Chapter 7
Max had not, he thought, come outside with the express intention of kissing Allegra Constantine in a shrubbery.
But then if he hadn’t, he might well ask himself what in damnation he had been about.
He’d certainly had no interest in watching her set to it with Englishby – some men cared for that sort of thing, he knew, but he was not one of them.
He’d much rather be a participant in life than a spectator.
As with pugilism, so with… kissing debutantes in flowering bushes.
Apparently. It wasn’t something he’d been making a habit of, not since his own callow youth.
Then, of course, he’d been notorious for it.
But he didn’t want to think about that just now.
He didn’t want to think at all, but merely to feel.
He would have stopped instantly if she’d said no, or if she’d stiffened in his arms and merely endured his embrace, shown any sign of fear or reluctance or even insufficient enthusiasm.
But after a brief moment of what he thought must be disbelief, she had begun kissing him back with equal fervour.
Her arms were about his neck, her body pressed to his. All of her body.
God, she was delicious. Her lips opened to his, and when his tongue slid in to taste her more fully, hers came by instinct to meet it.
When he sucked on her delectably full lower lip – the one that made her pout so sulkily – and then nipped at it with his teeth, she moaned, the Devil take him if she didn’t, and returned the favour.
The jolt her wicked teeth set through his whole frame was almost enough to undo him.
Since it seemed he was eighteen again – and if he’d laid claim to his habitual iron self-control at this point, he’d have been a shameless liar – he found himself kissing his way down her bare neck.
She’d put her head back to allow him that privilege, and her gloved fingers were buried deep in his hair.
Her touch wasn’t gentle or delicate, it was too honestly urgent for that, but he liked it.
His hands were about her waist, under her breasts, though there was no guarantee at all they’d stay there.
Perhaps he was indeed king of the world tonight, and even the cursed Bonaparte or the Grand Turk might envy him.
He felt as though he was, in this moment.
All he desired or could imagine desiring, warm and willing in his arms.
But he’d been here before, hadn’t he? In another garden, with another woman, years ago.
The circumstances had been very different, his companion not a virtual stranger to him like Miss Constantine, but he had good reason to know the consequences of getting caught, and they would be the same, with no chance of escape this time.
Matrimony. He dared not risk it; it would mean disaster.
The thought was so unwelcome that he froze, his lips soft on the upper slope of her breast, this thumb cruelly halted in its mission to creep up and find her erect nipple and caress it.
He sighed, a deep exhalation of pure, bone-deep regret, and stood upright, letting his hands rest on her more lightly, though he couldn’t bring himself to let her go yet, for several excellent reasons. ‘That’s enough, I think, don’t you, ma’am?’
There wasn’t much light out here, or they’d not be in this fix, but he didn’t need to see her face clearly to know that the flush of concupiscence was being replaced by confusion, and then by hot shame.
In a moment, he thought, she’d run from him, too overset to know where she was going or the trouble she might find herself in as a result. But she must not; he must not let her.
‘No,’ he said, steadily but with urgency, still holding her.
His body still responded animalistically to hers, his body didn’t want to stop, but his damned inconvenient brain knew better.
‘Don’t leave me like this. If anyone sees you now, they’ll know exactly what you’ve been doing, even if not with whom.
But that doesn’t matter – you’ll be ruined.
Reflect for a moment and you’ll see that I am right. ’
‘Ruined…’ she said slowly.
‘You cannot afford to overstep the line – you know this. Your chances of a respectable marriage depend on it.’
‘This sudden concern for my reputation is most touching and unexpected, coming from you,’ she said drily, the tiniest of catches in her voice all that betrayed her agitation. She recovered quickly and aimed straight, even in distress; he had to allow her that.
‘I didn’t bring you out here.’
‘But you profited by my imprudence.’ That stung, as it was meant to, for it was the truth.
‘If I did, I wasn’t the only one,’ he shot back.
‘Oh, you are the most provoking… As a gentleman, you should admit you took wicked advantage of me,’ she hissed.
‘It would have been I or another.’ He shrugged. ‘It makes no matter, really. At least I have the sense not to allow you to run inside and make a spectacle of yourself. You really should thank me, Miss Constantine. I’m waiting…’
She slapped him.