9
Beau stood in the center of his bedchamber down the hall from Philippa. He held his breath held as he replayed the kisses that never should have happened, yet he could not bring himself to regret.
His young valet, Freddie, was muttering about the quality of the borrowed shirt that belong to Mr. Craddock. But the valet’s mutterings went ignored as Beau stared bare chested out the windows facing the gardens behind his home. He couldn’t seem to shake the vision of kissing Philippa back out of his head. He’d encouraged the kiss, and the sweetness of it all had left him in a wonderful daze. It was as though he’d glimpsed an endless garden and the sweet smell of an eternal spring had filled him until he became almost drunk upon her kisses.
Had kissing any of his mistresses ever been like th
