Page 15 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“I am afraid I don’t recognize that passage,” she said.
“It is by Alexander Pope. The Rape of the Lock.”
“Oh!”
He twined the strand around one of his long slender fingers. “You are fortunate I have no scissors or I would be tempted to do a little theft myself. Your hair is like spun gold in the moonlight.”
Anne flushed, reaching up to rescue her curl. She was not accustomed to such compliments. Lily would have known some light response to make, Camilla some clever retort. But she was not Lily or Camilla. She was only Anne.
She summoned up her most prim expression. “Is it possible, my lord, for you to hold a conversation with a woman without attempting to flirt with her?”
“I don’t know. I have never tried.”
“I wish you would do so, at least with me.”
“Why? If ever there was a woman in need of a little flirtation, I have a notion it is you.”
“What I need most,” she said sadly, “I fear you cannot give me.”
“Faith, milady! For the heaven you promise me with those lips, I would be more than willing to attempt it.”
“You should not say such things to me.”
“And you should not purse up your mouth that way. It might give a man the notion you want to be kissed.”
“If any man ever tried it,” she said fiercely, “he would fast realize his mistake.”
But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Anne realized the mistake had been hers. A rake like Mandell could regard such a statement as nothing other than a challenge.
Before she could move, he closed the distance between them, slipping his arms about her waist. Anne’s pulse leapt with alarm. She splayed her hands against his chest to hold him at bay.
“You promised. You said for the moment I was safe with you.”
His dark eyes mocked her. “That was then. This is now.”
“You tricked me!”
“Lured you down the garden path? I fear that I did.” He whipped her arms behind her back, pinioning her wrists in a steely grip. “But then you already knew what a reprehensible fellow I am, my virtuous Anne.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. Her struggles were futile as he drew her against him, the softness of her breasts crushed against the unyielding wall of his chest. Beneath his silken garments, she could sense his muscles tensed like iron. The layers of clothing that separated her from his hard masculinity seemed far too flimsy a barrier.
“Why should I not call you virtuous?” he asked. Resting his cheek alongside her temple, he breathed a kiss against her hair. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—” Unable to escape, she tried to remain rigid, but the heat of his mouth caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear, causing her to tremble. “You make it sound like a mockery.”
“Forgive me, but I have never been any great respecter of virtue.” He drew back, and she tensed knowing that he meant to have his kiss.
“Please,” she whispered. His eyes glinted in the darkness. They held no mercy, only a fire that caused her heart to pound with a strange mixture of fear and excitement.
His mouth came down to cover hers. She had steeled herself for one final, furious resistance, but the softness of his lips took her by surprise. She had been braced for something far more hot, ruthless, not this gentle questing, this coaxing caress.
She could not prevent a sigh from escaping her. Her mouth parted slightly beneath his. The pressure of his kiss became more demanding and he eased his tongue between her lips.
Anne stiffened. The shock of a contact more intimate than she had ever known reverberated through her entire body. His mouth teased, tasted, plundered, his tongue mating with hers. Disturbing sensations of heat rushed through her, making her knees grow weak.
She held herself still against him, but deep within some dark secret place in her heart something stirred, just a brief flickering of that passionate part of herself she had learned to deny.
She did not respond to Mandell’s embrace, but briefly, achingly, shamefully, she wanted to. When he released her at last, she was thoroughly shaken.
