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LADY IN WAITING
Argyll turned to Jenny with a decidedly wicked gleam in his eye. “Alone at last, my bonnie lass.”
Well, that didn’t take long, Jenny mused. She’d fended off more roguish footmen when she was a girl of ten and four. No, the challenge he offered her now would be pure sport. For she had the advantage. He thought her to be a proper lady, an innocent, something Jenny, for better or worse, was not. And besides, there was no chance in the world that the viscount would ever truly make an offer for her, so why not have a little fun?
Jenny batted her eyes. “Please temper your words, my lord, the ladies are bound to return in but a moment.”
“A moment is all I need, lass.”
She knew that to maintain the ruse the ladies had concocted, she should faint, or at the very least wilt at the thought of his overt gesture. But then, her dress might come apart…and as she looked into his eyes, glinting with the sparks of passion she longed to ignite, for some reason she didn’t care about the ruse anymore.
Maybe it was the sherry that warmed her belly. But something made her mind forget what was proper, and in the next instant, Jenny reached out and carefully slipped her arms around the viscount’s neck. And pressed her moist lips to his.
She had half expected her brazenness to shock him, to repel him. But it seemed to do neither.
His arms eased around her waist, then one hand slid slowly up her back, coming to rest at the nape of her neck. He held her mouth close as he ran the tip of his tongue over the bow of her top lip, then down along the fullness of her lower lip. Then he slipped it inside her mouth, exploring the soft slickness inside, swirling his tongue with hers, until she shuddered and felt a seam beneath her bosom come open.
In an abrupt jerk, Jenny pulled back and quickly crossed her arms beneath her breasts, covertly pinching the seam closed with her thumb and index finger. “You — you…are not the gentleman you pretend to be, my lord.”
He laughed deeply, wickedly then, a sound that sent goose bumps over the whole of her body. “And ye are not the lady you pretend either.”
Oh, dear. Had her impulsiveness destroyed the game so quickly? Her thoughts tangled in a nest of worry. “May I ask exactly what you mean by that, my lord?”
“Ye may call me Callum,” he told her in that low husky voice of his. “All me lovers do.”
“Callum,” Jenny whispered huskily, quite unintentionally.
“And what shall I call ye?”
And the word slipped out unbidden again. “Jenny.”
My heavens, what am I saying? Jenny stared at him as if truly seeing him for the first time. And indeed she was. “I — I have no intention of becoming your — your lover.”
“Yer kiss told me differently.”