Page 6 of My Kind of Scoundel
As her life depended upon bringing a swift end to this game, the time for honesty was nigh. “You have many fine qualities, Mr Chance.” Her heart had melted upon hearing the loving things he had said to his sister, Delphine. He would die to protect his family. Both were attractive attributes. “I may have admired your countenance, but that was before you stole my box. You’re like a fine wine that proves disappointing on the palate.”
“If you want it back, you’ll kiss me. I believe you’ll have a different opinion when you do.”
Eleanor stared at the face that made women swoon. Could she trust Mr Chance to keep his word? Did she want to kiss her tormentor? In all fairness, he was unaware of the dangers she faced. He didn’t know the heavy price she must pay for being part of his foolish game.
“And you will keep your word?” she said.
“I will tell you exactly where you can find the box. It is up to you to retrieve it.” Aware the viscount was fast approaching, he added, “It’s now or never, Miss Darrow.”
Her heart skittered. Lady Lucille was a prestigious client. One she would likely lose after this debacle, but living to see another day was more important than filling the coffers. The ladies of thetonwere fickle.One exquisite design would have them swarming to the shop like bees to blossom.
“Very well. One kiss. That is all.”
Mr Chance grinned like his horse had won the Derby. He moistened his lips. “Close your eyes, Miss Darrow. Remember, I shall be in your debt if you make it look authentic.”
There was no time to reconsider.
Theodore Chance captured her chin and slanted his lips over hers in a kiss that proved quite shocking. It wasn’t a rough, carnal mating of mouths. It wasn’t a prelude to something salacious. It was soft and slow and tender. A heart-stopping kiss that sang to a lady’s soul, not her senses. A thief’s caress.
He robbed the air from her lungs. He pilfered her hopes and dreams and replaced them with ones in his own image. He stole every wicked misconception she had ever had about him.
Then he pulled away, taking a tiny part of her with him.
Their eyes met.
“You seem surprised, Miss Darrow.” His gaze lingered on her lips as if he yearned to reclaim them. “What were you expecting?”
She had expected to be mauled by a selfish scoundrel.
She had expected a libertine’s lewd advances.
She had hoped to feel disgusted, not moved and utterly intrigued.
“Now I know why you bear the King of Hearts moniker,” she said. Beneath his formidable exterior lay a beautiful fusion of gentleness and strength. “Once a lady has kissed you, no other suitor would suffice.”
Before he could reply, Viscount Wrotham interrupted their intimate interlude. “Why in blazes are you lingering outside my box, Chance?” Despite his attempt at annoyance, a note of unease tinged the viscount’s tone.
Mr Chance ignored him and continued gazing at Eleanor’s lips. “You’re not without skill yourself, Miss Darrow. Despite your obvious inexperience, a fiery passion simmers within.”
Lord Wrotham cleared his throat. “I say, this isn’t a bordello. Take your fornicating to the alleys of Covent Garden.”
“I’m glad you approve, sir.” Eleanor leaned into Mr Chance’s hard chest and whispered, “Once we’re rid of our audience, you will keep your word and give me back my sewing box.”
“I confess, I find your presence here quite disturbing, Miss Darrow,” Lady Lucille stated, her cheeks flushed with a fiery rage reminiscent of the rubies dangling from her earlobes. “Tell me, how does a woman of your occupation find time for frivolity?”
“A woman can always find time for love, my lady.”
The comment earned Eleanor a wink from Theodore Chance.
“Some ladies prefer the chill of jewels around their necks to the fervent caress of a passionate man’s lips,” Theo said.
The viscount nudged his maternal aunt, Mrs Dunwoody,a matron of some import. “We know what sort of woman prefers the latter.”
Mr Chance turned so quickly the weasel-faced lord stumbled back. “Insult my betrothed again, Wrotham, and you’ll face me at dawn.”
Eleanor fought to stifle a gasp.
His betrothed?
