“And yet, it scratches the pads of my fingers. I wonder...” She leaned closer, and James frowned. He should stand up, move away, but he didn’t so much as breathe as she pressed close, sliding the skin of her soft cheek against his coarse jaw.
“Phil,” he murmured, his tone a warning. He kept his hands on his knees, though they itched to take her into his arms. Her lips grazed his jaw, and he closed his eyes, willing his body to remain under control. When, after a long, teasing trail, her mouth finally reached his, she kissed him gently. Summoning all his fortitude, he kissed her back—a press of mouth to mouth. But when he pulled back, she followed.
“What are ye doing?” he asked, his brogue heavier now with the effort to contain his arousal. They’d never gone further than a quick touch of lips, and even that was dangerous to them both.
“Why don’t you ever kiss me like you want to?”
His brows shot up. “And what do ye know about what men want?”
She gave him a patronizing look. “I’ve kissed other men, you know.”
“Have ye now?” He’d never thought about her kissing any other men, but of course it made sense. She was no child, and she’d been to her share of balls and assemblies. Of course, one of the nobs she danced with would take her behind a potted plant and kiss her. But if that was the limit of her experience, he wouldn’t expand it. “And a few kisses on the terrace make ye an expert, do they?”
“It’s more than a few, and why don’t you be the judge as to whether I’m an expert? Put your hands on me.”
His lungs hurt at the quick intake of breath. He couldn’t seem to move, so she lifted his stiff hands from where they were clamped to his knees and put them on her waist.
Jaysus but she had a small trim waist. He’d imagined it would be, but it was almost impossible to tell when she always wore gowns where the waists tucked up under her bosom. His arms remained stiff as he fought to keep from spreading his fingers or allowing his hands to drop an inch or two and explore her tempting body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her body further into contact with his. He was glad they hadn’t lit the hearth now as he was too warm. The heat of her was burning him, raising the temperature of his blood to a boiling point.
“This is better,” she murmured, her gaze fastening on his. He wanted her so badly it hurt. Never had he been so tempted, and he had faced a great deal of temptation in his life.
“Should I kiss ye now?” he said, his voice low.
“Do you really need to ask?”
He didn’t, and he had reached the limit of his chivalry. The strain of playing the well-mannered footman in the house and the perfect gentleman with her suddenly felt too much. For just three minutes he would be himself—James Patrick Finnegan. Damn all the rules of decorum straight to hell.
His hands on her waist tightened and closed, and he pulled her closer so that her breasts pressed into his chest. Then he dipped his mouth to hers, but instead of the sweet kisses he usually bestowed, he nipped at her full lower lip. She made a sound somewhere between desire and shock, and he licked at the spot he’d bitten to soothe the slight sting. Then he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing and coaxing and seducing until she did as he bade and opened for him.
His tongue slid inside her warmth. Her own met his and tangled for a moment. She had been kissed before. But he was no fumbling, soft, lily-fingered nob. He stroked her, teased her, claimed her until she was breathing hard and her hands had fisted in the material at the back of his livery coat. And then he deepened the kiss, letting all the desire and darkness and velvety softness of her skin sink into him.
He could have bent her back, lowered her to the couch, and had her. She was practically trembling from want, and he hadn’t even run his hands over her. He imagined she’d come quick and hard, her eyes a soft shade of blue and her lips a pale pink O.
He wanted her. He needed her.
But that small voice he’d always been able to ignore, up until now, whispered. She’s not for you.
James pulled away, ending the kiss abruptly. Lady Philomena made a sound of distress and tried to pull him back, but he stood and gave her his back. He needed to get his breathing under control and looking at her would not accomplish that. Not to mention, if she stared at the erection tenting his breeches, he’d never regain control.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I apologize.”
“There’s no need, I—”
Christ Jaysus, if she told him she liked the kiss, he would not be able to stop himself.
“If ye value yer virtue, Lady Philomena, ye had better go. Now.”
He could hear the rustle of skirts, knew she’d stood. “But James, can’t we talk—”
He rounded on her. “Get out of here. Now!” he roared.
And she did.
Two
She didn’t run. That would have been humiliating. But she hadn’t tarried either. The way he’d looked at her had scared her—no, that wasn’t right. The way her body had responded to the way he’d looked at her scared her.
When James had turned around, there’d been no trace of the charming footman in the man she saw. He’d looked dark and dangerous and sinfully handsome. Heat had shot through her, making her knees buckle. Now she stood, back braced against a tree, the cold air cooling her hot cheeks. Her legs were still wobbling, and her belly was still fluttering.
No one had ever kissed her like that. She hadn’t even known it was possible to kiss like that or to feel the way she did in that moment. Her body practically throbbed with want. It took everything she had not to go back to him and let him have his way with her.
But something in addition to common sense and propriety stopped her. For just a moment there, she saw something in him that gave her pause. Yes, she knew him as James, the footman. But she’d seen someone else in him too. And it made her wonder, who was James? Who had he been before he’d come to work for her family? Who was he when he was not at work?
She didn’t really know him. Up until now they’d talked of trivialities and she’d enjoyed their time together because he made her laugh and, well, he was no chore to look upon. But she’d never really tried to know him. He evaded questions that were too personal, about his family or his childhood in Ireland. He turned those conversations back to her and her life.
She’d thought it was because he was uncomfortable telling her about his modest upbringing. But what if it was something else?
“My lady, do you need assistance?”
Phil blinked and focused on her surroundings. Mr. Jennings, the groundskeeper, was walking toward her. With spring coming soon, he was no doubt surveying the grounds and determining what needed to be done as soon as the weather turned.
“Oh, Mr. Jennings. How lovely to see you.”
“Are you well, my lady? Do you want me to take you inside?”
“I’m quite well. I just stopped to rest and enjoy the cool air.” How long had she been away? Was her mother worrying about her? “What time is it, Mr. Jennings?”
“Almost half past one, my lady.”
“Ah. Thank you. I should go inside and eat something. No wonder I’m feeling tired.”