Free Every Time We Kiss by Christie Kelley

While no one had approached him yet, at least here he didn’t feel as if all were talking about him behind their fans.
    His gaze fell upon Lord Somerton, who stood leaning against the wall, watching him. A smirk formed on Somerton’s lips as Matthew ambled toward him.
    “Now, I’m quite certain I have seen it all,” Matthew said with a grin. “A literary salon? There is no gaming here.”
    “I only attended as a favor to a friend,” Somerton replied in a quiet tone.
    “That must be some favor,” Matthew said.
    “You have no idea,” Somerton muttered.
    Before Matthew could reply, a soft cough from behind him stopped him.
    “Lord Blackburn, may I introduce Mrs. Whitmore and her daughter, Susan.”
    Matthew turned to see Lady Elizabeth with two other women in tow. He sketched a bow over each of the ladies’ hands. “It is my pleasure to meet you both.”
    “Perhaps you would do us the honor of escorting us to our seats,” Susan said, only to receive a slight elbow nudge from her mother.
    “I would be honored indeed.” He held out his arm and Mrs. Whitmore clutched it like a lifeline. After leading them the short distance to their chairs, he bowed.
    “Would you do us the honor of sitting with us, my lord?” Mrs. Whitmore asked.
    Matthew glanced around the room until he found Jennette. She frowned but gave him a quick nod in confirmation that Miss Whitmore was indeed the woman. Obviously, Matthew thought, Jennette must not know of Miss Whitmore’s reputation with certain men.
    “That would be lovely, Mrs. Whitmore.”
    He took the chair next to Susan and blew out a breath. While he never minded a good musicale, literary salons tended to bore him to tears. Sitting there, his attention followed Jennette as she took her seat near the front. Not once did she glance at him.
    Why did he care?
    He did not.
    He should be lavishing his interest on Miss Susan Whitmore. But Miss Whitmore, with her light brown hair and amber eyes, didn’t appeal to him. It wasn’t her looks. He’d heard three men boast about how she fell directly into their arms with very little encouragement. When he married, he wanted a woman who would remain faithful.
    As the first author rose to speak about a poem, he felt Miss Whitmore’s leg brush against his. The cloying scent of her perfume circled around him like a vise, choking the breath out of him. He desperately wanted to move to a different seat. Instead, he sat trapped with her for the evening. While he couldn’t be choosy about who would be his wife, he and Miss Whitmore would never suit.
    The program dragged through the evening and as each author spoke, Miss Whitmore’s advances bordered on scandalous. She accidentally skimmed her hand up the side of his thigh. Luckily, no one noticed as her skirts blocked their sight.
    When the program finally came to end, he rose to excuse himself.
    “Lord Blackburn, would you like to take a turn on the terrace with me?” Miss Whitmore asked with a flirtatious smile. “Several other couples will be doing the same.”
    “I’m sorry, but I must speak with someone.” He bowed and walked away. He had no need to talk with anyone, but he did desire a moment alone with no nauseating perfume.
    He slipped out of the room and found the billiard room just down the hall. Closing the door behind him, he breathed in the clean scent of the room. A seat by the lit fireplace beckoned him. He leaned back into the soft leather and let his eyes shut. He really shouldn’t be alone in this room. Miss Whitmore didn’t seem the type of woman who would have any qualms about coming in here.
    The sound of the door opening slowly forced his lids upward. Expecting to see Miss Whitmore, he released a frustrated sigh.
    “Am I disturbing you?”
    “Well, this is a surprise,” he replied.
    “I had to warn you before…” She hadn’t moved from her position against the door.
    “Warn me about what?”
    “Miss Whitmore.” She took two steps closer. “I fear I made