Page 66 of The Viscount and the Vicar's Daughter
His mouth…dear heaven…that mouth so possessively hot and demanding.
Utterly divine.
He did not press his lips to hers so much as conquer her, possess her, plunder her body and soul.
She had never experienced anything like it. The pleasure was almost unbearable…almost. Her heart was racing madly. Her breaths were now coming short and fast. Her legs…did she still have them?
She was not going to pull away from him ever.
She tasted ginger cake and brandy on his lips.
He must be tasting plum pudding on hers.
She held on tightly to his shoulders when she felt her legs completely give way. Her heart had given way long ago and would always be his.
“Viola,” he whispered, ending the kiss only to start planting more soft kisses against her neck and throat. “You taste so sweet. Blessed saints, I knew you would.”
He drew her deeper into the shadows, leading her to a sturdy oak and gently pressing her back against the trunk of the large tree. He placed his hands on either side of her, and once again crushed his mouth to hers. This kiss was raw and hungry.
Wild and dangerous.
His tongue touched hers.
Her body ignited again.
These sparks of desire ought to have frightened her, for there was no mistaking where they would lead. She did not know unmarried women could feel such things, or should feel this molten ache. Of course, they did. Was this not the fiery path to ruin?
She clutched his shoulders and sobbed against his mouth.
She refused to become his mistress.
He must have sensed a sudden change in her, for he ended the kiss abruptly and drew away with a ragged groan. “Viola.”
She took a deep breath, but it did no good, for all she took in was his divine, sandalwood scent and the masculine heat radiating off his body. “Oh, lord…I mean, not you, my lord…just…oh, lord.”
She covered her face with her hands.
He drew them away and kissed the palm of each. “I know. Viola, we have to talk about this.”
She shook her head furiously. “There is nothing to say to each other. I will never be your mistress.”
“No, I…you mistake my meaning.”
“Do I? Then what do you have in mind, pray tell? Not even to raise me to the level of mistress?”
“What are you talking about? I have no intention of bedding you outs–”
“Alexander! Release the girl at once!” his grandmother demanded in a harsh whisper, lumbering toward them. But she was not the only one observing them. Her friend, Lady Withnall, walked beside her, thumping her cane on the grass with each labored stride.
Viola’s head began to spin.
Oh, no!
What had she done?
Sinned, for certain. She had indulged in a moment of lustful pleasure and been caught by London’s most notorious gossip.
She was now ruined, and her father would soon learn of her public shame. It was inevitable. She desperately wished to take the moment back. This humiliation would be the last memory her father would have of her.
