I had been kissed before. Once, to be precise, by the son of one of Lady Huxtable’s bridge partners. We had been thirteen at the time and at a picnic. That time, the kiss had taken me by surprise, too.

But this time was nothing like the last.

To begin with, this kiss lasted much longer. I lost track of time, space, setting, being. Everything save the kiss. His hands were gently cupping my face, exploring the curve of my jaw, his thumbs rough against my skin.

Another difference? The first time I didn’t kiss back.

Lord Windham was the first to break the spell. He pulled back and wiped his mouth. “I am so sorry. That was unforgivable of me. But you are to blame, Miss Delacourt. No woman has ever had the talent of driving me to distraction quite like you.”

He smiled ruefully into my eyes. As if begging me to forgive him. And to forget.

“Still friends?” he asked, offering a hand. I steeled myself and shook his hand with a steady grip.

“Friends,” I said, unable to unclench my teeth despite my best efforts.