weak, and she closed her eyes, letting her head drop back and allowing him to kiss her in the shadows of the moonlit terrace.
He was the one who broke the kiss. He was the one who looked down at her, suddenly breathless, but with the moon behind him she couldn’t see his expression—she could only see the bright glitter of his eyes. “You’re an eager pupil, dragon,” he said softly.
“What’s lesson three?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“You’re not ready for that, love. I trust I’ll be around when you are. In the meantime, though, we may as well work on lesson two. You’re not as adept at kissing as Hetty might be, but with a little trial and error…”
This time when she shoved him he fell back, releasing his hold on her arm, moving out of her way so that her escape was clear. She didn’t hesitate, pushing past him, and she would have left without a word if his faint laugh hadn’t followed her.
She stopped at the French doors, whirling around to glare at him. “You ought to be gelded,” she said, as harsh and as coarse an insult as she could come up with in the heat of the moment.
His laugh grew. “Oh, no, my dear. You really wouldn’t like that at all.”
The heat and noise of the ballroom was an assault on her shaken body as she walked back inside, shutting the doors behind her. Shutting him away. She had no idea whether people were staring at her—Montcalm had whisked her away from the party so quickly she didn’t know whether anyone realized she’d disappeared with London’s most notorious rake. At that moment she didn’t particularly care.
She wanted to run, but at the last minute her back stiffened. She had survived many worse things than a stolen kiss on a terrace, and she would certainly survive this. First of all she must find Hetty amidst the dancers.
When she spotted her she breathed a sigh of relief. The young beauty had gone on to another unexceptional partner and was drinking in the admiration and flattery as any seventeen-year-old would.
For the moment she was safe. Annelise slipped from the ballroom to one of the retiring rooms, sinking down in front of a mirror to fiddle with her hair. The slight breeze on the terrace had loosened its strict knot, probably aided by Montcalm’s random destruction of her lace cap, and as she tried to smooth it back into submission Lavinia Worthington sank down beside her.
“You’re looking very well, Miss Kempton,” she said, eyeing her far too closely. “I’m pleased that you decided to rejoin society.”
Lavinia had always had an acid tongue, quite often used at Annelise’s expense, referring to her as the Giant, and Madame Timbertrees. Annelise tried to summon a cool smile but her mouth felt stiff, strange.
“And obviously you’re pleased, as well,” Lavinia continued without waiting for an answer. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the kind for clandestine flirtations, but perhaps I was wrong about you.”
“Clandestine flirtations?” Oh, God, had Lavinia seen her dancing off with her former lover? The very thought made her physically ill. “Why should you think that?”
“I have eyes in my head, Annelise. I may call you that, mayn’t I? You’ve just been thoroughly kissed—any fool could see it. The reddened, slightly swollen lips, the dazed expression in your eyes. Have I missed something? Are you engaged?”
Annelise surveyed her reflection with horrified fascination. Yes, she looked well kissed. And she’d been very well kissed indeed. Not that she had a great deal to compare it to—she’d never been kissed before. Not once. Starting with someone who was undoubtedly exceedingly skilled in the art of kissing was going to make her far too difficult to please in the future.
Start and stop, she reminded herself. He only kissed her to shock and fluster her, and he wasn’t about to repeat the mistake. “I’m not engaged, Lavinia. I’m past the age of marriage—I enjoy a life of peaceful pleasures and the occasional delights of society.”
“Then who kissed you?”
It was almost too tempting to tell her, Lavinia who was still pining for Montcalm five years after he ended their relationship. But temptation was something Annelise tended to resist, and she was going to have to stiffen her resolve still further, if Montcalm continued.
“No one at all,” she said. “You’re imagining things. I’m afraid I’m not the sort to attract admirers.”
“Not even your eligible host?”
For a moment Annelise had no idea what she was talking about. And then she realized with astonishment that Lavinia was concerned she’d been kissed by Chipple, not the rakehell. She wanted to laugh in relief, but her wisdom kept her silent.
“Mr. Chipple holds absolutely no interest for me,” she said, trying to ignore the deliciously well-kissed feeling that still lingered. “Feel free to pursue him yourself, Lavinia. It was a great pleasure to see you again.” And she made her exit before Lavinia could summon another word.
After all the unfortunate tricks fate had played on her during this first day in the Chipple household, it must have decided she deserved some relief. Mr. Chipple and the relatively cheerful-looking Hetty were in sight, obviously searching for her.
“There you are, Miss Kempton,” Josiah said in a voice loud enough to be heard in several rooms. “We’ve been looking for you. Time to go home, don’t you think? My little girl needs her beauty sleep.”
Hetty didn’t look any too pleased at the notion, but she’d clearly enjoyed herself dancing so she wasn’t as ill tempered as usual. “Where did you disappear to?” she demanded. “Last I saw, you were trying to get rid of Christian.”
“And I did. I pushed him over the balcony. He should trouble you no more.”
Hetty’s china blue eyes widened in gullible horror, but Josiah simply chuckled. “She’s teasing you, puss. You’re not going to throw yourself away on the first man who offers. Come now, Hetty, get your mind back onto important things. Were there any young gentlemen who caught your fancy?”
“Perhaps this conversation could wait until we’re in the carriage,” Annelise suggested softly, all too aware of the curious stares around them.
“This conversation can wait until the Thames freezes over,” Hetty snapped. “Come along.” She swept out the door, rather like she was the teacher and Annelise the recalcitrant pupil.
In fact, there were areas where Hetty was clearly far more experienced. Areas that Annelise had no interest in exploring any further.
And Miss Hetty Chipple was going to have to learn that kissing dangerous men could lead to nothing but trouble. Any self-respecting female would never let a man take that kind of advantage of her.
Unless that self-respecting female was addled enough to go out onto a darkened terrace with a man, engage in a battle of wits and then do nothing when she was thoroughly, lengthily kissed.
Oh my God, thought Annelise. Which one of us is the real fool?
By the time Christian Montcalm and his coterie of friends found themselves walking down the street past Lady Bellwhite’s house a light mist had fallen. Crosby was complaining, as usual, and one of the others was suggesting a scenario at the Rakehells’ Club that sounded
