Page 53 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“I mean it,” he assured her in a husky undertone. And then, bending his head, his lips found hers.

Her own lips parted on a flustered breath. He’d said he was going to kiss her. It was why he’d stopped the sleigh. Why he’d complimented her, for heaven’s sake. But now the moment was upon her, she felt herself completely unprepared for it.

She realized in that instant that she’d never been kissed before. Not truly. Daring as she was—willing as she might have been—there had only ever been fleeting pecks on the cheek. Chaste, meaningless nothings—more avuncular than romantic.

But this was something different.

Teddy had a sensual mouth. She’d marked it that night in the anteroom. But little had she anticipated how that mouth would feel pressed to hers. It was the only soft part of him, unhindered by the sharpness of his intellect and the dryness of his wit. Lips that were gentle but firm, shaping effortlessly to hers with a warm, seeking pressure.

Stella tentatively pressed back, kissing him in return.

It was likely the most virginal, inexperienced kiss he’d ever received. But there was nothing dry about it. Nothing chaste. Their lips lingered against each other, warm and half-parted, clinging sweetly for an instant. Her breath mingled with his—an extraordinary intimacy.

He tasted of peppermint and mulled wine. He smelled of it, too—that and faint traces of lavender and spice. It was his shaving oil, very possibly. Something produced at the perfumery owned by his family. It stirred Stella’s senses, along with the brush of his lips, the touch of his hand, and the furnace-warm heat of his body so perilously close to hers.

She felt a bit dizzy as they separated.

Good gracious.

This was why ladies swooned. Why chaperones were invented. Why there was a booming industry in vinaigrettes. Kisses like these had the power to alter a lady’s entire constitution.

And, perhaps, a gentleman’s, too.

Twin flags of color blazed high on Teddy’s cheekbones. “May I write to you in Derbyshire?” he asked suddenly. His voice had a peculiar rasp in it.

Stella drew back from the curve of his hand, still alarmingly off-balance. She had no doubt but that if she’d stood in that moment, her legs would have given way beneath her. “On no account,” she said. “A gentleman can’t write to an unmarried lady.”

“Another tedious rule.”

“One I’m in no position to break. It’s my brother who oversees the post when we’re at home. Were he to see a letter arrive for me from a man, he’d consign it straight to the fire—after reading it himself, of course.”

Teddy caught up the reins. “You wouldn’t burn it, would you?” He grimaced before she could answer. “Good Lord. It seems I’m constantly imploring you not to burn things.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “No. Indeed, I’d likely write back to you. But, as I say—”

“Rules are rules.”

“Yes, rules are rules,” she agreed bleakly.

A chill wind whispered over her face as the horse pulled the sleigh back to Sutton Park. The warm glow she’d felt when he’d touched her and kissed her was rapidly dissipating.

Tomorrow she was returning home. There was every chance she’d never see him again. The prospect was suddenly too dire to contemplate.

“Perhaps we might meet again in London,” she volunteered as the lights of the house came into view. “To be sure, I hope we will.”

Teddy’s handsome face set with resolve. “We will,” he vowed. “You may depend on it.”

Fourteen

Stella departed Sutton Park at daybreak the following morning. Lady Arundell and Anne drove her as far as the station, where they saw her safely onto the train.

Lady Arundell sent a manservant to accompany Stella on the journey. An unmarried young lady couldn’t travel alone, certainly not as great a distance as from Hampshire to Derbyshire, and not with having to change trains not once but twice. Anne had suggested that she and her mother go themselves, but Stella had declined the offer. It was miles out of their way, and she was tired of putting everyone to inconvenience on her behalf.

“A manservant is quite generous enough, thank you,” she’d said. “Besides, no one is likely to meddle with a gray-haired lady.”

“You must take care all the same,” Anne had replied, giving her one last hug and kiss goodbye. “You never know what desperate characters you might meet in a railway car.”

Desperate, indeed.