miracle they were able to maintain the position.
He had always asked permission before kissing a lady. Even with his lovers, there had always been an indication he was about to touch or kiss them, as it was a step a gentleman should follow. He was a gentleman; he always thought of a lady’s sensibility as a gentleman should. Except, staring at Julian stirred a passion that felt raw and primitive. Wentworth didn’t want to ask any permission. He wanted to take, wanted to ravish.
“My…My lord,” she said achingly soft. “I…”
“I know…I know you are a lady.”
Breathing was nearly impossible as he waited for her to move, to say something, to deny it, to run from him, to even scream. Anything but this silence. At her shocked, prolonged lack of response, Wentworth spoke. “I just might prove the theory of dying from an internal heat generated by an unexplained force—spontaneous combustion, as proposed by Giuseppe Bianchini. However, the force in my case is not mysterious; it is you. By God, I feel if I do not kiss you…taste you even once, I will expire on the fucking spot.”
Her face flushed a delicate rosy hue at his crudeness, but the delight that entered her eyes sparked his desire like a match to dry kindling.
“You know?”
How husky and soft her voice was.
“Yes.”
“You cannot be sure.”
“I am most certain.”
“How—”
“I can feel it in the ache of want I have for you.”
She stared at him for a few moments, and then rather doubtfully asked, “And you are not angry?”
“I am curious…intrigued.”
Her breath puffed across his lips as she murmured, “An odd reaction to deception. Most would send for the magistrate.”
“I am the kind of gentleman who prefers to see ingenuity, inventiveness, and practicality in life choices that assume many risks. The foundation of any discovery first relies on the risk one is willing to take to prove themselves.”
Tender humor lit in her eyes, and he felt the curve of her mouth against his. “You, my lord, are entirely kissable.”
With a groan of defeat, he took her mouth with his. And to his eternal relief, she flung her hands around his neck, stretched up onto her toes, and returned his kiss with artless but such passionate ardor.
Thank Christ.
Her mouth tasted incredibly sweet. Her responses wonderfully wanton. Wentworth gathered her closer in his embrace and kissed her with more intimacy. She gasped against his mouth, and he kissed her more carnally, sliding his tongue against hers.
She made a wanton, achy sound that went right to his cock. Bloody hell. His manhood rose, a pulse-pounding need throbbing through him. Their lips parted briefly, and their gazes collided. In her, there was an answering arousal that had the headiest effect on his senses.
“What is your real name?” he asked, clearing the roughness of desire from his throat.
“Juliana. My…my father and my brother often call me Jules.”
Now he understood why she chose Julian as her disguise name.
He reached out and pulled the wig from her head to reveal tightly pinned dark tresses. Wentworth removed six pins, dropping them to the floor. She lifted her hand and did the rest until her hair fanned out across her shoulders and down her chest.
“Your hair is beautiful.”
“I had to cut it…before it was waist length.”
He touched the silken strands. Her beauty was drawn into sharper relief, all that mass of black hair, a slightly tanned skin, and exquisite lavender eyes. Had her skin always looked so soft and flushed? So inviting? He wanted to kiss all over her body and imprint the feel and taste of her in his mind.
“You are so lovely,” he said gruffly, dipping to catch her mouth in a brief kiss.
When he made to pull back, she followed, wrapping her hands firmly around his neck.
“Jump up,” he muttered against her mouth.
And she did, without any hesitation. This brought their mouths more in line with each other, but it also did something far more dangerous. To hold her to him and support her slight weight, Wentworth gripped her lush backside with his hands, and she hooked her ankles behind his back.
His cock, which was stiff and aching, was flushed to her heated center.
They both stilled under the realization of just how intimate they were. But he saw no anxiety or fear in her eyes, only need and curiosity.
“Have you had a lover before?” he asked with a measure of desperation, wishing she had experience.
“You were my very first kiss,” she said a bit shyly.
Ah, hell. She was just as sweetly