand was warm, and so much larger than hers that it nearly swallowed it whole. And good Lord, the man was tall. She’d noticed it before, and again when he’d kissed her. But that kiss was so sudden that she hadn’t truly taken the time to consider any other nuances present. But now, she desperately needed a distraction and that was the perfect one. Her head was just to the height of his shoulder in such close proximity, but even in his height, he wasn’t slight. She’d always thought that tall men were merely more stretched out, so they were smaller, leaner in other ways.
Not so with Lord Sterling.
He was . . . oh, what was the word? Proportionate. Yes. And she was thrilled to have such a perfect distraction from the way he led her around the dance floor, keeping her mind occupied.
“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. They were a lovely color, bright and cheerful. How had she not noticed before?
Drat, she was losing her footing. She felt the telltale bump under her slipper that meant she had stepped halfway on his boot rather than the floor.
To his credit, he didn’t wince.
Not too much.
Grace found herself in the odd position of not knowing what to say. Speechlessness wasn’t a malady she suffered often, if ever. However, she was having a rather difficult time coming up with an answer to his comment.
“Oh?” was all she could reply, then kicked herself mentally for such a stupid answer.
“Yes. You’re usually rather . . . chatty.”
She blinked. Chatty? “Perhaps I have nothing to say,” she replied tersely.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Apparently believing me is not something you’re able to do this evening. I can’t imagine why,” she bit out, trying to keep her face from betraying her irritation.
He smirked, the cad! “You’re rather hard to believe when your words say one thing, and your actions say another.”
“I already told you—”
“Yes, and how did that end?” he interrupted, an arch to his brow.
She twisted her lips and glanced to the side. Drat! He had a point, miserable man that he was.
All her trepidation melted in the heat of her anger at the realization that the kiss had been given in order to make a point.
And she’d fallen for it.
Her nostrils flared; she could feel them as she breathed in the realization that she’d been taken in, fooled, and made a fool of in the process!
“How dare you—”
“Shhh, you’ll make a scene.” He gave his head a little shake and gave a meaningful glance around the ballroom.
Grace stepped on his toe, hard.
“That was on purpose,” he accused with a small grin, as if her efforts were merely amusing.
“I was making a point. Like you did earlier this evening.” She arched a brow, stiffening her spine.
His brow furrowed, and he regarded her as if studying a specimen. She wanted to do more than simply step on his foot. How dare he even pretend he didn’t fully understand!
“Do you think so little of my intelligence that you didn’t imagine I’d figure it out? You were simply pushing your point, and I conceded. You won. But I’m a fast learner, and I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Her face was hot with perturbation as she regarded him, daring him to deny it.
“Pity, that.
”
Grace frowned. That was not the reaction she was expecting.
“Pardon?” she asked, not certain how to continue.
“Pity. It was a rather delightful point to communicate. And I thought I articulated it well,” he answered benignly, as if discussing the weather. Not a soul-moving kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen.
At least, wasn’t supposed to happen with him.
“And for the record, I do not have any misgivings about your intelligence. You’re probably one of the quickest wits I’ve met, and your mind is just as sharp. You’re a formidable counterpart in repartee; however, I would make one suggestion.”
Grace arched a disbelieving brow.
“Stick to subject matter with which you have experience,” he added with a slow grin.
“You’re insufferable,” she accused, her face heating, but this time with a tinge of shame.
“Perhaps. But I also saved your reputation.”
“You also tried to ruin it.”
“I did nothing of the sort. You were perfectly safe from ruination. If I had wanted to ruin you . . .” He paused, leaning forward as they made the corner. “You’d know by now,” he answered softly, as if the word were a promise rather than a threat.
She couldn’t think of a proper response to such a statement, so she held her peace, narrowing her eyes instead.
“Ah, speechless for the second time tonight. I must say, I’m quite impressed with myself.”
“At least one of us is impressed. I find I’m rather disappointed.”
“You didn’t act disappointed.” He alluded to their kiss.
“I don’t have much to compare it with, as you mentioned regarding my lack of experience. To take my reaction as favorable when I have so little to compare it with would be the most arrogant assumption you’ve made this evening,” she finished, proud to have put together such a statement as she fought the temper that was rising within.
“Ah, so maybe not so speechless,” he remarked. “You know, Miss Grace, I think I like you.”
Grace blinked; apparently that was her favorite reaction of the evening. Along with not being to follow the man who kissed her one moment and then engaged in verbal sparring the next. She was never quite certain what he would say, or do.
The Temptation of Grace Page 13
