Page 62 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

She cleared her throat. “Brandy, instead?”

“Please.”

Now that she had him here in the parlor, she could not think of a single thing to do with him that was not deeply scandalous. Salacious, even.

He swallowed his liqueur, and she watched the muscles of his strong throat working above his simple cravat and wondered if she was going mad. Neck muscles were not sensual. Were they? Why was she mesmerized?

“Don’t look at me like that, Sybil,” Keir said quietly, roughly.

She swallowed, caught. “Why not? I mean to say, what do you mean?”

He put his brandy down carefully, as though everything was made of glass, not just the cup. As if he might break apart.

As if he might like to look at her the way she was looking at him.

“I think you know.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Dangerous games, my little scoundrel.”

“And you play it safe.”

“Yes. But there’s nothing safe about you, is there, Sybil?” The way he said her name made her toes curl, as did the way he advanced toward her, crossing the carpet in two giant strides. She had to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

They stood there for a long moment, the fire crackling, the hot, sweet taste of brandy on her tongue, the warmth of his body just barely touching hers. His mouth so close, so close.

Closer still.

And then, because they were in a house full of women who meddled in the affairs of men, it was at that very moment that a stone crashed through the window, shattering the glass.