She eyed him askance, then pointed to the house. “Come now, you and I both know you are not poor.”
“You make not being poor sound like another of my deficits of character,” he drawled. That had never been Lily’s reaction, to be sure.
“It merely reminds me—again—that I do not belong here.” She started walking toward the nearby folly that his grandfather had built—a stone tower with an observation deck at the top.
He strode along behind her. “You made it clear a couple ofweeks ago that you aren’t exactly poor yourself,” he snapped as he caught up to her just outside the tower.
“There is a great distance between being comfortable, as Maman and I are, and being rich, as you clearly are.”
“Does it matter so much to you?” he asked hoarsely. It had mattered to Lily more than he’d expected.
“It should matter toyou. There are expectations, rules, customs among rich English lords that I could not begin to know or understand.”
“I don’t care.” After gazing about to be sure no one was nearby, he pulled her into the room on the tower’s first level, then tugged her into his arms. “All I could think about during our drive to Somerset was how much I wished the two of us were alone, so I could do this …” He kissed her hair. “And this …” He scattered kisses over her cheek and up to her ear. “And this …” he whispered before taking her lips with his.
For several delicious moments, she opened her mouth to him, letting him sip and take and explore, letting him tangle his tongue with hers so he could enjoy the damp heat of her, the little moans she made low in her throat, the wonderful way she threw herself into it …
Until she seemed to think better of it and drew back to whisper, “You promised not to give me any secret kisses if I came to Longmead. You swore it on your honor.”
“Did I?” he lied. “I do not remember that.”
He bent as if to kiss her again, and she murmured, “Heath, please do not—”
“Kiss you,ma belle?” He caught her head in his hands. “Caress you? Because that is impossible, when I know you want me, too.”
“I wanted you years ago,” she rasped as he pushed her back against the stone wall. “What good did it do me?”
“That was a different time and situation. Being mine could do a great deal for you now.”
“Being your what?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. “Your mistress?”
Damn. He could never ask that of her. “My faux fiancée.” He kissed her neck to avoid looking into those all-seeing eyes. “Mytemptation.” As he whispered the words in her ear, he swept his hand down to her skirts. “And, I hope, my friend.”
She must have realized his words were sincere, because that last gained him the response he wanted. She melted in his arms, sliding her own about his waist, not even protesting when he dragged her skirts slowly up her stockinged legs, so he could gain access to her sweet mons.
Not that he gave her a chance to protest. He was too busy devouring her mouth as he sifted through her curls below to find where she was warm and wet and oh so soft to his touch.
But when he fingered her there, she jerked her head back to stare at him with wide eyes. “What are you doing, my lord?”
The “my lord” gave him pause. But not enough to make him relinquish his goal. “Offering you pleasure. Making sure you feella petite mortfor at least once in your life.” He had this visceral need to prove to her how blissful it could be if she ever gave herself to him.
Which would ruin her.
No, he wouldn’t think about that.
“What is this ‘little death’ you speak of?” she whispered.
“I’ll show you.”
He found her pearl and stroked it, watching with pure masculine pride as her eyes slid closed and she murmured, “Bon Dieu du ciel …”
“‘God in heaven’ cannot save you from me, sweet Giselle,” he whispered against her cheek. “I mean to give you a taste of what it could be like between us …”
Chapter 15
Ataste? This was more than a taste. Giselle wanted to protest, but she could not. She was too far gone, too enraptured with what he was doing to her, how he was touching her. He smelled like clove cologne and the outdoors. He tasted like cinnamon—no soap in the tooth powder for him. And his finger delving slowly inside her …
Was pure magic. She had never believed in magic.