Viola snatched her hand from his grasp. “If you were to kiss me I would remain impassive and undevoted.”

“Is that a challenge?” His hooded gaze seared her skin.

Something changed, heated, became more charged with possibility . . . and danger.

“Yes,” she whispered bravely.

Foolishly.

Chapter Fifteen

“Let’s up the stakes,” said Westbury, his voice a low, seductive growl. “If I kiss you, and you ask for another kiss, you’ll perform at the musicale.”

“Pardon? Absolutely not. I told you I’d never perform onstage again.”

“It’s not a stage, not really. Just velvet curtains they hang in the music room. And only a small gathering for an audience. Perhaps extremely small after the scandal tonight.”

“I won’t perform.”

“Are you afraid you’ll beg me for another kiss?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I can certainly control myself.”

“Then what’s the danger?”

“No danger. A kiss is just a kiss. I’ve had kisses before.”

“You have?”

“In books. My favorite author, Miss Villeneuve, always includes plenty of kisses.”

“This will be different. You won’t be able to shut the book and go about your business. This kiss, my kiss, will be an awakening.”

“You truly are the most maddeningly arrogant rogue in London. I have to kiss you now, don’t I, if only to prove to you that not every woman succumbs to your charm.”

“It’s your moral imperative. For womankind.”

He was goading her on, possibly even laughing at her. But what they were talking about was a kiss. And she’d thought about kissing him so many times before. This was her opportunity to put her wild imaginings to the test. Surely his kiss couldn’t possibly live up to her dreams.

She closed her eyes. “Kiss me, Your Grace. And be swift about it.”

A low laugh. Heat from his body as he drew closer. His enormous hands cupping her face. Fingers against her throat. A finger sliding over her lower lip.

“You have such lush lips,” he murmured. “I’ve thought about kissing them. Tasting them.”

“You have?”

“Many, many times.”

A soft sigh of contentment. Hers. An admission that she’d thought about the same thing and she wished he’d get on with making it a reality. But he prolonged the moment, driving her nearly mad with anticipation.

With both of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck, he used his thumbs to tilt her chin up. She felt so small inside his grip. The light pressure of his fingers against her throat, the way he positioned her to his liking . . . it was all thrilling and new.

Her nipples hardened into peaks against the thin muslin of her gown. If she moved slightly forward they would brush against his chest . . . ah, there, that felt good. She wanted to press against him, but stopped herself.

Just a kiss. One kiss, she reminded herself.