Chapter 6 #3
“I’m not, but I have every right to be. You wrote publicly of matters that weren’t your concern.
You asked my friends about my private affairs.
” She missed a step, but he jerked her back into step unceremoniously and danced on.
“And you don’t even have the decency to feel remorse for what you’ve done. ”
“Because I did nothing wrong!”
“Really?” They whirled into candlelight that highlighted his taunting smile. “Then you won’t mind having the situation reversed.”
An uneasy foreboding made her stomach lurch. “What do you mean?”
He bent his head close enough for his lips to brush her ear. “Have you ever been gossiped about, Felicity?”
She froze in his arms. Good Lord. That’s why he’d asked her to dance. She’d been so engrossed in not stumbling all over her feet that she hadn’t cared how closely he held her. Until it was too late.
Glancing around, she noticed for the first time the whispers and looks of interest from the dancers closest to them. No one ever danced the waltz so closely unless they were courting ... or worse.
“Why, you heartless, contemptuous—”
“Careful, my dear,” he whispered smugly, “someone might overhear you. And what would they think?”
“That you’re rude and unconscionably bad-mannered!”
“Or that you’ve drunk too much wine, which is why you’re allowing me such liberties. Or you’re eager to take the place of my supposed mistress. Or any number of unsavory assumptions based on nothing more than my holding you too closely.”
Drat him for being the most logical, devious creature in breeches! “All right,” she grumbled after they’d taken another turn. “You’ve made your point. Now let me go!”
“Oh, I haven’t even begun to make my point,” he murmured in a voice as silky as it was menacing.
Her thundering heart drowned out the ebbing music.
He held her trapped in his arms more effectively than any truss.
To escape him, she’d have to make a scene that half the ballroom would notice, which would only prove his point.
Yes, he would enjoy watching her embarrass herself before so many important people, wouldn’t he?
But what did he mean, I haven’t even begun to make my point? With the next turn, they reached the edge of the crowd, and suddenly she knew. Panic ripped through her as she realized they danced toward the closed French doors leading onto the balcony.
“No,” she whispered, vainly trying to halt their forward movement. But she might as well have been pushing against a mill wheel. Like the mighty river that powered it, he moved inexorably, taking her with him. Willing or no.
Two more deft turns and they were at the doors. He released her hand only long enough to open one.
“I won’t go out there with you alone!” she hissed, but he shoved her through the door and onto the balcony as if she were no more than a rag doll.
Yanking her hand free, she whirled and headed back toward the ballroom. With alarming speed, he stepped between her and escape, shutting the glass door with a click.
Her breath came in puffs of frost, and she shivered. “You can’t mean to keep me out here. It’s freezing, for God’s sake.”
“Take my coat—” he began as he reached for the buttons.
“Don’t you dare!” That was the last thing she wanted, the Viscount St. Clair disrobing in such a private setting.
His unrepentant grin reminded her of her brothers when they were up to mischief. “I’m merely trying to be a gentleman.”
“And failing miserably.” She tried to peer over his shoulder into the ballroom to see if anyone had noticed their retreat, but his great height blocked her view.
Then she cast a furtive glance around the balcony.
Thankfully they were alone. “All right, you have me out here. What do you want from me?”
“That’s simple. I want you to see what it’s like to have your pristine reputation soiled by the unjust ‘speculations’ of gossiping females.” His grin faded abruptly. “Turnabout is fair play, Felicity.”
Why, of all the shameless, obnoxious— “Fair? You don’t know the meaning of the word!
My pristine reputation was achieved by pristine living, and I’m sure you can’t say the same for yourself!
If you don’t like your reputation, don’t blame me!
I was not the one who made it so, you ... you philandering oaf!”
It was the wrong thing to say. He advanced on her, his jaw tightening dangerously.
“Yes, that’s me. A ne’er-do-well who doesn’t deserve to marry any decent woman.
A man whom no woman in her right mind would trust.” He caught her around the waist, tugging her into a close embrace.
Sarcasm heavily laced his voice. “So why should I behave or treat you differently than the thousands of women I’ve debauched! ”
“Why, you cursed—”
He gave her no chance to finish the insult. His mouth came down hard on hers.
It shocked her so utterly that for a moment she did nothing. It had been ages since a man had forced a kiss on her, not since the last time one of father’s patrons had done so.
That had been awful, however. This was not.
It commanded where the other had blustered, enticed where the other had revolted.
Although he took complete charge of her person and showed no concern for propriety, she wasn’t disgusted.
On the contrary, his kiss stirred strange feelings in her belly ...
and lower. The intimacy curled her toes and dissolved her insides into a puddle, which had certainly never happened with any other man.
And to her horror, when he released her and stepped back, she felt an instant of disappointment.
A blush heated her cheeks, angering her. She never blushed, for almost nothing embarrassed her. And to think that this dratted viscount could make her do so ...
“I see I’ve rendered you speechless.” His eyes smoldered as they passed over her face to fasten on her still-burning lips. “I didn’t think that possible.”
She ignored the insult. “Is this how you cow all your enemies?”
“Only the pretty ones.” He arched an eyebrow. “And you don’t look particularly cowed. I must be slipping.”
Desperate to hide her intense and bewildering reaction to his assault, she retorted, “It would take a great deal more than a rude kiss to cow me.”
“Would it really?” A devilish smile touched his lips as he once more clasped her waist. When she arched away, he caught her jaw between his thumb and forefinger to hold it still. “Then I’m certainly willing to oblige.”
She stiffened, prepared to resist this time. But he took her by surprise. His mouth barely brushed hers, a gossamer touch that roused goose-flesh on her arms. Playfully, seductively, he toyed with her lips ... the kiss as tempting as sweets to a starving child.
Until now, she hadn’t known how starving she was.
But his mouth feeding on hers made hunger knot inside her belly, hunger for the unknown, the exotic.
Then he slanted his lips over hers more firmly, and her world tilted.
His fingers traced the line of her jaw in a whispery stroke that left her skin heated and tingling.
Pressing his thumb down on her chin, he opened her mouth beneath his, then plunged his tongue inside.
The sudden intimacy made her stiffen, but he gentled her with his hand, fondled her neck ...
the base of her throat where her pulse beat erratically ...
her bared shoulder. When she relaxed beneath his touch, he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth as if it were a succulent peach he wished to savor.
With each foray of his tongue, he tasted and caressed her so intriguingly she thought it might drive her mad.
She hadn’t expected this of him—this disarming sweetness. Men of his sort didn’t treat women with such consideration, did they?
It tugged her out of herself, because resisting its pull was beyond her.
She’d never known desire could be this intense ...
this sweeping a madness. Only half-conscious of what she did, she clasped his coat lapels and hung onto them for dear life, crushing the superfine in her fists.
She didn’t know when she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the heady richness of his mouth exploring hers, but it didn’t matter.
Forbidden liquor pooled in her belly, hot and luscious and irresistible.
Some instinct made her slip her tongue tentatively into his mouth.
With a groan, he dragged her flush against him, his lips crushing hers.
The tenor of his kiss altered instantly to one edged with the raw energy of possession.
His wretched control had vanished, and that delighted her.
This wasn’t a stratagem anymore—she felt it in her blood, which thrummed and sung beneath the wild passion of his kiss.
Exquisite pleasures danced from her reeling head down to the tips of her frozen toes. She felt engulfed by his heat, by the urgency of his need, by the sheer size of his large frame. Yet strangely she felt no fear.