Page 10 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
‘Actually, I find myself overly warm. Perhaps we could step onto the veranda for a bit of air?’ She held her breath. This was the moment. If he refused or escorted her back to the wall where she belonged, her plan would be sunk.
He stiffened against her. ‘I don’t think?—’
‘Just for a moment. I might swoon.’ She tried for ‘breathy desperation’ but feared her tone was closer to ‘forceful command’.
Major General Drake leaned back, narrowing his gaze on her face. ‘You do look flushed.’
‘Of course I’m flushed. Patricia invited so many people to this ridiculous ball, we’re packed in here like pickled herrings.’ It wasn’t a delicate simile. But Millie wasn’t a delicate woman.
Without missing a beat, the major general swooped her in a spin that made her dizzy. It was the flex of his bicep beneath her fingers. The heat from his body seeping past her silk, stays, and chemise. The pressure of his hand on her hip. Her bones melted to jelly.
Jumping junipers!
She needed to get out of his arms and off the dance floor. Immediately. Or she would completely lose the plot. Which was unacceptable. She was seducing the man against his will, not mooning over him like some milksop, for heaven’s sake!
Taking advantage of their position near the French doors, Millie broke free of his dance frame and escaped onto the stone veranda. Hopefully, he followed her.
Or, hopefully, he does not. And then I can abandon this entirely horrendous idea. I shall tell the duchess we must create a new plan. I could always sail to Australia.
The idea of absconding to an island populated by criminals shouldn’t seem safer than seducing the Earl of Tetly. But there it was.
Millie leaned against the balustrade and took a healthy breath of wintry air as she gazed across the grounds. The oak trees were naked of leaves. Their limbs reached into the moonlight like skeletal fingers coated in a light dusting of snow. Frost sparkled over the frozen landscape; a thousand trapped raindrops scattered like diamonds over the manicured lawns. Christmas was still a month away, but a cold snap embraced London reminding Millie that Patricia had promised she would see her married by Yuletide.
Not bloody likely.
Major General Drake approached from behind. For such a large man, he moved with the stealth of a jungle cat. But her senses were attuned to him. She felt his heat warming her back, and she couldn’t bear the vulnerability.
Turning to face him, she leaned against the cold stone. ‘I imagine you will regret this moment for the rest of your life, sir.’
Major General Drake’s light eyebrows drew together, forming a vertical crease above his scarred nose. He took a step closer. ‘What do you mean? Are you quite all right, Miss Millicent?’
Millie’s gaze dipped to his lips. For such a hard man, his mouth was unabashedly sensual, his bottom lip obscenely full. She wondered if he would taste of cloves and smoke.
‘I’m not doing this because I want to. I’m doing this because I must.’ Millie’s voice hummed low and husky in the quiet night. She almost believed herself, if not for the delicious flutter low in her belly calling her a liar. Shewantedto kiss him.
His sense for danger must have engaged because Major General Drake’s entire person hardened.
Fascinating.
A Viking warrior caught in silver moonlight. His aristocratic features bordered on beautiful, save for the savage scar transforming him into something far more dangerous.
If Millie wasn’t committed to her task, she would have turned and fled. She couldn’t possibly seduce such a lethal man. But fear wasn’t causing the tremors throughout her body. Something far more treacherous rushed through her blood, sparking nerve endings long dormant in the tips of her breasts, the apex of her thighs, the soft skin just behind her ear.
‘Miss Millicent, I believe we should return to the ballroom.’
It was now or never. She couldn’t lose her chance at freedom, all for the cost of a kiss.
Millie leapt forward. Gripping Major General Drake around his thick neck, she pulled his head down. It was lucky she was so tall and strong or he would have had time to resist her before she crushed her mouth against his.
3
Someone had drugged his ratafia. He was hallucinating. That was the only explanation for why Millicent Whittenburg was pressing her lush body into his, smashing her lips against his mouth in the world’s most clumsy kiss.
Drake prepared to extricate himself from the woman’s surprisingly warm embrace, but something happened. She softened against him. Her mouth trembled beneath his lips. Her fingers rubbed rhythmically along the knotted cords of his neck. A powerful woman turned devastatingly vulnerable in the space of a heartbeat.
Millicent’s rawness broke him. Need washed through Drake like a rogue wave, sweeping logic from his mind and replacing it with vicious longing. It was an ache so deep, he felt it echo in his bones. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her chest flush against his and revelling in her abundant curves. She was like a feast to his senses after years of starvation. Her soft moan breathed new life into his desire.
He cupped her face, angling her head so he could take control. Instead of plunging deep, he grazed his lips over hers, tasting, testing, savouring the madness and magic.
