Chapter 4

“As if I’d ask you or any other man for anything.” Grace jerked her head up with the words, defiance in her expression.

Something stirred in Philip’s gut.

She wants a kiss, and she was willing to give it to that man? Of all people in the world, she chose him!

He could think of nothing else but Grace’s lips now, what a kiss would be like and how it could feel to be the one to introduce Grace to such a kiss, to show her how a true man could kiss her, rather than the pathetic kiss she would have gotten from the Marquess of Morton, if any kiss at all.

“No?” he said, finding his voice as he managed to tear his gaze from her lips to her eyes. Her face was burning red, despite the fact the summer’s eve was chilly. “You like being the one in control, Grace?”

“Indeed, I wouldn’t give up control to any man. Least of all you.”

“I don’t know.” He offered her a small smile, the edge of his lips tilting up on one side. “You might rather like losing control every now and then. There’s pleasure in giving control to another.”

What am I doing?

It was the sort of rakish thing he only said behind closed doors with discrete women. Grace was not that woman.

“I…” She faltered then her eyes slid down to his lips as well.

He acted on instinct. He wasn’t sure if it was the rage about her trying to kiss the Marquess of Morton that made him do it or the fact that she was looking at him in that way, but he had to do it — had to do it now before she found another to fulfill her foolish dare.

Philip pressed his lips to hers with such a collision of force that the two of them staggered together. It was instant, the heat, the fire, the way they fumbled as her hands found the edge of his tailcoat and his splayed hands went to her hips.

He gripped hard, reliving that feeling of having those curves in his hands from three years ago.

Intoxicating…

He cursed her baggy and ridiculous gowns in the back of his mind as he held onto her, angling his head to hers and deepening the kiss. She gasped, perhaps at the sheer intensity of it all, and he took advantage of the moment, parting her lips to take her tongue with his own. It was a passionate battle as he dominated the kiss, the two of them coming to a halt on the grass at last.

He was too lost in the kiss, thinking only of the heat of her lips, wondering why he had never done this before, broken the rules with Grace before, when a shocked gasp sounded from somewhere.

Philip pulled back harshly.

What have I done?

That shocked gasp of some onlooker was like ice through his veins. He released Grace and stepped back, looking left and right as he sought the person who must have seen them together.

He could see no one. There were only the darkened gaps in the yew bushes nearby, but no eyes peered at the two of them.

It had to be Violet. As chaperone, she must have come to check on her friend then ran away again.

Panting as he caught his breath, he turned back to face Grace.

Her hands were on her stomach, her face full of astonishment. Her hair looked somehow wilder than before, and that damned sleeve of her dress had slipped once again, revealing a bare shoulder. The hint of her bust was visible above the neckline of her gown now, and she seemed completely unaware of it in her shock.

Don’t do this to me, Grace.

“There, it’s done,” he said with sudden finality.

“Wh-what?” she stammered, her gaze finding his own. Those golden eyes looked quite ethereal in this light.

“At least that will stop you putting yourself in any further danger.” Yes, that’s why he had done it, he was sure of it. It was just to make sure she didn’t kiss a fool like the Marquess of Morton and find herself ruined for it.

“I beg your pardon?” she spluttered, taking a small step back from him.

“Well, these dares of Celia’s… they’ll just get you all in trouble. At least now you’ve achieved your dare without any harm.”

“That’s why you kissed me?” The outrage was plain at once.

“Why else?” He shrugged.

Because the thought crosses my mind at least once every time that I see you.

He kept this answer to himself. Little good could come from his attraction to Grace, hence why he had been keeping it at bay ever since he met her.

She was unlike the other ladies he discreetly spent his time with. She was not formal, not elegant, and the way that writers of scandal sheets followed behind her, writing of her clumsiness and unladylike ways, meant any possible liaison they had would appear in the scandal sheets within a day. That eventuality was unthinkable.

“My reputation is not of your concern.” Her expression changed at once. She marched past him, no longer meeting his gaze, as she returned to the other end of the lawn, clearly making her way back toward the house.

“You think not?” he spluttered as he followed her, somewhat angered that she’d had no response to the kiss at all. Had she even liked it? Then he caught sight of her brushing her lips with her fingers. She couldn’t have been untouched by it.

No one could kiss me back like that and not feel something.

“Listen, your reputation is entirely tied up with my sister’s.”

“What do you mean by that?” She flung herself around. “We are not blood related.”

“You are dearest friends. The whole ton knows it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You know what happens the moment there is a scandal. Someone hears about it, and they start looking at anyone connected to the subject of that gossip. I’m protecting Eleanor.”

“Funny. You didn’t seem very protective of her when you insisted that she found herself a groom.” The artful way in which she spoke and raised her eyebrows made his gut stir again. He felt another urge to kiss her though he kept his feet firmly planted in the ground where they were.

“How little you know if you think I wasn’t protecting her the whole time.” His words made her frown. “You appear often enough in the scandal sheets without needing to go out of your way and flirt with a man who would have every word you said reprinted in a scandal sheet the next day.”

“I beg your pardon!?”

“You heard me,” he muttered deeply in a low warning tone. “The writers love to write about the ways in which you… transgress.” He struggled to find the right word.

“Yes, because it’s a transgression to enjoy a good walk. To ride, to swim, to go sailing. How dare a woman like all the things that many men like and not just…embroider her life away!”

“You know what I mean,” he said, continuing that low tone though it did nothing to dissuade her anger.

“You should have let me kiss Lord Morton instead.” Her words made his stomach knot. “As you so clearly despise me and my reputation so much, it’s a wonder you have stayed in my company for so long now.”

“For God’s sake.” He cursed, knowing now he had to point something out to her. “You weren’t going to achieve your dare with Lord Morton. You would have only had your feelings hurt.”

“And why is that? Do you think he would not have wanted to kiss me?”

“Of course not! You are not his type. It’s not my secret to tell why, but just take my word for it, Grace.”

“Why?” She stood rigid, the full force of her fury plain now. “Because I’m not proper enough. Not ladylike enough.” Philip stayed silent. “Not thin enough.”

Thin!? This thought curdled his gut. Why the hell did she want to be thin? Dear God, a red-blooded man would have loved to have had a woman with her figure in his bed. Philip had certainly imagined it, many times.

“It has nothing to do with you.” He scrambled to keep speaking as he saw her lips fall open in hurt. “His tastes are rather different to mine, Grace. He would have rather kissed me than spend time being driven mad by the curves you keep hidden beneath those modest dresses of yours.” He waved a hand dismissively at her.

She took a step back, her cheeks pinkening further. Philip wished he could reclaim the words at once, somehow stuff them back into his mouth and forget the thing he had said about her curves, but she didn’t seem to notice that bit.

“Oh. Oh!” she gasped in understanding and threw a hand over her eyes. “That’s why I liked him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I so rarely like men. It suddenly makes sense that I would choose a gentle man who turns out to prefer men to women.” She managed a small, humored smile as she dropped her hand from her face.

“You so rarely like men?” He folded his arms, feeling anger on behalf of his own sex.

“In fact, I hate them.” She smiled at his look of annoyance. “Yourself included, of course, Your Grace.”

“Charmed, as always, Grace. You hate me, do you?” He had a feeling he knew where these words were coming from. “Well, I find it hard to believe you would kiss me like that if you hate me so much.”

She froze, her only movement her eyes as they narrowed to slits.

“You kissed me,” she pointed out.

“And you were hardly in a hurry to brush me off, were you?”

“I would have.”

“When exactly?”

When they both fell quiet, just staring at one another, Philip felt a need to prove his point. He unfurled his arms and walked toward her again.

Mirroring their actions from earlier, she backed up, but she didn’t move very fast. He caught her in an instant and slid his arm in one swift movement across her waist.

Those hips…

The way they arched up to her waist and back down again was particularly intoxicating when he had hold of her. Their position meant he could gather the loose gown and show off those curves to their best advantage.

She still didn’t brush him off, but those eyes were wide as she looked up at him. So close, their color was even more obvious than before, a pale brown, almost golden.

“You hate me, eh?” he whispered. His voice had gone even huskier than normal, taking on a deep and gravelly tone.

Her eyes blinked, her lips parted, as if she would object to him being so near, but she said nothing. She just waited. He couldn’t resist — with his arm wrapped around her waist, he pulled Grace a little closer until their hips were flush together.

“Detest everything you know about me, don’t you?” he challenged her further.

“Yes,” she insisted, jerking her chin a little higher, that look of perfect defiance in her features again.

A sudden passion raged in his gut. Philip could see the two of them kissing again. To hell with it, he could imagine dragging Grace back to that bench, lifting her skirt, and showing her exactly which part of him she would not hate. He would lift that defiant look from her features with a scream of pleasure instead.

He could imagine pleasuring Grace would be different to any other woman he’d had. She would surely be wilder, more passionate in her movements, perhaps even occasionally take control… that was if he let her, of course. His plans would be to control everything about what passed between them at first.

He leaned an inch toward her, ready for another kiss, ready to break that line between them again, but another gasp filled the air.

“Dear God,” Grace muttered, pushing hard into his chest and backing away. He stepped away too, turning around to see who had interrupted them again.

It was Violet. She had come back and stood in the nearest gap between the yew bushes nearby, her eyes wider than Philip had ever seen them in his life.

Clearly, she did not wish to leave us alone any longer.

Philip ran a hand through his hair, the thrill that he still felt at having Grace in his arms leaving him extraordinarily slowly. He knew it was a good thing that Violet had interrupted them, otherwise Philip might have been tempted to live out one of those fantasies plaguing his mind.

That would have been a bad idea.

“Well,” Violet said, clearing her throat in some valiant effort to dispel the awkward air between the three of them, “I leave her with one man and come back to find her with another, Your Grace.” She glowered, her eyes squinting.

Ah, Eleanor will hear of this now.

“You’re doing a terrible job as a chaperone, Duchess,” he said simply.

Anger coiled within him. Anger at Violet for disappearing off, anger at Grace for trying to kiss Lord Morton, and most of all, pure fury at himself for losing control in the first place.

He walked away, hastening back to the ballroom.

He marched past the crowd of ladies and gentlemen on the veranda, trying his best not to meet any of their gazes. His mind raced with thoughts of Grace, what they had done, and yet how easy it had been to cross that line as well into the unknown.

“Damn Grace,” he muttered under his breath as he decided it was time to leave the ball. He returned to the door, collecting his frock coat from one of the servants before he left through the front door. “That was not meant to happen. Not meant to happen at all!”