Yet his lips… His lips had been softer than a feather.
She snatched a jagged breath and struggled to speak, but before she could, he gave her another of those sweet kisses. Did he linger a little this time? Taste her as delicately as he’d sample a fine claret?
Her breath caught as he raised his head and regarded her with familiar concentration. To steady herself, she hooked her hands around his neck. “That was…”
Lovely? Wrong? Frightening? Beguiling?
Heaven help her. Heaven condemn her. She’d started this. Now she’d opened the gates to destruction on a level she’d never contemplated.
One thumb trailed down the line of her jaw, leaving a tingling wake. His lips quirked in a faint smile that set her heart cartwheeling. The huskiness in his voice stroked across her nerves like silk. The clean, male scent of his skin surrounded her, too familiar in a man who should be a stranger. “You’re not usually lost for words, Miss Trim.”
She’d never been kissed before. She’d always imagined that whoever the lucky fellow was, he’d use her Christian name. Still, something about the way his lordship said “Miss Trim” made her shiver with excitement. And God forgive her, lately when she’d imagined kisses, the man kissing her had been Lord Leath.
Nell felt as if she toppled over a cliff. She should flee, forsake her quest for vengeance, forget that however unacceptable the attraction, she found this man so appealing. She should scuttle back to Mearsall and her dear, kind stepfather, and her dull existence, and be grateful that dullness promised safety.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said shakily.
“You kissed me first.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
She wasn’t surprised when he laughed. Even she thought that she sounded absurd.
“You seem new to the activity. I merely offered an alternative technique.”
She thought she’d blushed before, but this critique set her cheeks on fire. “I don’t go around kissing random men, my lord. I refuse to apologize for my inexperience.”
“I’m glad.” He caught her loosely by the waist. She was overwhelmingly conscious of those large hands holding her.
“For my inexperience?”
“That you made an exception to your rule.”
“I suppose you’re used to women throwing themselves at you,” she mumbled, knowing she made a fool of herself. A man like Leath probably couldn’t step outside without tripping over eager young ladies wanting to kiss him. Wanting more.
The idea of him doing more to her sent Nell’s heart hurtling into her ribs.
He smiled. How she wished that he’d stop. That gentle curve of his beautifully cut lips set her pulse rocketing. “If only life was so exciting for a politically minded marquess.”
She wasn’t deceived. Even disregarding Dorothy’s story, she couldn’t see women ignoring his manifold attractions. He’d been angry when he’d discovered her in his room. She sensed no anger now. Just perpetual waiting.
She backed away and bumped hard into the door. “I must go.”
His hands tightened. “You freely entered the lion’s den, Miss Trim.”
“Stop calling me Miss Trim,” she said crossly, bracing her hands against his powerful chest. She told herself to push him away, but her disobedient fingers curved into hard muscle. He was so wonderfully warm. Beneath her right palm, his heart beat like a conqueror’s drum.
The kiss had been intimate. Feeling the life pounding through him felt more so. What a mistake she’d made coming here. Even if she left immediately, she and the marquess would never be strangers again.
“Would you rather I called you Eleanor?” he asked silkily.
Her eyes widened. “Only my father called me Eleanor. Everyone calls me Nell.”
“I rather like the idea of kissing Eleanor.”
“I rather like the idea of going back to my room.” She squeaked in horror. That sounded like a proposition. “Alone.”
“So no curiosity?”