Page 25 of A Touch Wicked
James began to suspect he was the same. He desired more than this. So much more. He sought a woman with the eyes of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the smile of a sinner.
Her. Only her.
“Oh,” Alexandra said, “you’re such a poor liar, Kent. Come now, tell me.”
He sighed. “There’s nothing to tell, Alexandra.”
“Fine, if you won’t say anything, then I’ll have to pick her out, won’t I? I’m bored.”
James glanced at her, prickling in irritation. “If you’re bored, then find a husband of your own. Surely there are a few desperate gentlemen seeking an heiress to fund repairs to their crumbling estates, whether she’s considered an insane radical or not.”
He tried to hold back a wince at his own words.You’re a cold-hearted bastard, Kent.
Alexandra straightened and her lips thinned. “If you were any other man, I’d slap you for that. What on earth is wrong with you—”
Richard chose that precise moment to join them, his scowl darker than James. “I need a drink,” he said. “Where’s that goddamn waiter?”
Their sister glanced at Richard. “Andyou.Youhave been surly since returning from that house party. Good god, I’m the one dealing with gossip surrounding some newspaper drawing that depicts me as — yes —the literal devil, yet you don’t see me brooding.”
“Shut up, Alexandra,” Richard said, grabbing the flute from James’s hand. He downed the champagne in a single gulp. “For once in your life, stop talking. You’re not the only one with problems.” He was looking over their sister’s shoulder.
James and Alexandra followed his gaze to a woman standing near the perimeter of the ballroom. She was a small and pale, shorter than Alexandra, with wide brown eyes and hair the stark color of copper. When she met Richard’s gaze, she flushed and strode out the door.
“Miss Sheffield,” Alexandra murmured in interest. “I’m rather surprised to see her here; her father usually keeps her close. I heard a rumor years ago that she was promised to the Duke of Kendal.”
“And he’s three decades older than her,” Richard snapped. “I’m aware.”
James had never seen his brother so agitated. Leaning in, he murmured, “If you’ve compromised the damn prime minister’s daughter . . .”
“Oh, sod off, Kent. Just mind your own fucking business for once.”
Richard shoved the champagne flute into a shocked waiter’s hands and stalked off in the direction Miss Sheffield had gone.
“Good god. What wasthatabout?” Alexandra asked James.
A movement in the crowd caught James’s attention. Same height, same build, and perhaps the same dark hair if he were to see it in bright chandelier light. She disappeared into the throng as if she were a specter.
Selene.
James said something to his sister — he’d felt his mouth move — but it might have been random sounds for all the attention he paid. He strode through the crowd with the single intention of finding her, hearing her voice again. At that moment it didn’t matter who she was with; he only needed to see her in the open, without a mask, the mystery lifted. He wanted to see all of her in the light.
There.
She was in a pale pink ballgown, about to walk out onto the terrace. Someone tried to intercept James — a casual acquaintance from his days at Eton — but he murmured some excuse.
He almost called out to her, but tamped down the urge.Selenewas not a name used here. It was spoken in the bed — their temple — where he worshipped on the altar of her body. It was private, intimate, a name whispered in the darkness as he buried himself betwixt her thighs.
James had almost caught up with her, close enough to grasp her arm. But they were in a ballroom, and gentlemen did not touch ladies with whom they were not acquainted. He would already be courting gossip for speaking to her without an introduction.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, directly behind her.
She turned, and James swallowed his next words.
Not her.
Even now, the height seemed wrong. Her body, which had looked like Selene’s from afar, was all the wrong angles. Perfectly lovely, but not his. Not places he’d memorized with his hands, his lips, his tongue. This woman, as lovely as she was, stirred nothing in him. She was not the woman in the mask who had stolen his heart.
Christ. His heart.
