Page 40 of The Wedding Challenge

Finally he raised his head. “We cannot. They will be in sight soon.”

He hesitated, gazing down into her face. His eyes darkened, and for an instant Callie thought that he meant to ignore his own words, but then he turned his head away with a soft curse. He kissed her again, once, brief and hard, then slid her off his lap and down to the ground. He dismounted quickly and turned to her.

“We should look for your hat.”

“Mmm,” Callie agreed distractedly. She found it difficult to think of anything but the soft, swollen tingling of her lips or the heavy achy feel of her breasts…or the insistent throbbing deep within her loins.

She looked up at him, and Bromwell’s breath caught in his throat. Her face was flushed, her lips rosy and moist, her dark brown eyes wide and lambent. A strand of her hair had come loose when her hat was torn from her head, and it straggled down beside her face, clinging to her cheek. She was the very picture of a woman interrupted during lovemaking, and it made desire claw at his gut like a wild animal.

For a moment he could not speak. His fingers curled up into fists, and at last he said, somewhat shakily, “Callie, do not look at me so, or I shall lose what honor I have.”

She blinked, forcibly pulling herself back from her sensual daydream. Her eyes sharpened with awareness as she curved her lips up into a deliciously provocative smile. Then she turned away, smoothing down her habit, and walked over to pick up the white mare’s reins.

They walked back the way they had come, saying nothing. Each was too aware of what had just happened, and of the hot juices still flowing through them, to be able to speak casually. Callie fumbled with her hair, trying to pin the loose strands back into place, and Bromwell reached over to take the mare’s reins from her, so that her hands were free. His fingers brushed against her hand, and where their flesh touched, even that briefly, heat sparked through them.

When they crested the small rise, they saw their group in the distance, gathered in a sheltered spot at the edge of the trees. The coachman and the groom were unloading the picnic basket from the back of the carriage, and the others were scattered around nearby.

Callie breathed a sigh of relief to find that she still had a few minutes to regroup before she had to face the sharp gazes of the other women in the party. She spotted her wayward hat a moment later, and Bromwell picked it up, presenting it to her with a flourish.

“Is my hair all right?” she asked anxiously as she found the hatpin, which had fortunately remained stuck in the hat as it was pulled off, and affixed the saucy bit of material and net to her head.

“You look lovely,” he told her, smiling down into her face.

“Do not look at me like that,” she chastised him, though she could not keep from smiling back at him. “As it is, everyone is no doubt wondering madly about what we were doing when we were out of sight.”

“I imagine they might have their suspicions. But we were not gone long enough to have done much. And I can assure you that neither my sister’s nor my cousin’s tongue will wag.”

“Nor will Lord and Lady Radbourne or Francesca speak of it,” Callie agreed. “And with luck Mr. Swanson is too enamored of your sister to have noticed anything.”

He chuckled. “I imagine that is true. Which leaves only Miss Swanson, who is, I think, very young and unsophisticated.”

They continued walking in silence for a moment; then Bromwell said, “I hope you will not think that I meant any disrespect to you. I am not usually given to seizing young women and hauling them off their horses.”

“Indeed? Are you not?” she murmured, casting a sideways glance at him. “Yet you seemed most expert at it.”

His mouth twitched. “You are a saucy girl. I am trying to make an apology to you.”

“You need not. I, um, rather participated in what happened.” Callie could not bring herself to look directly into his face as she said the words; her cheeks were flaming as it was.

He glanced at her, surprised, and she looked up. His sharp cheekbones were edged with color, and she thought at first that what she had said had embarrassed him, but then she noted the light in his eyes, and she realized that her words had once again stirred his desire.

“My dear Lady Calandra…” he murmured. “You will make a spectacle of me yet.”

“I?” she asked. “And how would I do that?”

“When I am around you, I find myself at every turn on the verge of—” He stopped abruptly.

“The verge of what?” Callie asked, confused.

“The verge of committing an act such as I just did, for one thing,” he replied. “Of showing to the world just how ungentlemanly are the feelings I have for you, for another.”

She stared at him, then caught the meaning of his words and blushed vividly. “Lord Bromwell!”

“You see? I lose even the art of making genteel conversation with you.”

“I see. So you are saying that if you are ‘ungentlemanly,’ it is my fault?” Callie raised her brows at him.

“I can see no other explanation for my mad behavior other than that you drive me to it,” he agreed lightly, a faint smile playing about his lips. “But surely you must know that. I think you must be in the habit of driving men mad.”