The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(24)

“A kiss.”





Chapter 7


A kiss?

Alice, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest, her skin going instantly clammy, smiled almost maniacally and had to stop the sudden urge to throw herself into his arms. Oh, finally, finally! “Very well,” she managed to say lightly. “I have been engaged three times, after all.” Alice knew she sounded calm enough, but inside she was such a jumble nerves she sincerely doubted she’d be able to take a step without keeling over. How many times had she wondered what it would be like to kiss Henderson? Those nights lying in bed, pressing the back of her hand against her lips and imaging she was pressing her mouth against his.

Except that Henderson was standing there in front of her, arms crossed casually, looking for all the world as if he’d just asked to shake her hand. A thrush flew overhead and he was momentarily distracted, and when he turned back, he looked at her expectantly, with an almost bored look on his handsome face. He gave her a quick smile. “Perhaps not.”

“Oh, no, that would be fine. A fair exchange for saving my life,” Alice said, knowing she was grandly overstating the matter. Although people had died of adder bites. Sick people. Small children.

“Very well.” He looked as if he’d wished he’d never claimed such a reward, but Alice refused to give up on what might very well be the only time she’d ever get to kiss him.

He took two steps, his blue eyes moving from her green ones down to her lips. He placed one hand on each upper arm, holding her gently. Henderson Southwell is going to kiss me. Now. Oh God! He was so near, she could see his beard starting to grow, the way his upper lip seemed sharply carved, but his lower fuller. With her knees knocking beneath her skirts and her heart beating madly in her chest, Alice leaned forward just a bit, and closed her eyes, her entire body focused on her lips and the touch that would soon be on them.

There. Oh, yes.

And then, to her horror, Alice burst out laughing. It was something she’d done all her life. She’d nearly laughed at her first fiancé’s funeral and had laughed standing in the vestibule waiting for Lord Northrup to show up. And she laughed now, even as her heart broke. How she hated herself at that moment, for Henderson immediately withdrew and Alice opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with an expression of puzzled bemusement.

“I’m so sorry, Henny,” Alice said, still laughing, still dying inside. How could she explain her laughter? How could she tell him that she’d been dreaming of his kiss since she was fifteen years old and the thought that this moment had finally come had sent her into such a nervous state she could hardly stand? She couldn’t. And so she said the first thing that came into her head, the first thing that didn’t seem ridiculous. “It’s just that it’s almost like kissing Oliver.”

He narrowed his eyes and let out a small answering laugh before dropping his hands and stepping back, and Alice felt so very cold at that moment, missing the warmth and strength of his hands on her arms.

“Well, then.” He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked down the path.

Alice truly felt like crying. She would never get another chance to kiss the one man she loved. Lord Northrup was a nice enough fellow and she did hold him in great affection, but she hadn’t loved him. Hadn’t nearly swooned when he’d kissed her, though the two times he had gathered enough courage to do so, it was mildly pleasant. Kissing Henderson had to be better than that, and now she would never find out.

“I think we should have another go of it,” she said, with almost desperate nonchalance. “That hardly counted as a kiss.”

His head whipped around and his eyes took on the strangest glint. “You have surprised me, Alice Hubbard.”

“Have I?”

“Indeed you have. All right then, another kiss. And if you tell me that it’s like kissing your brother, I’m afraid I’ll have to bring your brother before the magistrate.”

His words sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine, knowing she was about to be thoroughly kissed by a man who knew how to kiss a woman—if the rumors about him had been true.

This time, there was no warning, no gentle hold on her upper arms. This time, he stepped forward, placed one hand behind her neck, and pulled her forward, flush against him so she could feel the hard plane of his body. Then he bent his head and she was being kissed, kissed as she had never been in her entire life. With three engagements and three near-marriages, no one had consumed her the way Henderson did at that moment. His was not the gentle kiss of a man courting a woman, his was the kiss of a man who wanted something more. Alice let out a startled cry, then a muffled moan when she felt his tongue invade her mouth and brush against her own, caressing, capturing, making her feel things no man had ever made her feel. A shock of sensation between her legs nearly had her knees buckling beneath her and she wanted, needed, something more. When she pressed against him with almost frantic need, throwing her arms around him in abandon, she felt his arousal and stiffened. Even though she had never felt a man’s part before, she knew what it was pressing hot against the juncture of her thighs, knew what it meant that it was hard and long.

Letting out a low sound more growl than moan, Henderson stepped back, his eyes fierce and dark as Alice swayed toward him, as if her body was not ready to release him. Alice lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. What had just happened? Was that the way all kisses were supposed to feel?