This was not one of the sweet, romantic kisses that she had read about in poetry or in novels. The kiss was as frightening as it was thrilling. She didn't hear music or see stars. There was only heat and the taste of him, the feel of him pressed against her. She felt as if she were on fire, burning from the inside. His mouth on hers was like nothing she had ever experienced. She craved something she could not name. Instinctively, she pressed closer, wanting more.
When his hands seized her shoulders and pulled her more firmly against him, crushing her breasts against his chest, she gasped into his mouth. The peaks of her breasts were taut and aching where they brushed the velvet of his dressing gown. His hand roamed down her back, pressing their bodies together. She kissed him back with equal ferocity. Emme could only marvel at the heat of his flesh, the hard press of his body as her own softer form yielded, molding to him. She was breathless, trembling from the onslaught of unfamiliar sensations. But she didn't want it to end. So she clung to him, her palms running over his shoulders, one hand testing the texture of his dark hair as she caressed the nape of his neck.
When he laid her back on the bed, the thought of protesting never entered her mind. His long legs tangled with hers, as his heated mouth continued its sensual onslaught. Everywhere he touched her, she felt heat and pleasure. When he brushed the curve of her breast with his knuckles, she moaned, the sound echoing in the silence of the room broken only by the rasp of their breath. When his hand closed over her breast, caressing the tender flesh, her back arched involuntarily, pressing more fully against him. His touch became more insistent, more deliberately arousing. Her nipple pebbled beneath his questing fingers, and her hips moved against him, of their own volition. His lips returned to hers, swallowing the soft moans that escaped her.
Even in his raging hunger for her, Rhys knew they had to stop. It was insanity to continue. If he didn't end it, he soon would not be able to. That she was innocent, untried, was not in doubt. It would be up to him to end the encounter before she was utterly ruined. He eased back from her lips, and rested his forehead against hers. They were both panting, both aching with unfulfilled desire.
"We have to get you back to your room,” he said, cursing himself for a fool even as he uttered the words.
Emme couldn't speak. She was both stunned and mortified. Sanity had reared its head, and her embarrassment came swiftly on its heels. Her pulse still thrummed in her veins and the heat that pooled low in her belly was damning evidence of her wantonness. Humiliated, and feeling utterly rejected, she nodded her agreement. She didn't trust her voice to respond. He held out his hand, intending to help her up, but she ignored it. Touching him again, even in such an innocent way, would be unwise.
Rhys gritted his teeth, and tried to ignore the agony of his aroused flesh. He damned himself for a fool, for not being libertine enough to take what had been so sweetly offered. Cursing himself, cursing her and whatever otherworldly element that had led them to that moment, he guided her down the stairs and toward her room.
They had barely reached the corridor of the guest wing when a door opened down the hall. There were no empty rooms. His mother had filled them all with guests. That meant one thing and one thing only. They were well and truly caught. When his mother stepped into the hallway, his aunt beside her, he felt Emme stiffen.
Phyllis looked at him, her satisfaction glaringly evident while Lady Eleanor stared with cold disapproval. Had Mrs. Haverston and Lady Isabella not been in their company, as well, an explanation might have sufficed. Their presence complicated matters exponentially. Mrs. Haverston was a known gossip, and he didn't doubt for one moment that she would enjoy spreading this juicy bit around. Lady Isabella was not a fool, either. Having a niece who was a duchess would increase her social cachet significantly.
"Mother, Aunt Eleanor, Mrs. Haverston, Lady Isabella,” he said, coolly. His voice did not betray his ire, or his frustration.
"I assume, Rhys, that you have an explanation for this!” Phyllis demanded.
"Mother, I hardly feel explanations are necessary at this point. Suffice to say, Miss Walters and I will be announcing our engagement tomorrow.” Emme gasped again, but he tightened his hand on hers and gave her a warning look.
The following morning was a flurry of activity. Mrs. Haverston's maid shared her information with the other maids, who then shared information with footmen and valets. All those servants then shared the information with their mistresses and masters, and soon there was not a soul in all of Briarwood Hall who did not know that Emme was thoroughly compromised. Many guests begged off and cited pressing matters that necessitated a hurried return to the city, where the gossip would no doubt spread even more quickly.