A Gentleman Never Tells(82)
“Wait,” she said, suddenly pulling on his arm. “The fortune-teller booth is right there. You paid for your fortune. Don’t you want to know what it will be?”
Her eyes sparkled, and her lips looked so moist he knew he could go no longer without kissing her. “I prefer to make my own fortune, Gabrie.”
He led her around to the back of the booth and pulled her into his arms. He leaned her against it, and his lips came down on hers with an urgency he didn’t know he was capable of. He didn’t want to think about anything—not dogs, not marriage, not where they were. He just wanted to kiss Gabrielle and touch her. He wanted to indulge himself and satisfy his thirst for her.
His desire was instant, intense, and eager. She opened her mouth and accepted the deep thrust of his tongue. In the coolness of the day, her mouth was warm and tasted of sweet sugar and cinnamon. His arms slid down to her hips, and he pulled her up against the hard bulge in his trousers. Her body was soft and inviting. He groaned into her mouth as his pelvis started a rhythmic motion against her.
As his lips passionately devoured hers, his hand moved up from her waist and slid beneath her cape to cup her breast. He felt her breath quicken, and it excited him all the more. His palm flattened against her breast and gently massaged it, enjoying the gratifying feeling of touching her, wishing he could remove the barrier of her clothing. His kisses moved to her cheek. She arched her head back, giving him freedom to kiss her neck and explore the soft skin behind her ear before he moved up to brush her lips once again.
A soft moan of pleasure wafted past his ear, and he smiled against her skin. It pleased him greatly to know she enjoyed his touch so much. His body ached, and he was desperate to possess her. His hands clutched at her skirts, gathering the bountiful fabric and pulling it up her legs.
He heard the snort of a horse behind them and quickly, breathlessly, hid Gabrielle’s face in his chest while an old man leading two horses walked past them, but thankfully never looked their way.
Trembling from unreleased desire, he lowered his head to the top of hers and tried to calm his breathing. He was angry at himself for wanting her so desperately he was willing to take her where anyone might happen upon them. It didn’t matter how much he needed her right now, how delicious she felt in his arms, or how willing she was to accept his loving; this wasn’t the place to touch her. And he had to gain better control of himself where she was concerned.
“That was close,” she whispered against his chest.
“Too close. We should go,” he whispered, pulling away from her.
She looked up at him with questioning eyes. “Brent, why is it that whenever you kiss me I seem to lose my good common sense?”
He snorted a half laugh. “I can’t answer that, Gabrie, because I find I lose mine as well. So come, let’s get you home right now while I still have a tenuous hold on my common sense.”
Sixteen
There are few wild beasts more to be dreaded than a communicative man having nothing to say.
—Christian Nestell Bovee
Gabrielle stood at the doorway to the music room of their Mayfair town house and smiled. It had taken her and her aunt two days to get the house ready for the recital and finally everything was in place. The pianoforte had been situated in the far corner, where the pianist could look up and appreciate his audience. Lighted candelabras, placed on tall Corinthian column pedestals, stood on both sides of the piano. All the furniture in the room had been removed, and small straight-back chairs were lined tightly together in rows for the thirty guests who had been invited.
With the help of Babs’s and Fern’s delicate handwriting skills, all the invitations had gone out the day after the Cuddlebury’s party. Rosabelle had been eager for the party when Gabrielle first told her about it, but her mind had changed quickly. She refused to help with anything concerning the recital and vowed not to come out of her room the entire evening because she couldn’t convince Gabrielle to invite Staunton.
The response to the event had been better than Gabrielle expected, considering the short notice and her less-than-spotless standing in Society. She had remained firm against her aunt’s insistence that she must at least add a flutist or violinist to the pianist or the guests would become quite bored. She didn’t want her aunt to know, but that was exactly what Gabrielle wanted.
This entire evening had been set up so she could impress upon Lord Brentwood that she didn’t know the first thing about the proper way to give a party. Surely he wouldn’t want a wife who didn’t know how to adequately entertain or maintain his household. Though, in truth, she was the complete opposite. She had helped her father plan and manage parties since she was sixteen. She was more than efficient with every social occasion and knew all the proper dos and don’ts. She was sure her knowledge of what was expected, and always doing it, was the reason she was having such a difficult time trying to prove to Lord Brentwood she wouldn’t make an acceptable wife. Trying to change one’s natural abilities wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be.