Page 89 of The Marriage Method

“It fits,” he said huskily.

“Yes.” Her heart beat hard.

It was only a piece of jewelry. It didn’t mean anything. And yet, an undoubted feeling came with it. She belonged to him now.

An unsettling proposition.

Women weren’t property. They were free and independent beings, whatever the law might say. And Nell valued her freedom. Even so…

There was something powerful in belonging to a person, and in knowing that they belonged to you in turn.

The effects of the laudanum loosened her tongue, making her sound like a smitten girl. “I’m glad it’s you,” she said. She impulsively reached to cup his cheek. “I do like you so much.”

Miles’s solemn countenance softened. “I gathered that.”

“And do you—”

“I’m mad for you,” he said gravely.

Mad.

It wasn’t liking. It wasn’t love. To be mad was to be bewitched, bedeviled, irrational. Qualities that were the antithesis of all Miles represented. But Nell had no ability to analyze the distinction in her present state. It slipped away before she could grasp it. All she cared about was the look in his eyes and the feel of his stubble-shadowed jaw in the curve of her hand.

She drew him to her and kissed him.

A groan emerged from Miles’s chest as their lips met. He braced himself over her on one forearm, mindful not to touch her right shoulder. And he kissed her back—deeply, sweetly. But not carefully. His mouth captured hers with a scorching heat.

Had Nell not already been lying down, she felt certain her knees would have buckled beneath her.

He kissed her as though he’d been thinking of nothing else since they’d parted last night. As though the recollection of the embrace they’d shared in the library had worked on him, hour by hour, until his adamantine restraint had reached its breaking point. All Nell had done was unwittingly provide a spark to the tinder.

Mad for her, he’d said.

She felt a little mad, too. Overwarm and restless, her blood thrumming wildly.

Her lips parted for him without conscious thought. There was no awkwardness. No hesitation. He’d already learned the soft shape of her. He angled his mouth over hers with perfect symmetry, touching her, tasting her, drinking in her little gasps and sighs.

Nell curled her hand around the back of his neck. She vaguely realized that she was in over her head. Perhaps she had been from the moment they’d met. He was bigger than she was. Older. More experienced.

Her mouth briefly slid from his. “You said you were out of practice.”

“Did I?” He kissed her again.

“Must one?” she asked breathlessly.

“Must one what?”

“Practice?”

His lips stilled on hers. He was breathing heavily. “Kissing, do you mean?”

“We could,” she said.

Miles drew back to look in her eyes. His color was high.

“Unless you’re entirely opposed to the idea,” she said.

“Of practicing?” he questioned hoarsely. “With you?”