Page 41 of The Moonstone Marquess
Why did he have to feel so good?
His scent was divine, that intoxicating hint of musk and muscles.
She clutched his lapels, clinging to them for fear her legs would not hold her up after his searing kiss. Yet he’d purposely kept the kiss soft. However, the smolder in his eyes warned his next kisses would not merely sear her.
They were going to scorch her.
She gasped once he took his lips off hers. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“How am I looking at you, Phoebe?”
“Like you want to set me on fire and make me burn for you.”
He placed a light kiss on her cheek, hardly a touch, and yet it did not feel innocent at all. How did he manage it? “I held back for your sake. Yes, I want to scorch you, burn myself into you. Possess you. Conquer you. Kiss every inch of your delectable body. Taste your lavender-sweet skin. That is only the start of what I wish to do to you.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, and her heart was now in palpitations. “See, you are still too naughty and unpredictable.”
“I am not unpredictable. I do not pretend to be anything other than naughty,” he said, casting her an appealingly rakish smile. “The only difference is that I am now willing to be naughty only with you.”
She glanced at the house and groaned. “Now Chloe has her face pasted to the window as well. I can see them grinning at me all the way from here. Come on, you wicked man. Let’s have breakfast. You must be hungry. And if you dare say you are hungry for me, I am going to kick you in the shin.”
He laughed. “I would never say anything so trite.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t need to say anything when my kiss should have told you everything you need to know.”
They walked back to the house, and she tried to pretend he hadn’t just melted her insides with his delicious kiss—in full view of his nieces and her sister, no less. Of course, the ability to mask one’s feelings was not a particular strength of hers, and she blushed throughout their meal.
She wanted to crawl under the table and hide when Imogen thought it important to tell Mrs. Hawke when she brought in a fresh pot of coffee. “Uncle Cormac kissed Phoebe.”
He coughed, keeping his hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter.
The cad.
“Did he now?” Mrs. Hawke remarked. “And what did Lady Phoebe do?”
“She kissed him back,” Ella added unhelpfully.
“Well, then. I suppose that makes it all right.”
Phoebe’s mouth gaped open. “Mrs. Hawke, it is not all right. He should not have… Never mind. Thank you for the coffee.”
But she shook her head, now in a quandary. How was it all right for a couple who were not betrothed to take such liberties?
She sought out Mrs. Hawke once they had finished their breakfast. Chloe had taken the girls upstairs to fetch their bonnets and gloves, and the marquess had gone out to order the wagon brought around.
She took a quick moment for a word with her housekeeper. “Mrs. Hawke, I know he should not have kissed me. I will not allow it to happen again. I—”
“Lamb, he is in love with you. Do you think for a moment he will not ask you to marry him?”
She sighed, not wanting to tell her that he already had. In truth, she was surprised the servants at Westgate Hall had not gossiped about it. Perhaps Melrose, who had been the only one to overhear that ridiculous proposal the morning they first met, was being discreet about it. She would have to thank him next time she was there, which would not be anytime soon. She was not going near that house until his guests were gone. “How can you tell? I mean, how can I be sure his feelings for me are genuine when I don’t believe he truly knows his own mind?”
“His heart knows, and this is what counts.”
“I see. Thank you, Mrs. Hawke.” But how soon before he had a change of heart?
It was too much right now to think about any of it, so she resolved to concentrate on the day ahead and nothing else. The girls scampered downstairs, Chloe right behind them. “Here, Phoebe.” She handed over her bonnet, reticule, and gloves.
