Chapter 5

Fresh. Tangy. A little tart. With a lingering hint of sweetness. Like eating a newly picked apple. A zing of pure pleasure, as the senses flooded with the taste of summer.

That was what it was like to kiss Lady Portia Frain. Like holding a sunny day in his arms. As Granville's head filled with her evocative scent and his arms bundled her close, every rational thought evaporated under a blast of heat.

It took a mere moment to register that she stood as straight and still as a column. A moment, but still too long.

Painful understanding dampened his burgeoning arousal. She must resent him mauling her.

Granville thought that he'd seen desire in her eyes. But it was so easy to read what one wanted to see in another person's expression, wasn't it?

Feeling like he shifted a ton of lead single-handed, he prepared to let her go. Fighting every instinct, he told his hands to release their grip. He told his face to lift away from hers, to end the kiss. He told himself to step back and beg her forgiveness.

Until he kissed Portia, he'd had no idea quite how cold his world was. He was so used to the cold, it became his natural habitat. Now he held summer in his arms, how could he forsake that for deadly winter?

But he must. He must.

Feeling like he amputated his arm, he began to withdraw.

Then the miracle happened.

Portia made a faint sound. Before he could decide whether it was a complaint, her lips moved beneath his and she raised her hands to his shoulders.

A signal that she wasn't disgusted. A stronger signal still when her rigidity flowed away and her body curved to fit his. Portia Frain was a generous creature. In nature and in form. He shuddered with delight when her full breasts pressed into a chest covered only with a light shirt.

On a muffled groan, he gathered her closer and began to kiss her with intent. The flutter of her lips against his zapped him with heat. Her grasp on his shoulders firmed, and the little hum she made in her throat conveyed surprised pleasure.

Surprise…

Granville lifted his head to stare down into her lovely face. Her eyes were closed, and he couldn't mistake her rapt expression. Her lips were full and red and parted as if she trembled on the brink of asking for more.

She was the perfect image of female desire. Innocent desire.

What a fool he was. What an infernally stupid fool.

"Portia, you've never kissed a man before, have you?" he murmured, hands settling on her narrow waist.

Her eyelids lifted, a flicker of thick brown lashes. He drowned in misty blue, while she stared up at him as if she lost her bearings in the real world.

"Portia?" he prompted. Then smiled at her with all the gladness that she aroused in his moth-eaten soul. "I refuse to believe I've shocked you speechless. I didn't think anything could shock you speechless."

A faint frown wrinkled her brow, and her gaze focused on his face. She no longer looked as if she wandered the far boundaries of the cosmos. "You're teasing me?"

He thought about it as he stepped back. "I suppose I am."

"You're far too careful of your dignity to tease anyone."

He hid a wince. "I don't feel dignified right now. And you haven't answered my question."

She blushed, and her eyelids lowered to hide her eyes. "When would I have kissed anyone? You know what life is like for well-bred young ladies."

"You've clearly found ways to circumvent your chaperone." Juliet had been her chaperone until last year. Since then, he had a vague memory of an aging lady accompanying her when she was out in public.

"My animal rescue?"

"Yes."

Humor quirked that luscious mouth. "I didn't kiss any of the…gentlemen who were mistreating their fellow creatures."

"None were handsome enough to tempt you?"

"Some were handsome enough. But people who are cruel to animals are also cruel to humans. I might have wanted to shoot a few of them. I never wanted to kiss them."

Her murderous impulses evoked a soft laugh. "You think I'm kind?"

He asked the question in jest. More of that teasing she found so unlikely. She was right. He rarely – never – teased anyone. His life was serious and purposeful. Playfulness had no role.

"You've been kind to Jupiter." Grave blue eyes examined his features. "You were kind when you rescued me from Jim. Despite it being the last place you wanted to be."

Granville shifted, awkward under her praise. "Noblesse oblige."

How he wished that he hadn't asked. He'd expected a dismissive answer. He hadn't expected genuine gratitude. Was that why she'd kissed him? Because she felt in his debt? The idea made his skin feel too tight for his bones.

Her lips flattened as if she resisted saying more. "Perhaps."

He suspected that she sensed his discomfort. Which was interesting in itself. He was renowned for hiding his emotions.

To his regret, she wasn't finished. "And you stood by Juliet during that awful scene at Afton Park after the play. I've always been grateful to you for that. You didn't have to. In fact, most people would have called you a fool for being so gallant. You were the injured party, after all."

Discomfort stung worse than ever. Because Portia raised the subject that loomed like a towering cliff over everything they did. The fact that he'd once, however briefly, been engaged to her older sister.

"She deserved better treatment than she got," he said stiffly.

"See? You're a kind man." Before he could protest, she went on in a troubled voice. "I suppose you must have kissed her, too."

Discomfort tightened his gut. "Portia, a gentleman doesn't—"

She frowned. "So you did kiss her?"

"Not the way I just kissed you."

Portia looked worried. "Why not?"

He sighed. "Because, much as I admired your sister, I didn't want her."

When she retreated from his hold, he wanted to smash something. "But you still kissed her."

He sent her a straight look, praying that one chaste peck on Juliet's lips almost a year ago didn't wreck his chances with Portia. A thousand apologies and excuses welled up, but they all smacked too much of desperation. And insincerity, when he'd never been more sincere in his life. "Only once, when she agreed to marry me. It was like kissing my grandmother."

Portia folded her arms in front of her. "You say that now."

He exhaled with impatience. "I do, and I'd say that then, because it's true."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Granville didn't believe her. He could tell that she didn't like it. He couldn't blame her. "It was over in a second. A duty rather than a pleasure."

"Hmm," she said, studying him with narrow eyes.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I need to think about this."

Dear God, what would he do if she broke with him because he'd kissed her sister? "I can't change what happened, Portia. I can tell you it didn't mean anything, but only you can decide if you trust me."

The stiff line of her shoulders eased a fraction. "I suppose you didn't have to tell me."

"Yes, I did."

"Yes, you did," she responded in a dark tone.

He stared down at her in helpless fascination. "Does this mean you won't let me kiss you again?"

As they'd spoken, her blush had subsided. Now another intriguing wash of color rose. "I think before that happens, we should sort out a few things."

"If we must," he said with a hint of grimness, before he realized what she'd said. His hands caught her waist. "Do you mean—"

She searched his face as if confirming his honesty. "I mean that you should let me go before Phipps and Sheriff discover us doing what we shouldn't."

She was right, damn it. This was neither time nor place for passionate embraces. He pressed his mouth to hers in a brief kiss that nonetheless rushed through him like wildfire.

When he raised his head, her eyes were glazed again. "What was that for?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"To remind me that I've got a treat in store."

He braced for maidenly protests. But Portia, while undoubtedly a maiden, didn't play coy games. She raised a hand to her lips as if she touched the memory of his kiss.

The gesture had an infernally powerful effect on him. It was an effort to take her hand to lead her across to the bench against the wall. They sat together perhaps not innocently, but much more presentable to an audience than they'd been a few moments ago. Jupiter trailed behind them and settled at Granville's feet.

Portia's forthright manner revived. The gaze she settled on him was pointed. "Why didn't you want Juliet? She's very beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you are."

Her free hand waved away the compliment. Her other hand remained in his. "You don't have to say that."

"Nevertheless, it's true."

"Thank you," Portia said, but he could tell that she wasn't persuaded. "Tell me about Juliet."

"She must have told you that it wasn't a love match." As became apparent to the entire world when she married Evesham.

He had no experience of an affectionate family, but he couldn't imagine Portia and Juliet kept many secrets from each other. He'd always recognized the fondness between the sisters, even worried about it when he feared that Portia might dissuade Juliet from accepting his proposal.

Although Portia hadn't known that he'd kissed Juliet, had she? Perhaps confidences only went so far.

"Not on her part. I wasn't sure about you."

"You believed cold fish like me don't fall in love."

"Well, yes, and I apologize. If you were such a dull stick, you'd never kiss me in a stable."

"We should have met in a stable much earlier."

She frowned. "I'm not used to you teasing. Stop it."

"Don't you like it?"

The corners of her mouth, the mouth that he'd tasted for such a tantalizingly short interval, deepened. He had a feeling that she'd just about forgiven him for kissing Juliet. The relief made him feel like doing cartwheels. "You were speaking of my sister."

"She and I were going to build a useful partnership. Social reform. National influence. Children to continue the line. She was born to be a duchess."

"I know. Everyone said so. I used to mock her about it. Now she is a duchess. And not just because Evesham's a duke. She loves him and he loves her. She'd take him if he was a gardener's boy. At the end, she didn't give a fig about rank."

"I'm happy for her."

Portia's eyes rounded. "You are?"

"She followed her heart."

"But you hate Evesham."

Self-derision twisted his lips. "He's not my favorite person."

"Because of Vanessa Gould."

"Yes." Vanessa was Granville's first fiancée.

"Did you kiss Vanessa?"

The question was inevitable. At least he had nothing to confess when it came to his first engagement. "No. That was a family arrangement. We danced a few times and I called on her, but we were mere acquaintances. She was always very quiet in my presence, I assumed out of reticence. I had no idea that she loathed the idea of marrying me until she ran off with Evesham."

"Who you shot."

Unfortunately, not fatally. "Yes."

"I'm glad."

His grunt expressed amusement. "That I shot that devil Evesham?"

"No, that you didn't love Juliet. It makes me feel—"

"Like you're not treading on her territory?"

"Yes."

"So you're happy to do it again?" he asked with rising optimism.

It was her turn to laugh. "You know, when I woke up this morning, the last thing I imagined I'd be doing was discussing kisses with my sister's jilted fiancé."

"I'm sure." He was astonished, too. "I deserve horsewhipping."

"We're in the right place for it."

Dear God, how had he missed what a jewel she was? Right now, even the way she'd imposed Jupiter on him seemed charming.

Granville hadn't encountered a girl this enchanting since his days courting Vanessa, and he'd come to see that his interest in her had been based on wishful thinking. He'd only been twenty-one and woefully inexperienced in the ways of the world.

That was no longer true. Despite his proper reputation, he'd enjoyed a number of discreet liaisons. He understood and appreciated the lure of sensual pleasure. But nothing in those affairs compared with his craving to whisk this gorgeous creature off and have his way with her.

"I was joking," Portia said, as the silence extended.

"I know. I'm just a bit nonplussed. Kissing you wasn't even on the horizon. Now it's all I can think of."

"Me, too," she admitted with audible glumness. "You'll think I'm a complete hoyden."

He shot her a disbelieving look. "I think you're utterly magnificent."

"What?"

"You heard me. I'd consider it a privilege beyond measure if you let me kiss you again."

Although that erratic blush rose again, she was brave enough to meet his eyes. "I'd like that."

Her shy curiosity tightened every muscle in his body. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a warning clanged. She was an innocent. Even more of an innocent than he'd realized. She asked for kisses, but he had a horrid presentiment that kisses wouldn't be enough for him.

She'd grant him a glimpse of heaven while casting him into a hell of frustration.

Undoubtedly he invited trouble. So did she, but he had the experience to guess how all this would go. A sensible man – he'd always considered himself a sensible man – would run a mile.

"You can trust me," he said, as much for his own sake as hers.

She rolled her eyes. "Even when I didn't like you, I knew you were as straight as a die. You even admitted that you kissed Juliet."

Pleasure flooded him, swamping his well-founded doubts. "You like me?"

She frowned. "I just kissed you."

"That doesn't mean you like me."

"I'm not in the habit of kissing men I don't like."

His faint snort would surprise his straitlaced society acquaintances. "Portia, you're not in the habit of kissing anyone."

It was the first time that he'd used her name without her courtesy title. Did she notice?

"No, but if I was, I'd restrict myself to people I like. I wouldn't have kissed you yesterday."

How could he resist her? He caught her chin and turned her face to kiss her again. Another blast of heady sweetness. This time, her lips moved beneath his. It was an effort to pull away without pursuing the contact. "Then I'm grateful we didn't meet yesterday."

She looked tousled and confused – and bewitching – as she struggled to focus on his face. "That was nice."

"It will only get nicer."

"Oh?" The syllable expressed a curiosity that made his blood heat.

"You know, it's going to be nigh impossible to act like a polite stranger when we meet in public."

To his surprise, she looked disappointed. "You won't dance with me?"

His lips twitched. For a man who was a novice at teasing, he was getting into the habit. "If you insist."

"I do."

"Remember to put on the long-suffering expression you always wear, or people will know things between us have changed."

She gave a quick laugh. "And you must look so bored, you're asleep on your feet."

"I'm sure I didn't."

"I'm sure you did."

He was sure he did, too. Dancing with his prospective bride's harum-scarum sister had always counted as a duty, not a pleasure. Now the danger lay in concealing how much pleasure she gave him. "Strange that one day makes all the difference."

When her hand squeezed his, the action transformed to poignant emotion squeezing his heart. How puzzling. "Strange indeed."

They stared at each other. Granville saw his longing reflected in her lovely eyes. He was on the verge of kissing her again when Jupiter's faint growl warned them that their privacy ended.

"Good boy," Granville murmured, releasing Portia's hand and rising.

He patted the dog. By the time Sheriff and Phipps appeared at the stable door, he and Portia stood several feet apart, looking as innocent as lambs. Or at least Granville hoped so.