Chapter 6 #4
Nor any desire to stop him. She would never have allowed the cold, calculating viscount to touch her like this, but this warm-blooded man with his large hands playing over her ribs, her waist, her hips ...
That was another matter entirely. He swept his tongue through her mouth as if he owned her, and eagerly she handed herself over to him.
The sudden sound of voices close by intruded on her senses, shattering her dazed enjoyment and reminding her why she mustn’t do this. Not here, at least. She tore her lips from his. “Lord St. Clair—”
“Ian,” he commanded, the hot need in his gaze confirming he was as swept away as she.
“Ian, someone’s coming,” she warned.
“Let them.” She tried to twist away, but he caught her head roughly, kissing her again with such vigor she almost forgot what she’d been protesting. But when she heard a gasp behind them, she roused herself and shoved him hard.
His grip on her went slack. For a long moment, his gaze locked with hers, eyes glittering hungrily in the darkness. Then his expression grew shuttered, his rapid breathing slowed. He glanced behind her at whomever had caught them.
And a self-satisfied smile spread over his face.
The heat of desire drained out of her at once.
Oh, good Lord. This was the man she knew and hated, the manipulative viscount.
She’d been wrong, horribly wrong. His kiss had only been a stratagem.
Expert philanderer that he was, he’d made her believe it was more, made her believe he was as wrapped in the spell as she.
And all the time he’d merely been using seduction to lull her into embarrassing herself publicly!
Shame spread through her, rapidly replaced by fury. That unconscionable wretch! She slapped him, the crack of her hand on his cheek sounding loudly on the balcony. But it didn’t wipe the gloating expression from his face.
To think that she’d fallen into his trap—and even enjoyed it! She smothered the disappointment in her breast. Then she braced herself and turned to meet their audience.
There stood their hostess, Sara. And with her was the Galleon of Gossip, Lady Brumley herself. Curse him to hell for this!
Trying not to look like a woman who’d wantonly been welcoming a rake’s kisses, Felicity forced an expression of surprise to her face, as if she hadn’t realized they’d been standing there. “Oh, I beg your pardon. Lord St. Clair and I were having a discussion.”
“I see that.” Lady Brumley smiled like a cat who’d fallen into the cream pot.
“And if you’ll excuse us, we wish to continue it,” Ian said behind her. “Privately.”
His passionless tone rubbed salt in the wound. She’d thought he felt passion because he’d made her feel something. Oh, how could she have been so stupid as to fall for one of his tactical maneuvers!
“We wish nothing of the sort,” she said with vehemence.
“Apparently his lordship doesn’t understand the word ‘no.’” Forcing herself to face him, she added, “Good night, Lord St. Clair. I suggest you keep your hands to yourself in the future.” It was an ineffectual attempt to undo the damage, and she knew it.
So did he. “I will if you will,” he mocked, eyes gleaming with triumph.
She couldn’t bear it any longer. Pulling together the shredded rags of her self-respect, she fled through the glass doors into the ballroom.
There were people everywhere, and it felt as if they all watched her. Oh, if only the marble floor would open up and swallow her whole! Keeping her eyes averted from everyone, she hurried through the ballroom. Her body trembled, and tears stung her eyes.
Fool! she chastised herself. Idiot! Ninny! How could she—who knew what sort of man he was—have allowed him to kiss her like that? She wished she could say he’d forced it on her, but she knew better. He’d only needed to caress her to have her swooning in his arms like a foolish schoolgirl!
Long ago, she’d resigned herself to never experiencing passion.
The likelihood that she would marry was small, and she’d balked at the thought of indulging her urges any other way.
But she’d still had them, those aching feelings deep in her belly, especially when she looked at the sultan painting or saw adoring couples.
She’d been primed for Ian’s advances long before she’d met him.
Drat him for guessing her weakness so easily!
Mortification dogged her as she threaded her way through the dancing couples.
She’d played right into his hands! He’d heard Lady Brumley and Sara approaching, yet he’d deliberately continued to kiss her so he could have his revenge and “soil” her “pristine reputation.” He’d no doubt reveled in her silly acquiescence, congratulating himself on making her accept his touch, nay, welcome it!
More tears stung her eyes, and she forced them back, drawing on her anger to keep her from dissolving into weeping as she sought an escape from the ballroom’s prying eyes.
The scoundrel! So he wanted to ruin her reputation, did he?
Well, he’d gone too far. Two could play that game!
She would make that arrogant, unfeeling viscount pay for his presumption and all his dratted tactics, make him regret he’d ever set foot inside the Taylor home!
Ooh, just wait until she wrote her next column!