Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

He traced the elegant line of her neck with the tips of his fingers, then tangled his fingers in her hair as he leisurely stroked the inside of her mouth in a provocative imitation of lovemaking. And while Lady Alyssa was ignorant of the language of love, her body was not. It recognized the ancient mating ritual and responded in kind. Her breasts plumped, the tips of them hardening into insistent little points, clamoring to be noticed, and the surge of current that went through her body at the boldness of his kiss settled in the region between her thighs, causing an unrelenting ache for something she couldn’t name—something she suspected he would have no trouble recognizing or supplying.

Alyssa moaned softly, pressing herself against him in an effort to assuage the aching as she returned his kiss, following his lead, learning the taste of him, the thrust and parry of his tongue and the rasp of his teeth.

He heard her soft moan and somewhere in the midst of kissing her, Griff forgot she was an innocent. He held her close against him with one hand splayed against the small of her back, while he used his other hand to blaze a path with the palm of his hand from the soft curls at the nape of her neck, over her shoulder, down her arm, and between their bodies, gently cupping the soft underside of her breast. Satisfying the ache in his body, Griff pressed her hips to his, allowing her to feel the hard line of his body through the thin silk of her skirts.

He was wedging his thigh between hers when a soft giggle somewhere to the right caught his attention. Blister it! But he’d managed once again to come within a hair’s breadth of compromising Lady Alyssa Carrollton—and not just compromising her, but taking her right there. Right then. On the couch in the ladies’ retiring room at Almack’s.

What the devil had happened to his self-control? His discipline? Griffin broke the kiss and stepped away, struggling to gain control of his raging desire. He looked down at her upturned face, the moisture on her lips, and her blissful yet slightly dazed expression, and decided he would marry Alyssa Carrollton or no one.

Suddenly bereft of his touch and his kisses, Alyssa opened her eyes. Griffin had turned to look over his right shoulder. Alyssa studied the strong line of his lean jaw and felt a compelling urge to sweep her tongue along it. Standing on tiptoe, she attempted to do just that, but his jaw remained enticingly out of reach. She settled for the sun-baked bit of flesh barely visible above his starched neckcloth.

Griffin whirled around, nearly knocking her aside. “What—”

“It’s called a kiss, and I was aiming for your jaw, but still, I’m gratified to know you’re not entirely unaffected by it,” she said softly.

“Shhh,” he warned in a husky whisper, reaching out to steady her. “We aren’t alone any longer.”

“Not again!” Alyssa blew out an exasperated breath.

“I vow this room is as crowded as the ballroom. Isn’t there someplace we can go for privacy?”

A vision of his coach popped into Griff’s mind. It was dark inside the coach, comfortable, private, and convenient. The seats were upholstered in thick, soft velvet, and the windows were hung with matching curtains. It was parked a block or so down the street, and after he and Alyssa… Griffin sighed. After he relieved Lady Alyssa of her virtue, he could see her home. Safe and sound. With no one the wiser and only his offer of marriage between them.

He waited until the latest threat of discovery passed, then took Alyssa by the hand and drew her out of the shadows. “I could take you to my carriage.” Griff surprised himself by answering honestly and by half-hoping she’d say yes. “But come morning, your reputation would be in shreds.”

“Bother my reputation!” Alyssa exclaimed. “Protecting it has proven to be an endless source of frustration.”

Griff laughed. “Reputations are like that. The trouble is that we never realize their value unless we lose them. Only then do we find that they were irreplaceable and that no amount of gold or prestige can restore them completely.” He gave her wistful smile. “We’d better get you back to the assembly before your mother decides you’ve been gone much too long.”

“Wait!” She ordered. “How do I look?”

She looked beautiful. Her eyes were luminous, her skin flushed, and her mouth, bee-stung. She looked as if she’d been well and thoroughly kissed. Griff reached out and tucked a stray curl into place. “You look as if you’ve been kissing a man in the ladies’ retiring room.”

Alyssa blinked. “Are you certain?”

Griff nodded.

“Can people really tell from looking at me that I’ve been kissed?”

“Not everyone, but a great many of the people in there”—he gestured toward the assembly room—“could discern it. And not simply that you’ve been kissed, but that you’ve been kissing in return.”

Alyssa beamed. “How remarkable!”

Griff frowned at her. “Quite remarkable. Very remarkable. Extremely remarkable. Reputation-ruining remarkable.”

“Oh, yes, well…” Her voice was low, disheartened. “There is that.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, there is that.” She brightened suddenly. “How can they tell?”

“Your eyes are bright, your skin is flushed, and your lips are swollen.”

“As if I’d been crying?”

Griff nodded. “Your nose isn’t red, but other than that, you do look as if you might have been crying.”

“That’s it,” she replied. “If anyone is rude enough to inquire, I’ll simply say I’ve been crying.”

He grimaced. “Thereby ruining my reputation.”