Page 62 of The Rake's Daughter
And now that wretched Milly had broken in on the mostglorious kiss—kisses!—of Izzy’s life, and she wanted to strangle her.
One day, Izzy vowed, she would have the chance to discover where kissing like that could lead to. Because she knew it had been building towardsomething... but what?
He’d taken himself off. She looked around and sighed. There was nothing else to do but put out the last few candles and go to bed.
***
Leo dragged off his shirt and flung it on the floor. He’d walked right into that one. He pulled off his boots and hurled them at the wall, leaving a mark on the new Chinese wallpaper that Matteo was so proud of. The wretched female’s voice rang in his ears.
You’re well and truly compromised now, you know, Izzy.
The glee in her voice, the delight. The triumph.
And dammit, she was right. What the hell had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking at all, that was the problem. The little witch had well and truly caught him in her spell. Talking about his eyes and his lips and his dimple—when he didn’t even have a blasted dimple!
He poured himself a brandy and looked out of the window again. All was in darkness below. As it should have been when he’d looked out earlier.
It was a setup. It had been from the start. Why else would she be extinguishing lanterns alone, and at a ridiculous time of night? Servants did that kind of thing, not young ladies.
Young ladies—hah!
It was obvious to him now. She’d arranged for that harpy with the frills to accost them at the exact right moment. How long had she been lurking outside, waiting and watching while Isobel blasted Burton seduced a gullible blasted fool?
And if that ghastly frill creature had waited longer, where might it have ended?
Against all his intentions he’d let himself get totally carried away. He dragged off his breeches, glanced down at himself—desire unfulfilled—and swallowed his brandy in one gulp.
So much for her pose of being an innocent like her sister. She might not be the woman her father’s letter had described, but she had more of her mother in her than he’d realized. Those soft kisses, the tender caresses—all calculated to drive a man to the edge of madness. An innocent? Hah!
He sloshed more brandy into his glass.
You’re well and truly compromised now, you know, Izzy... well and truly compromised...
He’d always considered himself a man of honor, but he refused to be trapped into marriage. It was just a few kisses, dammit!
Ones thatshehad instigated.
Honesty forced him to retract that thought. He’d wanted it as much as she had. But had she wanted his kisses, or had she been, like all the others, angling for a ring on her finger, a fortune and a title?
As he stared, brooding, into his glass, swirling the dregs of his brandy, the cold realization hardened: that female arriving when she did was too much of a coincidence to swallow.
Chapter Nine
The following morning Izzy lazily drifted to consciousness, reluctant to face the day, luxuriating in the dreamy recollection of the previous night in the summerhouse.
She smiled as she recalled his reactions as she’d pointed out the various signs of his anger: he’d been struggling not to smile. She found it so endearing, the battle between the serious face he usually showed to the world—well, to her and Clarissa, at least—and the man he tried to hide from everyone. She wanted to know more of that man.
And then there was the kiss... kisses.
She shivered deliciously as she recalled each dreamy little sensation. His big hands cupping her face, cradling her as if she were something precious. The way his thumbs caressed her skin, slowly, sending tiny, exquisite ripples through her body.
The controlled power of his body, so close they were touching, but only just. Tantalizing. She’d wanted to move closer, to wrap herself around him.
She stretched langorously, recalling the feel of his mouth over hers, questing lightly. And gentle, so gentle it almost brought tears to her eyes; she felt cherished in a way that she’d never felt before in her life.
Underneath those light, soft kisses she could feel the leashed desire quivering through his big hard body. His restraint both thrilled and frustrated her. She wanted... she didn’t know quite what she wanted. But he did, she could tell. She could feel it in his body, in the way he touched her and the way her body responded to him, like a harp to music.
