And Then She Fell(26)

The look on her face told him more clearly than words that she had no clue how to answer him.

Which was exactly as he’d hoped. “Perhaps,” he suggested, and prayed she’d swallow the line, “I could demonstrate. So you could see the difference between what I imagine a ‘young lady’ kiss might be, as distinct from a ‘seducing an experienced matron’ kiss.”

Naturally, she looked suspicious, but he’d expected that. He sighed. “Yes, I know it’s a bit much to ask, but you did offer to help me, and how else am I supposed to find out? If I get it wrong, I might shock some young lady out of her stays.”

She snorted. “Most young ladies don’t wear stays, as you very well know.”

He widened his eyes at her and managed to keep a straight face. “Actually, I didn’t know—wolf of the ton, if you recall. Experienced matrons are the standard fare for such as I—as you well know—and, in general, I assure you they do wear stays.” His eyes on hers, he smoothly continued, “But we aren’t here to talk about stays.”

Eyes narrowing fractionally, she studied him, but then—yes!—gave a small nod. “All right. One kiss—one young lady kiss. Just enough for me to be able to tell you if you’ve judged it wrongly.”

His lips curved—and if there was a greater degree of triumph in the gesture than there should have been, she didn’t get a chance to register it. Looping an arm about her waist, he drew her close—not too close—as close as he judged she would allow, while with his other hand he tipped up her chin, and before she’d managed to catch her breath enough to even squeak, he swooped and set his lips to hers.

Gently.

Reining in the nearly overwhelming urge to taste her more definitely, to part her lips and claim her mouth—and go far too far—he fought and succeeded, because it was so desperately important that he did, in keeping the kiss light, in spinning it out into a fantasy of the most delicately exquisite sensation.

He knew exactly what he was doing, what he was aiming for, a seduction of an entirely different sort—at least for a wolf like him.

Never had he set himself to tempt with such a light touch, with the merest brush of his lips, a pressure so light it tantalized with near-crystal fragility.

He peeked from beneath his lashes; her eyes were shut—she seemed captured by the kiss, captive to the sensation. As he’d wanted her to be.

Henrietta couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think, either, and for once didn’t care. Thinking wasn’t important; feeling—absorbing the sensations engendered by his kiss—was. She’d been kissed before, several times, yet those experiences had been nothing like this. Nowhere near as compelling as this.

Even though this kiss—James’s “young lady” kiss—was as insubstantial as a fairy tale.

It was all about promise, and hope, and what might be.

The touch of his lips on hers . . . made them tingle. Made her nerves fizz delicately, like fine bubbles rising in the best champagne, with a species of anticipation. She was intensely aware of him, of his body and his strength, all around her and so close, yet not quite touching . . . except for his lips. His wicked, pliant, distracting lips.

Slowly, smoothly, he lifted his head.

Lips parting, barely breathing, she looked up at him.

His eyes—those pools of melted chocolate—looked utterly innocent. They slowly passed over her face, lingered for a moment on her still tingling lips, then he raised his gaze to her eyes. Arched a brow. “Well? Will that pass muster, or . . . ?”

She dragged in a huge breath and stepped back, out of the circle of his arms. Sought—bludgeoned her brains—for some suitable response. All she could come up with was a crisp nod and a breathless “You’ll do.”

Turning, she started down the walk, grateful her legs consented to carry her. She couldn’t think about the kiss—about whether he’d been in earnest, or merely using his supposed pursuit of young ladies as an excuse—now. As he fell in beside her, she lengthened her stride. “We need to reach the house before the others do.”

“Ah—of course. We don’t want Lady Jersey, of all people, to start speculating on what might have detained us.”

“No. We don’t.” Belatedly registering the quiet laughter in his voice, she shot him a glance as, entirely relaxed, he paced alongside her. “That’s a truly evil prospect to raise.”

He chuckled. “I know.” Looking ahead, he smiled.