Page 69 of How the Earl Entices

Relief poured from her in a long sigh, and her shoulders eased down.Thank God. Ross had been delivered safely back to her. And just in the nick of time.

With a bright smile, she turned. “I thought you’d—”

Patton. The glass slipped from her fingers.

He caught it before it could fall and smash on the floor. Handing it off to one of the passing footmen who were busily bringing in dozens of trays of champagne for the midnight toast, he smiled at her in amusement.Amused…when what pounded through her was sheer terror.

“It’s midnight,” he told her, wrapping her arm around his and leading her not toward the front door and escape but toward the blue drawing room and further into the house. “My watch is done, and now I can enjoy the party for the rest of the evening.” His eyes darted toward her breasts, and she forced back a shudder and threw a desperate glance toward the stairs. Dear God,wherewas Ross? He added in a murmur, “And enjoy the guests.”

She remembered to use a fake Italian accent as she gestured back toward the door. “But I was leav—”

“Lingering right below where I’ve been standing all evening.” Arrogance seeped from him at the idea that she’d been waiting for him. What would the egotistical fop say if he knew she was waiting there for a far better man? “Sending all those half-veiled glances up the stairs in my direction.”

“I would never be so desperate.” The only desperation she felt was to flee.

He chuckled, not releasing her arm even when she tried to pull it away.

Instead of leading her into the drawing room, he pulled her aside into an arched hall running alongside the room. When she turned to face him in indignation, he stepped forward, forcing her backward with his body as he closed the distance between them and maneuvering her behind a marble column and thick growth of potted bamboo. Cleverly hidden from view of the party.

“I would be very happy to entertain you now, my lady,” he drawled, tracing his fingertip along the edge of her low neckline.

“Contessa,” she corrected haughtily, smacking his hand away. She trembled, unable to do anything to defend herself except for being as icy and insulting as possible in an attempt to drive him away. Because any cry for help would reveal her presence. And Ross’s.

“Contessa, of course,” he repeated with a smile that was anything but apologetic. He lifted her hand to his lips and mumbled, purposefully low and fast, thinking she wouldn’t understand, “Doesn’t matter what a woman calls herself once you’re buried inside her pussy.”

The unintended anguish of his comment sliced into her, and she forced out, “Pardon?”

“I said,” he murmured as he removed her glove and brought her hand to his lips, to suck at her fingers, “that tonight I would very much enjoy a private party.”

Unable any longer to force back a shudder, she yanked her hand away. “I have grown bored of your party.”

When she tried to step around him, he blocked her way. He audaciously trailed a finger from her throat down between her breasts.

“I’ll give you exactly what you need to keep the boredom at bay, Contessa.” He leaned forward and whispered hotly in her ear as his hand continued to draw a line down her body and across her belly toward the space between her legs, “Una bella scopata.”

ThatItalian she knew, thanks to the sailors in Sea Haven. “You arrogant—”

Noise erupted around them. Shouts and cheers echoed through the house as the clocks’ bells tolled midnight. The orchestra sent up rounds of fanfare, and fireworks sizzled and boomed over the square fronting the house.

“Midnight,” he explained loudly over the racket. “Time for your unmasking, contessa.” He lifted his hand toward her head. “Then the real party can begin.”

“No!”

He grabbed the ribbon tie at the back of her head and stripped the mask away before she could stop him.

He gaped at her, wide-eyed. Startled by her scar, he stepped back. “What the hell—”

In that moment of confusion, she shoved at him with all her might and sent him staggering backward. Then she ran.

She pushed through the crowd pressing into the stair hall. In her hurry, her shoulder hit one of the footmen and sent a tray of champagne glasses crashing onto the floor. Everyone turned to look, and panic consumed her. Covering her cheek with her hand, she shoved her way through the crowd, into the entrance hall, and out the front door. Fireworks rained in booming showers over the square, lighting the night in flashes of red and blue. Her chest burned as she gasped for air, yet she ran on, stumbling along the footpath in her desperation to flee.

“Grace!”

She halted and snapped her head up, straining to hear anything else but the roar of blood rushing through her ears.

A man hurried toward her from the dozens of people gathered in front of the square, from the hundreds more now emptying from the house to watch the fireworks—

“Christopher!”