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“A lady doesn’t speak of such things,” Ciara said clumsily, much to the chagrin of everyone around her.

“All right, all right,” Lady Worthington continued, calming down the chicken coop. “You forget, my dears, that the Duchess of Silverbrook spent much of her lifetime in a nunnery. This all new to her… or is it?”

Ciara blushed fervently, wanting to tell her that she had no right to speak to her in such a manner, but Lady Worthington continued.

“After all, nuns do change their minds as we’ve had the opportunity of seeing,” she added then turned to the lady to her right. “Now, Lizzie, do tell us about that gardener of yours. I might need my garden… freshened up a bit as well.”

Ciara wanted to leave, but she knew that it would have been considered highly inappropriate. So, she stayed there, listening, realizing that she knew nothing of the experiences they had spoken, whether those experiences were with or without their husbands.

With the thoughts of Jonathan’s hand between her thighs and the fire he riled up inside of her, she realized how painfully insecure and inexperienced she was.

And how could such a girl ever entertain the likes of her husband?

CHAPTER 18

The carriage ride back to Silverbrook Manor was shrouded in the soft glow of moonlight. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the cobblestone road provided a soothing backdrop as Ciara leaned back against the plush seat, trying to unwind from the evening’s events.

Jonathan watched her with a mixture of amusement and affection. “So, did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Ciara gave him a sideways glance, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “It was... enlightening,” she replied, her tone diplomatic.

Jonathan chuckled. “Enlightening, you say? You handled yourself quite well, despite the less-than-charming company.”

Ciara sighed, her earlier embarrassment resurfacing. “I felt so out of place, Jonathan. And when I dropped my fork…”

“Ah, yes, the infamous fork incident,” Jonathan interrupted playfully. “I must say, I found it rather endearing. Only, if I had allowed you to bend and pick it up, I am certain that the guests would think something naughty was happening.”

Ciara’s cheeks flushed. “You’re teasing me surely.”

“Just a bit,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But only because I find you utterly charming when you’re flustered.”

“Too bad you are not charming when I am flustered,” she retorted, resisting a chuckle.

“Oh?” he lifted an eyebrow. “And usually, I am?”

“No,” she replied. “Not one bit. You are not charming. You are… impossible.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Impossible, perhaps. But you must admit, I make things interesting.”

Ciara’s heart raced at the nearness of him, the warmth of his breath against her skin. She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and longing.

“I dare you to make them more interesting…” she said, her eyes upon his, not looking away even for a single second.

He knew exactly what she was thinking. His smile softened, and without another word, he closed the distance between them. His lips met hers in a gentle, tender kiss that quickly deepened. Ciara’s hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more passionate. She could feel the heat of his desire, mirrored by her own.

He was kissing her much differently than the last time. She could sense it. This time, he knew it was she he was kissing. The kiss belonged to her, not to some nameless woman.

Everything about their kiss was forbidden and therefore, delicious. She knew she wasn’t supposed to give in to him. At least, not with such ease. But she wanted to. There was nothing she wanted more than to be in his arms.

She kissed him as if that was their first and last kiss, and they both knew there would be no more. She could feel his hunger for her as his tongue riled through her lips, demanding everything of her. His hands were on her hips, keeping her in his lap. His manhood protruded from his trousers, roaring with desire for her.

Every single bad thing that had happened was banished by Jonathan’s kiss. She couldn’t think of anything or anyone else. She was helpless before his desire, before her own desire.

She moaned softly against his lips, and he bit her gently, only to soothe that sting with another kiss. The act inflamed her. Everything about that moment was more intense than she could have imagined.

His hand traveled up to her breast, cupping it through the fabric of her gown. She kissed him back with all the passion she had, every pent-up thought of him she had been collecting until that moment. Although she could not feel his hand on her bare skin, her nipples pebbled even through the layers and layers of fabric that separated their naked bodies. She felt more alive than she had ever been before. She was aware of every inch of her being, of his proximity.

Without thinking, she allowed her desire to lead her. She sucked on his tongue, not even sure if he liked what she was doing. Then, he kissed her harder, and she could tell everything. She was melting in his arms, every inch of her being a nerve-ending that trembled before him. His lips traveled down her throat, kissing it, nipping it, licking it, creating a deliciously wet trail of longing. She arched her back and neck, allowing him access to any part of her body that he wanted.