No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella by Megan Frampton Page A

speak or claim her mouth, and he knew she didn’t want that.
    “Don’t rush me,” she said in nearly a growl. That made him laugh, too—that his polite goddess could be so transformed by the prospect of a mere kiss.
    But it wouldn’t be just mere, would it. This would be an epic kiss, if he knew his goddess.
    He saw her throat work, and she lifted her face to his, raising herself up with the hands at his waist. That necessitated her to move in closer, and he felt the points of contact between them—her hands, his waist, her breasts, his chest.
    Their feet.
    But he stopped thinking about any of that when she placed her mouth on his. Her kiss was soft and warm, just a simple pressing of their mouths together.
    And then she opened her mouth, just a bit, and he did as well, hoping that while she didn’t have direct experience with the act that she would have investigated what could happen when one person kissed another.
    And, thankfully, it seemed she was a studious person.
    Her tongue touched his mouth hesitantly, just the slightest touch, but it was enough to make him groan. Which seemed to encourage her, since she slid her tongue inside his mouth, widening her lips.
    The sensation of getting lost in her kiss grew, and it felt as though that was all he could think about, her there, and him here, and them kissing. At that moment, he couldn’t say he wanted anything more.
    Well, he did—he was a man, after all—and if this was all it ever was, it would be enough.
    But he did want more, he had to admit.
    Which was why he was the one to eventually draw back, knowing if he didn’t that he would reach the point of no return, and he didn’t want her first kiss to be also her first other things.
    Well, he did, he was a man, after all, but it wouldn’t be right.
    All of which meant that he was entirely and thoroughly befuddled.
    “How was it?” He had to ask; he was a—well, damn it, he knew what he was.
    Her eyes were soft and dreamy, but held a sensual glint that made his breath catch. “It was excellent.” Her mouth—that mouth he’d just been kissing—twisted into a smirk, as though she were sharing a private joke. With herself. “Delightful. Incredible. Sensational , even. An excellent gift,” she added in a lower voice.
    “All those things, all together?” Jamie leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “Imagine just how stupendous it will be when we do it again.”
    W hen we do it again. Goodness, she wanted to do it again, and she wished she could do it again right now, only that would lead, she well knew, to all sorts of improprieties, improper even if they were actually betrothed and not fakely betrothed.
    Fakely is not a word, Sophronia , her father muttered somewhere inside her head.
    Now is not the time to be offering word critique, Father , she replied.
    “Shall we return to the party?” James glanced over her shoulder. “We’ve been away long enough to miss the music, I believe. Let’s just hope they don’t ask us what books we’ve been reading.”
    She grinned, and turned her head to look at the books on the shelves. “I’ll tell them I read a few husbandry guides, paying particular attention to the Husband Husbandry Guide.”
    He spun and looked at the shelves, his mouth dropping open. “There is no such thing—is there?”
    She burst out laughing at his expression, which was equal parts nonplussed and bemused. She shook her head and patted him on the arm. “No, there is no such thing. Although I imagine if there were such a guide, Mrs. Green would have a say in writing it.”
    “The woman does like to offer pronouncements, doesn’t she?” he replied in a rueful tone.
    “And potential brides. Thank goodness you had the forethought to provide yourself with a betrothed, or else you would be addressing Mrs. Green as Mother.”
    She laughed even more when she saw him shudder.
    “For that, I should buy you two cottages.”
    He took her arm and led her out of the library, the glow of