Chapter Thirteen

Thirteen

Stella couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She was frozen in the sleigh, her eyes riveted to Teddy’s.

Though frozen wasn’t wholly accurate. Indeed, despite the snow swirling all around them, she wasn’t cold at all. Quite the reverse. She was as warm as a furnace beneath the layers of her cloak and gown. Warm in her limbs, and in her blood, and in the deep core of her stomach where butterflies wafted their wings in tremulous anticipation. It was a heat that had been ignited by the touch of Teddy’s gloved hand, and by the look in his eyes, so unwavering in its intensity.

He brought his face closer to hers. His nose brushed her cheek. She felt him inhale. “Lilacs,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was a trembling squeak.

“The scent you’re wearing. Your soap, I presume?”

It was too personal a remark not to inspire a blush. “Yes, if you must know. But why—”

“I’m the son of a perfumer. My family paints their life in terms of fragrance. Lavender, roses, jasmine, and orange blossom. A single scent can conjure the past as vividly as any painting. But I had no memories to associate with lilacs. Not until you.” He stroked her cheek. “It’s your fragrance now, absolutely,” he said. “I’ll never again encounter it without thinking of how luminous you are in this moment.”

Stella’s heart beat swiftly. “That is, indeed, very romantic,” she managed. “If only I could believe you meant it.”

“I mean it,” he assured her in a husky undertone. And then, bending his head, his lips found hers.

Her own lips parted on a flustered breath. He’d said he was going to kiss her. It was why he’d stopped the sleigh. Why he’d complimented her, for heaven’s sake. But now the moment was upon her, she felt herself completely unprepared for it.

She realized in that instant that she’d never been kissed before. Not truly. Daring as she was—willing as she might have been—there had only ever been fleeting pecks on the cheek. Chaste, meaningless nothings—more avuncular than romantic.

But this was something different.

Teddy had a sensual mouth. She’d marked it that night in the anteroom. But little had she anticipated how that mouth would feel pressed to hers. It was the only soft part of him, unhindered by the sharpness of his intellect and the dryness of his wit. Lips that were gentle but firm, shaping effortlessly to hers with a warm, seeking pressure.

Stella tentatively pressed back, kissing him in return.

It was likely the most virginal, inexperienced kiss he’d ever received. But there was nothing dry about it. Nothing chaste. Their lips lingered against each other, warm and half-parted, clinging sweetly for an instant. Her breath mingled with his—an extraordinary intimacy.

He tasted of peppermint and mulled wine. He smelled of it, too—that and faint traces of lavender and spice. It was his shaving oil, very possibly. Something produced at the perfumery owned by his family. It stirred Stella’s senses, along with the brush of his lips, the touch of his hand, and the furnace-warm heat of his body so perilously close to hers.

She felt a bit dizzy as they separated.

Good gracious.

This was why ladies swooned. Why chaperones were invented. Why there was a booming industry in vinaigrettes. Kisses like these had the power to alter a lady’s entire constitution.

And, perhaps, a gentleman’s, too.

Twin flags of color blazed high on Teddy’s cheekbones. “May I write to you in Derbyshire?” he asked suddenly. His voice had a peculiar rasp in it.

Stella drew back from the curve of his hand, still alarmingly off-balance. She had no doubt but that if she’d stood in that moment, her legs would have given way beneath her. “On no account,” she said. “A gentleman can’t write to an unmarried lady.”

“Another tedious rule.”

“One I’m in no position to break. It’s my brother who oversees the post when we’re at home. Were he to see a letter arrive for me from a man, he’d consign it straight to the fire—after reading it himself, of course.”

Teddy caught up the reins. “ You wouldn’t burn it, would you?” He grimaced before she could answer. “Good Lord. It seems I’m constantly imploring you not to burn things.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “No. Indeed, I’d likely write back to you. But, as I say—”

“Rules are rules.”

“Yes, rules are rules,” she agreed bleakly.

A chill wind whispered over her face as the horse pulled the sleigh back to Sutton Park. The warm glow she’d felt when he’d touched her and kissed her was rapidly dissipating.

Tomorrow she was returning home. There was every chance she’d never see him again. The prospect was suddenly too dire to contemplate.

“Perhaps we might meet again in London,” she volunteered as the lights of the house came into view. “To be sure, I hope we will.”

Teddy’s handsome face set with resolve. “We will,” he vowed. “You may depend on it.”