Chapter 27
In Which a Post-Prandial Experiment Is Conducted; Sweet Dreams (of a Thoroughly Scandalous Nature) Are Encouraged; And a Decision Is Reached …
After Mina had tucked Christopher into bed and he’d begun to drift asleep, she cast the Guardia Nimbus spell.
Despite the ever-present threat Sir Bedivere presented—despite her persistent misgivings about what might happen on the morrow when she took the child to see the Great Exhibition—Mina was humming with quiet contentment.
She didn’t think that she’d had a more wondrous day in her entire life.
It had been filled with bright and unexpected pockets of pure delight. And all thanks to Lord Kinsale.
Her heart was trembling with delightful anticipation—indeed it was as fluttery as a swarm of magical Guardia Nimbus butterflies—as she quit Christopher’s bedroom. She couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the night would bring. Or more specifically, what Lord Kinsale might have in store for her.
He’d gone out of his way to spoil her completely and she didn’t know what to make of that. It hadn’t just been her, though. Lord Kinsale had spoiled the boys too.
After the dancing had concluded in the ballroom—and hadn’t she felt so very special, being held in the marquess’s arms as they gently swayed around the exquisitely decorated floor?—Lord Kinsale had ushered her, the boys, and Brutus into the dining room where a sumptuous feast awaited them.
They’d all been seated at one end of the vast dining table—even Brutus had his own chair that was piled up with several cushions so he could reach his plate—when several footmen began to bring in platter after platter of delicious treats.
Lord Kinsale had declared it was a dinner to welcome Tom and Christopher to Kinsale House, and to thank Miss Davenport for all her tireless work helping him and the boys, and Mina was nothing but touched.
The marquess, in her absence, had asked Tom and Christopher to choose their favorite dishes for dinner, and it seemed Mrs. Dunkley had outdone herself.
There were platters of beef and pork sausages, a roast chicken, and jugs of rich onion gravy (all of which pleased Brutus).
A large bowl piled high with colcannon—an Irish dish that consisted of creamy mashed potato that had bacon, buttery cabbage, and leeks folded through it.
There was another bowl brimming with crispy duck-fat roasted potatoes and a loaf of fresh sourdough bread to soak up the gravy.
And last but not least, not one but two puddings to choose from.
A delicious sticky toffee pudding and a decadent trifle—sponge fingers were layered with custard, whipped cream, raspberry jelly, poached peaches, and sprinkled with toasted almond slivers.
To drink, there was lemonade and ginger beer for the boys and champagne for Lord Kinsale and Mina.
By the end of dinner, Mina was sure the hook-and-eye fastenings of her corset might burst. Fortunately, once the feasting was done, they all repaired to the drawing room for an hour of rousing parlor games.
“Squeak, piggy, squeak” and “duck, duck, goose,” and “Simon says” had them all laughing fit to burst as well.
However, by nine o’clock both Tom and Christopher were beginning to yawn, so Mina declared it was bedtime.
While one of the footmen took Brutus up to Lord Kinsale’s suite, Lord Kinsale read the boys a story.
Then he helped Mina tuck Tom and Christopher into bed before he invited her to meet him in the library. Just to talk.
“Only … only if you want to,” he said in a voice that was both warm and soft once they’d retreated to the hallway outside the boys’ bedrooms. “I know you must be exhausted after last night. And-and tomorrow will be another busy day given we’re ta-taking the boys to see the Great Exhibition.”
Mina bit her lip. It was true that she was exhausted. But the marquess had given her the most magical day. She really didn’t want to refuse such a simple request.
And she also wanted to share with the marquess what she’d come across in her little green elocution book about kissing exercises.
But they couldn’t discuss such a thing out in the hall right by the boys’ bedrooms. And it wasn’t as though she could invite the marquess into her bedroom.
And the idea of using the schoolroom to discuss kissing felt odd too.
On an impulse, she reached out and touched Lord Kinsale’s forearm. “I do wish to … to talk,” she said. “But not in the library. I have somewhere closer in mind. Somewhere private.”
The marquess’s eyes gleamed with interest. “You know I’m more than ha-happy to put meself in your very capable hands, Miss Davenport.”
There was a small, rarely used parlor—a music room of sorts—just opposite the schoolroom.
Once a pair of gas lamps had been lit, their soft golden glow revealed an old upright pianoforte against one wall, a glass-fronted bookcase that was full of old sheet music, a bare fireplace, and a small sofa upholstered in the same burgundy damask that hung at the windows.
“So, Miss Davenport”—Lord Kinsale’s wide mouth stretched into a slow smile as Mina closed the door—“what-what shall we talk about now we’re alone?”
He was lounging against the closed lid of the piano, his arms folded over his impressive chest, all studied nonchalance. But Mina could sense a change in him, that beneath his relaxed veneer, he was ever so slightly on edge. Like a hungry beast waiting to spring into action.
A delicious shiver passed over her as she dared to move closer. “I think we both know what we came here to discuss,” she said softly.
Lord Kinsale reached out and touched one of the ringlets framing her face. “The kiss … the kiss we shared last night, perhaps? And its … its effect on my speech?”
“Yes,” said Mina. And then she shared what she’d read in her guidebook about the therapeutic benefits of kissing—how it relaxed the oral musculature which then facilitated smoother speech.
“So you see, we really should kiss again tonight. To see if we can replicate the same results. And perhaps we can measure how long the positive effect lasts.”
Lord Kinsale’s mouth tilted into a roguish smile. The exact sort of smile that made Mina’s heart race. “Well, I’m game if you are, Miss Davenport,” he murmured, his voice a warm purr that seemed to stroke along her spine. “Or … or may I call you … may I call you Mina?”
Mina’s cheeks warmed. “I’d love it if you called me that.”
Lord Kinsale raised a hand and his fingertips lightly traced a path down the side of her face. His thumb brushed over her fevered cheek. “Mina, I’d love … I’d love it if you’d call me Phinn. Because I’ve been Phineas O’Connell for a lot long-longer than I’ve been Lord Kinsale.”
“Are you sure?” she whispered. It seemed so very intimate, breaking another one of society’s rules. But what could be more intimate than kissing? she reminded herself. She really needed to stop being so prim and proper.
The marquess’s eyes locked with hers. “Mina, the only thing that I’m more certain about in this particular mo-moment is my overwhelmin’ need to kiss you.”
“Then, Phinn,” Mina murmured huskily as she slid her hands around Lord Kinsale’s neck, “you most definitely should.”
And he did. He pulled Mina in, lowered his head, and covered her mouth with his.
Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. How silly she’d been to think that just one kiss with Lord Kinsale would ever be enough.
This kiss was everything a second kiss should be and more. Unlike last night’s sweetly tempered lesson when Lord Kinsale—Phinn—had been focused on gently showing her what to do—this kiss was hungrier. A little wilder. A little more passionate. And Mina loved it.
Lord Kinsale’s mouth moved against hers with assuredness. With purpose.
This kiss felt possessive. Like a claiming.
The slide of his lips was firm yet languid.
His tongue delved and stroked and teased deeply, each slick caress bolder than the last. It seemed as though he was determined to stoke her desire.
To teach her all about pleasure. And Mina welcomed it all.
Unlike last night, she wasn’t timid in her responses.
Her lips, her tongue, knew what to do. Her body knew what it wanted.
She wanted him. She wanted everything.
Glorious heat rushed through her veins. Desire gently pulsed and throbbed in all her secret places.
Her breasts, between her thighs. And her hands, they seemed to have a mind of their own.
They began to explore Lord Kinsale’s—Phinn’s—beautifully strong body.
She brazenly reached beneath his evening jacket, her fingers seeking his hardness and furnace-like heat.
Yes, Phineas O’Connell, the Irishman, was intriguingly lean and hard and hot everywhere she was soft and rounded and yielding.
And his masculine scent—a delicious blend of fresh things like wintergreen and pine needles combined with the heady richness of leather and musk—invaded her senses, making her burn and melt.
Lord Kinsale’s hands began to roam over her body too.
The hand that had so tenderly framed her face slid to the exposed flesh of her shoulder and he gently pushed her sleeve down farther, baring her upper arm.
His mouth followed, raining a path of hot yet velvet-soft kisses down her neck to her shoulder.
He laved the spot where her pulse fluttered beneath her ear before his lips grazed along her collarbone.
When his tongue brazenly flickered into the deep valley of her cleavage, Mina moaned and clutched at his shoulders.
Her breasts felt heavy. Her nipples ached, the taut tips straining against her corset.
Her inner thighs were slick, her lower belly liquid with wanton, wicked, wonderful desire.
What was this man doing to her?