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ing his square, bristled jaw at the black pom-pom.
Her gaze dropped to the kitten. “You mean Coal?” She drew a tender smile at the sleeping form.
“The name suits it.” He propped his hip on the escritoire far from her, and his bunched arms crossed over his broad chest.
“It does,” she answered as her fingers restarted stroking the silken dark fur.
A swish from where he stood drew her attention. Her eyes returned there to see him pulling one end of his snowy cravat rather brusquely. The bow came undone, and his long fingers tugged at it as if to make it looser.
Not even an inch of male skin became uncovered, but it was as though he had stripped off his shirt; if the electricity that vibrated in the space between them was anything to go by. She tried to quieten her heart and not show how her breathing sped up at the view of him fairly undressing. Her wide stare stayed on him unblinking as if expecting him to go further and dreading it. But her imagination provided her with him untying the cravat, unveiling part of his throat. And then it provided her with her taking her forefinger to it to trace the sinewy tissue from his strong chin to his collarbone. She swore she felt the tender skin, its warmth, and even its scent. Her lashes weighed to half-mast before she caught herself and corrected her torn composure.
Edmund missed none of it, his scrutiny glued to her every single move. Time froze for long moments. Neither moved a muscle, but several bolts of lightning seemed to discharge through the drawing room, shimmering the air with everything forbidden.
“I will tell cook to find a corner for him by the kitchen hearth,” he said at last after he pushed from the escritoire and clasped his hands behind him in that overbearing way of his. It served only to worsen the tension permeating the room
“Good idea,” she approved while her fingertips closed on one velvety, feline ear registering its warmth and smoothness. It was this or go to the man and…make a fool of herself for the second time in her life. Correction, third, if she was to count the devastating kiss in the theatre.
“Stop it, for pity’s sake!” The hoarse voice he threw at her was half command, half harshness.
Her head snapped up to watch the man rake his midnight hair, tousling it even more. A quizzical expression coated her face. “Stop what?”
“You seem a little too fond of caressing this stray devil.” He strode to her, nearer than when he first entered.
“Oh,” she blurted, resting her hands on the armchair’s arms. “Do you think I am hurting him?”
“No. You are not hurting him,” he gritted.
What could it be, she wondered? The kitten slept peacefully on her lap and did not show discomfort with her stroking. But when her gaze climbed up his frame, it looked tauter, tighter, and fuller. At least in certain parts—the breeches part. And they looked very full.
Dear me!
“What then?” she asked bewildered.
“He gets all the fun, that is what.” His stare scorched her.
“The poor thing was starving on the streets, no fun in that.”
“He is not the only one starving around here.” His tone was an octave lower.
“Who do you mean?” A scarlet flush spread over her even though she did not identify the precise content of this conversation.
“Never mind, woman!” He snarled before he pounded to the door, attacked the knob and disappeared in the hallway.
Coal jerked his little head up with the noise. “Shush, my darling,” she soothed him. “We knew the Earl had his eccentricities, but that was downright crazy.” The kitten went back to sleep under her renewed strokes.
A
The Duke and Duchess of Linton were two of the most prominent members of society. Nobody in their right mind skipped any function to which they sent invitations.
In one of the finest dresses she wore in her life, a diaphanous creation in coral silk, Otilia circulated in search of a peaceful corner. Her hair had been elaborately done, with curls coming out of a chignon on the top of her head and strands falling around her delicate face. As she descended the townhouse stairs, Edmund had stared at her with an approving stance. Approval and another expression that glinted in those orbs, dark and wolfish. Hungry.
Otilia and Edmund had been announced, and she walked on his arm into the crush of the ballroom. She told him she had seen a friend of hers and was going on to talk to her—a mere excuse to get away from his disquieting presence.
With every intention of taking refuge with the wallflowers and chat the evening away, she waded her course through the crowd. For that end, she had scribbled her dance card with undecipherable scrawls. She meant to be left alone tonight.
“Where do you think you are going, Otilia?” The blasted Earl rumbled grimly too close to her ear.
She turned to him with too bright a smile. “To find my friend, as I told you.”
