Jacquie ’Alessandro - Confessions at Midnight

She opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue further, when a knock sounded on the door. For several seconds she froze, then with a gasp she pulled away from him, as if he'd burned her, and smoothed her hands over her hair and gown in an agitated gesture.

"You look fine," he assured her, jerking his jacket into place. "Although by 'fine' I actually mean 'perfect.'"

And by God, she did. Perfectly kissed, he decided, as he mentally cursed the interruption. Although, perhaps it had actually come at the ideal time. They'd just shared what he would describe as another extraordinary kiss, and she hadn't had time to raise any objections. Indeed, he should grasp this opportunity to depart and leave her to recall just how incredible their kiss was. And hopefully leave her wanting more.

"Come in," she called.

The door opened and the dour-faced butler who'd shown Daniel in entered bearing a silver salver upon which sat a trio of calling cards. "Visitors to see you, my lady. Lady Walsh, Lady Balsam, and Mrs. Amunsbury. Are you at home?"

Her gaze shifted to Daniel. "I must be going," he said quickly. "I've several appointments scheduled."

She nodded then said to the butler, "You may escort Lord Surbrooke to the foyer, then show the ladies in, Nelson."

"Very good, my lady."

She turned back to Daniel. "Thank you for the honey."

"You're welcome. Will you be attending Lord and Lady Gatesbourne's soiree this evening?" He assumed she would, as their daughter, Lady Julianne, was one of her closest friends.

She hesitated. "I've not yet decided."

And in that instant he knew that he was the reason she wasn't certain if she'd attend. Clearly she didn't know if she wanted to see him again. Her decision whether to attend would reveal a great deal, he decided.

Forcing himself not to touch her, he merely made her a formal bow. "I hope to see you there, my lady. And please remember to take care and not go out alone." He then crossed to the doorway and forced himself to follow Nelson from the room without looking back.

In the foyer, he exchanged greetings with Kimberly, Lady Balsam, and Mrs. Amunsbury, all of whom eyed him curiously.

"And what brings you to Lady Wingate's home?" asked Lady Balsam, brushing away one of her turban's peacock feathers from her cheek.

Daniel forced a smile. The beautiful, haughty countess was one of the most notorious gossips in the ton. "Merely a neighborly visit, as my home is only two doors away. After I heard the shocking news about Lady Crawford's death, I decided to check on Lady Wingate to make certain she was all right."

"Quite the knight in shining armor," said Kimberly, eyeing him with amusement. "Is she all right?"

"I'm happy to report she is fine. And I'm very glad to see all you ladies are fine as well." Curious as to the reason for their visit, as he wasn't aware that any of the ladies were particularly close friends of Carolyn's, he casually asked, "What brings you calling on this lovely day?"

"We were on our way to Regent Street to visit the shops when Lady Walsh suggested we call upon Lady Wingate to see if she'd like to join us," reported Mrs. Amunsbury. She held her nose hoisted so high in the air, Daniel wondered that she didn't regularly tip backward. "We're all so delighted she is getting out in Society again."

"Yet now we must be concerned about a murderer running about," said Lady Balsam with a sniff. Daniel barely refrained from looking toward the ceiling. God forbid anything should have the gall to come between the countess and her visits to the shops. "Terrible business, the murder is," she continued, "but really, whatever was Lady Crawford thinking, lurking about in the mews? Asking for trouble, for a lady to venture there."

Although he agreed, he had no wish to discuss the matter further. After offering the ladies a formal bow, he left. As he made his way down the flagstone steps then the short path leading to the black wrought-iron gate, he pondered Lady Balsam's words and wondered who or what had led Blythe to the mews. Her adventurous spirit wasn't the sort that would lead her to expose herself to unsafe areas. Which could only mean she'd either expected to meet someone in the mews-someone who either hadn't shown up, leaving her at the mercy of whoever killed her-and that person had killed her. Or she hadn't gone into the mews alone, and the companion who accompanied her there killed her. Which meant that the murderer had attended the masquerade. Like everyone else, he could only hope the culprit was quickly caught and brought to justice. And that Rayburn, and especially Mayne, would turn their attention away from him and concentrate on finding the real murderer.

Yet even as the mystery surrounding Blythe's death circled through his mind, deep inside him another question tied him in knots.

Would Carolyn come to the Gatesbourne soiree tonight?

He supposed the answer depended on the other question that he knew would haunt him all day.

Would she be brave enough to admit she wanted him as much as he wanted her?

Holding a glass of lemon flavored punch, Carolyn stood in the drawing room of Lord and Lady Gatesbourne's elegant Grosvenor Square mansion and nodded at whatever Sarah was saying. Her sister had been chatting for several minutes, and while Carolyn felt certain that whatever tale she was relaying was fascinating, she still found her attention wandering. To the very thing she didn't wish to think about.

Lord Surbrooke.

Blast the man. Why couldn't she simply banish him from her thoughts? The fact that he seemed branded in her mind was both confusing and utterly vexing. It was as if her brain had developed a freakish resistance to doing what she wanted it to do-which was to forget everything that had to do with Lord Surbrooke. His crooked smile. His dark blue eyes. His handsome face.

His devouring kiss.

And its devastating effect on her.

Even now, hours after he'd departed her home, heat crept up her spine at the mere thought of the way he'd held her. Touched her. Kissed her. The unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against her, swirling a storm of physical wants and needs through her. Wants and needs that still, in spite of the passage of nearly twelve hours, had not abated one bit. Her skin felt hot and too tight, as if it had been soaked in warm starch.

After she'd declined the kind invitation from Lady Walsh, Lady Balsam, and Mrs. Amunsbury to visit the shops, she'd indulged in a warm bath, hoping to ease her discomfort and relax her mind. She always found a soak in her oversized tub soothing. But not today. No, today her mind had buzzed with images of Lord Surbrooke-naked-approaching the tub. His body sculpted to perfection and perfectly aroused-something he proceeded to make perfect use of. With her. In the tub.

The vivid images had left her in such a state, she'd fled the tub and spent two hours pacing, concluding that she simply couldn't attend tonight's party at Julianne's parents' home. She'd planned to go, had looked forward to spending the evening with Sarah, Julianne, and Emily, but he was going to be there.

I knew it was you the instant I saw you. His words filled her with the most confusing combination of guilt and excitement. She hadn't been able to admit to him that she'd known his identity the instant she saw him. To do so would have forced her to acknowledge out loud that theirs hadn't been a chance, anonymous encounter. Her only protection against him, the things he made her feel, was to feign ignorance. Otherwise that anonymous meeting would be changed into a deliberate choice… a choice to share intimacies with a man who wasn't her husband. Who wasn't Edward. The man she'd loved, still loved.

But Edward is gone, her inner voice whispered.

Yes. And she was alive. Something Lord Surbrooke had made very evident. But how could she deliberately choose to be with another man? A man who wanted them to become lovers.

And that was why she had ultimately decided to attend the party. Because staying away would be tantamount to admitting she wanted to be his lover but was too afraid to say so. Which was untrue. She wasn't afraid to tell him what needed to be said-that she would not, could not, be his lover. And until such time as she could find a private moment to deliver her decision, she'd adopt an air of cool indifference.

Except she couldn't quite manage to find her air of cool indifference.

The fact that even while standing in this crowded, noisy drawing room she couldn't think of anything save sensual images of her and Lord Surbrooke, naked, in a bathtub… well, that didn't bode well at all.

Heat sizzled through her, and she pulled in a deep breath, nodding absently at Sarah while her gaze panned the room. Where was he? Had he decided not to attend the party? She should be glad. She was glad. In fact, she was delighted. She'd come and stood her ground and therefore had won the day, staying true to her convictions. This unwanted attraction for him would quickly fade and she'd regain her sensibilities, which he had somehow managed to sneak beneath her guard to steal. Then she and Lord Surbrooke would return to the casual friendship they'd enjoyed before the masked ball. He was clearly looking for a new bed partner. And, of course, that partner would not be her. She simply couldn't become his lover. She wasn't the sort of woman to engage in an affair, no matter how incredibly he might kiss. And make her yearn.