… 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 she would take it as some sort of declaration and chase after him.
‘I do not have a female companion,’ she explained, trying to keep any hint of chagrin out of her voice.
‘Does Farleigh realise that?’
‘No.’ Bree bit her lip. Now that she and Piers had been introduced to the Lansdowne clan it seemed unlikely that they would be able to slide back quite so easily into social obscurity. ‘I suppose I had better acquire one.’
‘It’s as well. Men really are not to be trusted, you know.’ Max gave her a gentle push in the direction of the terrace.
Bree resisted the pressure. ‘All men? You included?’
‘Oh, me in particular, Miss Mallory.’ The amusement in his voice had a hard edge. ‘Definitely, you should be beware of me.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said stoutly. ‘I asked you to come out here—and I could have left at any moment when you kissed me. And besides, if you are such a dangerous seducer, you could easily have had your wicked way with me the other night and you were the perfect gentleman.’
‘I was, wasn’t I? I wonder what came over me. Did it not perhaps occur to you, Miss Mallory, that I was behaving with such restraint with the intention of lulling you into a false sense of security in order to entice you into my power later?’
‘Have you been reading sensation novels, my lord?’ Bree enquired tartly. ‘I realise that many men find a dangerous image to be an attractive one to cultivate, but I do credit you with more sense than that.’
He laughed, a genuine snort of amusement. ‘You never answered my question about a dance.’
‘Certainly, my lord—I have an entire card full of country dances to fill!’ Without waiting for his response, she picked up her skirts and ran down the steps to the terrace. The allegory about riding tigers floated into her mind from nowhere. She was riding a tiger now, and very exhilarating it was. But how did one get off?
Bree studied her face in the mirror in the ladies’ retiring room while a maid valiantly brushed at the lichen clinging to her skirts. The effect on her face of being thoroughly kissed was startling. Her cheeks looked as though she had rouged them, and her mouth was bee-stung and rosy pink. Her eyes were wide, and something sparkled in them, try as she might to lecture herself for wanton behaviour.
‘Bree! There you are.’ It was Georgy, sweeping in. ‘Look at my hem! Oh, thank you.’ She smiled sweetly at a maid who came forward with a sewing basket.
‘I … I feel a little flushed,’ Bree admitted. ‘I came in here to cool down a trifle.’
‘You look fine to me. The colour suits you,’ Georgy assured her. ‘You mustn’t be shy—go on, they’ll be starting the dancing in a minute, and you’ll want to get your card filled up with all the most eligible men.’
That seemed unlikely to occur, but Bree was pleasantly surprised. The attentions of Viscount Lansdowne and the approval of his sister apparently gave her a certain cachet and, although her card was not full, it was gratifyingly almost three-quarters complete when she showed it to Piers.
‘Am I too late, ma’am?’ The deep voice made her jump, even though she had been tensed for Max’s appearance ever since she had come into the ballroom. ‘I apologise for addressing you before being introduced, but I am not acquainted with your chaperon.’ Bree narrowed her eyes at him and he smiled back with an air of perfect innocence. ‘Max Dysart, Ea—’
‘But, Bree, you must know Lord Penrith, he rescued yo—’ Piers’s clear, excited voice cut through the hum of conversation. Interested faces turned.
‘Lord Penrith? Why, of course, you came to the aid of young Hinkins, our driver, at Hounslow a few evenings back, did you not? Piers told me all about it—thank you so much.’ She directed a look of such quelling intensity at her brother that he shut his mouth with a snap and melted back into the crowd.
But the group of men
