Page 41 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

Sensation penetrated deep into her muscles, a pleasant shakiness that spread throughout her limbs. “For days? Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration?”

He laughed softly. His fingers slid down the pale arch of her throat to the cusp of her creamy shoulder. “Months even. Years.”

Her breath caught as the buttons of his coat brushed across the aching buds of her breasts. His fingers moved over her shoulder in taunting spirals and slow touches designed to devastate, to liquefy a woman’s body, and Jane discovered that when it came to resisting the Boscastle passion for life, she really was no stronger than the rest of the world.

“Soft skin,” he murmured. “I do believe I have never felt such temptation before. From the moment I saw you at the altar, I have not quite been myself. Outside of my usual role, I find I’ve become awkward, uncertain of my lines, the expectations placed on me. I’m not even certain you should trust me, Jane.”

His mouth was almost touching hers. She felt the rise and fall of his warm breath on her lips, the latent power of his lean torso against hers. Desire stirred in the secret places of her body. How easily she could be misled, she thought. How seductive it was of him to share his feelings. And awkward? Not for a heartbeat.

She swallowed. “Is this what you mean by setting an example?”

“Yes.” He took a breath, his firm mouth curving at the corners.

“Excuse me?”

“If we were Chloe and her officer,” he said quietly, staring into her eyes, “we would still be on that couch. You would not be questioning me. We would quite possibly be on the verge of making love.”

She lowered her eyes, wondering if he actually believed this nonsense. Her body apparently did, judging by the rapid thundering of her heart. “I don’t think—”

“No. I doubt you would be thinking at all, Jane. Or even talking. You would be too busy allowing me to please you.”

She glanced up and gazed into his hard, angular face. Where amusement had before lent his features a look of satirical beauty, a darker mask of desire now gazed back at her. She had no idea if he was serious or merely repeating the lines from one of his famous seductions. She knew that she wanted him to kiss her so badly that every vein in her body throbbed with undercurrents of need. Her lips softened. Her breasts swelled, the pliant contours lightly pressed to the strong musculature of his chest.

“No,” she said, sounding like a proper young lady desperate to retain her good sense. “You are wrong.”

His nostrils flared, a male scenting female desire. “Am I?” he asked quietly.

He brought his mouth to hers, a shock of sensation that she must have experienced as intensely as he did. He felt her soften against him as her knees folded beneath her. He swore under his breath and caught her by her forearms. In the obscure part of his brain that was not aroused by her, he realized he was deviating from his purpose. And would have to stop before he did more harm than good. Yes, that was where the fault lay in his thinking. He had not foreseen that the best intentions could cause greater problems than they intended to solve.

Reluctantly he drew away from her, his voice rueful. “And therein lies the difference.”

Jane struggled to achieve a semblance of normality. She felt like a ripe fruit that had been plucked from a tree and dropped. Had she wished for him to continue? No. Yes. Yes. “The difference?” she said in confusion. “Ah, I see. You mean between Chloe, her officer, and us?”

Her voice was uneven. Could he hear it? Her body was shaking. Could he tell? Of course he could. He had caused this embarrassing disequilibrium, and look at him standing there, as detached as a tethering post.

“The difference between us and them,” he continued, sounding a little pompous, “is character.”

Jane eased around him to descend the rest of the stairs, groping against the wall to steady herself in the dark. How he could talk of character when they had been moments from acting on their most basic impulses escaped her. The very stones of this pavilion must have been imbued with some passion potion. She hoped to heaven that being outside would clear her head.

“We are discreet,” he added as he followed her. “Chloe disobeyed me and deceived me in order to meet that man today. I cannot imagine you, Jane, ever going to such lengths. I cannot imagine you involved in deception. Can you?”

She rattled off him some evasive answer and hurried from the pavilion before she could catch his response. Her ears had gone deaf to his voice. All she could hear were the bells of her own doom tolling in the future.

He could not imagine her involved in deception.

She could never let him learn the truth.

Grayson was not as unaffected by their encounter as he appeared to be. He escorted Jane from the pavilion into the afternoon warmth, studying her in guarded silence.

Well, well, who would have thought it? The respectable Lady Jane rattling him to the core. He wondered what she made of it, if she had any idea of how she had disarmed him, of how intriguing he found the situation. She had to be one of Society’s best-kept secrets. What other surprises did she have in store? Certainly he had never been aroused and reprimanded so soundly all in the space of an afternoon. He shook his head, squinting at the light, keeping her pink-sheathed figure in his peripheral vision.

He thought of how sweet her lips had tasted, how soft and yielding her curving body had felt against his. To look at her now, all prim reserve and aloof dignity, one certainly would not guess she would respond like that. He was dying to know what else he might have found if he’d prodded a little deeper. What an appalling time to learn he still had a conscience.

He glanced around, satisfied to see Simon and Damaris standing at the end of the walkway, waiting for them. This lent enough of an air of respectability to their brief disappearance that he and Jane could not be accused of a dalliance. Chloe was another matter.

He halted at the end of the path to talk to Jane. Hypocrite, was he? That stung a bit, probably because it was true. “Will you be all right for a few minutes if I leave you alone?” he asked anxiously. “I want to make sure Chloe is indeed on her way home.”

Her gaze met his, and he felt another bolt of heat travel through the deepest reaches of his body. Her cheeks were stained a becoming rose, and she didn’t look quite as reserved or dignified as he’d imagined. “Jane,” he asked again, “are you all right?”