Page 90 of The Wallflower Takes All

His eyes darkened. “More than is wise.”

“Then I am glad wisdom has disappointed us.”

The last of his restraint broke.

His hand returned to her cheek, and he kissed her again. This kiss was nothing like the restrained brush in the foyer. There, he had stolen a breath and fled from the theft. Here, his mouth settled over hers with deliberate hunger.

Poppy had dreamed of kisses before. Of course she had. Long before Papa died, before unpaid bills and melancholy poets and letters smelling of snuff, she had imagined some handsome gentleman drawing her onto a moonlit terrace and kissing her until the ballroom, the music, and every other person in London ceased to matter.

She had expected romance to feel graceful.

It did not.

It felt like losing her balance and discovering she had no wish to recover it.

Her fingers tightened in his coat. His thumb moved lightly along her cheek, then slipped beneath the brim of her bonnet to the sensitive place near her ear. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, and when her lips parted on a breath, he made a low sound that seemed dragged from somewhere beneath all that careful restraint.

The sound thrilled her.

Gabriel—grave, correct, relentlessly sensible Gabriel—was kissing her with every rule he had spent his life arranging into neat columns thoroughly abandoned.

Poppy wanted to know what else he might forget.

She leaned closer. The movement brought her against his coat for one charged moment, breast to chest, silk to wool, her breath caught between them. His free hand came to her waist. At first, it was only steadiness. Then his fingers tightened, and the careful gentleman who had spoken to her of contracts, creditors, and consequence gave himself away entirely.

Poppy felt the change in him.

He wanted her. Badly. The knowledge struck through her with such force that she nearly swayed.

The world beyond them remained stubbornly present. Leaves stirred overhead. Ducks protested somewhere near the water. The curricle stood visible through the trees, and the groom remained near the horse with his back turned so resolutely that Poppy suspected he had developed a sudden and consuming interest in harnesses.

They should stop.

Instead, Poppy kissed Gabriel back with every bit of longing she had never been given occasion to spend.

His mouth softened, then deepened again. He angled her face gently beneath his hand, and Poppy felt the difference between being kissed and being cherished even in this reckless, stolen moment. He was not careless with her. He could not seem to be careless, even now. Every touch carried restraint beneath the hunger, an effort not to frighten or overwhelm her when she had no intention of being frightened and would not have minded being overwhelmed a little.

Freddie barked.

Neither of them moved.

The puppy tugged sharply at the ribbon in Poppy’s hand and succeeded only in winding himself around her skirts.

Gabriel drew back a fraction, his forehead nearly touching hers. “Your dog objects,” he said, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it.

“Freddie objects to many things. I should not place too much weight upon his judgment,” she breathed.

Gabriel’s mouth curved.

Poppy felt the smile beneath her own lips before he kissed her again.

This kiss was briefer, and somehow more intimate. His thumb brushed the curve of her cheek, and something in her chest opened painfully wide.

Then he drew back with visible effort.

For a heartbeat, he only looked at her. The polished solicitor was gone. In his place stood a man with uneven breath, disordered hair, and eyes dark with feeling he had spent far too long attempting to govern.

“Poppy,” he said.