Page 9 of The Secret to Swooning
She’d never been praised for simply being herself in her entire life, never had to work so little for so many words of approval. She’d never felt as sure of anyone’s regard or respect, but when he spoke, she could not doubt it. His words rang with steel, unshakable, unbreakable, and from their first interaction—when he’d asked her to dance when no one else would—he’d proved over and over again that he liked her company, liked her. He made her feel worthy of love, and with him, she did not have to work to deserve it.
She turned in his arms, and his hands found her hips. They felt good there. Right. An unlikely friendship, an even more unlikely romance. But when she’d swooned into his arms earlier, her body had heaved a sigh of relief that should have been felt across the globe—ships sent off course and beaches bereft of sand. At the very least, she must have knocked loose a dowager’s wig or two. No matter how many wigs or grains of sand or ships her sigh had impacted, it had told a truth. The swoon, it seemed, would never lie. She’d found the right man’s arms.
“No more raking,” she said, letting her voice find the rhythm of a tease. “Are you even capable of … abstaining?”
“The better question is whether or not I’m capable, at this advanced stage of piousness, of raking at all. After you kissed me in front of that dim-witted Lord Trevor, I’ve not been able tolook at another woman. My arms ache for only you. Would you like to swoon into my embrace once more so I can show you?”
She grinned, threw her arm to her head—palm out—and went limp in his arms.
He scooped her up and carried her back to the chair. “Do you think Lady Catherine will sell this little beauty to me? I’d like to put it in our bedroom.”
Ann kissed him, and he turned to fire and urgency beneath her touch, his hands flying to parts of her body that made her groan against his mouth. Something long and hard pushed against the back of her thighs, making the pulsing center of her melt, and—
The door opened. A woman—women, plural—gasped.
“Ann Charlotte Martins!”
Ann fell out of Everette’s lap. “Mama!”
“Lord Dartmore.”
Everette cleared his throat and stood.
“I certainly hope, my lord,” Lady Catherine de Bourgh said, “that you have proposed marriage.”
“He has.” Ann stepped between her mother, their hostess and the man she loved. “And I have accepted.
“You have?” Behind her, Everette sounded both pleased and shocked, velvet wrapped around a sudden gust of morning wind on a still day.
She turned to him, her fingers drawn to the buttons marching down his waistcoat. “I have loved you since you danced with me, and even when I thought you a rogue, I could not stop myself from loving you.”
“What about Lord Trevor?” He pressed warm fingertips to the underside of her chin and lifted it.
“Who?” She grinned.
“Adorable minx.” He lowered with each word until their breath mingled, and she felt thealmostof his kiss in the tingling of her lips. And lower.
Two throats cleared quite loudly.
They jerked apart.
“You’ll visit Lord Shelfington this evening, Lord Dartmore.”
Everette bowed.
Mama slowly turned her attention to Ann. “I told you the right man was essential. Now see what you’ve done?”
“You’re absolutely right, Mama.” She tried to appear contrite, though she failed.
Her mother huffed. “Come along now, Ann.”
They spilled into the hallway, Mama and Lady Catherine leading the way.
Everette pinched at her skirt, pulled her nearer him, and she laughed, stumbling into his arms.
Two throats cleared quite loudly.
“Behave,” Ann hissed.
