Page 3 of A Trickster’s Temptation

‘I… I just…’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Mary’s whisper sounded as if it were directed at herself, not Adam. ‘How much harm could it possibly do?’

It was the kind of question asked by someone who didn’t have much experience of kisses. Any experience at all, in fact; a kiss could do a tremendous amount of damage depending on who one was kissing. But before Adam could inform Mary of this, Mary stepped forward and pressed her lips to his.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a light kiss, as fragile as a snowflake. But something about the delicacy of it, the sheer incongruity of Mary Fine’s lips causing such a potent rush of feeling through Adam’s core, made him gasp.

Mary gasped too. A soft, sensuous sound that made Adam, for all his shock, lean forward and deepen the kiss. No longer a snowflake; the sensation was now a snowfall, gathering pace, whirling about him to make him lose his bearings.

Had he just sighed with pleasure, or was it Mary?’ Had he stepped closer, or had she? It didn’t seem to matter; they were closer now, much closer, close enough for Adam to gently settle his hands on the curve of Mary’s waist.

Mary shivered. The feel of her coming apart, the tremble Adam felt through his fingers, made him grip her just a little tighter.

That small gesture was enough to make them both cognisant of what they were doing. Adam let go of Mary immediately, ignoring the tingling of his fingers as he drew them away from her gown, while Mary stumbled a few steps backward.

The air suddenly smelled of boots again, not starlight and meadow flowers. Adam, speechless, wondered vaguely if he’d fallen asleep in the middle of the ballroom and slipped into a dream.

Mary covered her hand with her mouth. Her eyes were very wide indeed—and, now that Adam was looking at her properly, he saw that her eyes were not only wide with shock but very, very beautiful.

Much like the rest of her, in fact. It was as if the kiss had removed a veil from his eyes, or from Mary’s face, orsomething. Some spell had lifted, allowing Adam to see the woman as she really was.

Unfortunately, more than anything else, it was clear that Mary was terrified.

‘Miss Fine.’ Adam held up his hands as if he were attempting to calm a frightened animal. Mary bristled; damn it, he’d already used the incorrect approach. ‘Miss Fine, everything is quite all right…’

His sentence trailed away to nothing as Mary, her hand still covering her mouth, turned around and fled the antechamber without looking back.

Damn. This was all somehow his fault, even if Miss Fine had been the instigator of everything that had occurred. Adam rubbed his brow, resisting the urge to mutter something that would get him forcibly removed from more elegant establishments.

What on earth had possessed him? Why had he kissed Mary upon being asked, as if she were a queen rather than an annoyance bordering on an actual enemy?

And most importantly, what the hell was he going to do about it now?

Two days after the ball, in the staid and echoing townhouse of the Fine family, Mary stood in the gleaming kitchen in front of a lump of bread dough with a heart that threatened to beat out of her chest.

You’ve been a perfect idiot ever since you came home. Completely moonstruck.She rolled her eyes as she pressed her fingertips into the dough, making Sur it was ready for kneading.Not least because you keep questioning yourself, an activity that can only lead to madness.

If only she had even a little self-delusion. The sort that convinced thoroughly average women that they were the belle of every ball, or made mediocre gentlemen believe they were the standout wit in every conversation. Alas, Mary had never been the type to lie to herself—even comforting lies—and so, as she puzzled over just what had possessed her to kiss Adam Hart, she could only come to one singular and potent conclusion.

You really wanted to kiss him.She sighed to herself as she kneaded the bread much harder than was necessary. A cloud of flour rose into the air; Mary’s nose twitched, a sneeze beckoning.

‘Achoo!’ She covered her nose with her hand, her eyes watering. The bread dough sat accusingly before her on the table, a truly terrible conversational partner, but alas the only one that Mary could trust with such intensely secret information.

‘I wanted to kiss him very much.’ She muttered to the dough as she washed her hands in the bucket of fresh water by the door, cleaning the dough meticulously from under each fingernail. ‘I wanted to, so I did, and—and I enjoyed it very much, so it happens, and was almost disappointed to emerge from the antechamber and find him gone, but am equally cognisant of just how ridiculous this all is, and so will avoid Mr. Hart most assiduously until I am capable of speaking to him rationally.’

Which may be never.The bread dough didn’t have to have a mouth. Mary was perfectly able to supply its side of the conversation.Because you did something unbelievable.

‘I know.’

Because you wanted to. No other reason.

‘Yes. I’m aware.’

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