Page 134 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Telling himself to slow down was futile.

Whatever this thing was between them, it was more fierce, more potent than anything he’d ever felt.

And he had no idea how they were going to stop because he sure as hell didn’t have the strength to stop it.

“Not to worry, Lady Northwood. I’m sure she’ll turn up somewhere.”

The sound of a voice just beyond the door brought sanity crashing back to Evan, and he realised far too late that he’d been kissing the living daylights out of Holly where anyone could have walked out and seen them.

He could have utterly ruined the girl. Right here on a freezing cold balcony.

Springing away from her, Evan spun toward the voice in time to see Lady Angela’s unmistakeable green-eyed scowl peering out at him.

“Hmm.”

That was all she said. But that one little sound packed quite the punch, and Evan felt suitably chastised.

“Lady Holly.” Angela turned her glare on Holly, whose breathing sounded as laboured as his own. “Your grandmother is looking for you. Come inside,” she demanded. “And perhaps it would be wise to leave the gentleman with all of his clothing,” she continued outrageously. “It might be frowned upon, leaving him half-dressed on the balcony.”

Her head disappeared back through the doorway, leaving a deafening silence in her wake.

And Evan had no idea how to break it.

Steeling himself for a well-deserved set down, perhaps even a slap to his face for good measure, Evan turned to face Lady Holly.

But there was no anger on her face, no tears or histrionics that one might expect from an innocent.

There was only that fierce blush and biting that damned lip.

Before he could speak, she thrust his jacket at him. He hadn’t even noticed her picking it up.

And without making even the slightest eye contact, she rushed past him and hurried inside.

Evan stood on the balcony, the cold seeping into his heated veins, and wondered what the hell he’d just done.

CHAPTER8

“MightI fetch you some refreshments, my lady?”

Holly managed a smile for Mr. Winchester, with whom she’d just danced a cotillion, but it felt strained and brittle.

In fact, all evening long she’d felt strained and brittle.

That kiss – even now, her entire body broke out in gooseflesh at the memory of it.

Holly might be an innocent, but she couldn’t believe that most kisses were like that. They couldn’t be that all-consuming, life-changing, earth-shattering.

She’d certainly have heard if they were.

Whenever Holly had eavesdropped on the whispered conversations of married ladies, she’d never heard anyone describe the things she’d felt.

But then, she reasoned, how could they possibly describe such a thing? She simply couldn’t find the words.

All through the rest of the dancing, the supper, the run of the mill chitchat, her mind had been firmly on that kiss.

On the feeling of Lord Stockton’s rock hard body pressed so closely to her own.

On the urgency of his lips and the seductive dance of his tongue against her own –

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