Page 65

Temperance

[Enclosed on a separate sheet: a full sketch of the inn yard at dusk, with a post horse looking very pleased with itself]

She kissed him.

He couldn't believe it was happening.

Yet her lips were pressed against his, her scent lingered in the air, her warmth permeated his entire being.

Then she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss.

It was gentle, sweet, soft—everything he had imagined it would be.

Which was precisely why he had never let himself imagine it for long. He had known he would have trouble letting go.

She drew back, just a little, their lips a hairbreadth apart, and his biggest fear materialized.

He could not let go.

He cradled her face in his palm, leaned in, and kissed her again.

This time there was nothing gentle in it.

He kissed her like a man deprived of sustenance for far too long.

He parted her lips with his tongue, and her gasp went straight through him. He was afraid she'd pull away, tell him to stop, shove him off.

Instead, she met his tongue with hers, and whatever restraint he had left vanished.

He kissed her as he had wanted to for years, slowly exploring her mouth, learning her taste, her scent, memorizing the little whimpers she made. His thumb rested at the corner of her jaw, his other hand finding the curve of her back.

She swayed into him. Her fingers closed on his lapel, then crept up, hesitant, to graze his beard, as though she could not quite believe she was allowed. The aria climbed somewhere far away, a dramatic sweep during the boldest moment of the opera.

Sutton felt like a hero in a story, finally risking it all just for a kiss.

The consequences be damned.

The kiss turned urgent. Temperance tilted her head back, giving him full access to her mouth.

God, how sweet she tasted. His cock rose and hardened, straining against his breeches, demanding to be let out.

Sutton was ready to pull her into his lap, lift her skirts, and have her right then and there in front of the avid gazes of the ton.

He drew away, just enough to take a full breath, and her hand dropped, the fan no longer concealing their faces.

Only then did he remember why they were doing this.

It was all pretense, so that the people he did not know and did not like would give them their approval.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

Temperance had timed the drop of the fan perfectly.

Anyone watching would have seen it exactly: a husband and wife, mouths a breath apart, her lips still parted, his palm still cradling her face.

They wouldn't have seen the kiss, but they'd know precisely what had transpired.

It was beautifully done.