Aidan.
The reminder of his brother was enough to force Garrick to tear himself from Miss Sutton. His lips tingled with the memory of hers, and damn the worst part of him to perdition for taking note of that lush mouth, dark and swollen from his kiss. Damn the gratification that rose.
He should be disgusted with himself.
He was disgusted.
Had she kissed his brother with such passion?
He would have asked, but his fear of the answer and the resulting self-hatred was an ever-swelling tide.
She was still holding on to him as if he were necessary to keeping her standing upright. And he knew the feeling. It was as if a sudden, violent storm had passed through his landscape. Everything had changed inside him with confusing, blistering force. Yet, everything was the same.
Why had he kissed her?
To prove she is a fortune-hunting harlot.
Ah, yes. That was the reason.
If only his body would recall the course his mind had chosen for them.
Garrick summoned a cold smile, intending to show her just how impervious he was to their kisses. “I have proven the truth now, have I not? If you wanted to marry Aidan because you are hopelessly in love with him, I can scarcely imagine you would have reacted to his own brother with such improper lewdness.”
A flush rose to her cheeks and she flinched away from him as if he had struck her. “How do you dare?”
He mourned the loss of her touch. His stupid, weak body ached for her generous breasts to be molded to his chest. He felt certain she was not wearing stays beneath that gown and that he had known for the briefest, most wondrous of moments, the prod of her hard little nipples against his coat.
He swallowed down an inconvenient rush of lust. “The true question, madam, is how you dare? How do you dare to kiss the brother of the man you profess to love? You ought to be ashamed.”
In truth, Garrick ought to be ashamed as well, and he knew it. But allowing Miss Sutton to know he experienced even a moment of guilt—or any emotion at all, for that matter—over what had just happened between them was more than his pride could endure. He had already brought himself pathetically low.
He was despicable.
Miss Sutton’s brow rose and her nostrils flared, the naked passion on her lovely face vanishing. In its stead was a cool, rigid expression of understanding. “Do not pretend you kissed me to prove yourself, Lord Lordly.”
He did not like what she was suggesting. “Of course I did.”
She shook her head, a slight, knowing smile lifting her lips. “You kissed me because you wanted to.”
His ears were suddenly overly hot, and the most disagreeable prickling sensation began on the skin of his face. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“Yes, you did,” the bold baggage insisted, “and you liked it, too.”
Of course he had.
Garrick straightened his shoulders, summoning his most frigid expression, the one which could utterly destroy anyone in polite society. “Of course I did not.”
Her hazel gaze traveled over his anatomy in troubling, familiar fashion, lingering on the part of him that proved him every bit as much a liar as she was. “Then how do you explain your cockstand?”
He thought he may have swallowed his tongue. How incredibly common of her to give voice to the unspeakable. No lady in his acquaintance would have dared to be so familiar. But then, as he had already established repeatedly and with the brilliance of the burning sun, Penelope Sutton was no lady.
“Your effrontery astounds me, madam,” he bit out coldly.
She cast a pointed glance down his body. “Yes, you do appear rather…astounded, Lord Lordly.”
She dared to taunt him now, after she had just kissed him with the practiced ease of a trollop when she was betrothed to his brother? To say nothing of the appalling manner in which she had referred to his distressing state. Repeatedly.
“Once again, you prove just how unsuitable you are,” he said, wishing he felt a modicum of the satisfaction he ought. “You may rest assured that I will be taking the tale of what happened between us here today to Aidan. After he realizes your true nature, I doubt he would even want you. I must thank you for solving my problem for me, and without the need to lose a fortune.”
Instead of being pleased that she had aided him to her doom, however, all Garrick felt was a hollow sense of disappointment. It was almost as if part of him had hoped she would indeed prove him wrong. He also could not seem to control the effect she had on him. He wanted her.
He could not deny it.
But he also could not have her.
He was going to be taking a wife of his own soon, and he had parted ways with his last mistress in respect to Lady Hester. He most certainly would not take another now, and most certainly not her. What the devil was the matter with him? Specifically with that part of him? His manhood had never so betrayed him in the past.
Nor had he ever responded so intensely to another, however, either. Not even Veronica. It was an unfathomable, uncomfortable revelation.
“If you have achieved the outcome you sought, then I suggest you be on your way,” she said, her curt voice cutting into his wildly racing thoughts.
He had, had he not?
Why did this victory feel as sharp as a blade, inserted between his ribs?
He inclined his head, clinging to his stoic bearing since all else—including ration and reason—had fled him. “I have indeed. I bid you good day, Miss Sutton.”
With an abbreviated bow, he stalked away from her, at long last taking his leave of this den of Satan. His steps could not carry him away with enough haste. Back to Mayfair where he belonged.
He would banish Penelope Sutton and the feeling of her lips beneath his from his mind and never again think her name.