Scoundrel of My Heart (Once Upon a Dukedom #1) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,58

when being so near to him caused rioting sensations to course through her. To be here when she knew she shouldn’t, to be here because she desired it. Because she’d faced death tonight—they’d both faced death—and they’d been victorious and to the victors belonged the spoils. And for her, that involved a kiss. From him.

“I want to kiss you. No anger this time. Only gratitude that it’s still a choice I have.” His lips parted before she reached them, before she angled his head to give her easier access to that which she sought. She recalled his earlier lesson about how some things were better when met with preparation, and so she teased, licking the corner of his mouth, the side that curled up whenever he wasn’t of a mind to give her a full smile, when he didn’t want her to know that he’d taken delight in her words or actions. With her tongue, she painted his lower lip, so full, so enticing, a cushion to hers that promised pleasure.

Groaning low, cupping the back of her head, holding her in place, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, ending her taunting, thrilling her with his impatience. She wasn’t the only one who wanted—needed—an affirmation that life, precious and dear, shouldn’t be wasted with regrets for moments lost. They had here, they had now, when they might have had nothing else at all.

Where was the harm in taking advantage of the parrying in which neither sought the defeat of the other but gloried in each stroke, each sweep, each suckle? She caught the barest hint of chocolate and spice, imagined it was the lingering remnants of the cheroot he’d smoked earlier. Did she reflect the same flavor?

She hoped he wasn’t tasting the fear that had brought a metallic tinge to her mouth. Not so much a fear for herself but for him. When he’d gone to his knees—

With deliberation, she pushed the recollection aside. She wanted this moment to wipe out the other memory, to give her moments to savor, to reflect on, to carry with her into slumber so she would dream of passion and desire. And when she awoke, it would be because her body yearned and craved.

She did yearn, did crave. The scent of him, the feel of him, the sound of him as he growled, taking the kiss deeper.

Skimming her hand over his neckcloth, she noted it was no longer perfectly knotted. Perhaps she’d remove it. Would he object? Or would he welcome her mouth nibbling along his neck? Gliding her fingers along his waistcoat, she considered loosening the buttons, reducing the amount of cloth separating his heat from hers. Lower—

She stilled at the warm dampness. Stiffening, he grabbed her wrist.

“What is that?” she insisted.

Only he didn’t answer. His breathing was harsh, and she suspected perhaps it wasn’t the kiss causing it. Wrenching her wrist free of him, she brought her fingers nearer to her face. There wasn’t enough light with which to see, but she could smell the coppery tang. “You’re bleeding. You told Marcus you weren’t hurt.”

“He wouldn’t have left if he knew I was.”

Oh dear God. And he was going to see her home and then take himself off to his club? To a surgeon? To suffer alone? To possibly . . . die? Horrified, she scrambled off his lap, sitting beside him, wanting to touch him, afraid of hurting him. “How bad is it?”

“Not so bad.”

He’d lied to Marcus. Why wouldn’t he be lying to her at that precise moment? She saw everything differently now. The strain in his voice when he’d first approached her. The manner in which he’d held her, tucked in against his right side, the rest of his body angled away from her. The wound was on the left. In the darkness, with only the moon and stars, he’d been able to hide so much from his brother, from her. It flayed her heart, scored her soul that he’d kept this from her, had not trusted her with it.

In the dark, she ran her hands across the bench until she located his unique walking stick, used it to bang on the ceiling, and immediately felt the coach slowing.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going to instruct them to take you to hospital.”

“No hospital.”

“A surgeon then.”

“No.”

Infuriating man. “I will at least see how bad it is.”

“Lady Kathryn, it’s not your concern.”

She did not miss the fact that he was using a formal address to put distance between them. “The