Another taut silence descended. Her comment overstepped the barrier separating polite strangers.
Well, mostly polite.
After a moment, he sighed and lifted his arm away from her. “It’s a reminder that you’re out of bounds.”
With that, any pretense that only a jammed lock linked them melted away.
“If we’re discovered, everybody will think that we’ve been up to no good.” Philippa’s voice faded to a whisper. But in this tiny room, there was no chance that he wouldn’t hear, even if she was cowardly enough to hope he mightn’t.
“Are you inviting me to ruin you?” he asked wryly. “Somehow I doubt it.”
She raised her chin and told herself to be brave. Some devil in her soul turned her into a person much more daring than her workaday self. Right now, she couldn’t bear to think that she’d leave this closet with her curiosity unsatisfied.
“I’d like someone to kiss me.” Her words emerged more steadily than she’d imagined possible. “Someone who knows what he’s doing.”
She flinched at Erskine’s laugh. “To Hades with you, who else have you been kissing?”
It didn’t occur to her to lie. “Prescott Wayne, the vicar’s son, kissed me last year.”
Danger hummed in the air. Lord Erskine’s long body brushed hers as he shifted. One of the startling things about being so close to him was how physically aware she was of his every movement. She even heard the catch in his breath before he spoke. “You didn’t enjoy the experience?”
“No, it was horrible.” She shuddered, recalling the bad fish taste of Prescott’s mouth and the sl
oppy suction of his lips.
“And you think I can do better?”
“I don’t know.” She paused, wondering if she was mad to pursue this. Then letting the devil inside her have its way, she pursued anyway. “I’d like grounds for comparison.”
“Would you indeed, my little sparrow?”
She almost welcomed the surge of annoyance at his patronizing response. “Please forget I mentioned it.”
She slid away from him. Not far enough. His big, strong hand closed around hers. She started as beguiling warmth flowed up her arm and through her body.
Oh, dear, she really was in trouble.
“I love that you look like a sparrow.” His Scottish accent was more pronounced.
“I don’t,” she said glumly, wishing that she was as beautiful as her sister. Then this handsome rogue wouldn’t hesitate to show her the kind of kisses that sent poets into raptures. “Sparrows are dull and as common as dirt.”
His grip tightened. “You should look more closely. Sparrows are quite beautiful.”
“Boring.”
“Subtle.”
Her pique faded. “You’re full of clever answers. I suppose it’s because you’re used to persuading reluctant ladies.”
“Are you so reluctant?” That velvety murmur was a seductive weapon.
A shiver rippled down her spine. To her surprise, it wasn’t fear, but irresistible physical awareness. “You always have a ready reply.”
“Not so ready. I’ve devoted three days of thought to the issue of kissing you.”
She frowned into the darkness without trying to break his hold on her hand. “I’m an unremarkable woman from an undistinguished family. What interest can you have in me?”
“You underestimate yourself. If you made more effort to shine in company, I wouldn’t be the only man to notice that your hair is like mahogany silk and that your eyes are large and sparkling and express your every thought.”