Page 34 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
And his mouth met hers at last.
The kiss was gentle. Testing. Dominic’s lips touched hers with restrained hunger, reverent and unhurried. Her breath hitched,but she returned the kiss—tentatively, then with a touch more certainty.
His hand rose to cradle her cheek, and the world narrowed to the quiet between them, the hush of the garden, the water lapping softly at the fountain.
It was a kiss born of pent-up tension, and for a moment, even the rules she lived by seemed to fall silent.
The kiss deepened with a slow, aching intensity.
Dominic tilted his head slightly, drawing her closer as his hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck. His fingers threaded into her hair, loosening the curls carefully pinned into place. Marianne gasped softly against his mouth, and that was all the invitation he needed.
No longer tentative, he pressed his lips more firmly to hers, coaxing a response she hadn’t known she was capable of giving. The pressure of his mouth, the heat of his body, the way his breath mingled with hers—it ignited something inside her. Her fingers clutched the lapels of his coat, not to push him away but to anchor herself.
She parted her lips just enough, and his breath caught. The kiss shifted—no longer just a meeting of mouths, but an exchange of longing, of unspoken things that had stirred between them since the very first moment.
His hand slipped down to the curve of her waist, drawing her just a fraction nearer. They were still seated on the edge of the fountain, but it felt as if the garden had vanished.
There was only him and her, and this wild, unwise, undeniable moment.
But then she pulled away. Dominic groaned, a frustrated sound that made her pulse race.
“We can’t. We’ll get caught,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Let them catch us,” he said.
But she was already rising.
She moved quickly, almost stumbling in her haste. Dominic reached for her wrist to stop her, but she pulled away before he could say another word.
She fled, her breath coming in quick gasps, her legs carrying her through the quiet night, the soft earth beneath her feet barely registering as she dashed away from him.
And didn’t dare look back.
Chapter Sixteen
“Oh no,” Dominic muttered.
How could the ballroom lose its luster right away?
He reminded himself that it had never been to his liking. He stood stiffly in the corner, the music thrumming in his ears, but he remained aloof, a solitary figure amidst the lively throng.
Why had the violins transformed into war drums?
Even worse, he saw mamas and their debutante daughters heading his way. Some of them he’d already met, ready to draw his attention in some tediously pleasant way, while the rest looked like they were about to miss the lastéclairon the table.
Clearly, they were just realizing that the stag hunt weekend was about to end. And he was the lastéclair.
He had grown weary of fluttering fans and painted smiles, and even more so of the hollow chatter, now that he knew what Marianne tasted like. Everyone else seemed to fade into insignificance by comparison.
“Your Grace,” the woman began, her tone dipped in feigned sweetness, “my daughter simply adores horseback riding. Would you mind if she visited? Of course, with a proper chaperone.”
“May I present my daughter, Lady Esther. Does she not look most charming in that soft rose-tinted gown, Your Grace?”
The voices blended together until Dominic could no longer discern one from the other. Each flattery and eager request bled into the next, growing more tiresome with each passing moment.
The stag hunt, he thought, would have been a mistake if not for Marianne.
“If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he said as politely as he could, with a tight smile. Again, it was all he could give since Marianne escaped him once more.
