She slipped her hand over his lips, but he simply kissed her palm, this caress not playful, bringing a needy sound from her that shocked them both.
Drawing her fingers to cup his cheek, he leaned in until his lips grazed hers. “I didn’t have the courage to stumble down the marble staircase at Tavistock House and introduce myself to the girl on the veranda. So I’ll do that now. Christian Emory Bainbridge, pleased to make your acquaintance. Now that that’s over, will you please marry me?” Then he slanted his head, his lips covering hers, taking possession, branding her as she’d branded him on a lonely night ten years ago.
Tunneling her fingers in his hair, she gave the strands a tug, her nails gently scraping his scalp. Touched her tongue to his and shyly began an erotic dance. Stepping between her legs, fitting himself as close to her as he could while standing, he murmured an approving hum that mixed with another of those enchanting sounds she freed when she liked what he was doing.
He would enjoy learning what she desired. Needed. Loved. What made her heart race, her skin flush. Like his watches, he’d study her until he could disassemble the unique pieces of her to find the glorious, perfect fit.
He’d spend a lifetime making sure happiness and pleasure were never far from reach.
Predictably, the door opened as they were losing themselves in each other, sending Raine stumbling into Christian. Penny peered around the open space, one brow rising, a trick he’d perfected in his chipped mirror until he had it down, only putting in the effort because women appreciated it and invited him into their beds that much quicker.
Penny took them in with a flat smile, snorting as Raine danced away from Christian.
She straightened her sad mobcap, smoothed her dress, and tugged on her apron before throwing up her hands in mortification and slithering through the doorway without a backward glance.
Penny shoved Christian back a step when he tried to follow. “Get a grip on yourself, man. I don’t know what’s happening in that usually gifted brain of yours, but if you don’t want to ruin her position in this household, ruin your relationship with Devon, you should let your able manservant assist with this scandalous post-encounter as you look like you’ve been dipped in something sticky and are not yet dry. And she looked about the same.”
Christian muttered an oath and yanked his hand through his hair. “I asked her again, much better this proposal, romantic even, and then there you were, barreling in.” He brought his knuckle to his mouth, winced. “Cut my lip on her tooth when she bumped into me. Your timing is impeccable, Mister Pennington, utterly impeccable.”
“At your service, sire.” Penny gave Christian’s cravat a rectifying yank. “You didn’t allow for much time between proposals. A tad desperate, isn’t it?” He yawned, stretched his shoulders like he’d just woken from a nap. “You think she’ll accept?”
Slapping Penny’s hand away, he growled, “How should I know?”
His valet’s brow rose, that odious trick again. “You couldn’t tell from the kiss? My, you are losing your touch.” He released a sardonic smile and leaned lazily against the doorjamb. “At least marriage means I won’t have to deliver any more necklaces to departing mistresses. No joy in that task. Remember that crazy countess who pulled the pistol on me? Can only be thankful she had no idea how to use it.” He crossed the room and collapsed in the chair Raine had recently vacated, gave the air a little sniff as if it still smelled of feminine delight. “I’ve had enough of enraged women to last a lifetime. For my sake, I’m hoping the bluestocking says yes.”
Christian strode to the window, braced his forearm on the ledge, and let his mind sink into their kiss. They’d been entangled, the scent of her storming his mind, the touch and taste of her devastating his body. His soul. When her eyes had opened for one brief moment and caught his, he’d seen something authentic and profound shimmering in their golden depths.
Christian gazed across the duke’s sloping lawn, clouds the color of pewter releasing scant light, the evergreens and hedges coated in a blustery mist. “She’s going to say yes.”
“Again, let’s hope,” Penny murmured in a drowsy voice, “after you’ve made a cake of yourself. Twice.”
“She loves me, too.” A little. I think.
“So, it’s love. Couldn’t go for one of those advantageous but loveless marriages, could you? Not your style, I suppose.” The grunt his valet released sounded resigned and mournful. “Well, well, well, you’ve let yourself be caught, my friend. This should prove enlightening. To me, in any case. Ways I can avoid the trap.”
“I want to be caught,” Christian whispered too low for Penny to hear, realizing it was the sincerest statement he’d ever uttered.
He wanted, for the first time, to own and be owned. Wanted to give Raine everything she’d dreamed of while securing his dream.
For the girl on the veranda to finally be his.
Raine dashed down the hallway, embarrassed, overjoyed, panicked. Her body blazed like one of the kitchen’s ovens, throwing off heat until she feared anyone close to her would feel it. She skidded to a halt before she entered the main hall, Mrs. Webster’s smooth voice gliding from the pantry. The scent of baking bread and roasted meat joined the dusty air rolling in the open gallery windows, though when she lifted her hand to her nose, all Raine could smell on her skin was Kit. Sandalwood and the faint scent of bergamot that must be in the soap he washed his hair with. She’d had her hand tangled in the dark strands, her lips open beneath his, their legs entwined like holly circling an elm trunk.
It had been, for one electrifying moment, what she imagined lovemaking was like.
Except, they’d been standing up.
Her face flamed, turning what she knew was an unbecoming shade of pink. Dear heaven, the man could kiss, quickly finding the way to unlock her passion. And, somehow, she’d seemed to know just how to follow along, his ragged sound of pleasure the most sensual thing she’d ever heard in her life. It had been natural, touching him, body melting against his, hands clutching to bring him closer.
When it had been impossible to get closer.
I love him. I do. I love Christian Emory Bainbridge.
Now, what to do about it?
Raine was riddled with uncertainty, debating between telling the adorable man yes or hiding until he’d repaired all the duke’s timepieces and retreated to London when Charlotte Webster, Lady Ann’s personal maid, stepped from the pantry. Newly married to Phillip, the cook’s son, Charlotte glowed like a lit candle rested inside her, her pleasant personality. She had a devilish wit that came out in only the loveliest of ways, no cuts involved, which in Raine’s experience was rare.
Charlotte would understand her dilemma; her marriage to Phillip was a love-match.
“Raine, dear, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Charlotte wiped her hands on the cloth she held and tilted her head in consideration. “Are you unwell?”
Raine knocked the frilled edge of her cap from her eyes, wondering if she looked like she’d been ravished. She felt like she had. “Do you have time for a walk? Through the gardens, perhaps? The flowers are in bloom and quite lovely.” She tangled her hands in her apron and groaned. “I have a question. A concern. About a man. A vexing, tempting, wonderful man. I’m confused and excited and, oh, so many things!”