Page 121 of The Favourite

“It’s your fault,” he insisted. “It’s all your fault. You made me do it. You make me weak.” He was pressing open-mouthed kisses along her neck. “We have to stop this,” he said shakily. “We have to stop right now.”

“Yes, we do,” she agreed insincerely, passing her arms about his shoulders and pressing her mouth to his. He wasn’t resisting at all. His lips parted over her own and she knew what he was asking for. Fortunately, prim Jane had fainted into a heap at this point, so bold Jane swept her tongue into Viscount Bardulf’s mouth and felt him shudder in her arms.

Closing her eyes tight, Jane kissed him with all the tender lasciviousness he had inspired in her, which was a lot, apparently. She let her hands slide up his neck and into his hair. Her kiss was utterly shameless. It was hot and wet and needy, and Jane’s heart felt like it was pounding out of her chest.

She was tugging at his hair and whimpering into his mouth before she came to her senses and drew back. Alisander’s arms tightened around her, and she felt herself lifted in his arms.

“No,” he groaned as she started to pull back. “No, don’t stop, Jane. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll die if you stop.”

Obligingly, she wrapped her arms back around his neck. “Where are we—?”

“Bedchamber,” he said tersely, taking her mouth again. They exited the sitting room and made their way haphazardly down the corridor before Jane found herself pushed up against a wall and thoroughly kissed.

Jane opened an eye. This was not the bedchamber. They had not made it that far. In fact, she found it was the bedchamber door she was shoved against. Reaching back, she groped for the door latch, and after a moment, she managed to tip the lever and the door swung inward.

They practically fell inside. “Fuck,” Alisander wheezed, slamming it shut behind them with his foot. They collapsed onto the bed, and he started bunching up her skirts.

Jane did not do a damn thing to discourage him. In fact, quite the contrary. In the aftermath, Jane hid her hot face against his chest.

“Oh gods, Jane,” he sighed. “You can do that to me again anytime you like.”

“I?” She was too out of puff to be really indignant, but she gave it a good shot in any case.

He grinned and passed an arm about her shoulders, lying back with a satisfied smile. “What a little whirlwind you are Jane,” he murmured. “I do so like it when you blow a gale. See how relaxed you are now? Did I not say I would soothe you?”

Jane lifted her head. “Soothe me?” she repeated. “You have a very odd notion of how soothing works. Perhaps, you have confused the word’s meaning with ‘swiving.’”

He gave a burst of laughter. “You are growing so bold of speech of late,” he mused. “To think, I used to think you so mealy-mouthed.”

“I am still mealy-mouthed.”

“No, Jane, no,” he corrected her firmly. “A mealy-mouthed woman would never mention her husband swiving her.”

“I did not actually—” she started to protest.

“And to think,” he sighed, “in my imaginings, your bedchamber etiquette was always so polite. I thought you would climax with a hiccup and a beg your pardon,” he teased.

Jane gasped. “Alisander!” This was too much. Then a thought occurred to her. “I do not believe you in any case. You said you wanted to see me burst. I didn’t know what you meant at first. I do now though.”

He nodded, quite unabashed. “You are right, of course. I always knew you would be a sight to behold.” He regarded her a moment. “Maybe you’re right; maybe I did return early in the hopes you might drag me to bed.”

Jane’s heart thudded. She lifted her head to look at him. It was so disquieting when he did this and switched on her, especially when she felt vulnerable. This was definitely Viscount Bardulf right now, and he could still discompose her badly when he was like this. “You should be careful,” she said faintly, deciding to test him. “Rushing back like that. Lest people start to think you really have fallen victim to my charms.”

Instead of denying it, Viscount Bardulf’s eyes rolled upward, and he seemed to give her words some serious thought. Jane held her breath, just watching him. “It might be a little too late for caution,” he said wryly. “Lord Vawdrey already thinks I am half in love with you,” he concluded with a shrug. “He has done so for weeks.”

Jane’s breath quickened. “Lord Vawdrey? But why would he think such a thing?”

He pursed his lips. “Probably because I rhapsodized about your virtues in front of him one time.”

Jane gazed at him. He was being sarcastic, of course. Wasn’t he? “And by that,” she said lightly, “I suppose you mean you damned me with a lot of faint praise and barbed comments?” Please deny it, she thought. Let him have been in earnest for once.

His smile broadened. “We really do know each other very well; you have to admit.”

To her horror, Jane felt herself grow choked. She had known, he must have been insulting her, of course. And she had not, even for a moment, entertained the idea that his words could have contained so much as a grain of truth. Why, then, was she struggling now not to cry?

“Jane?” He sounded concerned.

“It is nothing,” she choked. “I am just suddenly rather tired.”