“I cannot allow this.” Anna breathed in his scent and rested her cheek against the cool silk of his dressing gown. He shifted, easing the material aside, and her face touched his bare chest. She did not even try to resist the pleasure of his clean, male skin beneath her cheek.

“You cannot,” he whispered, but it didn’t sound like he was agreeing with her. “You should not,” he clarified, “but perhaps, Anna Seaton, you can allow just a kiss, stolen on a soft summer evening.”

Oh dear lord, she thought, wanting to hide her face against the warmth of his chest. He thought to kiss her. He was kissing her, delicate little nibbles that stole a march along her temple then her jaw. Oh, he knew what he was about, too, for his lips were soft and warm and coaxing, urging her to turn her head just so and tip her chin thus…

He settled his mouth over hers with a sigh, the joining of their lips making Anna more aware of every aspect of the moment—the crickets singing, the distant clop of hooves one street over, the soughing of the scented breeze, and the thumping of her heart like a kettledrum against her chest.

“Just a kiss, Anna…” he reminded her, her name on his lips a caress Anna felt to her soul. Her sturdy country-girl’s bones melted, leaving her weight resting against him in shameless wonder. When his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips, her knees turned weak, and a whimper of pleasure welled. Soft, sweet, lemony tart and seductive, he stole into her mouth, giving her time to absorb each lush caress of lips and breath and tongue.

And then, as if his mouth weren’t enough of a sin, his hands slid down her back in a slow, warm press that ended with him cupping her derriere, pulling her into his greater height and into the hard ridge of male flesh that rose between them. She didn’t flinch back. She went up on her toes and pressed herself more fully against him, her hands finding their way inside his dressing gown to knead the muscles of his back.

She wrapped herself around him, clinging in complete abandon as her tongue gradually learned from his, and her conscience gave up, along with her common sense. She tasted him, learned the contours of his mouth and lips then tentatively brushed a slow, curious hand over his chest.

Ye gods…

“Easy.” He eased his mouth away but held her against his body, his chin on her temple. Anna forced her hands to go still as well, but she could not make herself step back.

“I’ll tender my resignation first thing tomorrow,” she said dully, her face pressed to his sternum.

“I won’t accept it,” the earl replied, stroking her back in slow sweeps.

“I’ll leave anyway.” She knew he could feel the blush on her face.

“I’ll find you,” the earl assured her, pressing one last kiss to her hair.

“This is intolerable.”

“Anna,” he chided, “it is just a kiss and entirely my fault. I am not myself of late, as you’ve noted. You must forgive me and accept my assurances I would never force an unwilling female.”

She stayed in his arms, trying to puzzle out what he was going on about. Ah, God, it felt too good to be held, to be touched with such consideration and deliberation. She was wicked, shameless, lost and getting more lost still.

“Say you will forgive me,” the earl rumbled, his hands going quiet. “Men require frequent forgiveness, Anna. This is known to all.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” she muttered, still against his chest.

“A besetting sin of my gender,” and Anna could tell he was teasing—mostly.

“You aren’t truly sorry.” She found the strength to shove away from him but turned out to regard the night rather than face him. “But you have regret over this.”

“I regret,” he said directly above and behind her ear, “that I may have offended you. I regret just as much that we are not now tossing back my lavender-scented sheets in preparation for that passion between consenting adults I mentioned earlier.”

“There will be no more of that,” Anna said, inhaling sharply. “No more mentioning, no more kissing, no more talk of sheets and whatnot.”

“As you wish,” he said, still standing far too close behind her. He was careful not to touch her, but Anna could tell he was inhaling her scent, because she was doing the same with his.

“What I wish is of no moment,” she said, “like the happiness of a future duke. No moment whatsoever.”

He did step back at that, to her relief. Mostly, her relief.

“You have accepted my apology?” he asked, his voice cooling.

“I have.”

“And you won’t be resigning or disappearing without notice?”

“I will not.”

“Your word, Anna?” he pressed, reverting to tones of authority.

“My word, your lordship.”

He flinched at that, which was a minor gratification.

A silence, unhappy for her, God knew what for him, stretched between them.

“Were you to disappear, I would worry about you, you know,” he said softly. He trailed his fingers down over her wrist to lace with hers and squeeze briefly.

She nodded, as there was nothing to say to such folly. Not one thing.

In the moonlight, he saw her face in profile, eyes closed, head back. His last comment seemed to strike her with the same brutal intensity as her use of his title had hit him, for she stiffened as if she’d taken an arrow in the back before dropping his hand and fleeing.