Page 65 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

You plan to do right by everyone, she told herself. Nothing will change that, not even a kiss.

A very, very distant voice of reason began to argue against her judgment, but Farah waved it away. All she needed to do was make sure of one thing.

“Will it hurt?” At his bewildered expression, she clarified with, “If you kiss me—if I ask you to kiss me—will it cause you pain? Later, I mean. I don’t want to—I couldn’t bear—”

“I think I’ll be in far more pain if I don’t kiss you,” he said.

Not bothering with words, Farah closed the space between them, a sigh of pure pleasure escaping her as soon as her lips touched his.

That she had already dug a hole for herself was quite apparent. That it was deep, even more so. Still, what was a few more inches?

*

Grey was a sensible man. For the past five years, he had played the role of level-headed solicitor, his cousin the only person capable of breaking his composure. But that was hate. What he felt for Farah was different, though he hesitated to believe he had the right to such emotions. But he felt them nonetheless and would have readily admitted to the threat they posed to his sensibility if given the chance.

Will it hurt?

Of course it would hurt. But it would hurt either way, wouldn’t it? Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. She hadn’t uttered a word about Francis, about her plans, about anything, which meant heartbreak was inevitable. If he was doomed to be starved of her for the rest of his life then, well, he might as well take as much as she was willing to give before they parted ways.

He kissed her back, savoring the smile that pulled at her lips in response. Her aunt had told him not to worry, that Farah would do the right thing. Grey wasn’t sure how much Dalia knew—God, he hoped she didn’t know know—but what was right at this point? Keeping a promise that would lead Farah down the aisle to his accursed cousin? Dropping all her grand plans and returning to Painswick? The latter wasn’t an option, not with how determined she was to chart her own course to happiness.

“What are you thinking about?” Farah whispered, her lips grazing his jawline.

“You,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “Always you.”

Even when distracted, his thoughts were focused wholly on her. But enough of that—he was here with her, and he intended to enjoy it. Two days had been wasted already, and he would not be wasting a second more.

Reaching forward, Grey placed his hands on either side of her hips and, without pulling his mouth from hers, tugged her onto his lap in a puff of sage green skirts. He wanted her close to him, wanted to feel every inch of her through all the damned clothing that separated them. Without missing a beat, she threw her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, her fingers running through his dark hair. Virtually no time had passed since their night at Montgomery House, and yet he’d somehow managed to miss her. The moment he’d awoken to an empty bed, he’d started to miss everything about her, from the clean, grassy smell of her skin to the ethereal gold of her hair. That he’d also missed her cheeky grins, endless stream of ideas, and never-ending chatter went without saying.

And all of that was after a mere few hours apart. If he needed any indication as to how much trouble he’d put himself in, he wouldn’t have had to look any further.

Something in him snapped when Farah’s fingers slid beneath his starched, white neckcloth, his cock stiffening beneath his trousers. He quickly, if not clumsily, moved to free her from the cage of her bodice, undoing her buttons—tortoise glass today—to relish in whatever her corset did not conceal. He dragged his mouth from the tops of her breasts to her collarbones, his blood hot in his veins as he tried to commit the softness of her skin against his to memory. She sighed, her hands traveling under his jacket to run along the sides of his waistcoat, gentling her touch where she knew his scar was.

How in the hell was he meant to let her go?

Eager to please her, to simply give, Grey slid a hand beneath her skirts, running it slowly up her silken stockings and navigating the layers of her chemise and petticoats before he came across the wet heat between her legs. The opening in her drawers afforded him full access as he ran a finger through her folds, coaxing another sigh from her throat. When she moved against him, he held his hand firm and steady, allowing her to use him as she willed. She arched her back, pushing herself against him, her cheeks glowing with a rosy flush.

He bent his head toward her ear. “I want you to come for me, love. Can you do that?”

She nodded with a soft whimper before resting her head against his shoulder. Again, Grey dragged the slick wetness of her up, rubbing her apex in languid, circular motions. He slipped a careful finger inside her, reveling in the sensation against his skin. One finger became two, and soon Farah had her back arched again as he stroked in and out, thumb still working the most sensitive, needy part of her. He felt her come, the orgasm shuddering through her body as she buried her head in his neck. For a moment, she lay boneless in his arms, her breathing labored as Grey tried to ignore the aching between his own legs.

“Far better than sitting in silence,” she murmured with a kiss to his cheek.

Grey chuckled. “Good.”

Farah removed herself from his lap and settled on the seat across from him. Seeming to feel his eyes on her, she offered him a brilliant smile. This was exactly how he wanted to remember her—smiling and a little disheveled, face flushed from an orgasm he had brought her to.

As she refastened her buttons, she glanced out of the window, a joyful gasp escaping her. “Oh, we’re almost there!”

Through the glass, Grey saw nothing but empty countryside. “We are?”

“Yes! I know exactly where we are. It won’t be too long now.”

“Farah—”

When she turned her attention to her golden curls, the words that had almost come out died in his throat.

Tell me what you’ve decided.