She swallowed and could think of not a single thing to say. He was closer—his coat was almost brushing her bosom. And his eyes were steady on her lips. She passed the tip of her tongue across them nervously. Her heart was beating right up into her ears.
His lips were parted when they met hers, warm and moist and lightly exploring, tasting, inviting. She spread her hands flat against the wall behind her and wondered if her knees really would buckle under her. There was a sudden throbbing ache between her legs and a tightening in her breasts. His tongue followed the same path her own had traveled a moment before.
She lifted her hands and pushed firmly against his chest. Dear God. Oh, dear God.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, her eyes on his cravat, “but I think there has been some misunderstanding. I have taken employment, sir, because my family is impoverished. I have taken respectable employment.” She put some emphasis on the adjective.
His voice was still low. She did not look up to see if he laughed at her. “Then I beg your pardon too,” he said. “I did not mean any disrespect.”
Not much, she thought, her embarrassment and confusion turning to anger. He had merely thought to dally with her because she was a servant. He had merely hoped to seduce her.
But her anger as she walked past him—he had stepped to one side—and made her way back to the salon, trying not to hurry, was directed as much against herself as against him. She could easily have avoided his kiss. He had not exactly grabbed her and thrown her against that wall. Was it what she had heard about him that had fascinated her? Had she been intrigued, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by a rake?
Well, if that were so, she had found the answer. It was quite gloriously wonderful, that was what.
She heartily despised herself.
Roger stood in the hallway, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes on the tiled floor. Ah, delectable. All soft, feminine warmth. And for one moment he had thought she was his. No, not thought—she had been his. For one moment before she remembered that she was a virtuous woman.
A shame. A decided shame. He needed some diversion in Bath if he were not to go insane within a week.
“Psst!”
The sound came from the general direction of the front door, though there appeared to be no one in the hallway except himself.
“Psst!”
More specifically from the direction of the large aspidistra plant to one side of the door.
“Jasper,” Roger said, “if you think I am going to slink back there to share secrets with you, think again, my lad. Come on out. What are you hiding from, anyway?”
The aspidistra rustled and a red-haired, freckled boy of about twelve stepped out from behind it. “Whom is more to the point, Rog,” he said. “If I had been anywhere to be found, I would have been made to sit politely through tea, saying, ‘Yes, Great-Uncle Stanley,’ and ‘No, Grandmama,’ until I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the cakes.”
“And it is so much more satisfactory to hide behind a plant than to stay in the schoolroom or wherever it is you spend your time upstairs?” Roger said.
“I’m very glad I did,” Jasper said. “I should tell Grandmama what I just saw, Rog. She wouldn’t like it above half.”
“Wouldn’t she?” Roger said. “Be my guest, Jasper. Shall I hold the sitting-room door open for you?”
“That’s what I always hate about you, Rog,” the boy said cheerfully. “You’ll never let a fellow make a decent bit of pocket money from blackmail.”
“That’s not what you hated me for last summer,” Roger said. “For how many hours was it you couldn’t sit down after I had finished with you?”
“Oh, two or three minutes,” the boy said airily. “I’ve had worse from Papa. You shouldn’t be mauling Emmy about like that, though, Rog.”
“Fancy her yourself, do you, lad?” Roger said. “A word of advice. Forget it. She’s of a breed known as virtuous women. She’s not worth the energy expended on wooing her.”
“I like Emmy,” Jasper said. “She’s the only grownup I know who treats me as if I’m human.”
“You had better be thankful that your grandmother doesn’t treat you as a human,” Roger said. “You would be at school at this very moment if she did.”
Jasper grimaced. “And don’t I know it,” he said.
“So what am I to do for entertainment around here?” Roger asked. “Any ideas?”
“Meaning what females are available?” Jasper said. “Not many, Rog. Most of them must be eighty if they’re a day. There are the Misses Traviss.”
“Plural,” Roger said. “Do they come separately? I never did like more than one at a time.”
