He waited to speak until she sat down gingerly beside him. “Now remove your mask. There is little pleasure in kissing when half your face is hidden away.”
When she complied, he studied her for several heartbeats. “That is much better. It is a shame to conceal your most attractive feature.”
Venetia regarded him suspiciously. “What feature is that?”
“Your eyes. You have beautiful eyes.”
She stifled a scoff. “I am not susceptible to your flattery, Lord Traherne.”
“Your beauty is simply a fact, like the heavens growing light when the sun rises.”
Inwardly Venetia chided herself for the warmth kindling inside her. Of course his compliments appealed to her feminine vanity. But compliments were the stock and trade of a Lothario. Traherne had females of all ages falling over him, including her own sister. She utterly refused to show the same weakness. The trouble was, the look he was giving her called to some wanton instinct inside her.
“Come closer. You are too far away.”
She was perched on the edge of the seat, so she inched a little closer. Shutting her eyes, she tilted her face up to his and held still.
A long moment passed. When nothing happened, she pried one eye open. “What are you waiting for?”
“You must kiss me, sweetheart.”
Curbing an oath, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his briefly. Even that fleeting contact with his warm lips jolted her, making her think of a crackling fire in winter.
“You can do better than a mere peck. Do you need assistance?” A smile loitered about his sensuous mouth, softening his mockery.
“I can manage on my own.”
She would comply but on her own terms. When she raised her arms to place her hands on his shoulders, though, her reticule bumped against his chest. Grateful for the distraction, Venetia removed the strings from around her wrist and set the silk bag on her lap, biding for time.
“I am willing to instruct you if need be.”
“I know how to kiss,” Venetia declared. “I just dislike doing so under duress—and particularly with you.”
“You wound me, love.”
“Not severely enough, obviously.”
He looked faintly amused, as if he were enjoying her discomfiture. He also looked aroused, judging by the expression on his face. He wanted her, she could tell by the sultry gleam in his eyes.
The knowledge made her breathless before she even began, but she had delayed as long as possible. Steeling herself for the renewed shock, she moved closer and touched her lips to his, holding the contact for the space of several heartbeats.
Only then did he assume responsibility. His kiss was soft this time, not taking but offering, yet even that gossamer pressure had the same magical impact as before. All her senses felt assaulted.
Then, parting her lips, his tongue slid into her mouth. She knew she ought not give in, but his kiss was too enticing. Long moments later his hand cupped her bare shoulder and drew her closer, pressing her against his hard, muscular body, stirring a restless ache low and deep in her feminine center.
Venetia made a sound between a sigh and a whimper. In response, his kiss only deepened. His taste was so delectable. His tongue stroked against hers, tangling in a sensual dance, twining in a long sensuous pattern of withdrawal and penetration.
With consummate ease, he shifted his position, leaning back against the incline of the chaise until she was draped over his muscled, lithe-limbed form. Somehow without her realizing it, she had abdicated control. Warmth radiated up from his chest, infusing her breasts with a delicious heaviness. And he was assailing her mouth with such languor—molding, teasing, tempting, and beguiling….
With the slow awakening of desire, Venetia felt herself yielding, felt her resistance dissolving. Her bones were melting with the heat.
When he shifted beneath her again, one of his knees separated hers. Through her skirts she felt the pressure of his sinewy thigh against her femininity. Venetia tensed. Her heart pounded so loudly, she was certain he could hear it.
She knew a little about what to expect from physical relations. Her friend Cleo had endured a dreadfully unhappy marriage and had wanted her to be prepared. And in Paris, Venetia had explored her long-repressed artistic talent and studied sculpture, including the nude male form. But stone and bronze renderings were a far cry from a live man. And despite her revealing gown, her portrayal of sexual sophistication was largely a pretense.
Then she heard the change in Traherne’s rhythmic breathing and realized that certain parts of him had throbbed to life. Venetia shivered. She knew what that male hardness at his loins meant. He was aroused from their brazen intimacy.
His physical reaction instilled an unexpected feeling of triumph inside her. A heady sensation that made her light-headed. She relaxed against him, welcoming the thrilling shocks of heat. He was so vital, so wickedly irresistible. His wonderful mouth held the beguiling promise of answers to a thousand erotic questions.