Free Summer Is for Lovers by Jennifer McQuiston Page B

life ensuring enough distance between himself and anything or anyone breakable, that he didn’t quite know what to do. She felt like live powder in his palms, while he was flintlock and frizzen.
    He offered her a self-deprecating chuckle meant to soothe any wounded feelings his abruptness had caused. “It is just—”
    A spear of light interrupted his explanation as the terrace doors were wrenched open. Someone had relit the candles in the parlor, and David blinked against the offending brightness.
    Caroline stood every bit as frozen by the sharp light of discovery. She was staring at him. Or more correctly, she was staring at his mouth, her eyes wide.
    The moment shifted, twisting from something pleasant and poignant to something terrible. A cry escaped her lips, so low as to be almost inaudible. Those ever-changing hazel eyes narrowed, and then she gave a hard shove against his chest, a push powerful enough to send him stumbling backward on the flagstone tiles.
    “Caroline, wait—”
    But it was too late. She marched inside, her head held high, the crowd of curious onlookers parting before her like some great biblical sea. She grabbed her sister by the arm, and this time was successful in hauling the girl to her feet. David stumbled inside, determined to speak with her, desperate to know why she was so upset. But she brushed past him, the open terrace doors providing the easiest escape possible.
    He came to realize the room was engulfed in silence. Finally, someone cleared his throat. “How did it go then, Cameron?”
    David fixed the inquirer with a stern glare. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
    Mr. Dermott snorted with laughter, a harsh, mean-spirited sound. “Oh come on, it’s just a bit of good sport. We all want to know. Was it like kissing a boy for you too? Took a bloody impressive wager to get me to kiss her, I can tell you.”
    The snickers he had detected earlier from the crowd returned, growing in volume and meaning. Clarity descended, swift and unfortunate. Young men were infamous for such wagers. During his years at Cambridge, he had been little different, having once wagered—and lost—an entire month’s allowance on the outcome of a race between two very uncooperative snails. He had no idea why young men did such things. Perhaps it was because their brains were not yet fully formed.
    Or because their cocks unfortunately were.
    No matter the reason, men of a certain age were undeniable idiots. They hurt people for no reason other than their own sport or their own selfish, shortsighted needs.
    He ought to know.
    In that moment, David understood who among this crowd had convinced Caroline of her inadequacy. And he was tempted to reach his hand down Dermott’s throat, just for the privilege of ripping out his vocal cords.
    The man was an utter fool. While David might not have felt attraction for Caroline, at least not in the strictest sense of the word, she had definitely felt feminine during those scant moments in his arms, both in the softness of her lips and the breathy sighs that had escaped her. And no matter his limited corporeal reaction to the two-minute interlude on the terrace, no matter his resolve to not become involved, his emotional response to the crowd’s taunts was undeniable. He wanted to protect Caroline from the likes of all the Brandon Dermotts in the world.
    And he knew of only one way to turn the tide of speculation.
    He raised a brow, sweeping the crowd with a lingering gaze. Dermott and his followers were like inexperienced pups, panting their exuberance and wagging their tails when they had no true notion of how to please a woman. David might be lacking any capacity for true love, but he had brought plenty of women to completion since he had been their same regrettable age. He almost felt a little sorry for the female faction here tonight, with only young men like Mr. Dermott to show them how it was done.
    “It was not in the least like kissing a boy,” he said