Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(19)

“I’ve been giving some thought to what you said,” he finally announced.

“Have you?” She tried to reveal none of her surprise that he should be thinking about anything she said. “And what was it I said requiring such reflection?”

“That we are both great pretenders, fooling poor souls into thinking we care about them for our own agenda.”

“Ah, yes. That.”

“And you’re right. We’re both playing at this game of securing a spouse.”

She angled her head. “Game?”

A rueful smile curved his lips. “Hunting for a wife, or in your case a husband, is nothing more than a game.”

He continued, “That being the case, we shouldn’t be sniping at one another. It serves no purpose.”

She crossed her arms awkwardly. “No. I suppose not.” What was he suggesting? That they actually be friends? Warning bells rang in her ears.

“Splendid.”

She nodded, feeling like an awkward schoolgirl. It was easier before this truce. Silence descended and her heart beat a loud rhythm in her ears.

“Well. I suppose I should get back.”

That muscle feathered his jaw again, and she knew she’d displeased him. “Want me to check and see if Hamilton is gone?” he asked idly.

“Why? I’m not hiding,” she lied.

His lips curved in a slow, seductive smile that she was certain got him most anything he ever wanted. “Indeed?” He leaned back against a tree, the picture of a relaxed gentleman, totally at ease, without a care in the world. “I am.”

From Libba? Of course he was. Not about to commiserate with him regarding the need to hide from one’s beau, she nodded and strode past him, heedless of her step. Her foot caught on a root, and she went flying, narrowly escaping a hard fall as he caught her.

Strong hands flexed around her arms. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she replied breathlessly.

Something flared hotly in his eyes as they gazed at each other. “You’re always running from me.”

“Apparently not very gracefully.”

“This time, no. But I sense that worked for the best.”

A shudder traveled through her. “Why is that?”

He angled his head. “I have my hands on you.”

Her hand fisted in his jacket, alerting her to the fact that she even touched him. Everything else faded—who she was, where she was. It all happened in a blur, too fast to process. A haze clouded her mind. She was out of control, past considering propriety and how vastly dangerous the situation had become.

And yet when he tugged her closer and trapped her arms between them, lifting her off her feet and against him, sanity returned.

She caught a flash of gray eyes before his head dove toward hers. Determined to resist, the press of his lips on hers galvanized her, made her struggle.

She bit down on his lip.

He pulled back with a cutting curse.

Locked in his embrace, chests squashed close, she glared at him. He glared back. For several moments their panting breaths mingled as they stared incomprehensibly at each other.

She noted a change in his eyes then. They no longer looked so cold. The condemnation wasn’t there. None of the calculating judgment of before. It was as if he saw her. Now. For the first time.

And there was fire in his eyes.

His head descended and this time she didn’t move. Not the barest flinch. Her breathing ceased altogether as his lips claimed hers with a swiftness, a surety, and skill that she felt ripple through the whole of her body.

His hands splayed against her back, each finger burning an imprint through her gown. Her body came alive as his lips moved over hers, caressing, possessing, melting her from the inside out. Her knees weakened and trembled. She clutched fistfuls of his jacket in her hands—to keep from falling, to pull him close. Both.

Heat sprang in patches all over her. Suddenly her dress felt constrictive, too tight. She moaned against his mouth and he deepened the kiss, parting the seam of her lips—or perhaps she opened to him. Either way his tongue slipped inside her mouth. Warm and deft, smooth and skillful, he tasted her, sliding his tongue against hers.

Her belly clenched and a twisting ache started between her legs. Just like that. One kiss and she was shattered and aching for this man. She never wanted it to end, and yet a voice worked its way through her, fighting its way to the surface as though from a deep, hidden place. A forgotten place where logic and her true purpose dwelled.

Stop this! Stop this madness!

She broke away with a shocked gasp. Unbelievably, she’d let passion seize her. A circumstance she would never have believed possible. She was nothing like her mother . . . like other girls who craved a man’s kisses.

He held her, but not tightly anymore. Not as a prisoner. Standing in the circle of his arms, she blinked up at him, unable to leave just yet. She had to understand. Had to process for herself what it was that had just happened . . . and if he was as shocked as she was.

His heavy-lidded gaze drilled into her with a relentless intensity, peeling away her layers bit by bit. At least it seemed that way. For a panicked moment, she felt certain those gray eyes saw her. Saw everything. That he read her fear, that he understood what motivated her. Likely because of her runaway tongue. She’d shared too much . . .

Horrified, she stumbled free.