Least Likely to Marry a Duke (Liberated Ladies)

Had he moved again? Perhaps Verity had. Her right hand was certainly raised, the palm flat against his breastbone.

‘No?’ Will asked softly.

Her fingers moved slightly, not to push him away, but as though she was reading his breathing, his heartbeat, through the tips. ‘Yes,’ Verity murmured.

He bent his head and she lifted a little on her toes to meet him, her hands sliding up over his coatless shoulders to clasp behind his neck. The only other time Will had ever kissed a respectable young lady, a virgin, was when he had held this one on Sunday beside the pond. He thought again, with what was functioning in his brain, that this was not what he had expected. Verity was not brazen, but not shy either. She was cautious, but not tentative, following his lead, her lips parting to the pressure of his tongue, opening for him, learning fast, so that as his tongue stroked into the velvet warmth hers met it, copied his movements and then began to explore.

* * *

He tastes of coffee this time...a little, Verity thought. But more of something else. Man, perhaps? Or just Will?

The taste of him was familiar now, even though this was only a second kiss. His tongue caressed hers and so she answered him, almost taken aback when he let her slide between his lips, surprised by the heat of his mouth. If this was how kissing him was, so very much better than her experience nearly five years before, what would it be like to make love with him?

And then Will drew away, lifted his mouth from hers, set her back against the door frame and steadied her with his hands cupped around her shoulders.

Which is a good thing because my legs are decidedly shaky...

‘I apologise,’ Will said, suddenly very formal.

‘Again? I thought we had discussed this by the pond.’

You enjoyed it, do not try to pretend you did not. I might not be very experienced, but I know what it meant when I felt your body change as it pressed against mine.

She did not say it and she did not let her gaze slide downwards from his face. If truth be told, it had been rather alarming in a shivery kind of way—and very arousing.

‘I took advantage of you again.’

‘Oh. You exasperating man! You asked, I said yes. You kissed me, I kissed you back. Then you stopped. Please define taking advantage.’

‘You are under my protection. Under no circumstances should I have kisse

d you. Not then, not now. It was not the behaviour of a gentleman and as much of a mistake now as it was before.’

‘Poppycock. It was the behaviour of a man and it is probably long past time when you allowed yourself to be one of those and not some marble statue of the perfect duke.’

Which way was the headland? Verity gave His Grace’s well-muscled chest a prod with her finger, which made him sway back with a sharp intake of breath, and took advantage of his momentary loss of balance to stalk off down the overgrown path. Was this the right direction? It was of no consequence, all she wanted to do was get away from him, as far as this miniature island permitted.

Apologise? Again.

How he dared! Verity swatted a leafy twig out of the way. Will couldn’t have said anything more insulting—except, possibly, Ugh. She was an adult, intelligent woman who had agreed to kiss him, had shown she was enjoying it clearly enough. So, was that an apology for kissing her or regret that he had kissed her?

He was following her, she could hear him pushing his way along the path, but she ignored him, tried to ignore the insinuating little pulse that beat low down in her belly and the tingle of well-kissed lips.

Think about something else. Do not let him become important.

Presumably these faint tracks through the bushes had been made by the Calthorpe children once they had discovered the island, Verity reasoned. How they must love the freedom it represented, now they had been pitchforked by the death of their father from the undisciplined life they had been used to into the formality and restraint that Will demanded.

If this was her island, she would buy a little sailing boat and she and her friends would come here every day, far from the conventions and expectations that bound them. It might be difficult to bring a pianoforte for Lucy, though.

As she came out of the scrub on to the bare rock of the low headland a snort of amusement escaped her at the thought of loading a piano on to a small boat and then sailing it across the lake.

‘Something amuses you?’ Will arrived at her side.

Verity shot him a rapid sideways glance. His hair was dishevelled, the immaculate fine cloth of his shirt had several small rips and even more green stains and there was a scratch on one cheekbone.

Your Grace is beginning to look like a human being. It suits you.

‘I was thinking about the difficulty of transporting a pianoforte here.’