Page 53 of A Rogue's Rules for Seduction
“There’s to be a theme?” Willa asked, rising from her desk and approaching the trunk cautiously.
“Saucy scenes from history,” Longbridge exclaimed with cheer.
Willa took an immediate step backward.
“Andweare to act these scenes out,” Dom surmised.
“Precisely.” Their host beamed.
Standing, Dom snapped his book shut. “My thanks,but I’ll be in the audience.” There was no bloody way he would clomp around onstage, awkwardly stammering lines, appearing like the veriest oaf.
“The same for myself,” Willa added. She cast him a curious, cautious glance, as she had been doing all day.
If she was afraid he’d tell somebody about the fact that they’d done more than walk on the beach, she was dead wrong. As if he’d blab toanyonewhat an agonizing ecstasy it had been to kiss her again, to feel her passion and fire and all the wondrous things that made her Willa. As if he’d give an outsider details about something that was private and intimate, reserved only for himself and her.
And never to be repeated. He had to remember that. He shouldn’t have encouraged her to give in to their attraction when they’d been on the beach last night—regretted it now that he’d had that taste of the passion between them. But damn it, he’dwantedher so badly, and been a selfish, greedy son of a bitch.
No matter how much he was engulfed in flames with desire for her, or that half of him felt as though it was missing because he could not touch her or lavish her with the pleasure she deserved, he couldn’t have her for his own.
Longbridge’s face fell, but Cransley quickly said, “It does sound like an utter delight. I’m in.”
Now grinning, their host tossed the paper swordto Cransley. “You shall be Ares. Who will be your Aphrodite?”
Lady Shipton’s hand went up, and Longbridge handed her a diaphanous gown. Then he pulled out what looked like several gauzy pieces of fabric.
“Who will wear—or remove—the seven veils of Salome?” he asked.
Before Longbridge had even finished his sentence, Celeste had leapt to her feet and snatched the veils from his hand. Naturally, Kieran looked as though he’d been given the keys to a king’s treasure room.
“You know I lose my head to you, love,” he murmured when she returned to the sofa, filmy pieces of fabric in hand.
“Perhaps Iwon’tbe in the audience,” Dom muttered. He’d little desire to see his baby sister dance seductively in front of her drooling husband. What they did in the privacy of their bedchamber was their business, but like hell would Dom watch it play out onstage.
Longbridge returned to the trunk and removed a wig and coat from the previous century.
“Aha! Who shall take the role of Casanova?” their host exclaimed.
Baron Hunsdon stepped forward. “I volunteer.”
Longbridge’s eyes gleamed as he pulled a long cape from out of the trunk. “I have a brilliant idea. I shall play Don Juan, and the scene shall be between the two most infamous libertines, Casanovaand the Spaniard, each attempting to seduce the other.”
The guests broke into another round of applause and Baron Hunsdon appeared extremely pleased by this development.
“Are you certain we cannot inveigle you to participate, Lady Willa?” Longbridge asked. “I’ve many more costumes to choose from—you can be whoever you desire.”
“My thanks,” Willa answered. “I’m happy enough being myself.”
She retreated to the writing desk, as if putting distance between herself and the prospect of acting in a dramatic performance. All day, in truth, she’d been in retreat, speaking seldom to anyone. In his few interactions with her today, she hadn’t ignored him, though when they had exchanged words, she’d been polite but reserved.
As if she, too, tried to figure out what they meant to each other or what their next moves should be.
“Lady Marwood,” Longbridge said, turning to the viscountess. “This is a holiday for you, a playwright of considerable fame, but would you be so kind as to create a few lines for us? Each scene will be extemporaneous, but they’ll be introduced by a narrator. You may play the part yourself, if you so wish it.”
Lady Marwood had been sitting at a small table, playing cards with her husband and Miss Steele. At Longbridge’s request, her mouth curved into a wry smile.
“Come now, my beloved,” the viscount said with a laugh. “Affect disgruntlement all you please but you’re all but slavering at the prospect of flexing your artistic muscles before the distinguished company.”
His wife shot him an even more wry look. “Am I so transparent, Cam?”
