He lightly seized the tip of her nipple between his teeth, and she moaned, so eager for more that she pushed her breast into his mouth. That prompted him to use his hand to caress the other breast, going back and forth between them with a hungry growl.
She buried her hands in his thrashed-into-wildness hair, and thrashed it even more as she clung to him, pulled him into her, swayed forward. Just as she felt herself sliding off the wall, he rose to catch her about the waist.
“Careful there, sweetling.” He kissed her deeply once more, but this time too briefly for her liking before he lifted her fully off the wall and set her on the terrace floor. “Forgive me, I went too far. It was wrong of me to—”
“Not one word more.” Already feeling the shift in him from heat to guilt, she pressed her finger to his lips. “I don’t regret it, so why should you?”
“Because we aren’t married.” He attempted to pull her gown into place, but he was making a hash of it, so she took it over. “Because I’m not even free to marry.”
Her hands froze on her bodice. She couldn’t look at him. “You’re engaged to be married?”
“Not exactly, but—”
“But you’re not free.” That meant only one thing—some woman was waiting for him somewhere. She pushed past him. “I have to go. Eliza and Verity will be looking for me.”
“Diana . . .”
“No, I don’t want to hear your excuses.” She hurried away, fighting back tears, struggling to straighten her gown, and praying that no one had seen them.
A pox on the big oaf. She wasn’t about to become involved with a man who’d already made a commitment to another woman. She’d seen how badly it had hurt Mama every time Papa had gone off with his mistress. She couldn’t endure that pain herself. She’d always refused to be some man’s mistress, and that had not changed.
Because being either party in that situation inevitably led to disaster. And the last thing she needed in her life right now was more disaster.