Free To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) by Adrienne Basso Page B

did not, well, perhaps the loss of this bet would make an impression upon her brothers as to the fickle nature of gambling.
    And perhaps pigs would learn to fly!
    Meredith sensed a restless shifting behind her, then breathed a sigh when she heard the telltale crunch of a shoe upon the gravel. He was following her!
    Eyes alert, Meredith strolled along the path. The marquess kept silent pace behind her. They did not speak, and she was glad, for she had long since run out of conversation.
    What Meredith sought was privacy, for to be caught in the act of kissing the marquess would be disastrous for them both. A vague recollection of a pretty gazebo tucked away in a secluded area of the lawn had Meredith eagerly scanning the shadows with each step she took.
    She nearly cried out with delight when she at last spied it. Meredith lifted her skirt and trod up the wooden steps of the structure, ducking her head to avoid becoming tangled in the hanging vines. She took a seat on the wicker sofa inside and waited.
    He did not immediately follow her but instead stood outside the open-air gazebo. Through the silence of the still night, Meredith could clearly hear the sound of her own breathing.
    “Tired, Lady Meredith?”
    “A bit.”
    She heard the note of sarcasm in his voice, and oddly understood it. Viewing the situation from his side, Meredith admitted her behavior the entire evening had been somewhat vexing. Mysterious and flirtatious, she had been poking him, jabbing at him, prodding him like a sleeping tiger.
    With each request, each offhanded suggestion she had tweaked his curiosity, then resorted to silence. It was only a matter of time before the beast within him awoke and roared, and Meredith knew she must be prepared to jump out of harm’s way or be devoured.
    The marquess at last climbed the steps to the gazebo and took a few short steps inside. He folded his arms over his chest and glared down at her. Even in the semidarkness she could see his confusion.
    Meredith turned her head and stared out into the darkness. She clasped her hands together tightly, wiggled her fingers free, then clasped them together again.
    “Why are we here, Lady Meredith?”
    “To enjoy the night air, my lord.”
    “I think not.” The marquess lowered his head wearily and moved forward.
    He took a seat on the wicker sofa and Meredith slid over to allow him room. A tension permeated the air. Meredith admonished herself to behave with sensibility and calm, though there was little of that regarding what she was about to do.
    It had been at least a year since she had been kissed. She struggled to remember the subtle approach used by the many men who had wooed her, who had attempted a seduction and received a cool set down for their efforts.
    Sweet, flowery phrases and forceful embraces would hardly work in this instance. What was needed was directness, yet the very idea nearly gave her hives.
    She risked a glance at him. He appeared not to notice, for the marquess gave a small sigh and stretched out his long legs. For a moment she relaxed. All I need to do is wait. Before long he shall lean toward me, pull me into his embrace, and kiss me.
    The notion was equally thrilling and comforting. But then Meredith clearly remembered the subtle nuances of the bet. It must be the spinster who kissed the rake. If that aspect of the wager was not met, she could not claim victory.
    She turned expectantly toward him and her heart lurched. When she had lured him out here, her mind had been fixed on winning that ridiculous bet and proving to herself that she was not a prim and proper spinster. She intended only to steal a hearty, passionate kiss and then flee into the night before the marquess had time to recover his wits.
    But as she gazed at his handsome profile in the semidarkness, she found herself wondering what it would be like to really kiss him, deep and slow and tender, with an intimate coupling of their tongues—to hold nothing back, to surrender