Page 26 of The Dangerous Love of a Rogue
A small wrought-iron table stood on a paved area among the plants, with a few chairs gathered about it.
Lord Framlington raised their joined hands, brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the back of them. His dark eyes gleamed. ‘May I remove your gloves?’
She nodded.
He freed the button at each wrist, then pulled each fingertip loose before he stripped off one glove then the other. He tossed them onto the table behind him. Beautiful sensations skipped up her arm as his lips pressed on her bare knuckles.
Was everything which felt good wicked?
His lips pressed a light kiss on each of her fingertips.
Her heartbeat stuttered.
When his lips reached her little finger, he sucked the tip gently.
She pulled her hand from his. ‘You should not do this.’
‘You should not be here.’ His voice was deeper than usual. ‘But you are.’ His hands rested on either side of her waist.
She was suddenly aware of the danger she faced. They were a long way from the house. No one would hear her cry out if he forced himself on her.
Her heart raced harder. She held his arms and felt the strength of the muscle beneath his clothes.
‘You do not trust me.’ It was a statement, not a question.
She did not. How could she? ‘I barely know you.’
‘Apart from your brother’s tales.’
She nodded.
The moon struggled to break through the cloud again, and he stood in shadow. What had seemed an enchanted place suddenly felt like a scene from a gothic horror novel.
‘I shan’t hurt you. Don’t heed him. Mary, darling, I want you to be my wife, why would I hurt you?’
‘I… I…’ She struggled to find the words.
His gaze dropped to her lips. She turned her head, so he could not kiss her. He kissed her cheek instead.
A tremor raked her muscles as his lips touched her earlobe, then her neck.
‘Why does John dislike you?’
His head lifted. ‘He sees himself in me. He was not always so saintly. He had an affair with my eldest sister.’
‘No…’
He smiled. ‘Yes. I suppose he never mentions that. He cuckolded Lord Ponsonby, not that I think Ponsonby cared. It was when we were in Paris.’
‘You were in Paris with him…’ His palms felt heavy on her waist.
‘Yes.’
John had spent seven years abroad. She wrote to him, but he had rarely replied and she had been too young to hear much of how he lived. He married Kate soon after his return.
‘If you do not believe me, ask him. I doubt he would lie. A young man’s recklessness is part of life – a part your brother now claims to be above. I am the same as him, beyond my lack of wealth.’
‘But your reputation.’
