Author: Sara Bennett
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/39978_19
“Do you think so?” She flushed with pleasure at his small compliment. “I always enjoyed the lessons. Well, far more than embroidery or Italian.”
“I promise not to start a conversation in Italian.”
“Thank you.”
“Or ask you to embroider me a handkerchief.”
A crease drew her brows together. “You would be sorry if you did.”
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
By the time the music finished he was smiling.
“Now, Your Grace,” she spoke in an unnecessarily loud voice, “supper is this way.” She preceded him through a door and into a narrow passageway. They paused to allow a group of giggling girls to pass through a farther door, which opened into a room even more crowded than the last. Inside, Sinclair could just hear the ring of silverware against china above the chatter and laughter. Behind them the music had started up again and his head began to throb. His headache, forgotten for a moment, was getting worse.
Eugenie had changed direction, darting down a small flight of steps, and he hurried after her. She glanced back at him and then opened a low door and slipped inside. He followed without hesitation, closing the door behind him, and suddenly found himself in a small, dimly lit anteroom. Above him the noise of dancing made the ceiling shake and his head pound.
Eugenie smiled at him. Behind her old bunting was stacked against the wall and what looked like a set of broken chairs was piled into a corner. An empty barrel sent out a reek of sour wine. The dust on the floor was a good inch thick.
Eugenie followed his gaze and grimaced. “I know. It’s rather horrid, isn’t it?”
“You little wretch,” he said, surprising himself with his lack of good manners. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough. Come here.”
It was her fault, he told himself, as he pulled her into his arms. She’d made him wait far too long and he’d be dashed if he’d wait any longer. It was her fault he had a headache, too. It was probably a combination of unrequited lust and the appalling music.
She was gazing up at him, startled, but not struggling. He took that as agreement and kissed her, his mouth pressing hard to hers.
She gave a little gasp and he almost let her go, but a moment later she relaxed into his arms, winding her own about his neck and clinging there as his mouth slid along the full warm sweetness of hers. Now he knew what her pink lips tasted like—ripe summer fruit—and he was relieved to discover she was not too shy to kiss him back. Perhaps she was not as innocent as he’d thought? But her next words disabused him of that.
She smiled and touched her lips. “I don’t think I have ever been kissed like this before. In fact, my experience of kissing is rather limited.”
“I can remedy that.”
Eugenie searched his eyes with hers, as if trying to decide whether he was teasing or not. He’d sounded more serious than he’d meant.
“Well, have I won your dare?” he said. “Is this reckless enough for you, Miss Belmont?”
“I’m glad you decided to take up my challenge, Your Grace,” she said with a husky laugh. “I like you better when you’re reckless.”
Her slender body was soft and pliant against his and he drew it closer, enjoying the feel of her, the fact that she was finally in his arms. He rested his overheated brow against her cool forehead and groaned.
She reached to touch his face, her fingers gentle. “You are very warm, Your Grace,” she ventured.
“I have the devil of a headache,” he murmured, squeezing his eyes closed. Even the dim light in here hurt.
She slid her arm about his waist, helping him take several steps, and the next moment he was sitting on the upended wine barrel. She stood before him, frowning at him, and he felt her hands cup his face, ecstatically cool against his overheated skin.
“I am rather good with headaches,” she said in a quiet voice. “My aunt Beatrix suffers from them and she has a Chinese doctor who uses a special massage to reduce the pain. He showed me when I stayed with her some years ago.”
Above them the music began aga
in, but he concentrated on her fingers, stroking his head and face, finding little areas of pain and pressing gently against them. The pressure never became too much to bear before she released it, and gradually the pain began to slip away. Soon he felt able to open his eyes.
She didn’t notice him watching her at first. She was too busy concentrating on what she was doing. She skimmed her fingers along his brow, massaging his temples with her thumbs in circular movements. He could see her slender neck and shoulders above the white lace of her dress, the pale sheen of her skin. The swell of her breasts were just visible above her bodice, and he wished he could see more. He wished he could undo a button or two and investigate what lay beneath all that clothing.
Instead he reached to encircle her waist with his hands and drew her into the wedge of his thighs and the heat of his body, his breath teasing wisps of her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered against her ear, and felt her shiver. His lips caressed her earlobe and then her jawline, working their way toward her mouth. By the time he reached it her lips were parted, her own breath quick and sharp, and she gave a little moan when he took her mouth with his.
This time the kiss went on far longer and when she pulled away she was breathless, her eyes dark and dreamy.
“Is your headache better?” she said, and stepped back and away, out of reach.