The Secret to Seduction by Julie Anne Long Read Free Book Online Page B

had gotten there.
    And then all at once it occurred to her that Geoffrey intended to kiss her.
    It was done—his head bent, his lips touched warmly to hers for a moment, his head returned to where it had originated—almost before she could realize that it was happening, or muster a shortness of breath or a quicker heartbeat.
    And suddenly she put her fingers up to her mouth, a delayed response; her lips still remembered the pressure of his lips. That’s when her face, at last, began to grow warm, and she felt a little glow in the center of her chest.
    She stared at him. It hadn’t been unpleasant. Still, kisses were so very controversial, discussed only with giggles or feigned swooning or dire warnings, Sabrina had expected much more than…well, warmth, she supposed.
    “Sabrina…forgive me . . .” Geoffrey’s voice was tense, but he seemed pleased. A bit aquiver. As though he’d very much enjoyed what he’d just done.
    She was envious: she’d rather hoped her first kiss would make her feel those things, too.
    Perhaps in a few more moments it would.
    “There’s nothing to forgive, Geoffrey,” she said quickly. “After all, you did request permission for a liberty.”
    He smiled a little at this. Perhaps when Geoffrey was more at ease about his future—hopefully their future—he would feel freer to laugh. And she prayed the Earl of Rawden would find it in his heart to support his cousin’s dream, so that she might share it, too.
    For surely a kiss meant that Geoffrey felt there was an understanding between them. She allowed herself this hope, felt it flame just a little in her chest.
    She wondered if it had been his first kiss. She gazed up at him for a moment, and felt a peculiar disorientation: for a tick of the clock, he seemed entirely a stranger, and she’d known him almost a year.
    She could only imagine how dangerous The Libertine’s actual poetry was for a woman who lacked her own strength of will, if a mere mention of it—perhaps in conjunction with the word “mistress”—had heated Geoffrey to the point where he’d burst out into a kiss.
    “What do you suppose we’ll do this evening for entertainment?” Her way of changing the subject.
    “Perhaps you should play for everyone,” Geoffrey suggested.
    “Oh, I couldn’t possibly!” This was his cue to flatter her.
    He obliged. “You play very well, Sabrina.” Indulgently said.
    She occasionally played almost too well, in fact, losing herself in the sweep of music, finding fresh pathos in a hymn the Tinbury parishioners had heard dozens of times before, in the process causing eyes to moisten or religious fervor to build to an unprecedented pitch. It was one of those things about Sabrina that caused the Vicar Fairleigh’s forehead furrow to deepen.
    “I will play if requested, but no doubt everyone here will find my playing rather ordinary. Do you suppose Signora Licari will sing?”
    Belatedly she recalled that Signora Licari was allegedly the earl’s mistress, and she wondered if mentioning her would make Geoffrey restless again, and result in another kiss. “For I’ve heard Signora Licari has a splendid voice,” she added, because, after all, Sabrina wasn’t entirely adverse to another kiss, and she did want to be fully aware of her next one. Perhaps if she were to get better at it there would be more to the sensation.
    This particular cue Geoffrey missed.“No doubt. I cannot imagine that even a singer of her fame can refuse an earl if he were to ask her to sing.”
    “But Mr. Mumphrey asked her to sing last night. She said she could not.”
    “ Could not?” Geoffrey looked puzzled.
    “Those were her words.”
    “As though her voice was otherwise engaged for the evening?” Geoffrey sounded mystified, and he was smiling a little.
    Sabrina smiled, too, and felt pleased with their concord. They would never understand the caprices of artistic people, and this was as it should be. She and Geoffrey had a higher calling.
    It was