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He continued, “Whatever comes to pass between us, know that I will always hold your best interests at heart. We can arrange our affairs however we like within the married state, and the world cannot—or, at least, should not—interfere. Love need not be our chief motive for marrying, but if nothing else, the esteem we bear each other as friends should carry us through.”

She smiled. “Mr. Davenport, for a renowned rake, you sound quite sincere. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

He leaned closer and inhaled her scent. “Believe me, Lady Emma, if I were seducing you, you would know it.”

“Oh, really?” she teased back, her fair eyebrow arching. “And how would you go about seducing me?”

John swallowed hard. His pulse pounded in his ears, and his cock stirred in his breeches as thoughts of seducing Emma into his bed—or, hell, her bed—sprang to life in his mind.

Leaning forward to whisper in her ear, he allowed his breath to trail along her neck before he said, “I would make you want to come to me.”

He drew back just enough to see the results of his seduction. Her chest did indeed heave slightly, and her blue eyes were wide, yet she seemed more impressed than under his spell.

Now it was her turn to lean forward. She placed a hand against his chest, and John was certain she could feel his heart hammering out a country dance under her small palm. “I appreciate a man who lets the lady take the lead,” she whispered.

John felt as if he were drowning. He imagined doing lascivious things to those slightly parted pink lips of hers. “My lady, are you seducing me?” he choked out.

Emma sat back with a laugh. “Where would be the fun in that—seducing my own husband?” She shook her head, breaking the spell she had cast over him. “No, no, do not fear. Your virtue is safe with me.”

She made to stand, but he caught her hand in his and pulled her back to sit beside him once more.

His chest was heaving; her eyes were wide with surprise, her lips parted in a little O.

John couldn’t think. His senses were full of Emma.

He leaned in, wanting nothing more than to taste her lips once again.

Emma’s eyes were wide, but she did not draw back, did not shrink as he came closer and closer.

Just as her eyelids fluttered shut, John came to his senses. With a silent, internal scream, he tore himself away and leapt from the bench. “Forgive me, my lady. I forgot myself,” he said, his back to her.

There was a rustle of fabric behind him, and then, a surprisingly forceful hand turned him around. Emma’s lips were on his before he could utter a cry of surprise.

The kiss was brief—a mere second’s touch of the lips—but it was intense, with a heat he hadn’t expected.

Then, Emma stepped away, her eyes wide with shock at her actions, her hand coming to her mouth as if to cover it.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then, as if with one mind, they came together again.

He reached for her and pulled her in just as her hands clutched the lapels of his coat to hold him close against her.

Her mouth opened, granting him access, and then, John was drowning in her, delighting in the taste of her, wanting to feel all of her.

His hands slid across her back, wishing he could tear aside the layers of fabric separating them.

The press of her breasts to his chest was barely even noticeable through their dress, and he wanted more, more, more.

He wanted all of her. No longer content with an innocent flirtation and friendship, he wanted to bury himself in her, to taste every inch of her skin.

They were both saved from further scandal by some polite coughing nearby.

John and Emma sprang apart, though John was pleased to note there was no flush of embarrassment on Emma’s cheeks.

As one, they turned to face the invader—and their savior.

Fortunately, it was a friend—Sir Edward Bishop, known to them both through their shared habits.

Sir Edward was making a show of studying some nearby flowers, but John recognized the large grin splitting his face from the side.

Emma coughed delicately. “Mr. Davenport, you must excuse me. I seem to have been struck by a sudden headache.”

“Allow me to escort?—”

“No, no, that’s quite alright. I spy your friend Sir Edward there, and I’m sure you would like to speak with him. I will be fine on my own.”

With that, Emma turned and practically fled the scene.

John started to follow her, protests rising on his lips, but he saw from her hurried steps there was no headache afflicting her; she truly wanted to be alone.

“I scarcely believed it when I heard the news,” Sir Edward said amiably from behind him. “Our Davenport? Marrying? And even more incredible, the Female Byron, marrying?” He sighed and tutted, his voice coming closer.

John’s eyes remained fixed on Emma’s retreating back as she disappeared around the corner, even as a familiar arm came to rest lightly around his shoulder.

Sir Edward continued, “But I see it’s true. Congratulations, old chap.”

Yes, congratulations to me, indeed. Now, if only I could discover what exactly is going on between us. This marriage of convenience was becoming complicated.