kiss my bared shoulder, and I couldn't suppress a shiver of delight. Breaking contact with my skin, he gazed up at me with darkened expression that begged me to tell him no, to stop, to regain his senses.
I couldn't find my voice, nor did I want to. Instead I leaned forward and gently initiated a kiss. His lips caressed mine into surrender, demanding I relinquish control. And I was more than happy to give in, to allow him to lead. He pulled me closer, and I willingly went, cursing my wet clothes as they made it impossible to move gracefully. My skin was so sensitive, whether from the cold dampness or simply from his touch. Even through my dress, the heat of his fingers was a glorious fire. His fingers trailed over my face and around my back, pressing me closer still till I could feel every line of his body through the muslin of my dress.
His hands moved up my back then dove into my hair, teasing and caressing my wet locks. The remaining pins clinked to the floor. The tension in my scalp released, adding to the sweet abandon. His lips continued to tease and stroke my own. I grasped the back of his neck and pulled his hair gently to deepen the kiss. He demanded more and more till I found myself cushioned between the soft carriage seat and his hard body. He moaned in pleasure as his hands reached up a breath away from my breasts.
The carriage jolted to a halt. Morgan froze, then raised himself up on his arms and gazed at me. His eyes whispered his emotions — first annoyance at our abrupt stop, then a mix between desire and self-recrimination, before he settled on an expression that could only be described as devilish.
"I told you the closed carriage was a very bad idea." His voice was hoarse with desire as his eyes catalogued my surely wanton appearance.
"Yes, you did." With a thick voice I spoke, watching the tones create hunger in his eyes.
"I tried to be honorable, but it seems I have very little self-control where you're concerned."
"It seems I suffer from the same."
"Convenient, that."
"Absolutely." I reached up to kiss him once more. His return kiss was fierce, making me curl my toes, but he released me quickly.
"You're trying to kill me," he accused with his eyes closed.
"Am I? How?" I asked, reaching up and tugging on his thick chocolate hair. He groaned in pleasure.
"By torturing me to death." His eyes opened, and he caressed my face, tracing my swollen lips with his finger.
"But what a wonderful way to go." He leaned forward and gave me one last scorching kiss before raising himself up and offering me assistance in doing the same. "Will I see you soon?" he asked as he handed me back my destroyed bonnet with a grin at the pitiful thing.
"I sincerely hope so."
"Will you save me a dance?" He gave me a rakish grin. "Or a waltz, or two?"
"What?" I gasped with feigned shock. "Are you trying to ruin me?"
"Yes, absolutely." He kissed me once again. A delightful tingle swirled inside my chest as his fingers traced my arm just before ending the kiss. His smoldering gaze held me captive. If this was what it meant to be ruined, then count me in.
****
"What on earth happened to you? And who is that gentleman who brought you home?" Mrs. Trimbleton scolded as she shooed me into my room after she'd discovered me tiptoeing down the hallway.
"We were caught in the rainstorm, and Lord Ashby was kind enough to bring me home." My cheeks heated with a blush just thinking of that ride home. Hmm, rain may not be so bad after all.
"Well, I've never seen you in such a state, and that includes the time you tried to pluck a feather from the pond in Derbyshire and fell in. But you were only eight, so we could hardly chasten you. But Jocelyn, have a care! People would talk if they saw you in such a state, with Lord Ashby no less!"
"Yes, Mrs. Trimbleton. I'll try to be more careful in the future." To not get caught.
She called for Libby and went to notify the kitchen to bring up hot water for a bath. I regarded myself in the mirror. What a mess, but rather than being horrified at my appearance I saw the swell of my lips, the light in my eyes, and the wet mop of golden hair that