She swallowed and looked away. She wanted that more than anything, but it was just too soon. Suddenly, it didn’t seem wise to tell him just yet. What would he say when he discovered she was no longer a virgin? She needed time to untangle this horrid mess. She turned back to look at him. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Not yet.”
Just as she thought he was going to turn away, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. The sensation was pleasant, but not at all what it should be. His lips were soft and pliant, but they lacked the warmth and vitality of her stranger’s fiery, unhindered kiss. She pulled back and held her fingers to her lips. There was no passion in Edward’s kiss, not even a stirring of lust.
Perhaps she was just too preoccupied with the events of last night to thoroughly enjoy the kiss. Yes, that had to be it.
Chapter Three
Any luck?” James poised his cue to strike the ball into the corner right pocket. The billiard room was a gentlemen’s haven. Brown velvet drapes flanked the only window and were almost always closed, which afforded some degree of separation and privacy from the outside world—namely, the ladies. The delicate creatures were quite unwilling to venture into this bleak, austere environment.
“That depends on what you consider luck.” Ashton carefully selected a cue from the rack. He settled on ash wood inlaid with ebony. “Three ladies have all but confessed to being my mystery woman. One has denied it, though I’m certain she’s concealing something. And the rest believe I should be committed to Bedlam posthaste. Turns out twitching isn’t a popular line of inquiry.”
James turned to him, suddenly interested. “Three ladies, is it?” He slapped Ashton on the shoulder. “Well done, old man. Now we need only separate the genuine article from the rest.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then lifted his finger in triumph. “I just thought of the perfect solution—I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”
Ashton positioned his cue and potted a red ball into the corner left pocket. “No.”
“As I see it, there is only one way to positively identify your lady.” James paced the length of the billiard table. It seemed this new dilemma had engaged his fallow mind.
“Dare I ask?” Ashton assessed the placement of the balls, calculating his next shot.
James paused midstride and turned to Ashton. “You must kiss each of the suspected women.”
“And how will that solve my predicament exactly?”
James leaned on his cue, looking rather pleased with himself. “I believe you know, or should know, that no two women kiss alike. Surely you could tell your lady’s lips from the others. One kiss, then, voilà, you have her.”
Ashton had to admit there was some merit to James’s skewed logic. His mystery lady had tasted like no other woman he’d ever had the pleasure of sampling. He’d replayed their passionate kiss over and over in his head since waking, recounting every minute detail of her scent, her taste. But if there was one thing he’d learned in his thirty-three years, it was to never disrupt a woman’s emotions. And a kiss, however benign, was sure to arouse some degree of turbulence amid the two losing parties.
“Tempting, James, but I believe interviewing the servants would be better for my physical welfare.”
“Fine, have it your way. Oh, and by the by, Gwendolyn wrote to say she isn’t coming after all.”
Ashton positioned his cue to strike. “Thank God.”
Gwen was a pretty young widow who had a carnal appetite that leaned toward fiendish. She was quite possibly the most vivacious and possessive of all his bed partners. Still, there had always been something lacking between them, something powerful and intense, a cosmic connection that he’d only ever felt with one woman—the woman from last night.
Thoughts of his mystery woman swirled to life in his head. Whoever she was, she’d thoroughly ensnared him. He was desperate to discover her, to kiss her lips and feel again what he’d felt last night. For the first time in his life he didn’t merely desire a woman, he hungered for her. He wanted to see her face, roll her name on his tongue, memorize the exact color of her eyes.
James shook his head. “A pretty little widow, mysterious women climbing into your bed at night…” He sighed. “My life should be so complicated.”
Ashton slid his cue back into place on the rack and winked. “See you at dinner.”
* * *
As spies went, Daphne was forced to admit she was less than competent. For thirty minutes after the ladies had retired to their rooms for the night, Daphne watched out of a crack in her door for her mysterious gentleman—Ashton?—to appear. He never did. Or rather, she fell asleep—out of sheer boredom—and didn’t awaken until nearly three o’clock in the morning.