Alicia broke off when something flashed in his eyes— an expression so vibrant, so powerful, even as fleeting as it was, the glimpse distracted her.

In the same moment, he reached for her; hands sliding around her waist, he drew her to him. Against him. Into his arms as he bent his head.

“The reason I’m doing this…”

The words washed over her lips, suddenly hungry; for a second, their gazes touched, locked, then his lids fell. She felt his gaze on her lips.

“Ought to be obvious.”

Deep, low, the words sank into her brain as his lips covered hers, and he sank into her mouth. Claimed her attention, then sent it spinning, fractured, dispersed. Called her senses, drew them to him, then trapped them, held them enthralled.

She kissed him back, found herself mentally floating as the slow, drugging kisses took their toll. Sinking her fingers into his shoulders, she tried to hang onto her wits, to some degree of control, but steadily, inexorably, implacable and irresistible, he drew it from her grasp.

Then he drew her hard against him, locked her body to his, and the flames and the magic flared.

It had to be magic, that surge of sensation, the giddy delight, the anticipation streaking down her nerves, tingling, tightening so that the need to sate it was suddenly more important than breathing, far more important than any consideration of social strictures.

His hands spread over her back, stroked possessively down the long planes, curving over her hips to close proprietorially over her bottom, provocatively kneading, then boldly caressing. Hot as a flame, heat spread beneath her skin; a deep-seated yearning flowered in its wake.

Then he angled his head and ravaged her mouth, took more, demanded more. Unhesitatingly she followed him deeper into the exchange, encouraging and enjoying the ever more intimate melding of their mouths.

The first inkling she had that he’d opened her bodice was the slithering caress of her silk chemise as, loosened, it slipped down, helped by his long fingers. And then those fingers were on her skin, and she lost touch with the world.

And plunged into another.

Into a realm where sensation and emotions were the only reality, where touches and caresses formed the language, with needs, wants, and desires the only goals. Every slow, possessive caress heightened her need, made her want with an ever greater certainty fueled by escalating, burgeoning desire. Yet that desire seemed entwined with his, with him, with his obvious reason. With what she sensed, in her bones knew, he wanted.

Their lips parted; from under heavy lids, their gazes met, held as his fingers moved on her, upon her, drawing whorls of flame on her skin, tightening her nerves to an excruciating degree. Unable to bear it, she closed her eyes, with a soft gasp let her head fall back. Felt him bend near, felt his lips on her throat, sliding down to fasten over her thudding pulse.

His hands shifted; her gown slid over her shoulders, then cool air caressed her heated skin. The bared skin he set his lips to tracing, with flicking licks and long trailing laves teasing, the hot, wet promise of his mouth withheld…as the fever built, as some need within her grew, and grew… until she moaned.

The sound, soft, nearly suppressed, surprised her, but through the hands at her waist holding her, supporting her, she sensed his satisfaction. A wholly male triumph that he crowned by closing his mouth—every bit as hot and wet as she’d imagined—over the taut, aching peak of one breast.

She tensed, her nerves clenched, not with rejection but delight. Her hands slid through his hair, tightened on his skull as he swirled his tongue about the ruched peak, then sucked gently. Sensation, pure and elemental, streaked through her, racing through her body to pool deep and low, a warming glow within her.

Cracking open her lids, she looked down. Watched as he feasted on her bounty—and wondered at her reaction. Some part of her was shocked, yet she couldn’t, even now, summon any will to refuse him, deny him—to push him away. She couldn’t tense her muscles, couldn’t break the spell. She didn’t want to, couldn’t pretend. Could only watch, feel, learn, and experience.

Something new, something novel, something she’d never felt before.

Tony sensed her fascination and was content. For now. He knew her acquiescence was not, yet, freely given; he could draw her into such sensual exchanges, but she did not, yet, seek them of her own accord.

That was what he wanted. Needed. For her to want him as he wanted her.

Overwhelming her natural resistance, taking over, controlling her—for one of his talents, that wasn’t all that hard. For him, the challenge lay deeper, in making her come to him, making her desire him enough to set aside her reserve and actively seek to be intimate with him.

Only by that route would he gain the surrender he sought, the complete and conscious giving that, for one of his nature, was the ultimate prize.

He raised his head; their gazes briefly touched, then he covered her lips, and took her mouth again. In a slow, thorough, leisurely engagement that left them both starved of breath.

Gradually, he drew back. Her breasts were swollen, tight beneath his hands; her skin felt like hot satin beneath his fingertips. He kept his lips on hers as he searched for and found the top edge of her chemise, and drew it up, tugging the drawstring so it tightened and held.

She stirred in his arms. He ended the kiss and lifted his head. Their eyes met for an instant, then she looked down; drawing her hands from his shoulders, she resettled and retied the chemise, then, a blush tinting her cheeks, she rapidly did up the buttons of her bodice.

He couldn’t keep his lips straight when she glanced at him; his satisfaction was too deep to hide.

She saw it, read it; a frown in her eyes, she waved him to the door.

Smiling, he turned, glancing at her as she fell in beside him. Before the door, he halted, caught her eye as she looked up. “I’ll send Maggs this afternoon.”

She blinked at him. “Maggs?”

“The footman.”

“Ah.” She drew herself up, nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

He grinned, ducked his head, and kissed her—stole one last kiss from her luscious lips—then straightened and met her eyes, green and slightly dazed. “I’ll see myself out.”

He managed to suppress a smirk; feeling positively virtuous, he opened the door, gracefully saluted her, then closed it.

Alicia stared at the panels. Beyond them, she heard his footsteps recede, then the front door opened, and shut.

He was gone.

Reason and logic returned in a flood; the last minutes—however many minutes it had been—replayed in her mind.

Her increasingly horrified mind.

Her lips still throbbed, her skin still tingled, her breasts… she could still feel the sensation of his mouth moving over them…

With a groan, she closed her eyes and slumped against the door.

What was she going to do?




SEVEN

“MY DEAR MRS. CARRINGTON, MAY I PRESENT SIR Freddie Caudel?”

Lady Hertford beamed at Alicia, who divined that gaining Sir Freddie’s notice was something of a coup. She extended her hand with a polite murmur.

Sir Freddie took her fingers and bowed gracefully. A gentleman in his middle years, he was handsome in a quiet, patrician way.

Alicia smiled. In a few short minutes, she established that Sir Freddie was a scion of an old and ancient house and consequently socially prominent, held a political post in the government, possessed a degree of polish and address to which younger men could only aspire, and was on the lookout for a wellborn, beautiful, and young bride.

Not surprisingly, Adriana had caught his eye.

Alicia hestitated, wondering if she should, in all compassion, nip Sir Freddie’s aspirations in the bud; from all she could see, Adriana was fast losing her heart to Geoffrey Manningham.

Sir Freddie had followed her gaze to where Adriana stood by Lord Manningham’s side. “I realize, of course, that youth and beauty go hand in hand, yet often you ladies have a remarkably discerning eye.”

Alicia met Sir Freddie’s blue eyes, guileless and amused. Geoffrey might be younger, yet Sir Freddie was undeniably distinguished, and his manners, while absolutely correct, had an ease about them, a comfortable confidence deriving from years of moving in the first circles.

Sir Freddie might give Geoffrey a run for his money.

More particularly for Adriana’s heart, which her hand would follow.

Lips curving, Alicia inclined her head. “If you wish to join my sister’s circle, I have no objection.” She seriously doubted Sir Freddie would succeed, but there was no harm in him attempting to upset Manningham’s applecart.

Sir Freddie offered his arm. “If you would introduce me?”

Placing her fingers on his sleeve, Alicia allowed him to lead her to Adriana’s side.

Adriana was, as always, polite to anyone who sought her attention. Introduction completed, Alicia withdrew, rejoining Lady Hertford at the side of the room.

“He’s very highly thought of,” her ladyship whispered.

“Marcus tells me he can be quite stiff-rumped on occasion, but always the true gentleman.” Adriana drew Miss Tiverton into the conversation with Sir Freddie; Lady Hertford smiled delightedly. “Such a sweet girl, your sister. Who knows? If Sir Freddie doesn’t fix her interest, perhaps he’ll look at Helen. Of course, there’s his age, but when men of his stamp look to take a wife, one can at least be sure they’re in earnest. And his estates are quite respectable, I believe—they’ve been in the family for generations.”