Page 14 of Entertaining the Earl (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #2)

H e was looking at her in a way she did not understand, and she could only think he was appalled at her wandering the hallways in her night clothes.

She was mortified beyond belief, but still—she was even more desirous of a new book to read, so she hurried to the shelf in the library where her favorite novels were kept, taking her candle with her, for the light from the fire did not fully illuminate their titles.

She tried to be quick, knowing it was not appropriate for her to be in the library with him like this, but she found it hard to focus, knowing he was right there, reading his book and sipping his whiskey behind her.

Having made her selection—a book of Miss Austen’s, which she had already read but hoped would provide comfort on this long, dark, and embarrassing night—she turned around to find the Earl of Bourne was not reading his book. Instead, he sat simply watching her.

A delicious thrill surged through her body, and for a moment, they simply watched one another, not speaking, the sound of the fire crackling in the grate and the wind and rain outside the only interruptions.

“I—” She wasn’t sure what she had been about to say.

Perhaps that she ought to return to her room, or maybe a comment on the storm.

But before she could, there was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, and she jumped, sending her candle skittering across the floor.

She squeaked in shock, and Lord Bourne jumped up and rushed over, ensuring the candle at her feet was extinguished before reaching out to touch her arm.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, but she could not answer. The feeling of his warm fingertips against her bare skin sent any words in her mind far, far away. His touch was much more powerful than his looks—and she had been silenced by them before.

“I—” Again, she had no idea what the end of the sentence would be, and she never got to find out. She looked up at him, and the next thing she knew, he was leaning toward her, his lips crashing against hers, the breath knocked out of her, her heart racing.

If she had known kissing felt like this, she thought she might have been more concerned about the fact that she was heading toward life as a spinster without ever having experienced it.

But how could she have known?

And perhaps kissing wasn’t always like this. Perhaps this was specific to Colin.

His hand moved to her loose hair as he pulled her closer to his body. She could feel the heat of him through the thin layer she wore, and the strength of his muscles pressed against her. It was scandalous. It was delicious. It was like nothing she had ever imagined.

She kissed him back just as enthusiastically, even if she wasn’t sure what she was doing. Their tongues met, and a spark of something she thought must be desire shot through her, making her lean into him more, making her want more…

If this was wrong, then why did it feel so good?

All of the unspoken desire she had been feeling since Colin had arrived at their home was poured into that kiss.

It was hard to believe that this man—this handsome, mysterious, kind man—was kissing her.

It was the last thing she’d expected on that stormy night when she had ventured to the library in search of a book to pass the hours when she could not sleep .

Feeling rather bold, she pressed her hand against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt he wore. He held her closer, and she went willingly, not wanting to be parted from him, not wanting this moment to end.

And yet, of course, it had to.

Another flash of lightning, so similar to the one that had set this in motion, lit up the library—and both of them froze in shock.

Then Susannah slowly pulled away and looked up at the disheveled earl.

His eyes were sparkling in the firelight, and his lips were swollen and red.

She could only imagine what she looked like.

And then she gasped. She was wearing only her night rail and was alone with a gentleman who had just kissed her so thoroughly that she wasn’t sure she could even walk.

And yet walk she must. Running, even better. She was sure that at any moment, he would realize what a mistake he had made. He would apologize; he would be polite, but it would be clear in his eyes that he regretted such a foolish action.

Or he might judge her for having given in so willingly, for not once protesting that she should not be kissing him, that they should not even be alone together.

And she didn’t want to see any of that on his face, so she turned on her heel and fled the room—not remembering to take the book she had gone to fetch and without her candle to light her way through the dark and windy corridor.

*

For a few moments after Miss Lyttleton had fled, Colin stood in shock, trying to get his head around what had just happened.

One minute he had been reading alone in the library. The next, he was faced with the tantalizing vision of Miss Lyttleton in her nightclothes. And then…and then he had kissed her .

There was no denying it. She had seemingly been a willing participant, but he was sure he had instigated it.

And he had not wanted it to end. In fact, he rather thought he might well have gone much further than kissing if the lightning had not interrupted them.

Had she not run away.

When he felt able to walk, he returned to the wingback armchair by the fireplace and swiftly downed his glass of whiskey.

He was rather surprised to find how much the incident had shaken him.

It wasn’t as though he had never kissed a woman before.

But he had never kissed a lady who might well be expecting marriage.

He had never been so surprised by the desire this particular lady made him feel.

And he had never come so close to compromising an innocent young woman.

He had lost his head. Spending so much time with her and pretending to court her had clearly interfered with his thoughts. The logical, well-brought-up Colin would never have done such a thing. This version of himself seemed to lose all control.

Because of her.

Because of a woman whom everyone thought plain, but who Colin was beginning to think was anything but.

He had obviously offended her beyond words. Now, he watched the flames flicker in the grate, looking like people dancing, and shuddered at the thought of her running from the room because of his impropriety.

And what on earth was he to do about it? Go after her and apologize? He could not do that. She would be back in her bedchamber, and that was somewhere he definitely did not belong.

And if he tried to discuss it with her, would he simply embarrass her further? Draw attention to something she would rather forget?

They had a plan—and, he thought, he had probably ruined it. There was an understanding between them that there was to be a false understanding, and yet here he was, kissing her. Losing himself in her. Wanting so much more…

Perhaps, to make things easier, he should just pretend the kiss had never happened. Carry on as though nothing between them had changed, as though it were just a pleasant dream from which he had unfortunately been awakened.

Yes, he decided. That would be the best—or at least, the easiest—course of action. He hoped.

*

Susannah made it back to her room quicker than she had thought possible, even without any light to guide her.

She shut the door behind her, wincing when it banged and hoping the noise could not be heard over the storm, and rushed to climb into bed, as though she could pretend nothing had happened and she had never left her room.

Her heart was racing and she couldn’t catch her breath.

Had that really just happened? Had she just kissed the Earl of Bourne, with reckless abandon, in the library, wearing only her nightclothes?

If anyone found out, it would be the scandal of the Season.

The memory of the kiss sent heat flooding through her body, and did nothing to help her heart stop racing.

Her first ever kiss. And with a man as desirable as the Earl of Bourne.

She had no idea why he had kissed her, why he had pulled her close, what had possessed him.

She knew exactly why she had kissed him back; because she wanted to.

Because she had feelings for him that extended beyond friendship, beyond the fake courtship they were showing to the world.

Because he was handsome and funny and kind and she had never been kissed before…

Do not let your heart run away with your head , she told herself as the storm continued to rage outside. It undoubtedly meant nothing more to him. And remember, his father was a rake. Perhaps he is not so different…

But when she finally fell asleep, she could not help but dream of a repeat occurrence, and of finding out what would have happened if that sudden flash of lightning had not caused them to jump apart.