Page 30 of The Danger of Desire
Not that it mattered. What mattered was keeping Delia out of trouble for a while. And she couldn’t be gambling at Dickson’s if she was at Stoke Towers in Hertfordshire.
Luncheon was nearly finished, and he’d done what he’d come to do. So after a few more moments of polite conversation, during which Delia glared at him rather fetchingly, he told them he regretted that he had more calls to make.
When he rose to leave, Delia stood, too. “I’ll see his lordship out.”
“Why, thank you, dear girl,” her aunt said. “I’m sure he would get lost otherwise.”
Ignoring her aunt’s tart remark, Delia led him from the room. As soon as they were in the hall and out of earshot, she muttered, “That was a dirty trick.”
“You mean like the dirty trick you played last night by dumping a bottle of wine into my lap? You ruined a perfectly good shirt, you know.”
“Is that why you’re tormenting me today? I can pay you for the shirt.”
“I don’t doubt you can. Given the rumors I heard at Dickson’s, you must have acquired a tidy sum by now. You ought to quit before you’re caught.” He shot her a quelling glance.
Judging from her scowl, she wasn’t the least bit quelled. “Is that a threat? If I don’t quit, you’ll tell my aunt?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
She glanced about, saw no one near, and tugged him into the parlor they were passing. “What do I have to do to ensure that you allow me to continue my activities? I’m sure I have something you want.”
He raked his gaze down her fetching form. “Oh, you have plenty I want, but nothing I can have.”
Though she colored at the innuendo, she met his gaze evenly. “That’s not true.” There was a hint of desperation in her tone. “I know you probably don’t find me that pretty, but you did seem to enjoy our kisses in the garden and... well... I would be willing... that is...”
God help him. “I do hope you’re not implying what I think you are,” he clipped out.
Her cheeks shone scarlet now. “I’m just pointing out that if you wanted to, as you put it, ‘satisfy’ your desires ‘without marrying’—”
“I would go to a bloody brothel.” Anger roared up in him that she would even considersellingherself to keep him quiet. Or think him the sort to gleefully accept such an offer. “You may not believe this, but I am a respectable gentleman. I do not blackmail young women into giving me their virtue. Good day, Miss Trevor.”
When he turned for the door, she caught his arm. “It wouldn’t be like that. I’d offer myself freely.”
He glared down at her. “Would you, indeed?” She clearly actually believed that nonsense. Either that, or their dalliance in the garden had filled her head with moonbeams. Time to shatter that delusion.
Giving her no warning, he pushed her against the wall behind the open door and crushed her lips under his. This time he took her mouth with merciless disregard for her stunned response. And when, to his mingled shock and delight, she let him, he went a step further, allowing one hand to roam freely over her lush hips and the other to cover one breast.
Shamelessly he fondled the soft flesh through her gown and reveled, despite himself, in the hardening of her nipple. With his other hand, he pulled her against the growing thickness in his trousers.
Apparentlythathad an effect on her at last. She tore her lips from his and shoved against his chest, her eyes wide and wary. He broke away, his blood racing and his breath coming as hard as hers.
“You’d offer yourself freely,” he growled. “Right.” He bent toward her and she flinched, which annoyed him even though he’d deliberately tried to put her on her guard. “As freely as a sacrificial lamb to the altar. No thank you. I do not need a martyr in my bed. Especially one who would regret what she’d done as soon as it was over.”
She swallowed. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, I would.Because much as I would relish having you beneath me, writhing in the throes of passion, I’m not fool enough to succumb to such temptation when it can only lead straight to a parson’s mousetrap.”
“I am not trying to trap you into marriage,” she protested.
“I know that. But I also know that seduction is a dangerous game, and sometimes the outcome is beyond one’s control.”
“I—I could be discreet.”
“The way you’ve been discreet in the gaming hells?”
Their mouths were a breath apart, and he fought the urge to close that distance, to take her mouth more gently, explore it more thoroughly... throw caution to the winds.
He must have shown the mad urge in his gaze somehow, for her expression turned determined. “We might get along quite well together.” As if to make certain he understood, she added, “In the bed, you know.”
