The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,11

any louder would have seemed foolish. He had lowered his head till it was only inches from hers.

“Even then,” he answered.

He was going to kiss her and the anticipation made her knees weak. She’d been kissed before... once. Sir Alfred had brushed his lips across her cheek. And she had felt nothing. Now, with only the notion of what was to come, she could scarcely stand it.

His breath mingled with hers, neither of them too steady and he looked into her eyes as if he could read her thoughts. And then he lowered his head.

The first touch was soft... gentle. Yet she felt the impact to the tips of her toes.

He used his hand to angle her face, to press his mouth more firmly against hers. A moan escaped Eleanor. She reached for his coat, wrapping her arms around his waist at the same time she felt the tip of his tongue wet her lips.

It seemed only natural to open her mouth to him. And then he was filling her, delving deep into the recesses of her mouth, and spearing ten fingers through her flaxen hair.

She’d hoped his kiss would be half as exciting as the descriptions in her novel. But Charles’s kisses paled in comparison, so much so that Eleanor wondered if the author had ever experienced anything like this.

She clung and he clung. And when they finally parted it was to gasp ragged breaths and stare into each other’s shocked faces.

“I didn’t mean to...” John stopped and wondered what in the hell he hadn’t meant to do. Or more importantly why he couldn’t stop thinking about doing it again.

“Oh, I don’t know what came over me,” Eleanor agreed. But whatever it was was still there. She still had her arms encircling his lean hips and wasn’t the least inclined to let him go.

But obviously reason took hold of him for he untangled his hands from her hair and stepped out of her embrace. “Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“What...? Oh, you are correct, of course.” What did he mean? The kiss? The note? Whichever, he seemed annoyed, pacing between the rocks and the path that lead to the orchard.

What in the hell was he doing. Eleanor Fiske wasn’t some loose woman he wanted to slack his lust upon—though that idea had its merits. She was the woman he hoped to marry. The untarnished, society woman he hoped to marry. And he was supposed to be proving to her that he was worthy of her. That he wouldn’t be an embarrassment to her friends. That he could be accepted.

With a swipe at the dark hair that had spilled across his forehead, John turned to her. “You probably should go back to Oakgate. I imagine your family will be rising by now.”

He was right, of course. Sneaking out as she did was daring enough, but if someone... her mother... came to her room and she wasn’t there... Well, Eleanor couldn’t imagine what explanations she could give. Or what Matilda would do.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was disenchanted with her. They kissed. And he was disappointed. She turned to leave before he could see the tears that burned her eyes. It was his calling of her name that made her stop, but she kept herself facing the cold marble house at the top of the grade.

“I will see you tomorrow on your father’s sailboat.”

Eleanor simply nodded, then hurried up the path. He wouldn’t go sailing with them tomorrow. Her mother would see to that. Their acquaintance was at an end. And his kiss would haunt her forever. As Eleanor stepped undetected through her bedroom door, a plump tear broke loose of her lashes and drifted down her cheek.

Five

“What in the hell is he doing here?” John took a deep breath and nodded toward the titled gentleman still standing on the pier. Beside Eleanor.

“I had to invite him... Matilda insisted.”

John glared at Eleanor’s father and tied off the rope he held. “I agreed to this outing because you said it would be a good chance for your daughter and I to be together.”

“Under my watchful eye,” Franklin reminded and John wondered if he knew about Eleanor and his meeting yesterday morning.

“That’s fine. But I’m interested in getting this settled as quickly as possible.” John found the longer he was around the socially elite the more he disliked the experience. He was anxious to return to Montana... to work he told himself, but wondered if there wasn’t