The wallflower win, p.8
The Wallflower Win, page 8
Eliza had done all of these things in an effort to hopefully talk St. Clare into giving her one kiss. But not just any kiss. A good kiss. A toe-curling kiss. A kiss that made her ache with longing. She wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, but she’d read it in a book once and it sounded delightful.
The next obstacle to receiving her kiss was the issue of where the kiss should take place. One couldn’t go around being kissed in a ballroom full of guests. That was the sort of thing that would get one leg-shackled. No. The kissing had to be done in private. A scandal would only result in a marriage, and Eliza wanted to be inappropriately kissed, not hauled to the altar.
She’d learned quite well last Season that libraries during balls were usually empty. St. Clare had told her he would come looking for her when he arrived tonight. She’d made it clear that she could usually be found in the library, which solved the problem of location. She already had quite a bit of experience sneaking away from Mama’s prying eyes to find the library, so it hadn’t taken her all of a quarter hour to make it to that room in the Carletons’ house. Now she only had to hope that St. Clare found her before Mama came looking for her.
Eliza strolled slowly through the shelves of books in Lord Carleton’s vast library. It was a shame, really, that this room was so empty with so many people in the house. Why so many people would rather be in a ballroom than a library made no sense, but she supposed it was only a good thing for her. Normally, she liked being alone in the big, quiet room that smelled like old paper. Tonight, being alone would work to her advantage.
She was trailing her fingers along the spines of an entire collection of books on botany, thinking a copy of any one of them would make a wonderful Christmastide gift for Jessica, when the door cracked open.
The room was darkened save for a few candles dispersed throughout, and Eliza was firmly hidden in the shadows. She intended to stay there until she saw who had just stepped inside the room. If it was Mama, Eliza would have to sneak out the far door she’d discovered underneath the wooden staircase that led to the upper level. She’d learned long ago that the first thing to do when entering any library was to find the second exit. Nearly all of them had one, and they proved quite useful when eluding one’s mama.
Eliza peered around the edge of the bookcase. Was it Mama or was it—?
Her heart stuttered when St. Clare’s striking profile came into view, lit by the candle in a sconce on the wall near the door. He’d shut the door behind him and slid his hands in his pockets.
“Eliza,” he said in a deep, even tone. “Are you in here?”
Eliza’s heart thumped. Why did the sound of his voice make her pulse race? When had her pulse ever raced? It had to be because she was planning to kiss him. Oh, dear. Was this why some debutantes looked forward to balls? It had to be.
She quickly stepped out from behind the shelf. “I’m here,” she called in as even a voice as she could muster.
A smile spread across his face. He glanced at the bookshelves. “Any particular book you’re searching for?”
She sighed. “I’ve been trying to find a copy of Reverend Cary’s translation of The Divine Comedy.”
“Dante?” He frowned.
“Yes. I’ve read the original, but I’m interested in reading the English translation.”
“Liked it enough to read it twice, eh?”
She laughed. “What can I say? I’m a devotee of medieval poetry.”
Christopher chuckled. “Well, I’m sorry to interrupt your search, but would you like to accompany me back to the ballroom so we can dance?”
She’d prepared for precisely this conversation. She shook her head. “No.”
“No?” He frowned again. “Why?”
“Why should we go dance when there are so many lovely books in here and it’s quiet and not nearly so stuffy?”
St. Clare smiled. “Normally, I’d agree with you, but we need to dance so that everyone continues to think I’m courting you. Isn’t that what you want?”
He had a point, of course, but she had a mission. “I suppose so, but…” She left off, plucking at her lower lip.
St. Clare had strolled over and was standing only one pace in front of her, looking down at her. He was wearing all black again with a white waistcoat, white shirtfront, and snowy white cravat. And, as usual, he smelled good.
“But what?” he asked, looking amused.
She tipped up her face. “I’d like you to kiss me first.”
His brows jumped. “We’ve already talked about this. I’ve no intention of kissing you.”
“Why?” If he was going to refuse her, she wanted a real reason. “Is it because you don’t find me pretty?”
He shook his head impatiently. “That’s ridiculous. You’re gorgeous.”
She couldn’t help her lips curling into a smile. “Is it because you don’t like kissing?”
He blinked at her. “I can’t say I’ve ever disliked it.”
“Then why won’t you kiss me? Oh, dear.” She clapped a hand over her mouth and breathed into it. “Is it my breath?”
St. Clare chuckled. “No. Your breath is fine. At least I think it’s fine. I don’t have any intention of getting close enough to find out.”
“Then why? Tell me. I want to know.”
He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Because it’s inappropriate. I’m nearly nine and twenty and you’re what, eighteen?”
“Nineteen,” she insisted. “And what does that have to do with it?”
“I’m old enough to be…”
“You’re younger than my brother.”
St. Clare rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m old enough to be your older brother.”
“But you’re not my brother,” she pointed out, rocking back and forth on her heels, a sly smile on her face. “So why won’t you kiss me?”
Christopher stared down at the convincing young lady standing in front of him. The truth was, he was immensely thankful that he was not her brother or anything like a brother to her, because he did want to kiss her. She was beyond tempting and the way she was looking up at him with those dark, liquid eyes, plump pink lips, and long eyelashes, well, it was difficult to remember why it was such a bad idea to kiss her in the first place. Not to mention the alluring smell of her perfume was stronger tonight, enticing him beyond reason.
But he didn’t care if she asked him again and again. There was no way he was going to kiss her. Not tonight, not any night. It was a bad idea for a score of reasons.
“I told you,” he repeated. “It’s inappropriate.”
“But you said it’s inappropriate because of my age. I pointed out that you’re not that much older.”
He sighed. “It’s inappropriate for other reasons, Eliza, and you know it.”
“Like what?” She blinked at him.
“Must I spell them all out for you?” He shook his head.
“Yes. You must.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, waiting.
Christopher expelled his breath. “Fine. Your brother-in-law is a good friend of mine.”
She sliced a hand through the air. “Aiden wouldn’t fault either of us for sharing a kiss.”
St. Clare continued as if she hadn’t responded. He was ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “Also, we’re not really courting.”
“I didn’t realize one had to be courting to kiss.” She gave him a smug smile.
“You are my closest friend’s sister-in-law and an innocent debutante.” There. She had to see the logic in that.
“How am I supposed to lose my innocence if you refuse to kiss me?”
He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. Had she truly just said that? This woman. She had no compunction about saying whatever came to mind. And she’d just proved how truly innocent she was by admitting she thought losing one’s innocence meant kissing.
He opened his mouth to retort, but she held up a hand. “Just kiss me, St. Clare. It’s more trouble to try to argue me out of it than to get it over with.”
Christopher bit his lip and scratched his chin. Damned if she didn’t make some sort of sense. Wait. No. That was horrible logic. “There will be no kissing,” he insisted.
Her shoulders fell. “Fine. Then I’m staying in here. You go back to the ballroom without me.” She waved him off with the flick of her wrist and returned to examining the tomes on the shelf beside her.
Christopher scrubbed a hand across his face and groaned. “Need I remind you that you’re the one who wanted me to pretend to court you?” He pointed toward the door. “If I leave this room, I’m leaving this house. I have better places to be than a debutante’s ball.”
She snapped her head to face him, her eyes alight with interest. “Like where?”
He furrowed his brow. Well, that had certainly got her attention. “That is none of your business.” As responses went, it wasn’t particularly clever, but she’d caught him off guard. Again.
“Maybe not,” she continued, “but I’m terribly curious. Where do rakes spend their time?”
His brows shot up. “Why do you want to know such things?” By God, every single word out of her mouth was unexpected.
“Because I want to know what I’m missing out on, of course.”
Christopher shook his head. He had no idea where Eliza got her information, but she never ceased to surprise him. “You’re not missing out on anything that would be appropriate for you.”
She let out a long sigh and slapped a hand against the bookshelf. “That is precisely why I want to know. Why should I be relegated to boring dances with tepid lemonade and dull conversation with fops when the truly interesting unmarried gentlemen are off having real fun?”
Christopher supposed there was a compliment in there for him somewhere, but the rest of her argument was so startling that he was at a loss for words. And he was never at a loss for words.
Eliza didn’t remain silent for long, of course. She leaned closer to him and waggled her eyebrows. “Are you going somewhere to kiss a disreputable woman? I hate that term, by the way. No one calls a man disreputable for engaging in the exact same activity.”
Christopher’s face heated. Dear God. Was he blushing? He never blushed. What the hell was happening to him? He supposed her question had caught him off guard because it held some truth. Once he left here, he did intend to go to the type of establishment where one met women of a certain ilk, but kissing was usually the least scandalous thing they did. Not that Eliza should know anything about it.
“You are, aren’t you?” she prodded. “I can tell by your face. Where are you going?” She had a positively gleeful expression as she advanced on him.
Christopher scrubbed a hand across his forehead this time. He had no idea how this conversation had gone so astray, but he knew for certain he needed to regain control of it immediately. No good could come of this sort of talk. Eliza Whitmoreland was far too inquisitive for her own good. And not a little forceful and insistent. “I’ve no intention of telling you where I’m going. Now, either you come with me and dance, or I’m leaving.”
She heaved a sigh. “Very well. Good night. I’ll see you next week in the drawing room.”
Christopher clenched his jaw. “Are you seriously refusing to dance with me?” She was driving him not-so-slowly mad.
Eliza shrugged. “I don’t want to dance. I want to kiss.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
She advanced on him, pressing a finger to his chest. “Am I being ridiculous, or are you? You’re the one making this so difficult. It’s just one little kiss. Kiss me tonight, and I’ll never ask you again. I only want to know what it’s like. Is that too much to ask?”
It was too much to ask, but Christopher didn’t want to tell her that because she would no doubt ask why. And the reason was because if he started kissing Eliza, he had no idea if he’d be able to stop. In fact, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to stop. And that wouldn’t do.
“I thought you were supposed to be a rake,” she continued, making him blow a frustrated breath through his nostrils.
He stood in front of her, staring down at her with his hands on his hips, frowning. He was a rake. A rake who was only too aware of what a simple kiss could lead to. What was he supposed to do with her? He knew precisely what she was about. Trying to convince him to kiss her by pretending as if she didn’t care whether he did. But he’d be damned if he’d come all this way to this silly ball just to have this ridiculous conversation with her in the library and leave. However, he wasn’t about to give in to her demands and kiss her when she was clearly trying to manipulate him.
“Very well. Good night,” he clipped, turning on his heel and stalking toward the door. The girl was maddening. That’s all there was to it. And this was the last time he’d come looking for her in a library. Their outings needed to be in public from now on. She was intractable when it came to this notion of kissing.
“Good night,” she called. “I’ll just wait for some other gentleman to come in here and kiss me. He’ll have to do.”
Christopher froze. He narrowed his eyes. He poked out his cheek with his tongue and hung his head. She wouldn’t dare.
Would she?
She had to know her reputation would be in danger if she went about kissing just anyone who happened by.
He slowly turned back to face her. “I know you’re not serious.”
“I am completely serious.” She lifted her chin and met his stare. “And if you refuse to do it, I’ll just have to find someone who will. Of course, I may have to challenge him to a game of chess first.”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Eliza. You cannot go about kissing whoever walks through the door, and you know it.”
Her nose remained stubbornly in the air. “I don’t see why not. Jessica told me there are plenty of men at parties who are only too willing to take liberties. It cannot be terribly difficult to find one. Don’t worry about me.” She flicked her fingers at him, waving him off again.
That was it. This woman was going to be the death of him. She was playing him. He knew that. He wasn’t a fool. But he also already knew her well enough to know that she was just reckless enough to try to find some other man wandering around the corridors of this bloody ball to kiss her. That could end in a huge disaster, one that would affect her entire family. And as Thorn’s closest friend, he couldn’t allow that to happen. He also knew himself well enough to know that he could deliver the kind of kiss that would make her wish she’d never asked in the first place.
Christopher stalked back over to her, spun her into his arms, and brought his lips crashing down on hers. The moment their mouths collided, she immediately lifted onto her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him close. He should have known she’d be interested in more than a quick peck. But he still wanted to teach her a lesson. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, forcing his way past them. He expected her to gasp and push him away. Instead, her tongue met his, stroked his, and she pulled him in, clutching at his shoulders. When that happened, well, the heat and fire that had been simmering below his waist ever since he’d walked into this room and seen her tonight nearly exploded. His mouth slanted across hers, deepening the kiss, and her hand moved up to play in his hair. Before he knew what he was about, he’d pulled her hard against him, molding her body to his.
He moved his mouth to slant in the opposite direction against hers, and her hands wrapped around his shoulders. She was making tiny little whimpering noises in the back of her throat that were driving him mad. His hands moved down her sides to her waist and the small of her back. He kept her pinned to him while their mouths melded together, hot and wet and unable to get enough of each other.
It was Christopher’s own groan that snapped him out of the madness. He pulled himself away from her and stood staring at her like she was some foreign creature. Damn it all. What had just happened? A kiss that had begun as something he intended to get over with expediently to teach her a lesson had turned into a passionate encounter he’d never expected and didn’t want to end.
Now there was no doubt. If he kissed her again, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He was panting and his lips were burning and he…wanted more. She reached for him, and without thinking, he grabbed her again. All the blood that may have been in his brain earlier had traveled directly to his cock. This time he pushed her up against the nearest bookshelf, where he ground his hips against her softness and pulled her hands above her head, easily pinning them there with one hand. Her throaty moan made him even harder. She leaned into him, kissing him back as passionately as he was kissing her. Endless moments passed as he fitted her body against his and claimed her mouth with his tongue. Unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to do anything but touch her…kiss her.
When Christopher finally pulled himself away for the second time, he took a big step back and stared at her with wide eyes. Bloody hell. He’d nearly taken her against a bookshelf in the library at a ton ball. She was an innocent. A debutante. What the hell had she done to him? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so overwhelmed with pure lust. The kind of lust that made him mindless.
