Her brain screamed, Nooooo! Her body would not listen. She grabbed the lapels of his black coat and pulled him down toward her while at the same time shifting her bottom closer to him on the bench. The champagne glass went rolling to the ground. Closing her eyes, she sealed her lips to his.
A man shouldn’t look at a woman that way if he didn’t want to be kissed.
She had been right on all counts about his lips. They were warm and firm. In fact, they were downright rigid, with shock no doubt. At least for the first ten seconds. Then his hands came up to encircle her arms. She thought he meant to push her away, but instead he pulled her closer still. His hand slid up her arm and tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss.
Victoria was sure she could hear the angels singing. Or perhaps it was simply every nerve in her body.
His lips were in constant motion on hers, but she had no idea what to do.
“Taviston.” She let his name slip when his mouth momentarily retreated from hers. Opening her eyes, she saw his burning deeply with desire. Yes, she knew it well now.
“Follow me,” he said against her mouth.
He began kissing her again and she tried to imitate the moves he was making. She must have succeeded because she heard a low moan emanate from his throat. What a divine sound. Leaning into him, she parted her lips slightly. He didn’t hesitate in the least to enter her mouth with his tongue. She was taken aback, for mere seconds, then succumbed to the exhilarating taste of him. It was simply heavenly.
Victoria would never know what brought him back to reality. She had had no intention of ever returning. But he abruptly broke off the kiss, moving his hands to her upper arms and attempting to set her away from him. But she still gripped his lapels. He slid his hands down her sarcenet-clad arms and forcibly removed her hands from his clothing.
Standing up quickly, he pulled her upright as well. Then he began to lecture, in a harsh tone that chilled Victoria’s blood. “You are a scandal waiting to happen! I hope to God that I am miles away when—” He broke off suddenly, sighed and said, with his voice cracking, “Go.”
She went as fast as her slippered feet would carry her.
Chapter Twelve
Victoria spent much of the next day secreted away in her sitting room, alternating between invigorating happiness and shameful mortification. When she was feeling the latter emotion, she sat staring out at the driving rain and blamed her behavior on the champagne she had drunk. When she swung back to feeling madly joyful, she clapped her hands and congratulated herself for being so assertive. She had wanted to kiss him. And so she had. And it had been wonderful, fabulous, and essentially the crowning moment of her life so far.
Oh, God. She had kissed him. Taviston. The Duke of Taviston. His Grace. Not even the devil himself could have thought up a more humiliating scenario for her. This episode truly put to shame all her previous encounters with him. She supposed she should count her blessings they had at least been alone in the garden and not in the middle of the ballroom.
She realized, of course, that he had returned her kiss. Thank goodness, since she had no experience in such things. Yes, he had participated in the kiss though his awful words afterwards made clear he was not happy about it.
Would that she could store the breathtaking, soul-embracing memory away in her mind, forget about the Duke of Taviston, and get on with finding a husband. But no, it was the end of the week and she had yet to call upon the Duchess of Taviston. If she didn’t show herself at Taviston House today, she had probably better not show herself in society anymore. Taviston had warned her against offending his mother. Victoria must go.
She had already prayed three times she would not come across him during her visit. Calling was generally an affair for ladies, but it was his house. A large house. Surely, she could call on the duchess for the required fifteen minutes and escape without encountering the duke.
Reluctantly she pulled her gaze from the rain slashing the window. Most likely no one in their
right mind was out calling today. But she could not afford to have the duchess look upon her with disfavor. If she didn’t get married, or at least engaged, soon, she feared the Brownes would send her back to the country. While she had enjoyed her simple life in Rippingale, she wanted a family of her own. So, she dragged herself to her bedroom and changed into her best gown, a light blue muslin.
Victoria stepped out into the wetness accompanied by Timothy the footman. Thankfully, he was Louisa’s least favorite servant and, more often than not, her cousin didn’t care what he did as long as he was out of her sight. This arrangement worked in both Victoria’s and Timothy’s favor. With pattens strapped onto her shoes in order to keep them dry, her heaviest pelisse tightly buttoned, and a bonnet firmly tied around her head, she hitched her skirt up as high as possible and walked under the umbrella Timothy held. A few carriages sloshed down the street but no one else was walking.
She grumbled to herself about overly handsome dukes and bothersome cousins the entire journey. By the time she arrived in Grosvenor Square she had cleared her mind enough to present herself calmly to the duchess.
Halston answered Timothy’s knock. He recognized her instantly. “Miss Forster. Do come in.”
He held the door wide for her and she stepped in, bringing much of the rain with her. Morgan would have been thoroughly annoyed at the mess.
Halston smiled with welcome. “Let me take your coat, miss, and we will get you before a fire in a trice.” He acted as if she called every day, rain or shine.
“I am here to call upon Her Grace, Halston,” she informed him. After removing her pelisse and bonnet she sat on a chair in the foyer to remove her pattens as well.
“Very good, miss. Follow me to the drawing room and I will ascertain whether or not Her Grace is at home.”
Halston started up the grand staircase. Unpleasant memories flooded Victoria’s mind. Well, they weren’t all bad memories. There was the lovely vision of Taviston in dishabille. She snapped her head up and looked around for any signs of him.
She made it safely to the drawing room. Halston had sent a footman ahead to stoke the fire and she gratefully moved her shivering self toward it. The butler gave her a bow and left.
For at least five minutes she stood by the fire, not only warming herself but also hoping to dry out the bottom of her dress. Unfortunately, this gave her time to ponder how she would react if the duchess refused to see her. It certainly would not help her social standing. Halston had been a little forward in showing her straight to the drawing room. If the duchess was not “at home” then Victoria would have to turn around and leave.
Turning her back to the fire, she contemplated the room. It was exquisitely decorated. This dukedom and all of its wealth went back many, many hundreds of years. The woodwork and plasterwork had been painted white and the walls were papered in a dark blue pattern. The furniture was very old, but well cared for. A sofa, flanked by two wing chairs, faced the fireplace. She crossed over and sat down. For the first time she noticed the painting over the mantle.