Page 72 of Thief of the Ton
Suppressing a cry of surprise, she surrendered to his claim of ownership.
With long, slow, sweeping gestures, his tongue stroked her mouth, and her body roared into life. How could something so simple as a kiss elicit such wicked sensations? Pleasure swelled, and she squeezed her thighs to ease the ache. Then he placed a hand at her throat, caressing her skin in a tender gesture that belied the savage mastery of his tongue. Her breath hitched, and he lowered his hand to her neckline. Gentle, insistent fingers began to explore the skin of her breasts, which strained against the neckline of her gown.
A cry swelled in her throat, and she curled her tongue around his, indulging in a slow, sensual dance.
Peregrine murmured his approval.
He stilled his hand. Chasing the pleasure, she arched her back to brush her breasts against his fingertips, and let out a soft mewl, urging him to touch her.
Then he slipped his hand beneath her neckline. Her nipple tightened in anticipation, and he flicked it with his thumb. A fizz of pleasure coursed through her, and she threw back her head.
She let out a cry. “P-Peregrine!”
He gave a long, low growl—a beast ready to take his mate.
Sweet Lord!Was this what it was like to be claimed?
The glorious ache in her center intensified, and she pressed her body against his, seeking relief.
“Please…” she gasped, “I-I…need…”
Then he released her. A rush of cold air rippled over her, and she shivered.
“Shit!” he cursed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She winced at the profanity. He shook his head, and the desire in his eyes faded. Her heart sank as she caught regret in his expression…
Regret—and disgust.
The pleasurable ache in her body began to fade. Willing it to return, she moved toward him.
“No!” He gripped her arms, pushing her back, and held her at arm’s length. “Forgive me, Miss de Grande. What I’ve done is reprehensible—worse, even, than Mr. Moss.”
“How can you say that?” she cried. “You can’t compare yourself to him? He disgusts me—but you…”
“Don’t say it.” He glanced toward the doors. “Tidy yourself up and return inside—quickly! I’ll follow a moment later. While Mr. Moss is unlikely to say anything, it’s best we don’t arouse suspicion. The last thing I want is to be seen compromising you.”
“What if I had no objection to being compromised?”
He shook his head. “You cannot mean that, Miss de Grande. You know as well as I that a woman’s reputation is irreparable. If we were caught, I’d be forced to marry you.”
Forced?
Her gut twisted with the shame of his rejection, and she wrenched herself free.
“I see,” she said, fighting the urge to scream at him. “We cannot have that, can we? What a disaster that would be foryou.”
“Miss de Grande, I only meant—”
“I know full well what you meant,” she retorted. “I’m well aware of my inferiority due to my circumstances, and I thank you for reminding me.”
“That’s not it at all,” he said. “I—”
“Spare me!” she interrupted. Then she strode toward the door.
“Take care!” he cried.
“Don’t worry—I will,” she said bitterly.
