Julia London by The Vicars Widow Read Free Book Online Page B

heart.”
    “Perhaps I am,” he said, slipping his hand beneath her chin and turning her face so that he could graze her lips with a kiss. “My heart did indeed take flight that night. But I am quite certain mine was not the only one, Mrs. Becket. I felt your heart beating just as rapidly against mine.”
    “You are trying to seduce me!”
    “No, madam, I am trying to love you.”
    Her lips curved with a soft sigh. “Are you not fearful of being seen?” she whispered, her gaze dipping to his lips.
    “I am only fearful of never kissing you again.” He touched his lips to hers.
    He felt her body stiffen with the first glance of his lips, and he moved closer, angling his mouth across hers, kissing her softly, just feeling the flesh of her mouth against his. But then he felt her rise up like a mist, so slowly and gently that it was almost imperceptible, until her body was touching his.
    Darien slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her into him, away from the obelisk, and kissed her like a woman then, not some maiden to be gentled, but a woman who had known the touch of a man and had gone without it for two years now.
    Mrs. Becket opened her mouth beneath his and drew his breath into her; he heard the clatter of the basket as it fell to the ground and hit a grave marker as her hands went around his neck. Her body felt firm and supple and alive against him; she was perfect in his arms.
    And then suddenly she forced her hand up between them and pushed hard against his chest, forcing him to let go. She stepped back, bumping up against the obelisk, blinking up at him.
    Darien refused to let go and merely smiled.
    So did Mrs. Becket. “That was a terribly wicked thing to do,” she whispered.
    “Yes, it certainly was. I’m a heel, a roué. A rotten bounder. But I adore you.”
    Her smile deepened with pleasure, and she playfully shoved him away. Darien let go, stepped backward. She slid down the obelisk and reached for her basket, carelessly tossing the flowers into it before rising again. “I must insist you not behave in such an objectionable manner again.”
    “Of course not,” he said, bowing his acquiescence.
    She smiled, righted the bonnet which had slid off the back of her head, and put the basket on her arm. “And now, I will take my leave of you, sir, for you cannot be trusted with my good virtue.”
    “You are quite right. I most certainly cannot.”
    With an impertinent smile, she began walking.
    Darien watched her for a moment, the smooth swing of her hips, and suddenly called out, “Kate!” He stopped her with the use of her Christian name, the first time he had ever uttered the name aloud, except to whisper it on those occasions when he longed for her the most.
    She did not turn round but slowly glanced over her shoulder. “My lord?”
    “Do you care for picnics?”
    She said nothing at first, turned halfway toward him, assessing him. After a long moment, she smiled again. “I do,” she said, and with a laugh, she turned and glided away from him, her basket swinging carefree in her hand.

Chapter Six

    Lords Montgomery and Frederick arrived at the Wither-spoons’ May Day Ball, the two of them striding into the ballroom looking quite dashing in their black tails and black waistcoats over pristine white shirts.
    They paused just inside the entrance of the ballroom and casually glanced about, seemingly oblivious to the young debutantes who coyly eyed them from behind their ornate fans. Spying a group of men, the two proceeded forward to join them.
    On the other side of the dance floor, Emily watched Montgomery as he chatted with the other men, absently looking about, openly eyeing the ladies who twirled about the dance floor as well as those who lined the wall, not so fortunate to be standing up with their favorite beau.
    This was the second time in as many days Emily had seen the viscount. Yesterday, it had been in Hyde Park, where she had been riding with her mother. They had happened upon