Page 47 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
“A rogue won’t be satisfied with kissing your glove.” His voice was deep and husky, his fingers shaking as he turned her palm up, and with a gentle tug, peeled her glove back to bare her wrist. “He’llkiss you here.”
He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips over the beating pulse point there, grazing the delicate blue vein. She let out a soft cry, and Benedict’s eyes fell closed at the feel of her skin against his lips, the warm rush of her blood under the tipof his tongue.
Chapter Eleven
The moment Benedict’s lips touched her skin, every thought fled Georgiana’s head. The fear, the anxiety and panic that had tried to swallow her when they’d arrived at Lady Archer’s vanished into mist, chased away by a rush of desire so sweet it left her dizzy, breathless.
Those dark emotions were no match for a kiss from a rake.
Nomatch forhim.
The warm clasp of his fingers around hers, his tentative smile and the gentleness of his touch, the soft murmur of his voice…somehow, he’d known just what to say, just how toreassure her.
She gazed down at the dark head bent over her bare wrist and her lips parted, her heart thrumming madly in her chest as his mouth grazed her pulse, his kiss both comforting and devastating at once. Once she did manage to withdraw her hand from his she was dazed, her head spinning and her pulse beating wildly under the tingling skinof her wrist.
Could he even be calleda rake at all?
Georgiana hardly knew how to think of him now, but she knew shewouldthink of him, long after he’d taken her home tonight. She’d lie in her bed and remember his whispers, the hot brush of his lips against her skin.
If Benedict noticed her agitation, he didn’t remark on it. His hand was warm and firm around hers as he handed her from the carriage, his arm reassuringly steady under her trembling fingertips as he escorted her to the entrance of Lady Archer’s townhouse.
“Good evening, Lord Haslemere.” Lady Archer’s butler, a somber-looking fellow in a royal blue coat with sumptuous gold-braiding on the cuffs, ushered them into a grand entryway with black marble floors and blazing chandeliers hanging in matched pairs from the ceiling.
No soft, comforting glow for Lady Archer, but a hard, bright light pouring down onto the unsuspecting heads below until it was absorbed into the pit of black marble under their feet.
Oh, dear. Lord Haslemere was right. It was quite the ugliest marble Georgiana had ever seen, and no matter which way she turned, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a gilt pier glass.
She looked…strange. Pale, but with burning eyes and bright spots of color in her cheeks. Was she feverish? She started to lift her hand to her cheek, but Lord Haslemere caught it and lowered itto his forearm.
“I can feel you trembling.” His voice was low, and his warm breath stirred the tendrils of hair at her temple. “I thought we agreed there’s no need for youto be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” It wasn’t a lie. Whatever nerves still lingered after those moments alone in the carriage with him were gone, but the delicate blue vein at her wrist was still throbbing, as if clamoring for his mouth. “What makes you think I’m nervous?”
Nervesweren’t the reason her knees were weak, or tiny shivers were chasing each other over her skin. It wasn’tnervescausing the warm, melting sensation in her lower belly, or the dizzying flutter of her heart against her ribs.
It washim, and he’d only kissed her wrist. If he ever kissed her mouth, she’d likely swoon. Georgiana couldn’t tell if she found the thought titillating,or terrifying.
“If you’re not nervous, why are you squeezing my arm so tightly you’re about to tear my coat sleeve to shreds?” He smiled down at her.
“Oh.” Georgiana glanced down, saw her knuckles had turned white, and loosened her fingers. “Ibeg your par—”
“Lord Haslemere, younaughty thing!”
Georgiana turned, her eyes widening as a plump lady in a bright green satin gown bore down on them, her hands outstretched. She was half-smothered in diamonds and emeralds, and she wore such enormously tall blue and green peacock feathers they threatened to touch the candles set into the chandelier and set the whole arrangement ablaze.
“My dear Lord Haslemere!” the lady gushed. “Why, what extraordinary luck, to find you here this evening. It’s been an age, has it not?”
“Good evening, Lady Trowbridge.” Lord Haslemere took the lady’s hand and raised it to his lips in a gesture so gallant Lady Trowbridge, who couldn’t be a day under sixty years of age, succumbed to agirlish giggle.
“Ah, charming as ever, I see, you wicked man. Have you come for Lady Wylde? I saw her just a moment ago, at a table with your friend, the Earl of Harrington.” Lady Trowbridge’s merry brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “He’s caught you out there, I’m afraid.”
Lord Haslemere chuckled. “Not as much as you might imagine, my lady. May I introduce you to my friend, Miss Georgiana?”
He didn’t give her last name, but Lady Trowbridge didn’t seem to notice. “How do you do, my dear?” Her shrewd gaze swept over Georgiana with undisguised interest. “Friend, is she? She’s not in your usual style, Haslemere. Pretty all thesame, though.”
Not in his usual style? Dear God, did Lady Trowbridgethink she was—
“Do you play, my dear?” Lady Trowbridge waved her fan toward the back of the house, setting her peacock feathers quivering.
