Stop it, Annabelle. You’re making a fool of yourself.
David arched a brow at her. “I think I can tell if a lady would welcome my kiss.”
“That’s arrogant,” she insisted, lifting her chin in the hopes that the small action would restore her control of the situation. But she knew, had known from the moment she saw him on the verandah, perhaps from the moment he’d cut in on her dance with Lord Murdock so dauntlessly…the reason this was different from the other men who’d made unwanted advances was because this was David.
And his advances weren’t unwanted.
“Perhaps it is arrogant,” he replied, his voice slow and husky, “but there’s only one way to find out.” Clutching her wrist, he pulled her expertly into his arms and his lips came crushing down on hers.
Chapter Sixteen
Annabelle should push David away. She should slap him. She should tell him he was not only arrogant, he was wrong. But the moment his hot mouth met hers, all thoughts flew from her head. When his lips pushed hers apart and his tongue entered her, she whimpered. No man had ever done anything so bold. And she’d never wanted it more.
In response, she pushed her arms up along his coat front and wrapped them tightly around his neck. Then she kissed him back with everything she was worth.
He pulled her closer. His hands settled on her sides at first, then one moved along the small of her back, making her a puddle, before the other cupped the back of her head, moving it so her mouth made better contact with his.
When his other hand moved slightly below the small of her back and pulled her firmly against his rock-hard body, Annabelle cried out. The sound was swallowed by his kiss.
She’d never felt anything like it. Most of the clumsy kisses she’d experienced before were wet, sloppy things that left her cold. This was nothing but heat. She didn’t know where to concentrate her pleasure, on his hand that cradled her head so tenderly, or the other hand at the small of her back driving her mad. Or the feel of her entire body plastered against his. Then there were her hands that had moved to his strong shoulders, while she breathed in the heady scent of him as his tongue owned hers.
They might have been kissing for seconds or hours. Annabelle was so disoriented that when David’s mouth left hers, she was nearly gasping for breath. Her nipples tingled and the intimate spot between her legs throbbed. The only thought in her head…it hadn’t been enough.
“Well?” he asked, stepping back, and straightening his jacket. He looked perfectly settled, but he was slightly bereft of breath, too. Good.
“Well, what?” she managed, her chest heaving, her gloved hand braced on the balustrade for balance.
He bit his lip and tilted his head to the side. “Do I owe you an apology for that?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. She wished she could breathe normally. She wished she could think normally. None of this was normal, and she’d never responded anything like that to any man. But at the same time, no man had ever kissed her like that before, either.
It was good. Better than good. She wanted to do it again. Immediately. But she’d die before she told him that. She searched her brain for the correct words. Something adequately tutor-like and condemning. “A gentleman should never take such liberties,” she forced herself to say, pressing her lips together primly, trying to pretend as if they didn’t still tingle from his kisses.
A sensual half-smile tugged at his lips. “I never said I was a gentleman.”
“But you’re trying to be, aren’t you?” Oh, no. The squeak was back. Her voice was neither clear nor confident. Perhaps talking was not the answer now. Perhaps she should shut her mouth and run inside the house. That seemed far more expedient than words at the moment.
“Not if it means missing out on a kiss like that,” he answered, rubbing a finger absently against the seam of his firm lips, as if remembering.
She tried to tamp down her answering smile, but it was too late—though she recovered herself enough in time to say what she knew she must. “That was improper, David. Of both of us.”
“I was merely trying to prove a point,” he said, tugging at his cuff.
She turned toward the darkened gardens so he couldn’t see the riot of emotions that was surely dancing across her face. “What point would that be?”
“That I’m not a complete fool. I do know when a woman welcomes my kiss.”
Her fingers gripped the cold balustrade, bringing a sense of sanity back to her entire body. Why was he pushing this so far? What did he want her to say? Anger flared in her chest. She turned to face him again. “Fine. I’m not certain why you’d want to prove that to me, however. Shouldn’t you be kissing a woman you might actually marry?”
David’s chin jerked slightly as if he’d been slapped. For a moment she thought she’d seen pain flash through his eyes, but his countenance quickly turned to stone, and he squared his shoulders. “You’re right, my lady,” he clipped. “I should go in search of Lady Elspeth.” He stalked directly past her on his way back to the ballroom, without giving her a second look.
Chapter Seventeen
After taking a few minutes to compose herself, Annabelle had nearly made it to the French doors to re-enter the ballroom when one of them opened and Lord Murdock slid outside.
“My lord?” she said, surprise evident in her voice as she took a decided step back.
“My lady,” he replied, bowing obsequiously, his smile tight.
Annabelle didn’t care for the glint in his eye. “I was just about to return to my mother—” she began.
“Yes.” He slipped an arm through hers and forced her to walk with him back toward the balustrade. “All in due time. First, I was hoping you’d allow me to speak with you privately for a few moments.”
Annabelle glanced back at the doorway they were moving farther and farther from. A shudder traced its way up her spine. Whatever Lord Murdock wanted to say to her, it wasn’t something she wanted to hear. She could sense that.
“Only for a moment,” she insisted, trembling. “I really must get back.”
As soon as they made it to the balustrade, Lord Murdock let his arm fall away. He stood between her and the French doors, blocking her view of the ballroom. The glint in his eye turned harder. “You don’t know me very well, Lady Annabelle,” the marquess began.
Annabelle nodded, her heart pounding. “No,” she agreed. What was he about?
“If you did know me, you would know that I am not a man to be trifled with.” His jaw was tight and for the first time, she saw anger simmering in his dark eyes.
Annabelle clutched the balustrade to steady herself. She hoped Lord Murdock couldn’t tell that her entire body was shaking. “Have I done something to offend you?” she forced herself to ask in a clear, steady voice, but panic was clawing at her middle.
The marquess’s dark eyes narrowed on her. “Not returning my calls, not sending thank you letters for my gifts, and allowing that buffoon from Brighton to cut in on our dance just now. I fear you’ve offended me many times over, my lady.”
Annabelle sucked in her breath. She’d had no idea he’d been harboring ill will toward her, and she certainly didn’t like the way the man said ‘my lady.’ It was as if he was claiming her for his own. “I certainly have never meant to offend you,” she replied. She didn’t need a powerful enemy like the Marquess of Murdock—but she refused to be berated by this man.