Page 36 of The Paid Companion

“What do you mean?”

“You said he was a young man with no family. Is there, perhaps, a sweetheart in the picture?”

Arthur raised his half-finished brandy in a deliberate toast. “An excellent notion, Miss Lodge. Now that you mention it, I recall a certain young maid in my great-uncle’s household who seemed quite fond of Watt. I will interview her first thing tomorrow.”

She relaxed slightly. He seemed pleased now. Perhaps he would not let her go after all.

Arthur came away from the desk and went to stand in front of the fire. The flickering light of the flames made the brandy in his faceted glass glow like a liquid jewel.

“I had a hunch that talking to you might help me clarify my own thoughts,” he said after a moment. “Thank you for your observations and comments.”

His praise warmed her more than the fire. She felt herself blush slightly. “I hope you will find them useful. I wish you good luck, sir.”

“Thank you. I will no doubt need it.” He continued to study the flames as though seeking answers or, perhaps, insight. “Now we come to the second subject that I wish to discuss tonight.”

She braced herself. “Yes, my lord?”

“That kiss in the gardens this evening.”

She gripped the brandy glass. “The lady’s comments about our relationship made me think that she did not believe that we are, indeed, engaged, sir. It occurred to me that if word got around that ours is a love match, the Polite World might be more inclined to accept our little fiction.”

“It was a very clever move on your part,” he said. “I congratulate you on your quick thinking.”

Enormously relieved, she took a quick, tiny sip of the brandy.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, trying to sound professional and competent. “I did my best to make my performance realistic.”

He turned around to look at her with eyes that reflected the heat of the fire. Something deep within her tightened once more, just as it had earlier in the gardens when he had returned her kiss.

A dangerous, seductive excitement crackled invisibly in the air between them. She sensed that he was as affected by the strong passions echoing around them as she was herself. The brandy glass in her hand trembled.

“You certainly achieved your objective.” He set his own glass on the mantel and started toward her with a slow, deliberate stride. His eyes never left hers. “In fact, I was so caught up in the moment that I wondered if, perhaps, you were not merely acting.”

She tried, but she could not think of a single intelligent thing to say in response to that observation. She sat there, frozen in place on the edge of the sofa, and watched him close the space between them.

He stopped directly in front of her and gently removed the brandy glass from her fingers. He put it down on the table without taking his gaze off her face.

His hands closed over her shoulders. He brought her to her feet.

“Was it all pretense?” He drew his thumb across her parted lips. “Are you that good an actress, Miss Lodge?”

The velvety rasp of his fingertip on her mouth stole her breath. The small caress was exquisitely intimate. She ached with the need for more of his touch.

Words failed her. A good actress could lie through her teeth when called upon to do so, she reminded herself. But for some peculiar reason she could not summon the denial she knew she should issue.

Instead, she touched the tip of her tongue to the edge of his thumb. The texture of his skin sent a delicious little shiver through her.

Arthur smiled slowly. Elenora flushed. She could not believe that she had done that with her tongue. Where had the urge to taste him come from? she wondered, a little panicked.

“I think that answers my question.” Arthur wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck and lowered his mouth until his lips hovered just above hers. “I must confess that I was not acting either, this evening out there in the gardens.”

“Arthur.”

He kissed her as though savoring some forbidden elixir. But she was the one who was sampling the unknown tonight, she thought. Feverish thrills raced through her, leaving her hot and cold and strangely euphoric. She clamped her fingers around his shoulders and clung for dear life.

He took her clutching fingers as an invitation and deepened the kiss. When she felt his tongue slide along her lower lip she was startled, but she did not pull back.

This was that stimulating pleasure that her grandmother had told her could be found in the arms of the right man. What she had felt when Jeremy Clyde had kissed her had been only a shallow brook compared to this raging waterfall of sensation.

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