Page 53 of Not his Marchioness
Then, before she knew it, he had pressed his lips to hers. Quite against her will, her eyes fluttered shut as she drank in themoment. His lips were full and warm and tasted of peppermint, reminiscent of his breath.
Her entire body was overtaken by a wave of heat as she curled her fingers into his shoulders, both to channel some of the sudden sensation somewhere else and to hold herself up because she was entirely dependent on him not dropping her.
The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun, and he pulled her up once more.
The crowd chattered at this most scandalous display. Surely, by tomorrow, they would be the headline of every scandal sheet in London, again.
“Why did you do that?” she breathed.
“To sell the lie,” he replied with a smile, rolling his eyes in such a way as to indicate the crowd.
When she looked around, she saw that they were being stared at by every single person in the ballroom. If the guests hadn’t believed that they were a real couple before, now they certainly would.
However, as she followed him off the dance floor, her legs weak and her thoughts spinning, she had to wonder: at what cost?
CHAPTER 20
“Come, I promise it will be worth it,” Rhys urged, his fingers curling around her wrist.
He pulled her through the thicket, his free arm extended like a shield so the low-hanging branches would not hit her face.
The leaves crunched beneath their feet, and the smell of the earth after a heavy rain filled her nostrils.
Somewhere in the distance, birds flitted from branch to branch. It was quite magical. She had never been to this part of town.
“How much farther is it?” Charlotte asked.
Rhys looked over his shoulder at her and then glanced down at her kitten heels. “Those shoes are most impractical. I do not understand why you insisted on wearing them. Shall I carry you?”
“I dare you,” she fired back.
He stopped and turned. “Do you, indeed? You should know by now that I am not the sort of gentleman who runs from a dare.” He wagged his index finger, beckoning her closer.
“No, no!” Charlotte hissed. “I will not come. And you should know by now that I am not the sort of lady who obeys a gentleman’s call.”
“We will have to see about that,” he said, and dashed forward.
She let out a squeal before she could do anything else. His left arm slipped behind her knees, his right around her back, and he lifted her.
“There.” He chuckled. “That settles it.”
“Rhys Ellingsworth, you are the very worst! Put me down this instant!”
“I should think not,” he said. “After all, I do not wish to take the blame when you return home later with your feet all blistered. It will be all you speak of at dinner with your family, and I can already imagine the storm your cousin Margot will unleash on me for having allowed your poor, delicate feet to come to such harm.”
“Very well,” she huffed, slinging her arm around his shoulder and letting her fingers rest on his collarbone. “How far is it?”
“Not very far, which is most fortunate for my poor back,” he drawled.
She giggled.
Moments later, he stopped. They had arrived at a clearing.
“Goodness gracious,” she breathed.
Beautiful pink cherry blossoms surrounded them. She had never seen anything as beautiful as this. Up until now, she had only ever seen cherry blossoms in paintings.
“What is this place?” she asked. “I thought these only grew in Japan.”
