The Passions Of Lord Trevethow

‘Have you ever been kissed, Em?’ His eyes were on her, intent on her answer. ‘Remember, only the truth.’ At his words, the game and its remaining questions were forgotten entirely. There was a new game to play.

Her answer was a mere whisper. ‘No.’ Who would dare to kiss Lady Penrose Prideaux, cloistered daughter of the Earl of Redruth? But here in this cottage, Em was a woman who belonged to no one but herself, who ate meat pasties with handsome men at fairs, who admired Venetian glass-blowers and met with strange men in abandoned cottages to play games of revelation.

‘Would you like to be?’ came the question, the dare. It would be easy to close the remaining distance, to part her lips, to issue the invitation he was asking for without a word. But he’d want the words. He would want to hear her consent. ‘Would you, Em?’

She brought her hand up to stroke the stubble of his cheek, her own voice pitched low and throaty. ‘You are terrible with rules. It’s my turn to ask the question.’

His eyes darkened, guessing her game. ‘Then, ask, Em.’

‘Will you kiss me?’

A smile shimmered across his face. ‘Absolutely. It would be my privilege.’ A tilt of her head, a parting of her lips, and his mouth was there on hers, inviting her to join him in tasting one another. She gave him her mouth, all of it, savouring the remnants of sweet ale on his lips, the tease of his tongue as he explored her depths, the press of his hand cradling her jaw, the deepening of the kiss a reminder of their afternoon, an afternoon filled with simple pleasures, meat pies and conversations, and she didn’t want it to end. A purr of desire purled up from her throat as she arched into him, her body wanting more of his touch, of him. She’d never been so warm, so hungry for another’s touch. He would burn her and she would flame for him gladly.

She did flame for him, for a while, one kiss leading to another kiss and another as their mouths and hands explored one another. She could have lain there all afternoon, revelling in those kisses, those touches. She would have burned for him if he’d asked, but he did not. Instead, he separated from her, breaking the kisses, the touches, his own eyes dark.

A wave of desperation welled in her. She did not want the kiss to end. If she did not take her chance now, when? His hand brushed her cheek, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It grows late. We don’t need to rush. We have tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. We have as long as we need,’ Matthew whispered his promise and helped her up from the floor, but his gaze said he was as reluctant as she to end the afternoon.

He gathered up her dry cloak and draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering in his familiar gesture. ‘Will you allow me to give you a ride home? I have my horse out back.’

She turned beneath his touch, called to action with sudden urgency at the risk of exposure. As tempting as it was, it was the one thing she could not allow. ‘No. Please, Matthew, I must insist on this discretion. You cannot follow me home, not even the briefest of distances.’ If anyone recognised her with him, word would reach her father before she even made it home and there would never be another afternoon like this. ‘Please, kiss me goodbye here.’ And maybe by the time she was home she’d have her wits back.

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