What a Vulgar Viscount Needs (Romancing the Rake 5)

“Cordelia.” Why had he just used her given name? “That isn’t it.” Almost worse than her discovering his secret was her believing there was something wrong with herself.

“What is it then?” Her body pressed to his again as her hand slipped up his arm to clasp his neck. “I only want one small taste so that I might know for certain. Have I asked too much?”

“No,” he whispered and then nearly cursed himself. But he wanted to touch her. Perhaps she was right. This was their one chance at tasting desire. Lord knew he’d been dreaming about kissing her for days.

Rationally, he understood what dire consequences this might have. He stayed away from eligible ladies for a reason and he cursed himself for making an exception tonight. He should never have gone to this party and then followed her to the music room. But now, she was so close and pressed against him.

He looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t completely closed the door to the music room and sounds of the party filtered into their little cocoon. But no one was near enough to see inside.

He glanced back down to find her chin tilted toward his again, exposing the soft column of her neck. He groaned, lifting his hand and using his fingertips to trace the achingly soft skin. “Lovely,” he murmured as he dropped his mouth closer. He didn’t kiss her yet. If this was only going to be one time, which it had to be, he would make the kiss count.

He ran his hand back up her neck and then cupped her jaw, his fingers resting in the silky tresses of her hair.

He breathed in her scent, fresh like summer rain, and used his other hand at the small of her back to press her closer. Her body fit to his in the most perfect way, every inch of her torso fitted against him.

Would her lips taste of champagne? Something else? It had been a damned long time since he’d touched any woman this way, too long to remember when it had been, but he could never recall holding someone quite so stunning. He bent closer still as she wrapped an arm about his neck, her fingers threading into his hair.

Had Cordelia really never done this before? Every slide of her fingers accelerated his heart rate until he could hardly think a rational thought.

Her lips were a breath away from his, her nose touching his, the crush of her breasts making him weak as he tilted his chin to steal a taste. Just this one.

“Cordelia?” another man called. “Where are you?”

“Drat,” she murmured, still so close, he could catch hints of champagne on her breath. “That’s my father.”

Father? This was not a drat moment. This was more of a damn it all to hell or perhaps even a fuck kind of situation. The very thing Ash had spent his entire adult life trying to avoid was about to happen.

He’d have to marry her for sure.

But she released his neck, then she whispered so low, he barely heard her. “You found me like this.” And then without another word, she dropped to the settee, arms limp, mouth open as though she’d been there, asleep, for hours.

Was she a musician or actress? Because she looked for all the world as though she’d passed out cold on the settee.

Chapter Three

Cordelia heard the subtle creak of the door as her father entered the room. “Cordelia?” he called. “Why can’t I find a single one of my daughters?”

“She’s here, Mr. Moorish,” Lord Dashlane said, seeming to understand the charade they were performing. “I found her like this. I was debating whether to leave her alone to find you or stay with her to make sure she was safe.”

If not for the situation, she would have grinned. Cad. Making himself a hero when she was the one who’d done the quick thinking.

Funny but their near kiss had woken her sleepy mind rather than making it duller. Almost as though his touch had breathed life into her. How odd.

“Dear me,” her father murmured. “Is that her glass of champagne?”

“I don’t know,” Dashlane rumbled. “I only came in to find her already asleep.”

Her father clucked his tongue. “Likely drowning her sorrows.”

“Sorrows?” Dashlane asked, his voice going up.

“I think a match between Juliet and Hartwell is imminent.” She heard a soft thump of flesh on flesh as though her father were patting Dashlane on his back. “I hope you’re not too put out.”

Dashlane cleared his throat and Cordelia tried again not to smile. One corner of her mouth twitched. He’d wished to celebrate being the final man left single. He wasn’t sad about Juliet choosing another husband. But he let out a small breath. “He is a marquess after all and I’m only a lowly viscount.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think of your title like that,” her father said, still patting. “Any woman would be lucky to have you. Handsome, charming, titled. In fact, I’m sure Cordelia would—”

She coughed, unable to keep silent. Was her father really attempting to marry her off?