The Princess beamed at them. Hope shifted uncomfortably in
his seat, his jaw beginning to ache from smiling.
"Well, your Highness," he began, "it's been a pleas-"
"Aren't you going to kiss?" Caroline asked, looking from
Hope to Sophia. "It is no small gift, the French Blue,
wouldn't you say, Miss Blaise?"
Hope laughed nervously and glanced at Sophia. Her cheeks
had gone from pink to persimmon, but her hazel eyes slanted
invitingly, sparking with something akin to curiosity.
This was trouble.
"Kiss?" Hope said. "Well. That would hardly be proper,
given the circumstances – "
"Not proper? Why, there were never more proper
circumstances for a kiss in the history of mankind! Now go
on.
Kiss!"
Hope swallowed for what felt like the hundredth time that
night. He turned his head to Sophia and met those warm,
inviting eyes of hers. His heart raced, his blood wild.
It's only a kiss, he reminded himself. King and Country,
saving lives, for England, Harry, and St. George – he
could kiss Sophia for all those reasons.
But kissing her for
his reasons – reasons that
now danced in that wild blood of his – that was
another matter entirely. He'd already broken a promise he'd
made to himself by joining Lake in this wild goose chase.
Hope wouldn't – couldn't – break another by
seducing Miss Sophia Blaise.
And yet here she was, those eyes and those lips. Oh, those
lips, they just begged to be kissed. His groin tightened as
he remembered her working that bottom lip earlier that
evening. How he'd longed to work it himself, the top lip
too, and –
Again the twist of desire between his legs.
The urge rolled over him as swift and sure as the tide. He
couldn't say no, not when she looked at him like that,
confident and terrified and curious all at once.
Thomas set the box in his lap and reached out and cradled
her face in his palm, his thumb gently holding her chin in
place. His eyes never leaving hers, he leaned forward,
wondering vaguely if he even remembered how to do it, and do
it well.
***
Thomas knew how to kiss very well indeed.
Not that Sophia had any experience with things like kisses.
But God
above it was a special sort of heaven, the
firm but sensual press of his lips to hers, the obvious care
he took in applying just enough pressure but never too much.
It had all happened so quickly. She watched with bated
breath as he'd leaned forward, his blue eyes suddenly
serious and clouded. Something about the lean slant of his
neck as he tilted his head, just so, made her entire being
pulse with longing. Mr. Hope – Thomas – was
deucedly handsome. Devilishly, deucedly handsome.
When he drew too close, and she could no longer bear the
anticipation, her eyes fluttered shut. And then his breath
was soft and sweet upon her face and she felt herself
leaning into him.
And then.
And
then.
Their lips met. The kiss was tender; the warmth of it
surprised her, the intimacy of it terrifying. She had to
resist the impulse to pull away, and yet her body yearned
for more.
Hope's thumb grazed the line of her jaw and suddenly the
kiss deepened, so much so that Sophia could feel it all the
way in her knees. Pleasure coursed through her when his
lips moved against hers, slowly, skillfully, and she felt
herself falling into the kiss, moving her mouth in time to his.
The assault was endless, and Sophia reveled in the sensation
of being captured by him, her blood pounding as Thomas
arched over her. With each stroke of his lips he turned his
head, and with his hand turned her face so that that she
matched his movements. For a moment the kiss slowed and
Hope's hand slipped further towards her. She shivered as
his fingers brushed the skin of her neck, his thumb tugging
at her earlobe; and then those fingers were tangled in her
hair, and he was taking her bottom lip between his own.
All the while moving slowly, with great intent and
concentration. His touch was sure but soft. She drank
deeply, her belly turning over at his passion, hers too.
Being kissed was wholly different, and God above so much
better, than she'd imagined it would be. But even Sophia in
her ignorance knew this was no mere kiss, not the kind a
debutante would share with a beau. This kiss was too honest
and bold. It spoke of forbidden things. Attraction.
Desire. A curiosity to push further, and know more.
Through the pounding of her heart and lips, Sophia heard
Princess Caroline making an odd, high-pitched sound. Her
blood leapt in dismay at the realization her kiss with
Thomas would end.
He slid his hand back to cup her jaw. He tugged at her lips
one last time, his teeth lingering on her bottom lip before
he pulled away altogether.
Sophia opened her eyes, chest heaving in an attempt to catch
her breath. Thomas was looking at her, his blue eyes
probing and full of concern.
As if he had anything to be concerned about. The kiss
–
his kiss – it was so deucedly good it
left her all but shaking.
For a moment she was overcome by a sense of wonder. Where
had Mr. Hope learned such sensual skill? And how did she
get so lucky as to experience it?
Regardless, Sophia knew one thing for certain.
She was ruined. Not the kind of ruin that got everyone in
the upper ten thousand, her mother especially, so excited. No.
She was ruined for whichever poor Marquess or Earl's son
whom she (hopefully) married. For there was no way on God's
green Earth that anyone could possibly kiss as well as Mr.
Thomas Hope; that any man could thrill her with his lips
alone as he had done.
She wanted to throttle him for giving her a taste of
something that could never be hers.
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