The Wedding Trap (19 page)

So when this Season began, would anything change? Might a man finally wish to kiss her? And would she want him to? What if she didn’t like his touch and reacted badly? What if he thought her a complete pea goose for her naiveté?

Perhaps for her final lesson with Kit she ought to ask him to teach her to kiss, she thought on a humorous note.

Seconds later her lips parted in astonishment as the idea settled deeper into her mind. No, it was ludicrous even to contemplate such a thing. Kit’s eyes would jolt from his head, and the both of them would be mortified with embarrassment after his refusal.

But what if he did not refuse?

She thought again of his gazing at her lips yesterday afternoon.
Had
he been considering leaning down for a kiss? Or was it only her own wishful longings playing tricks?

There could be only one way to find out.

But did she have the nerve? Or would fear hold her back? And if she didn’t act, would she forever after regret not finding out if Kit’s real kisses were as sweet as the ones in her dreams?

Chapter Eleven

From her place on the satin-covered peach settee in the duchess’s dressing room, Eliza watched her friend’s maid set a final pin into Violet’s elegant coiffure.

“I am sorry you aren’t coming with us today, but I suppose it isn’t as if you haven’t already seen Astley’s Amphitheatre and Bullock’s Egyptian Hall,” Violet remarked. “Jeannette says Moira and Siobhan have talked of little else since she suggested the outing. Even Finn is excited, though he tries to act as if the idea is all a great humbug and he is being forced to come along. You know how young men are at that age, worried about maintaining their reputation at the expense of all else.”

“I don’t think men change in that regard no matter their age,” Eliza observed.

Violet laughed, shifting around on her seat to face Eliza now that Agnes had finished dressing her hair. “How very true. Adrian and Darragh have been making grumbling noises as well, but I don’t think they are all that loath to be accompanying us. Still, I shall miss you not taking part.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. With my first ball only two days away, I ought to take this last opportunity to practice with Kit.” Eliza’s throat tightened at the thought of what she hoped to be practicing.

“Well, I think you have done splendidly,” Violet congratulated, reaching over to pat her hand. “But I suppose one more lesson cannot hurt.”

An hour later, Eliza sat on the sofa in Violet’s study, her mouth as dry as one of the tomb artifacts she knew Violet and the others must by now be viewing at Bullock’s Museum.

Opposite her at the other end of the sofa, Kit relaxed in leisurely masculine ease. He bit into one of the cookies on his plate, then washed down the treat with a long swallow of hot tea. Manners ingrained, he wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin before moving on to the next confection on his plate, his enjoyment apparent.

Kit always liked to have some sort of refreshments available during their lessons. Sustenance to tide them over, he claimed, since a man could go only so long without a meal.

Not the least bit hungry, Eliza set her own cup and plate aside, the one small cake she had taken out of politeness going untouched.

“Are you not hungry?” Kit inquired with a nod toward her abandoned sweet.

She shook her head. “I had a more than adequate breakfast.”

“Breakfast never stays with me and nuncheon is hours away yet.”

He ate one more pastry, then swallowed the last of his tea, setting his cup onto its saucer with a faint tap. “Ready to begin, then?” He wiped his mouth and his graceful, long-fingered hands, then folded his napkin and set it next to his empty cup. “Drawing room conversation or ballroom? You have mastered both quite nicely, but a final polish cannot go amiss. So which shall it be today?”

She stared down at the pale blue sofa cushion between them. Stomach quivering, she ran the tip of one fingernail across the expensive fabric. Her mind raced.

Should she do it?
Could
she do it? Because once the words were out, there would be no going back.

She trembled and swallowed hard then plunged ahead, knowing if she did not proceed she would turn coward and dash her chances forever. “I thought…that is…I wondered, since it is our last lesson, if we might perhaps do something a little different.”

“Different? Such as?” Not one to stand on formality, Kit leaned forward and reached for the teapot. Sliding his cup into place, he began to pour.

“I thought…well, I have been thinking that…did you know I have never been kissed?”

His eyes jerked upward to meet her gaze.
“What?”

“No man has ever kissed me and I want you to do it.”

Hot tea splashed across his fingers. “Bullocks!” He released the teapot, letting it drop onto the silver tray with a cringe-inducing
thud.
“Sorry. What did you say?”

“Oh, mercy, are you all right?” She stiffened in alarm at his injury. “Are you badly burned? Oh, I shouldn’t have spoken…I didn’t mean for you to be hurt.”

“Never mind that now. Repeat what you just said, not about being burned but the other.”

She pulled in a breath, her voice lowering to a near whisper. “I said I want you to…kiss me.”

He stuck his scalded knuckle into his mouth and stared.

“It’s not so much that I want
you
to kiss me,” she pressed on, ignoring the fact that her cheeks must be stained as red as pomegranates. “It’s only that I want to be kissed…in case it happens this Season…so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

Little liar,
she thought. Of course it was him she wanted to kiss, but something in her warned she ought not let him know that particular fact.

He pulled the finger out of his mouth. “And which gentlemen do you imagine may be in urgent want of kissing you?”

“Oh, well, no one in particular.”

“Brevard?”
His jaw visibly tightened.

She shrugged, marveling at her unexpected bravado. “I do not know, but since you seem to think I shall finally
take
this Season, I only wish to be prepared. And you are my mentor.”

His mahogany eyebrows winged upward.

“I thought you could teach me…a little…so I would not be afraid, should it happen, that is. But only if you want to. I’ll understand if you don’t.” At that, her speech dwindled into nothingness, her mock courage draining away as abruptly as it had arrived. She lowered her gaze to her lap, her fingers squeezed tightly together.

A long, pronounced silence fell before he spoke. “So let me make certain I understand this. You want me to teach you how to kiss?”

Her head came up. “Yes. A simple kiss will do.”

“And I am to do this so you won’t be alarmed should another man want to kiss you in future? A man who may very well become your husband. Do you not think he ought to be the one teaching you how to kiss?”

She frowned. “Well, perhaps, but…”

“But what?”

“But if I never kiss any other man, how will I know if he is the right one for me? Violet says I ought not settle for the first man who asks, unless I am certain he will suit me best. Of course, this Season may go no better than the others, and the whole matter shall remain utterly moot.”

“I do not think you need to worry. I shall be very much surprised if you do not receive at least one or two respectable offers this year.”

“Because of my money, you mean?”

His gaze softened. “No, because of
you.
Isn’t that what all our lessons have been about?”

She nodded, warmed by his words.

But when he said nothing further, her chest tightened.

He is going to refuse,
she thought.
Obviously he feels nothing for me.
So much for all her ridiculous musings about the way he had looked at her in the hallway the other day.

Suddenly she wished she could shrink into herself, curl up and die.

“All right.”

At first she wasn’t sure she had heard him, his voice so low and rough. Had he said “all right”?

Kit shifted closer on the sofa. “Are you sure you want this?”

Her heart skipped up into her throat. “Yes.”

“And I assume you wish to begin now?”

She nodded. “Everyone is away, and this
is
our final lesson. It might be awkward later.”

His mouth curved up in a wry smile. “It might be awkward now, but let us begin, if such is your desire.”

Hmm, her desire. Now that she had committed to this plan, she realized what a dangerous game she was playing, as if she had decided to thrust her palm directly over a roaring fire. All that remained to be seen was how badly she was going to end up getting burned.

He stood and crossed the room, closing the door with a quiet
click
of the latch. It showed her scattered state of mind, the fact that she had utterly forgotten about the door—half open for any passing servant to glance inside and see what they were about to do.

Kit returned and sank down beside her on the sofa, one trouser-covered thigh brushing her hip, a long arm stretched along the top of the settee at her back. In that moment, she became more vitally aware of his size and masculinity than she ever had before.

Leaning nearer, he placed a pair of fingers beneath her jaw and tipped up her chin. “Relax,” he murmured. “It won’t hurt, you know.”

She gave a shaky laugh and a nod, but she could say nothing further, her hands curled into fists of anxious anticipation in her lap. She closed her eyes and waited.

At first, she barely felt it when he touched his mouth to hers—light and smooth and tender, like the dusting of a feather against her skin. The contact increased ever so slightly, the shape and texture of his lips becoming better defined as they rested in undemanding warmth against her own. She caught a whiff of the earthy bay rum he liked to wear, became aware of the gentle susurration of his breath as it moved slowly in and out through his nose.

Then as inauspiciously as the kiss had begun, he pulled away and eased back.

Her eyes fluttered open to find him watching her, his face only inches away. She swallowed, aware of a vague sense of disappointment. Somehow she had expected more, something dramatic—like the earth tipping abruptly on its axis, perhaps.

She blurted out her dismay. “Is that it?”

A smile brightened the green in his eyes. “You said simple. I didn’t want to frighten you.”

“Oh.” She digested that for a moment. “I am not afraid.”

“Hmm. Then shall we try again? Something more involved?”

“Is there more?”

“Oh, yes, volumes. That last scarcely qualified as a kiss at all. Now, really try to relax this time. Oh, and part your lips.”

“Do what?”

“Your lips, let them open a little so they aren’t tight as a stitched-up seam.”

Was he implying she was stitched up too? Well, come to think of it, perhaps she was. A bit.

When she hesitated, he reached up and skimmed a thumb across her lower lip. Her mouth parted of its own volition, her body obviously understanding better than her mind.

“Good,” he said. “Now tip your head.”

“Tip?”

“Mmm-hmm. Like this.” He edged closer and cocked his head slightly to one side.

She studied him for a second then repeated his move exactly, tipping her head at precisely the same angle and direction as his own.

Amusement curved his lips. “No, the other way, like a mirror image.”

“Oh.” She didn’t completely understand the objective of his instruction until she tipped her head the opposite way. Then it all became suddenly clear, the realization that when they kissed, their noses wouldn’t bump, that their lips would fit together as naturally as interlocking pieces of the same puzzle.

He slid a broad palm around the back of her neck, his thumb angling her head ever so slightly upward. And then his mouth came down upon hers and showed her just how unremarkable their first kiss had been.

Her pulse leapt, beating like tiny drums in her wrists and throat after only a few seconds inside his embrace. Hotter and slightly moist, his lips became a revelation, a world of ripe discovery as they roved and plucked, firm and demanding, yet infinitely sweet. Captivated, she was utterly at his mercy as he coaxed and played, using a mixture of slow, sweet, heady persuasion she had no desire to resist.

Her fingers uncurled to lie relaxed in her lap as a mellow buzz began to cloud her brain. Her head feeling suddenly too heavy for her neck, she was relieved that Kit held her steady in his grasp. Dizzy and dreamy, the room spun around her in a way that reminded her of the time years before when she had drunk too much wine and ended up having to be helped upstairs to fall delirious into her bed.

Modulating the pressure and the angle of his kiss, he teased and cajoled, subtly urging her to respond. “Kiss me back,” he said, pausing long enough to murmur the command against her lips.

Her brows furrowed. “How?”

“Follow my lead. Do what I do and you’ll understand.”

At first she didn’t, confused as she attempted to obey his instructions. Remembering his words about parting her lips, she opened her mouth a fraction wider in hopes it would satisfy him. She jolted a second later when he soughed a warm exhalation directly into her mouth.