And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(51)

But the thing was, she was no longer cold.

“Your fingers are like ice,” he said, bringing them to his lips, blowing slightly on them, the heat of his breath a shock to her senses.

He glanced at her, waiting for her protest, some word. As she should. As she would, once she remembered how to breathe.

You are a beautiful woman. Too much so.

She hardly knew what to do, other than stand there and let this handsome man work his rakish magic on her.

His warm lips stole over her fingertips. As he drew them closer, she followed, leaning up against him, his coat falling open.

And then it was as if all the barriers between them fell away.

For one moment she was there, enclosed and safe in his coat, and the next she was in his arms.

And hardly safe.

Daphne had moved without any thought, save one.

This is where I belong.

In this man’s arms. Oh, it shouldn’t be so. But it was.

Still, she looked up, ready to protest, searching for the scolding words she should be casting out, and finding only one thing in her heart . . .

Surrender.

It was that starry, dangerous moment at the ball all over again, save there was no impending threat of family, friends or fire-breathing chaperones.

No boundaries. No barriers. Nothing but this spark that could not be denied.

He bent his head down and claimed her lips with his.

Daphne sighed. Good heavens, how could one desire a thing so much without ever having known it could be so?

His lips teased her mouth, nipping at her lower lip, nudging her to open up to him.

And when she did, everything shifted.

The spark burst into a bonfire of desire, and Lord Henry tugged her up against him and deepened his kiss. His tongue slid over her lips, tasting her, moving over her own.

Daring her to dance. To dance where she may.

Meanwhile, his hands roamed over her, beneath his coat, over her curves, tracing the line of her hips, curving around her behind, igniting a firestorm in their wake.

His coat slipped from her shoulders and she trembled as it puddled around her feet.

Not from the chill in the air. Hardly. How could she be cold when she was on fire?

Longing, deep, dangerous longing, filled her. Uncoiling inside her, leaving her tangled and tight, and delirious.

This was not a kiss, it was an awakening.

Daphne tried to breathe as she clung to the man holding her. Raw, untamed passion unraveled within her as he touched her, as his kiss deepened.

If she shivered before it rained, Daphne now trembled before the storm of desire Lord Henry unleashed with his kiss.

Her nipples tightened as she found herself pressed against the wool of his jacket. Daphne moved against him like a cat, letting her senses come alive as her body contacted his. Her hands opened across his chest, and she let her fingers fan out over the muscled planes.

He continued to kiss her, hold her, explore her, his lips leaving hers to kiss her neck, the hollow of her throat, and then back to her lips, returning to her eagerly, hungrily.

His hand caught hold of her backside and drew her closer, right up against him, and Daphne’s lashes fluttered open as she realized just how much of a rake Lord Henry was . . . and in that same moment, the sharp trill of a warbler burst through the stillness.

It was as if the bird’s song brought with it a reminder. Cousin Crispin’s warning.

Consider this choice carefully, for once made it cannot be undone.

Cannot be undone . . .

Half mad with desires she was only beginning to understand, but knew would lure her to her ruin, Daphne wrenched herself away from this man who had suddenly stopped being merely a Seldon.

And something oh-so-much-more treacherous.

No, desirable. Very much so.

“Miss Dale, I—”

She held up her hand. “No. Please don’t say a word.” For she didn’t know what she feared more: his words dousing the fire between them or his saying something utterly unforgivable . . . like apologizing for his behavior or calling it a mistake.

“It’s just that—”

“Please, Lord Henry!” This time she pleaded. “Can we not speak of this?”

For a moment they just stood there, naught but an arm’s length between them. And like it had earlier, that spark started to kindle anew as she stole a glance at him. For there in his eyes was the truth.

He wanted her back in his arms.

And, oh, how she wanted to return. To that breathless place where there was only his lips on hers, his arms around her, and passion . . . nothing but passion between them.