The Making of a Gentleman by Shana Galen Page A

dinner.”
    “Yes,” he rasped out. He was not certain what she was speaking of—he wasn’t paying close enough attention—but in his observations, people often nodded and murmured, even when they were not really paying attention.
    His efforts did not go unrewarded. She smiled at him, obviously pleased by what he knew were poor attempts at speech. “Very good. Soon we’ll have you speaking in sentences.” She was wearing some type of blue outer garment, and she pulled it closer around herself now. He was supposed to say something. He could tell by the way she watched him. He did not know what to say, so he stood mute. Feeling like a fool.
    “It’s cooled off quite a bit, so I suppose I had better go inside,” she said, looking past him. He realized she must be looking at the house. “I’ll see you in the morning for another lesson.”
    She started to move away, and he knew he should let her go. He should stand still and allow her to walk inside.
    But he was not going to be able to do that. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and caught her arm. She looked back at him, her face showing surprise but not worry. He thought she should be worried.
    “What is it?” She raised her eyebrows—a sign of interest.
    “Yes?” he rasped out.
    Now she frowned. He had confused her. “Yes…?”
    He grasped her free arm and turned her toward him, pulled her close enough so he could smell her scent and feel the warmth of her body. She was so warm. He wanted to pull her closer.
    “No?” he said, his voice husky and low but less scratchy. She had to know what he wanted now. She was almost in his arms. Armand was painfully aware of how easily he could have her fully in his arms.
    “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” Her voice was low and trembling, but he did not think it was from fear. He narrowed his eyes and studied her face. No, she was definitely not afraid. Should he take that as a yes?
    He wrapped an arm about her body, pulling her hard against him. The sensation was so strong, he almost gasped. Her heat and her softness burned into him. Yet, he did not feel pain. He felt only longing for more. His eyes were on her lips now, and his hand had made its way into her hair. It was thick and soft. He had imagined it might feel warm, like sunlight, but it was cool to his touch.
    He felt its fastenings and wanted to tug them out. He wanted that hair free, but he feared he had gone too far already.
    “I think I know what you’re asking me now,” she said, and her voice sounded different. It was as dark and low as the night closing in around them.
    “Yes. No,” he repeated.
    “Oh, dear. You don’t make this easy. I should not say yes, but—”
    He heard the word he wanted, and that was all it took. He lowered his mouth and touched his lips to hers.
    The feel of her mouth against his was a shock at first. Her lips were so soft and so pliant—not at all what he had expected. He felt he could explore that mouth forever and, acting on instinct, he coaxed her lips open so he could explore further.
    The sound she made in the back of her throat—a low moan—made his heart race and his blood thrum through his veins. He wanted… something. He didn’t even know what he wanted, but his body hungered for it more than it had ever hungered for food or water or companionship in all twelve years of prison.
    And then, quite suddenly, he realized he was hard, hard and straining almost out of his breeches. He wanted to push himself closer to Miss Bennett, to push against her. He struggled for control, grasped it.
    And it was that moment she began to kiss him back. Up until that instant, she had allowed his kisses, but now she returned them—her tongue twining with his, her mouth locked with his, her arms around his neck.
    His blood ran so hot and so heavy he feared he might lose his hard-won control. He was already thinking of pushing her onto the ground and then—what? He knew what he wanted to do next—was uncertain