How to Manage a Marquess Read Online Free Page A

sisters would—
    â€œMight as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,” Lord Haywood muttered and then his mouth came down on hers again just as Poppy brushed past them.
    He wasn’t scowling this time and his lips weren’t still. They were firm, but gentle, as they brushed back and forth over her mouth.
    This time he was kissing her.
    He was far more adept at the matter than any of the other men she’d been kissed by. He didn’t slobber over her like an overfriendly dog or grind his mouth against hers so she feared for her lips and teeth. He didn’t make her feel as if she were the last pastry to be devoured, either.
    He made her feel hot and breathless and reckless. Her heart thudded in her ears so loudly she barely heard the Boltwood sisters.
    â€œWhat was what?” Cordelia asked.
    â€œI thought I heard something in the bushes.”
    â€œI didn’t—oh!”
    There was a rustling sound as if the ladies were dancing in the ivy.
    â€œMerrow.”
    â€œOh!” That was Cordelia again. She laughed. “It must have been the cat you heard, Gertrude.”
    â€œI suppose so.” Gertrude sighed. “Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything to see back here, and I don’t wish to break my neck in this ivy.”
    â€œNo, indeed. Let’s go home and have a nice cup of tea, with some of that delightful French cream.”
    The ladies were leaving. As soon as they were gone, Lord Haywood could stop kissing her.
    Lord Haywood’s tongue slowly traced the seam of her lips and her thoughts scattered. His thumb stroked her cheek. Ahh—
    Her jaw relaxed, and his wily tongue slipped into her mouth.
    She forgot all about the Boltwood sisters.
    She’d been kissed only once this way. Viscount Lufton had surprised her in the library at some interminable house party, backed her up against a bookcase, and shoved his tongue down her throat. She’d gagged and slammed her knee up between his legs.
    She had no urge to do Lord Haywood violence.
    His tongue slid over hers, exploring, teasing, inviting her to . . . do what? Something dark and exciting.
    She threaded her fingers through his thick brown hair as she stroked her tongue tentatively over his. He made a low sound of encouragement, and his tongue moved more boldly. It was everywhere, filling her and then retreating. She followed it, crossing over into his mouth. His thumbs stroked her jaw.
    Something dark and exciting was already happening. Her breasts ached to be free of her stays. Heat pooled low in her belly. No, even lower. Her most private place felt swollen and empty.
    She’d always thought the procreative procedure sounded terribly embarrassing and uncomfortable, but she suddenly understood its attraction.
    Lord Haywood had lifted his body to take his weight off her. He was only an inch above her, but it was too far. She arched her hips to press against the lovely long, hard bulge in his pantaloons.
    It felt wonderful.
    He must have thought so, too. His tongue thrust more urgently into her mouth while his hips began to pulse against her. Oh! His movements caused the, er, excitement to wind tighter and tighter.
    She slid her fingers up under his coat and over his muscled arse.
    He froze.
    Fiddle! She must have broken some rule. She dropped her hands immediately, hoping he’d get back to what he’d been doing.
    He raised his head—which caused his hips to drop, pressing his, ah, protuberance between her legs in the most delightful spot. She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and rubbed against—
    Nothing. With a muttered curse, he’d rolled off her as if she’d suddenly caught fire.
    She had, but his withdrawal doused the flames. She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. Somewhere along the line, she’d parted company with her hairpins.
    â€œDid I do something wrong?”
    â€œWrong?” Lord Haywood leapt to his feet. “Wrong? Good God, woman, you’re