Chapter 5
Lion knew that either Miss Adelia Fox was a liar—or those half a dozen Swiss lads hadn’t shown her a bloody thing about the art of kissing.
Because she had frozen the moment her mouth pressed against his.
Elation surged through him, along with a dizzying swell of desire. Her lips were soft and lush and silken.
They were just as he had thought they would be, only better. So much better.
He took control, cupping her nape and holding her to him, tenderly coaxing her into a response. Tentatively, she began kissing him back. Her actions were slow and hesitant at first, but she caught on swiftly, her lips chasing his.
Her scent enveloped him, sweetly floral.
Kissing her was an intoxicating thrill, and now that he had her tempting mouth, he never wanted to stop.
She made a throaty sound, part sigh, part moan, and he seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss, giving her his tongue.
Her reaction was like an electric current straight down his spine.
She opened for his exploration, pressing closer to him on the piano bench until her breasts were crushed into his chest.
Madness seized him.
Kissing Miss Fox was unlike any prior experience he’d had.
She kissed him with the same unbridled enthusiasm she applied to her every action.
Her kiss was uncontrolled and wild and yet somehow deliciously heady.
Nothing about it was proper. This was the unrestrained, passionate kiss a mistress would give, not the refined peck a lady might allow a suitor.
Not that Lion was her suitor or that Miss Fox was a lady.
He most definitely was not courting Miss Adelia Fox.
He shouldn’t even be kissing her. Indeed, he ought to have been appalled, yet he was the opposite.
He was entranced. Obsessed. His cock had never been harder, and that was a most unwanted discovery.
But still, he didn’t stop. He kissed her until he was breathless.
Kissed her until he could scarcely remember his own name.
Then he kissed her some more. He became attuned to her every breath and slight sigh, to the subtle pressure of her hand on his shoulder or her fingers grasping his shirtfront as if to hold him fast to her.
She hadn’t any need to worry on that score.
Lion wasn’t going anywhere.
He was staying here on this blasted uncomfortable piano bench that had scarcely enough room for two, and his lips were never leaving Miss Fox’s.
As long as he continued kissing her, his mind couldn’t be permitted to persuade him that what he was doing was wrong, ungentlemanly, and wholly improper.
Because how could it be wrong when it felt so wonderfully, terrifyingly right?
When her tongue slid against his, he groaned.
His sinful mind whirled with what he might do next.
Kiss his way down her throat to feel the velvet-soft whisper of her skin on his lips?
Or cup a breast through her bodice? It had been so long since he had last been consumed by passion.
These days, he was too mired in duty and obligation to allow himself to feel.
And oh, how good it felt to be reckless, just this once.
To taste this woman on his lips. To suck her tongue and make her whimper.
To kiss her until she arched her lush, full breasts into his chest and threaded her fingers through his hair.
Her nails scraped his scalp, and God, it felt wondrous, like the unlocking of a door deep within himself.
He nipped her lip and then strung a path of kisses along her jaw, eager to learn every part of her that he could.
Her breath fell hot and rushed on his cheek, the smallest of intimacies and yet so very decadent.
To be this near. To have her hairpins at the mercy of his eager fingers as he plucked them free from her coiffure, sending her golden mane tumbling down her back.
To drink her scent into his lungs. To nuzzle her temple, to kiss her ear as she trembled.
The things he wanted to do to her. To do with her.
To show her. He was drunk on lust. On her.
She clutched at him, tipping her head back and making an erotic sound of enjoyment that had his ballocks tightening.
He’d never been this tempted by mere kisses.
Nor had he ever been more undone. He was at her sensual mercy.
She may not have learned how to kiss from those Swiss suitors, but she had certainly learned how to ensnare him.
The sudden and distant closing of a door somewhere beyond the music room brought Lion back to himself with a jolt, pulling him from the edge of ruin. This was Miss Fox he was kissing. He had to stop.
Reluctantly, Lion tore his mouth from hers.
Her green eyes were wide, her lips swollen from his kisses and darkened to the shade of summer berry compote.
Her breathing was every bit as ragged as his, her breasts rising and falling from her uneven gasps.
She looked as dazed as he felt and unfairly beautiful, too.
He swallowed hard. “My actions were most regrettable. Please accept my sincere apology for behaving in a manner so unbecomingly forward.”
She licked her lips. “No.”
Lion tried not to stare at her mouth. “No?”
“I refuse to accept your apology. Why should you be sorry? I’m not.”
She was equal parts mesmerizing and infuriating. Of course she wasn’t sorry. Miss Fox likely did whatever she wanted whenever the notion took her, regardless of aught else.
“It won’t happen again, I assure you,” he added stiffly.
What was wrong with him? Why had he kissed Miss Fox? And why was he so damned attracted to her? He had known beautiful women in his past. There was nothing unique about the hoyden American who had invaded his serenity with her bold presence.
“If you say so, Your Graceship,” she said in a breathless tone.
And then she had the temerity to wink at him, as if she were humoring his assertion and she didn’t believe him for a moment.
“It won’t,” he insisted.
Because he intended to keep his distance from Miss Fox for the rest of her stay here at Marchingham Hall. Obviously, he could not trust himself where she was concerned. The temptation was far too great.
Before she could convey further protest, he rose from the piano bench and offered her a hasty bow. “I’ll leave you to your music, Miss Fox.”
As he strode away, he licked his lips, and he tasted her.
And he wanted more.
Good God.
“It’s a terrible shame that there isn’t a tree or at the very least some festoons,” Addy lamented to Aunt Pearl that evening as they sat before a crackling fire in the library. “It’s as bleak as winter in this house. I cannot fathom such a grim lack of cheer.”
Dandy was snuggled on her lap, peaceful and lightly snoring. Reports from the stable earlier that day indicated that the snow had yet to melt, meaning that roads might not become passable again until a fortnight had passed.
They were still, quite possibly, going to be stranded with the duke for Christmas.
Marchingham had been conspicuously absent at dinner. After those scorching kisses in the music room, Addy didn’t know what she had expected of him. But it certainly hadn’t been for him to retreat and hide himself away.
Not after the passionate way he had kissed her.
Do not think of it now, Addy, she inwardly admonished herself, even though those heated music room moments had furthermost occupied her mind every second since the duke’s mouth had left hers.
He was excellent at kissing, which she supposed was to be expected since everything about the Duke of Marchingham was utter, unparalleled perfection except for the shabby state of his manor house.
Addy rather wished he had been wet-lipped and oafish and that his breath had smelled of herrings and pickles and moldy cheese.
It would have made everything so much easier.
“Your mother decorates for Christmas more than anyone I know,” Aunt Pearl pointed out mildly, interrupting Addy’s thoughts.
“With the duke the only one in residence, I can understand his not wanting the fuss. Besides, I sincerely doubt there are enough servants to contend with such a formidable task.”
That much was true. For such a grand house, Marchingham Hall was woefully lacking in domestics. Addy had noticed it at once. Of course, back at home, Mama kept more servants than any other household in the city as a point of pride and a symbol of the Fox family’s immense wealth.
“Mama would be horrified by the absence of trimmings,” Addy agreed.
“Speaking of your mother, what do you think she will say when she learns of your latest scrape?” Aunt Pearl asked shrewdly.
Addy bit her lip. “Do we need to tell her?”
Aunt Pearl gave her a meaningful look over the gold rims of her spectacles. “I don’t dare keep secrets from her. You know how she is.”
She sighed. “Yes, I do.”
Mama was notoriously unforgiving. Once, she had banished Aunt Pearl from paying calls to their Fifth Avenue mansion for an entire year because her aunt had failed to tell her mother in a sufficiently timely manner that Mrs. Richard Thomas Taylor had been spreading gossip about her.
Papa had taken to visiting Aunt Pearl instead, and he’d graciously included Addy in his clandestine visits.
She had kept her silence about the matter, naturally.
No one wanted to be on the wrong side of Mrs. Cornelius Fox. Not even her own family.
“Then we must inform her that you were not invited to Marchingham Hall as you claimed,” Aunt Pearl said, her voice uncharacteristically stern.
“But Mama will likely be furious with me for my subterfuge,” Addy argued stubbornly. “Do you truly want me to suffer her wrath?”
“You are her flesh and blood. Better for you to suffer her wrath than me. Need I remind you of the incident with Mrs. Richard Thomas Taylor?”