Read Online I Love the Earl by Caroline Linden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline Linden
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when her body pressed against his, it was unmistakably a woman’s body.
He stroked her cheek, fingering a loose tendril of hair before smoothing it back. No one wore powder to Vauxhall, and her pale tresses were as soft as silk. “How many kisses?” he murmured.
“Just one will do.” She sounded as breathless as he felt. Good. Raw male satisfaction ripped through him. He was no green boy, undone by the sight of a woman’s parted lips, but by God, he wanted her to be as aroused by this as he was.
“How long a kiss?” He brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth.
“How long do you need?” She swayed against him, her hand resting lightly against his chest.
“To kiss you properly?” He smiled. “A lifetime, Maggie.” And finally he kissed her.
Rhys had no expectation that it was her first kiss. She had alluded to a debut in her youth, and since her brother ascended to the dukedom, she must have had dozens of suitors. It certainly wasn’t his first kiss, either, and he could see benefits to being the last man to kiss a woman instead of the first.
But it was their first kiss, and he wanted it to make an impression—and leave her aching for more.
Her lips were soft against his. For a moment he just savored the feel of them—and the feel of her, in his arms—but it wasn’t enough. He deepened the kiss, sucking lightly at her lower lip until she gasped. Rhys pressed his advantage a little, tasting her mouth, sweet with arrack punch. He flattened one hand against the small of her waist, drawing her to him, and felt her fingers curl into the facings of his coat. Satisfaction fizzed in his veins. Kissing her was more delightful than expected, even if she was more pliant than responsive.
And then, Margaret gave a soft sigh before she went up on her toes and began kissing him back.
Rhys was not prepared for it. Of all the kisses in his life, none had ever been so honest and so longing. He could taste the desire in her, from the way her tongue twined with his to the way her body strained against his. She clung to him as if she would never let go, and the flare of lust shot right to his groin. Good Lord. He’d expected to be the seducer, and instead he was drowning in desire, so hard for her he could hardly stay on his feet. He cupped his shaking hand around the back of her skull, and threw restraint to the winds.
“I say there, sir,” said a frosty voice behind them some minutes later. “Unhand the lady!”
Margaret gave a violent start in his arms. Rhys held her for a moment so she wouldn’t fall, then loosened his grip and let her step away. She looked delectable; her hair had gotten a bit mussed, and her breasts were almost spilling from her bodice. Another sign how much he’d lost himself, that he had gone so far in a place where they could be interrupted at any moment. He turned to the intruder slowly, giving a discreet tug to right his breeches and blocking Margaret from sight so she could repair herself, only to grimace when he recognized the fellow. “Always taking an interest in other people’s affairs, aren’t you, Branwell?” he asked dryly.
The Marquis of Branwell drew himself up and glared back. “I might have known it would be you assaulting a lady in a public garden, Dowling.” He craned his neck to the side. “Are you well, Miss de Lacey?”
“Yes, yes, perfectly well,” she said breathlessly, stepping around Rhys. “What made you think otherwise, sir?”
Branwell’s nostrils flared in obvious disgust as he glanced at Rhys. “Perhaps you are not aware, Miss de Lacey, that the paths in the Grove are not safe for the delicate sex. This part of the garden is frequented by scoundrels.”
“So I have heard.” She smiled regally, despite the blond curl drooping from her coiffure. “I shall be alert for any, sir. Thank you for the warning.”
Branwell pointedly looked Rhys up and down. “You have already erred rather badly, madam, if your goal is to avoid scoundrels. I
He stroked her cheek, fingering a loose tendril of hair before smoothing it back. No one wore powder to Vauxhall, and her pale tresses were as soft as silk. “How many kisses?” he murmured.
“Just one will do.” She sounded as breathless as he felt. Good. Raw male satisfaction ripped through him. He was no green boy, undone by the sight of a woman’s parted lips, but by God, he wanted her to be as aroused by this as he was.
“How long a kiss?” He brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth.
“How long do you need?” She swayed against him, her hand resting lightly against his chest.
“To kiss you properly?” He smiled. “A lifetime, Maggie.” And finally he kissed her.
Rhys had no expectation that it was her first kiss. She had alluded to a debut in her youth, and since her brother ascended to the dukedom, she must have had dozens of suitors. It certainly wasn’t his first kiss, either, and he could see benefits to being the last man to kiss a woman instead of the first.
But it was their first kiss, and he wanted it to make an impression—and leave her aching for more.
Her lips were soft against his. For a moment he just savored the feel of them—and the feel of her, in his arms—but it wasn’t enough. He deepened the kiss, sucking lightly at her lower lip until she gasped. Rhys pressed his advantage a little, tasting her mouth, sweet with arrack punch. He flattened one hand against the small of her waist, drawing her to him, and felt her fingers curl into the facings of his coat. Satisfaction fizzed in his veins. Kissing her was more delightful than expected, even if she was more pliant than responsive.
And then, Margaret gave a soft sigh before she went up on her toes and began kissing him back.
Rhys was not prepared for it. Of all the kisses in his life, none had ever been so honest and so longing. He could taste the desire in her, from the way her tongue twined with his to the way her body strained against his. She clung to him as if she would never let go, and the flare of lust shot right to his groin. Good Lord. He’d expected to be the seducer, and instead he was drowning in desire, so hard for her he could hardly stay on his feet. He cupped his shaking hand around the back of her skull, and threw restraint to the winds.
“I say there, sir,” said a frosty voice behind them some minutes later. “Unhand the lady!”
Margaret gave a violent start in his arms. Rhys held her for a moment so she wouldn’t fall, then loosened his grip and let her step away. She looked delectable; her hair had gotten a bit mussed, and her breasts were almost spilling from her bodice. Another sign how much he’d lost himself, that he had gone so far in a place where they could be interrupted at any moment. He turned to the intruder slowly, giving a discreet tug to right his breeches and blocking Margaret from sight so she could repair herself, only to grimace when he recognized the fellow. “Always taking an interest in other people’s affairs, aren’t you, Branwell?” he asked dryly.
The Marquis of Branwell drew himself up and glared back. “I might have known it would be you assaulting a lady in a public garden, Dowling.” He craned his neck to the side. “Are you well, Miss de Lacey?”
“Yes, yes, perfectly well,” she said breathlessly, stepping around Rhys. “What made you think otherwise, sir?”
Branwell’s nostrils flared in obvious disgust as he glanced at Rhys. “Perhaps you are not aware, Miss de Lacey, that the paths in the Grove are not safe for the delicate sex. This part of the garden is frequented by scoundrels.”
“So I have heard.” She smiled regally, despite the blond curl drooping from her coiffure. “I shall be alert for any, sir. Thank you for the warning.”
Branwell pointedly looked Rhys up and down. “You have already erred rather badly, madam, if your goal is to avoid scoundrels. I
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