Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
I was being mischievous, I am afraid, teasing you by pretending I was not myself. Then Mr Latymer asked me if I knew you. I should have said yes, in an indifferent way, and he would have thought nothing of it. Then I realised I risked all sorts of embarrassments if you greeted me later. I will warn Piers not to react if he meets you.’
Max took her by the elbow and steered her to the front of the summerhouse where its arcade overlooked the silent gardens. Bree perched on the balustrade and leant her back on a pillar.
‘Your brother is here too?’ How had both the Mallorys inveigled their way in?
‘Of course—you do not know who we are. Viscount Farleigh is our half-brother. Our mama married twice. She was the daughter of Lord Grendon, so we have dozens of Grendon cousins—most of them are here tonight. Then, when James’s father died unexpectedly, she married again, for love. It was very romantic—her horse bolted and Papa jumped a five-bar gate on his hunter and galloped after her and snatched her from the saddle. Mama used to say he snatched her heart and never gave it back.
‘As you can guess, there was the most frightful row. Mama was only just out of mourning and, although Papa was perfectly respectable and owned land, some of the family had drifted downstream socially. The cousin who was a highwayman was almost an insuperable obstacle, but fortunately—in the opinion of the old viscount—he was hanged just before the wedding, poor man. His grandfather insisted on bringing James up, so we are not at all close.’
‘So you must be the skeletons in the cupboard Avery was telling me about.’
Bree gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘That’s us.’ He could see from the glint of light on white teeth that she was smiling. ‘James insisted we come along and demonstrate that we do not swig gin out of the bottle or try to sell doctored nags to the unwary or whatever it is the Dowager believes we do, the old gorgon. I think we surprised her.’
‘You surprise me,’ Max admitted. ‘You must agree, breeches and beaver hat do not show you to your best.’
She chuckled. ‘They are very practical, but I do prefer being a girl. I enjoyed dressing up for this evening. I took your advice, you know.’
‘You did?’ Max shifted his position so he could sit facing her. ‘What about?’
‘I almost had my hair cropped. My coiffeur wanted me to, I wanted to, or I thought I did. But at the last minute I remembered what you said, and didn’t.’
‘It looks … very well.’ And I want to take out every single pin and comb, very, very slowly, until it all tumbles down.
‘Thank you! I must go back.’ She jumped down off the balustrade, shaking out her skirts. Max smiled, his amusement at her lack of concern unseen in the gloom.
‘Bree?’
‘Yes?’ She stood poised on the top step, ready to flit back along the terrace.
‘Will you dance with me this evening?’
‘Me?’ Even in that light he could make out the incredulity on her face. ‘My lord, earls are far too top-lofty for the likes of me.’
‘Earls dance with the sisters of viscounts and the granddaughters of barons, and I’ll wager Lansdowne has already asked you for a dance.’ And she is not an innocent little bourgeoise, she understands this world, my world, even if she is not actually apart of it. This is becoming something very different, and I can’t fool myself it is not. He stood looking at her, thoughts rushing through his mind. Now I have to do something about Drusilla.
‘Yes, well …’ She was in a delightful dither, his stare only adding to her confusion. Max found it strangely encouraging that he seemed to have this effect on her. ‘Lord Lansdowne is about to become my brother-in-law.’
‘Well …’ Max pursued, moving closer ‘… I am so top-lofty, as you put it, that I will dance with whom I choose, especially if they happen to be the most beautiful girl in the room.’
‘Me?’ Bree felt her insides execute a swoop of delight. It was not true, of course, although she flattered herself she was looking more than passable this evening. It was very strange being out here alone with a man like this. It was even stranger being here with the man she had been dreaming about for days and who, she had very sensibly decided, was completely beyond her touch.
Now she was here, such sensible considerations did not seem particularly relevant.
‘Yes. You.’ He was very close suddenly. The man seemed to move like a cat, for all his height and breadth. ‘Do you think I deserve a reward for saving your hair?’
‘I … you …’ He is going to kiss me. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, although whether to his spoken question or his unspoken one she had no idea.
Bree had never been kissed before. Not by a non-related male. Not kissed full on the mouth by a man who appeared to have made a study of just how to reduce an independent, mature, sensible female to a state where all she was capable of was clutching as much of his torso as her hands could encompass and clinging on in the faint hope that her legs would continue to support her.
She hadn’t known what to expect. Certainly rather more activity than was occurring. It was incredible that he could achieve the effect he was, simply by holding her very firmly against his chest with one arm and cupping the back of her head with the other hand whilst applying light pressure to her lips.
Only—it was not just pressure, she realised hazily. He was exploring her lips with his, moving from corner to centre, catching the fullness of her lower lip between both of his, releasing it to slide to the other corner and then back to the centre. This time he used his teeth in a light, teasing nip that shot sensation, shockingly, right to the core of her.
His tongue, sliding out to run along the join of her lips, made her gasp against his mouth. She felt his smile. ‘Shh,’ he whispered without lifting his mouth and the sound hummed against the sensitised tissue. Back came his tongue, sliding, pressing now. What does he want? Oh!
The invasion breached her feeble defences, leaving her shaken. If someone had told her a man would put his tongue in her mouth and she would like it, she would have been disgusted and incredulous. But it was … Bree gave up trying to think straight and tentatively touched her own tongue tip to Max’s.
It was moist and velvety and hot, this intimate exchange of touch. This caress. And it was making her feel as though she were in someone else’s body altogether. Her breasts, pressing heavy against cool linen and the fine friction of superfine cloth, felt decidedly swollen. They tingled most disconcertingly and it seemed that the only relief might be to press closer. And in the pit of her stomach—no, lower, in an area where no modest young woman should be giving any thought to, there seemed to be a strange, hot, liquid feeling.
As she shifted her grip to hold more securely to Max’s shoulders, she became aware of a pressure against the curve of her belly. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t ignorant. One knew the mechanics of the thing—in theory. But she hadn’t exactly comprehended that a kiss could have quite such a startling effect on a man. Max lifted his head.
‘Bree. I had not intended doing that.’ He sounded rueful, and to her delight, shaken.
‘Why not?’ she asked, the poor light defeating her efforts to read his face.
‘One does not kiss young ladies, on the terrace, in the dark. Surely your chaperon warns you about these things?’
‘I do not have one.’ She realised that Max was not the only one who was feeling shaken—her knees were trembling.
‘You’re going to need one if you are intending to attend any more social events. It will be noticed if you do not. The lady who resides with you will probably do.’
Why was he talking about chaperons when the presence of one would have stopped him kissing her as he just had? Bree blinked in the gloom; perhaps Max really was regretting that kiss. Perhaps he thought