Page 26 of The Dangerous Lord

It was the wrong thing to say. He advanced on her, his jaw tightening dangerously. “Yes, that’s me. A ne’er-do-well who doesn’t deserve to marry any decent woman. A man whom no woman in her right mind would trust.” He caught her around the waist, tugging her into a close embrace. Sarcasm heavily laced his voice. “So why should I behave or treat you differently than the thousands of women I’ve debauched!”

“Why, you cursed⁠—”

He gave her no chance to finish the insult. His mouth came down hard on hers.

It shocked her so utterly that for a moment she did nothing. It had been ages since a man had forced a kiss on her, not since the last time one of father’s patrons had done so.

That had been awful, however. This was not.

It commanded where the other had blustered, enticed where the other had revolted. Although he took complete charge of her person and showed no concern for propriety, she wasn’t disgusted. On the contrary, his kiss stirred strange feelings in her belly ... and lower. The intimacy curled her toes and dissolved her insides into a puddle, which had certainly never happened with any other man. And to her horror, when he released her and stepped back, she felt an instant of disappointment.

A blush heated her cheeks, angering her. She never blushed, for almost nothing embarrassed her. And to think that this dratted viscount could make her do so ...

“I see I’ve rendered you speechless.” His eyes smoldered as they passed over her face to fasten on her still-burning lips. “I didn’t think that possible.”

She ignored the insult. “Is this how you cow all your enemies?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He arched an eyebrow. “And you don’t look particularly cowed. I must be slipping.”

Desperate to hide her intense and bewildering reaction to his assault, she retorted, “It would take a great deal more than a rude kiss to cow me.”

“Would it really?” A devilish smile touched his lips as he once more clasped her waist. When she arched away, he caught her jaw between his thumb and forefinger to hold it still. “Then I’m certainly willing to oblige.”

She stiffened, prepared to resist this time. But he took her by surprise. His mouth barely brushed hers, a gossamer touch that roused goose-flesh on her arms. Playfully, seductively, he toyed with her lips ... the kiss as tempting as sweets to a starving child.

Until now, she hadn’t known how starving she was. But his mouth feeding on hers made hunger knot inside her belly, hunger for the unknown, the exotic. Then he slanted his lips over hers more firmly, and her world tilted. His fingers traced the line of her jaw in a whispery stroke that left her skin heated and tingling.

Pressing his thumb down on her chin, he opened her mouth beneath his, then plunged his tongue inside. The sudden intimacy made her stiffen, but he gentled her with his hand, fondled her neck ... the base of her throat where her pulse beat erratically ... her bared shoulder. When she relaxed beneath his touch, he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth as if it were a succulent peach he wished to savor. With each foray of his tongue, he tasted and caressed her so intriguingly she thought it might drive her mad.

She hadn’t expected this of him—this disarming sweetness. Men of his sort didn’t treat women with such consideration, did they?

It tugged her out of herself, because resisting its pull was beyond her. She’d never known desire could be this intense ... this sweeping a madness. Only half-conscious of what she did, she clasped his coat lapels and hung onto them for dear life, crushing the superfine in her fists. She didn’t know when she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the heady richness of his mouth exploring hers, but it didn’t matter. Forbidden liquor pooled in her belly, hot and luscious and irresistible.

Some instinct made her slip her tongue tentatively into his mouth. With a groan, he dragged her flush against him, his lips crushing hers. The tenor of his kiss altered instantly to one edged with the raw energy of possession. His wretched control had vanished, and that delighted her. This wasn’t a stratagem anymore—she felt it in her blood, which thrummed and sung beneath the wild passion of his kiss.

Exquisite pleasures danced from her reeling head down to the tips of her frozen toes. She felt engulfed by his heat, by the urgency of his need, by the sheer size of his large frame. Yet strangely she felt no fear.

Nor any desire to stop him. She would never have allowed the cold, calculating viscount to touch her like this, but this warm-blooded man with his large hands playing over her ribs, her waist, her hips ... That was another matter entirely. He swept his tongue through her mouth as if he owned her, and eagerly she handed herself over to him.

The sudden sound of voices close by intruded on her senses, shattering her dazed enjoyment and reminding her why she mustn’t do this. Not here, at least. She tore her lips from his. “Lord St. Clair⁠—”

“Ian,” he commanded, the hot need in his gaze confirming he was as swept away as she.

“Ian, someone’s coming,” she warned.

“Let them.” She tried to twist away, but he caught her head roughly, kissing her again with such vigor she almost forgot what she’d been protesting. But when she heard a gasp behind them, she roused herself and shoved him hard.

His grip on her went slack. For a long moment, his gaze locked with hers, eyes glittering hungrily in the darkness. Then his expression grew shuttered, his rapid breathing slowed. He glanced behind her at whomever had caught them.

And a self-satisfied smile spread over his face.

The heat of desire drained out of her at once. Oh, good Lord. This was the man she knew and hated, the manipulative viscount. She’d been wrong, horribly wrong. His kiss had only been a stratagem. Expert philanderer that he was, he’d made her believe it was more, made her believe he was as wrapped in the spell as she. And all the time he’d merely been using seduction to lull her into embarrassing herself publicly!

Shame spread through her, rapidly replaced by fury. That unconscionable wretch! She slapped him, the crack of her hand on his cheek sounding loudly on the balcony. But it didn’t wipe the gloating expression from his face.

To think that she’d fallen into his trap—and even enjoyed it! She smothered the disappointment in her breast. Then she braced herself and turned to meet their audience.

There stood their hostess, Sara. And with her was the Galleon of Gossip, Lady Brumley herself. Curse him to hell for this!