Jenni Fletcher - Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

‘As you wish. I’m a Whig myself…’

‘Cassius?’

‘Yes?’

‘You can kiss me. Just once…’ her pupils seemed to swell as she spoke ‘…and just as an experiment.’

‘With pleasure.’

He lifted a hand to her cheek and drew her face gently, but steadily, towards him. Her eyes opened wide for a split second and then closed as his lips touched against hers, though she didn’t pull away as he’d half-expected she might. On the contrary, she swayed closer, actually increasing the pressure of the kiss as she let out a small, barely distinguishable sigh. The sound seemed to warm his insides, heating his blood and making his heart skip a beat and then start to pump at twice its usual speed. Her lips were just as kissable as they’d appeared, velvety smooth and tasting of hot, sweet tea. Perfectly delicious, in fact. He slid his tongue between them, stroking the inside of her mouth, also delicious , then brought his other hand up to slide through the soft red waves of her hair.

She reached for his shoulders and a bolt of desire, startling in its intensity, shot through him with the force of a bullet. Damn it. He let his hand fall from her hair. This was a mistake. So much for one utterly harmless kiss. With this woman, he had a feeling that one kiss would never be anywhere near enough. He wanted more, much more, several hours’ worth of more, in fact. Which meant that he had to stop now before all the blood rushed to the lower half of his body and he lost the ability to make rational decisions.

He broke away, clearing his throat to disguise the ragged sound of his breathing.

‘Well…’ He picked up his cup and drained the contents in a few short gulps, doing his best to adopt a suitably detached expression. ‘I think, as experiments go, that was quite satisfactory.’

‘Ye—es.’ Her own breath emerged in shallow gasps as she looked at him dazedly for a few moments and then seemed to come back to herself, wrenching her hands away from his shoulders. ‘It was…illuminating.’

‘Good.’ Apparently his throat needed clearing a second time. ‘Then I hope it helps you come to a decision.’

‘A decision?’ She looked confused. ‘Oh, you mean about Gilbert. Yes, perhaps I’ve misjudged him, after all.’

‘What?’

‘Well, as you say, the experiment was quite satisfactory. Perhaps kissing him won’t be such a problem.’

‘But that wasn’t the point!’

‘Yes, it was. We were trying to establish if I liked kissing in principle.’

Cassius rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling unreasonably offended. Had they been trying to establish that? Now that he thought of it, he’d said something similar. Only he’d been so intent upon kissing her that perhaps he hadn’t thought the idea through…

‘Well, yes, I suppose. Or at least I was trying to prove that kissing can, should , be pleasurable, but kissing one person isn’t the same as kissing another.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because everyone is different.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell me that before?’ Her tone was accusing. ‘You said that kissing you would help me to imagine kissing Gilbert!’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes!’ She blinked. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘I’m not entirely sure I remember.’ He clamped his brows together. ‘Perhaps you should try imagining it now?’

‘I can’t right now! It wouldn’t be right.’

‘No, perhaps not. Here.’ He picked up her cup of tea and handed it to her. What was it his aunt had always said? Nothing like a cup of tea in a crisis. And if this wasn’t a crisis he didn’t know what was. ‘Drink up before it gets cold.’

‘Thank you.’ She took a few sips, watching him warily out of the corner of her eye before putting the cup down again and standing up. ‘I ought to get back to bed. It’s very late.’

‘Of course.’ He stood up, too, making a small, awkward bow. ‘I hope that you sleep well, Miss Fairclough. I apologise for the misunderstanding.’

‘Not at all.’ She seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. ‘It was my fault, too. Perhaps we should just forget it ever happened?’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Thank you.’ She started towards the door and then stopped, half-twisting her face back towards him. ‘When you say it would be different with Gilbert, how different exactly do you mean?’

‘Well…’ He felt an unmistakable pang of jealousy. ‘I suppose that depends on how much you feel like polishing some brass right now.’

‘Oh… I see. Well, goodnight then, Mr Whitlock. I hope that you don’t have any more bad dreams.’

Cassius waited until the parlour door had closed shut behind her before dropping into his armchair. No matter how bad they’d been before, he had a feeling his dreams for the rest of the night were going to tell a whole different story.

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