A hiccup—a squawk—some curious noise came out of her. “Remind me,” she said. “Remind me.” She stepped forward and took hold of his shirtfront and pulled him to her.
There was nothing delicate or refined about this kiss. It was dark and rude and heedless of the world; only him beneath her hands, his hair now clutched in her fingers, his body pressing hers into the wall. She had no interest in anything but this.
“I beg your pardon,” came a horrified voice from behind them. Nell recognized it: Mrs. Hemple, beholding a faux pas of unforgivable proportions.
Simon paid no heed. Nell laughed into his mouth and kissed him harder, while a disgusted snort, followed by the
clip clip clip
of heels, announced Mrs. Hemple’s passage onward.
When, after a minute or more, they finally broke apart, breathing hard, she smiled into his eyes. “I am
going to be a very vulgar wife,” she said. “Terribly,
terribly
vulgar.”
He laughed back at her. “I do hope so,” he said.
Oh ho! She took him by the wrist and pulled him back toward his bedchamber, saying in his ear, “No use in hoping where his lordship can be certain.”