Practically Wicked (4 page)

Realizing what she was about, she snatched her hand back, fully expecting for him to comment on her forward behavior. As well he might. What on earth had she been thinking?

But he didn’t move. His eyes remained closed. His breathing was deep and steady.

She swallowed hard. “Mr. Dane?”

Still nothing. He was fast asleep.

Anna glanced from her guest to the door. She could leave now or call for help.

Her eyes tracked back to Max. She could sit and stare at his handsome features if she wanted, and for as long as she liked.

Slowly, her gaze dipped to his mouth and settled there.

She could do most anything she cared to, really.

It was folly, what she was considering. If someone had told her earlier in the day that, in a few hours’ time, she would be considering taking advantage of a gentleman in his sleep, she would have pronounced the notion, and the individual, ridiculous.

And now here she was, leaning just a little closer…And closer still…

It was the strangest sensation, as if she were watching herself at a distance and quite enjoying the view.

Dreams of freedom and country cottages were all well and good, but Anna rather thought that she was nothing, if not practical. She would likely never have that cottage, never have true freedom. And she would almost certainly never have a chance such as this again.

Let them call her the Ice Maiden of Anover House, she thought. She would know differently. She, and no one else.

But just to be sure on that score, she whispered, “Mr. Dane, are you…?”

There was no response, no hint that he’d heard her.

And suddenly the room took on a surreal quality. The scent of candles grew strong and the creak of her chair as she leaned forward those last few inches sounded inordinately loud.

And then she was kissing him. Or, more accurately, she was holding her lips lightly against his. Whether or not this constituted a real kiss was unclear. It rather seemed as if one or the both of them ought to be moving.

In fact, she was certain at least one of them ought to be moving, but she couldn’t seem to get the job done. For some reason, pressing her lips to his while he slept seemed a natural, albeit decidedly wicked, thing to do. Moving felt more wicked than natural, like it might push her over the line that separated inexcusably forward from outright wanton.

With a mental sigh, she realized a small advantage was all it could be. She lingered a moment longer, wanting to savor the experience. If this was to be her only kiss, it would at least be of respectable duration.

Keeping her eyes shut, she concentrated on every detail. Max’s lips were soft, but firm. His breath light and sweet against her skin. The scent of whatever he’d been drinking earlier tickled her nose pleasantly. She wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the texture of his hair, but that, too, felt like too much.

With regret that it could not be more, she began to pull away.

And then the unimaginable happened. One of them began to move.

Max shifted, and a warm hand slipped around her neck, pulling her gently but firmly back into place.

Her eyes flew open, her hands came up to his chest, and her heart made a valiant effort to leap from her chest. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Max didn’t seem to mind. He held her in place as his lips explored hers in lazy sweeps and brushes. Shock and fear lingered but for a heartbeat, just until Anna realized that his grip was coaxing, not implacable, and that his mouth moved over hers in invitation, not demand.

Your only chance. Your only kiss.

She relaxed, leaned forward once more, and kissed him back.

And, heavens, she’d been a fool to think she’d been kissing him before. That had been a meeting of lips, nothing more. This…this was…

This was extraordinary. Wonderful. Fantastical. Words could not adequately describe the array of sensations that washed over her. She felt as if she were both sinking and floating. It seemed as if the world were spinning and only the two of them were grounded. She felt heated and anxious as he sampled the corner of her mouth, impatient when the tip of his tongue slipped between her lips for just a taste. She wanted to do more, so much more. And she wanted to do it quickly. Yet she was content as well. Happy to stay exactly as she was, doing exactly what they were doing.

The first feeling she knew to be arousal. And had someone told her it would be so magical, she might have sought out an inebriated man with a handsome face before now.

Only, it wouldn’t have been the same. It would have been someone else’s hands on her, someone else’s lips moving over hers. Perhaps that was why she wanted to stay exactly where she was,
as
she was—because she was with Max Dane.

But not only was it impossible for her to stay, it was highly unlikely she would ever return. There was no reason to hope she would ever have another opportunity to indulge in a stolen kiss. And so she memorized every second of sliding lips and heated breath, cataloged every leap of her heart, every spark of desire, every flitting sensation. She didn’t want a single instant of the experience to slip from her memory.

But all too soon, the memory ended. Max gently separated them, and one twinkling hazel eye slowly opened.

“Am I asleep?” he said softly, and it took her a minute to realize he was recalling her question from earlier. A small, wicked smile formed. “No.”

“I…” Words failed her. She was leaning over the man, panting like a common doxy, and had nothing to say for herself.

He caught her gaze and held it. “Well, that was a pleasant surprise.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what possessed me,” she managed at last. She touched shaky fingers to her lips, saw his eyes darken as they followed the movement, and dropped her hand. “I beg your pardon.”

“I believe that’s my duty. To beg for pardon.”

“Is it?…Well…I see.” She remained as she was a moment more before coming back to herself with a small start. Good Lord, what was she
doing
? She straightened quickly and nodded once. “Pardon granted, then. Do excuse me.”

“What?…Wait.” He caught her arm when she would have stood and made the dash for the door that she ought to have made some time ago. “Don’t go.”

“Lord Dane, please—”

“Mr. Dane.” He shook his head impatiently. “Never mind, call me Max. Then we needn’t worry over misters and lords.”

“No, I can’t—”

“Why not?” He gave her a teasing smile. “You’ve already kissed me. Seems a minor breach of etiquette in comparison.”

“I should not have done so.” She really, really should not have done so. “I typically do not give such free rein to my curiosity, but it would seem that tonight was an exception—”

“Curiosity?” He let go of her arm. “That’s why you kissed me?”

That, and a thousand other reasons a man like him would misinterpret or simply not understand. “Yes. Why else?”

His lips twitched. “Why else, indeed. Well, did I at least satisfy?”

“My curiosity? Yes, quite, thank you.”

“You’re entirely welcome,” he replied with a dry tone that set her nerves on edge.

She felt a fool. Why,
why
had she thought this was a good idea? What had made her think she could get away with such outrageous behavior? Of course he would wake up. Of course he’d not really been asleep. And now here she was, without the foggiest notion of how to handle the situation. Without the foggiest notion of how to handle
him
.

She cast a longing glance at the door. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. I’ll go—”

“No, no,” Max cut in with an impatience that seemed mostly self-directed. “You’ve not offended me. I’m unaccustomed to honesty, that’s all. Sit down, love.”

She knew she’d somehow pricked his pride, and she suspected he might be mocking her a little, but there was a gentleness to the teasing, an invitation to play along, as if the entire experience was but a harmless bit of silliness. It did more to temper her embarrassment and desire to flee than a hundred polite assurances might have accomplished.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have kissed him, but there was no reason the memory of it needed to end with her running out of the room in mortification.

“You…You should make new friends,” she said carefully. “One shouldn’t grow used to hearing lies.” She thought of her own life and felt something of a hypocrite. “One should not approve of them, at any rate.”

“Oh, I approve. I prefer my friends dishonest. That way, I’m never left guessing when it’s wise to trust them and when it’s not.”

“Wouldn’t it be better that they always be honest?”

“No one is honest all the time. Not even my sainted brother. Devil take him.”

“You don’t mean that,” she argued gently, resuming her seat. “He was your brother.”

“He’s a ridiculous bastard.”

She noticed his use of the present tense and a pang of sympathy settled in her chest. How hard it would be to remember to speak of a family member in the past tense. How painful.

“But you loved him.”

He leaned back in his chair once more and closed his eyes as he had before, but he no longer seemed a cavalier man to her, just a heartbroken boy.

“Yes,” he admitted softly. “God, yes. I loved him.”

She sought for a way to comfort but didn’t know where to begin. She’d no experience in such matters. She had already said sorry. What came after that?

Max lifted a shoulder, let it drop. “We cannot always help who we love, I suppose.”

“Or like who it is we love,” she added, simply because she felt she ought to say
something
.

“True.” He tilted his head at her. “Do you like your mother?”

Not in the least, she thought, but what she said was, “We get on well enough.”

Which was true, provided she kept as much distance from her as the confines of Anover House, and her mother’s desperate need to be the center of everyone’s attention, allowed.

“Most people find her quite likable,” Max commented.

“Most people are not required to live with her.”

“Family,” he said and bobbed his head with his eyes still closed. “They can be the hardest to love…or not love…Whichever was our original point.” A furrow appeared across his brow. “I seem to have lost track.”

Anna hadn’t, but the talk of her highly likable mother prompted a sudden, terrible, sickening notion.

She licked lips suddenly gone dry. “Mr. Dane—”

“Max,” he corrected.

“Right. Max. You’ve not…with Madame?”

One bleary eye opened. “I’ve not what with who, now?”

“My mother. You’ve not…? Er…” She couldn’t say it. She just couldn’t. She hated even thinking it. “…Courted her? Or—”

“Oh.
Oh
.” Both eyes snapped wide. “Good God, no.” He made a clumsy effort to straighten in his chair. “Lovely woman, your mother. Beautiful, clever, all that, but…No. Absolutely not.” He gave her a smile designed to charm. “I prefer a woman who’s a bit…warmer. Such as yourself.”

A wash of pleasure heated her skin. “That was very kind.”

“No. It wasn’t,” he countered, slumping in his chair once more. “Kind would have been to remake your furniture. Who is Lord Hiccup? He must be quite fond of you.”

“Lord Highsup,” she corrected, amused. “I don’t remember him well. He passed not long after gifting me this table set. Mrs. Culpepper says he was a friend of Captain Wrayburn’s.” Of whom she could recall very little and could learn nothing from her mother other than that he’d left an inconveniently meager inheritance upon his equally inconvenient death. Anna liked to assume the best of the man, as it wasn’t every gentleman who was willing to wed a fallen woman with a bastard child on her hip.

“Captain Wrayburn,” he repeated on another yawn. “Not your father. That would be Mr. Rees.”

“Rees was the name of my maternal grandmother,” she mumbled and looked for a quick way to change the subject. She didn’t wish to have a conversation on her illegitimacy. “Mr. Dane, you are but a hairbreadth from falling out of that chair. May I ring for help now?”

“No.”

She opened her mouth to speak but was cut short by the sound of creaking floorboards as someone walked past the nursery door.

Another lost guest, or a maid or footman on an errand.

Or perhaps Mrs. Culpepper had come looking for her, Anna thought with a pang of guilt. The woman would be in a state if she discovered her charge missing at this time of night.

“I must go, Mr. Dane.”

“Max.”

“I must go, Max. My absence will be noted eventually.” And should his role in her adventure be discovered, there was a very real possibility Mrs. Wrayburn would ban him from the house.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “Yes, all right. Call on you tomorrow.”

“Next week,” she reminded him softly.

His eyes remained closed but his lips curved. “Next week.”

She was silent a moment, debating. He was drunk. He was part of a world she despised and sought to escape. He was everything her mother and, more convincingly, Mrs. Culpepper had ever warned her about.

In that moment, he was all she wanted.

She took a deep breath, and then the second-biggest chance of her life.

“Do you promise?” she asked on a whisper.

“Promise,” he mumbled. “Next week.”

A moment later, a soft snore issued forth from his lips.

Anna stayed just a minute more, studying his handsome face and the steady rise and fall of his chest. When she took her leave at last, it was with a secret, wicked smile, and a hope for the future she’d never known before.

 
 
Chapter 3