Lord Libertine

Myself! She straightened and turned to face the intruder in the alcove. He was watching her, one shoulder propped against the wall and a cynical smile curving his deeply sensual mouth. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into her, and she suspected he saw more than he should. Oh, that would never do!

“You find a kiss revolting, sir?” Her question was not an answer, but she hoped he would not pursue one.

“I do not, but your reaction proves different.” He bowed, a mere mocking of manners. “Andrew Hunter at your service, madam.”

She gave him an equally mocking curtsy but did not volunteer her name. What would he say if he knew she’d only had her first kiss a week ago? “My reaction aside, Mr. Hunter, I do like kissing. That is why I do so much of it.” Oh, how smooth her lie was. How convincing.

He grinned as if deriving some satisfaction from her reply. “So, Lady Lace, is that your game? Gathering kisses?”

She was not surprised that he knew her alias. She was well on her way to becoming notorious. She considered lying to him but realized it would be futile. If she was any judge, this man had told enough lies in his life that he would surely recognize hers. “Perhaps I am too countrified, sir, but I am always amazed when I realize the degree to which complete strangers in the city feel they are entitled to the intimate details of one’s life.”

He gave her a slight nod. “I gather I am not the first to inquire into your background. But a name is hardly intimate, madam.”

“There is no need to grant anyone permission to use it, since I do not plan on being long in London.”

He reached out and lifted the domino from her face, dropping it on the console table. “Do I look like the sort of man who needs permission?”

No, he certainly did not. His very presence unnerved her. He was strong and commanding. He was dangerous. He was a man just like the one who had killed Cora. And then she realized what she had to do. She would come to it sooner or later, so it was best to have it over and done with now.

She closed the short distance between them, slipped her arms around his neck and lifted on her toes to reach his mouth. She felt his little shock of surprise in the sudden stiffening of his spine, but when she pressed her lips to his, he softened, wrapping his arms around her and turning with her until her back was pressed to the wall. No escape.

No mercy.

His kiss was consuming and powerful. It was undeniable, making her head swim and her senses reel. And then, when her resistance weakened, it turned coaxing, teasing with little flicks of fire at the edges. Her breasts, flattened to his chest, began tingling and aching, quite unlike anything she’d experienced before. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registered that she was losing herself to this kiss—losing her very will to resist.

Oh, dear Lord, she’d lost control of this situation! She summoned the few senses remaining to her and fought to regain that tenuous hold. Alas, Andrew Hunter had no intention of relinquishing it. His tongue met hers and merged with a hot demand. She wanted to retreat, but there was nowhere for her to go. With the wall at her back and Mr. Hunter at her front, she was trapped as effectively as if she’d been caged. And in another minute, she would crave captivity. She slid her fingers up his neck and stroked the soft wave of dark hair at his nape and arched against him, wanting more of the breathless feelings he elicited.

And then he went still and stiff. He surrendered her mouth with a low growl and reached up to disentangle her arms from around him and turned away. Had she disgusted him?

“You have bewitched me, Lady Lace,” he said as he turned back. “But I prefer to conduct such activities in private.”

She realized that she had somehow wandered from her original purpose, but she didn’t know how. She could only stand there, looking at him, unable to speak.

“Name your price. And please do not disappoint me by asking me what I mean.”

Oh, that much, at least, was clear. She could only hope he thought she was a courtesan rather than a common whore. “I understand, sir, but I fear you have misread me. I am not for sale. Not at any price.”

“Then you are looking for a husband.”

“No.”

“Just as well, my sweet, since no respectable man would marry a woman who’d kissed half his friends and more.”

She gave him a self-deprecating laugh and looked away, wondering if there was another abandoned glass of liquor nearby. “Perhaps the man I am seeking is not respectable.”

“Then you and I are ideally suited, madam, since I am not the least bit respectable.”

She might have thought he was teasing or cajoling, if his tone had not been completely serious. Oh, she could believe him. One could not kiss like that without years of practice and miles of experience. But there was something darker in his voice, something frightening. She glanced back to find him uncomfortably close. She raised one hand to hold him apart.

“No words of affection? No declaration of fidelity or undying love? No pretty manners or promises? What sort of courtship is this, sir?”

“Have I not said you’ve bewitched me? I could tell you lies, Lace, but I hoped you were not the sort to require such twaddle. How could I love you when I barely know you? How could I swear fidelity when we will both be on to the next lover as soon as our affair palls? But if that is what you need, I shall give it to you, though be warned—I won’t mean a word of it, and I won’t have you crying ‘foul’ afterward.”

He was honest, at least. Of the four similar proposals she’d garnered, not one of them had been honest enough to tell the truth. “N-nevertheless, Mr. Hunter. I am not for sale.”

“If not money or marriage, name your terms.”

Searching for words, she shrugged. “When…when I know them, sir, I shall tell you.”

“Please do. When I want something, I am not a very patient man.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

He grinned, bowed and took his leave. When he was halfway across the ballroom, he turned to look at her again. She could feel his gaze sweep her from head to toe. His admiration was clear, but the open sexuality of his gaze unnerved her.

She glanced at her domino on the console table. How would she ever hold him at bay? She had better find her quarry soon.

Lady Lace. Ah, yes. This was going to be interesting. How long had it been since a woman had denied him? Well, that sort of woman, at any rate.

Andrew took his hat and walking stick from the footman at the door and stepped into the darkened street. The distance to Whitcombe Cemetery was scarcely twenty minutes, and he waved a coach away, deciding the exercise would expend a measure of his restless energy.

And banish the memory of the most remarkable kiss he’d ever indulged.

To be kissed in so sudden and forward a manner, to be consumed by that kiss to the point of instant and painful arousal, was unprecedented for him.

Lady Lace was definitely a witch. That kiss—how had she known the very thing that would set him back on his heels and make him lose his self-possession? And how had she managed to accomplish the very thing no woman ever had—meet him on his own terms, without demurring or pretense?

How had he thought her drab at first sight? Lace definitely improved with proximity. At close hand, she was perfectly proportioned. Her breasts were soft and ample enough to burn their impression against his chest. And her hair was not dull at all, but alive with multicolored strands of chocolate, chestnut, caramel and copper. And her eyes—the most soulful greenish hazel he’d ever seen. But her mouth—dear Lord—that mouth! It was all his favorites wrapped into one. The hint of a saucy lilt in her voice and the soft, lush lips accented by a small mole above one corner beckoned him. Straight, even teeth and a sweet, almost shy, tongue replete with intoxicating brew completed the spell.

Ah, but what could he do about her? Clearly, she had her own plan. Just as clearly, he was not a part of it. But that knowledge did not satisfy his lust for her or engender any soft romantic notions in him. He wanted her, and he fully intended to have her.

He felt his blood rising again and quickened his pace. He hadn’t intended to go to the witches’ Sabbath tonight, but now he felt the need to slake an indefinable thirst for excitement and fulfillment. Aye, he’d go to meet Henley and the others and they’d find sin of some sort.

Isabella closed the door of the rented town house on James Street and braced herself. As awful as the night had been, coming home to the guilt and pain was worse. She dropped her cloak where she stood, kicked her slippers off and tiptoed into the salon. A soft sigh from the sofa told her that Eugenia had waited up for her.

Her sister sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Bella?”

“Gina, I told you not to wait up. Go along to bed, dear. Mama will need you in the morning.” She went to the sideboard and poured herself a small glass of port to help her sleep.

“She’s had a bad night, Bella. She’ll sleep late. But she may want to see you tomorrow.”

Isabella gave her sister a sad smile. How dear of Gina to hold out that hope. In truth, their mother was the sort who needed to fix the blame for any disaster on anyone but herself. This time it was Bella’s turn to be the scapegoat.

And the awful truth was that Bella blamed herself, too. If only she’d paid more attention to Cora’s absences. A short walk in the park, indeed! Her sister had been meeting a murderer. If only she’d gone with Cora. If only she’d raised an alarm sooner when Cora had been late coming home.

“Mr. Franklin came by at suppertime,” Gina said. “He wants to know if we intend to honor the lease through September. I did not know what to tell him.”

A lump formed in Isabella’s throat and she sighed. “If I am gone next time he comes, tell him yes. We cannot leave London until Mama is well enough to travel, but that may not be for a while. Nevertheless, we shall pay, even if we leave the place vacant. Mama signed the contract, and we shall honor it.’ Tisn’t as if we are destitute.”