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“How about here?” she asked, her fingers tangling in the knot of his necktie.

“Quite.”

There was no more bare skin for her if she continued south, so she moved north, resting her touch on his lips. “Here?”

“Most definitely.” His moving mouth caressed the pads of her fingers.

She had never known that a man’s lips on her fingertips would provoke such a reaction in her. The humid warmth of his breath rolled over her like a brand. She didn’t want to remove her touch.

And then, he kissed her.

Kissed her fingers in the midst of the drawing room and in plain sight of anyone who wished to look.

Ophelia nearly swooned. It was the single most erotic experience of her life.

“I should hate to see lips as fine as yours at the mercy of thorns,” she said.

“Then it is a good thing indeed that you don’t go about having assignations in rosebushes.”

His quip reminded her that he had waltzed from the drawing room earlier with Mrs. Gilpin on his arm.

“Do you?” She traced the bow of his upper lip lightly with her fingernail, mesmerized. “Or perhaps I should say, did you have one this evening?”

“Not in a rosebush or elsewhere,” he answered.

She jerked her gaze to meet his. It was difficult tearing her eyes away from his lovely, lovely mouth. But she did it because she needed to see for herself if he was telling the truth. His brilliant blue eyes never wavered.

She wanted to kiss him.

To throw herself into his arms and utterly at his mercy. She wanted to bring him to her chamber. To peel off the layers of civility he wore so well. To see him naked again when she was free to touch and they were away from the prying eyes of so many lady guests.

Ophelia could do naught but stare at him, drinking him in.

Then she issued another hiccup, rather ruining the moment.

He took her wrist in a gentle grasp and lowered her hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow. “Come, my lady. I’ll escort you to your room for the evening so you can get some rest.”

It was the same place Mrs. Gilpin’s hand had been, and having her own there felt wrong. She snatched her hand back. “I don’t require an escort to my chamber. I’m quite capable of getting there on my own when I’m ready.”

He was frowning again. “You seem ready enough.”

“I want another glass of wine,” she declared.

“One more won’t solve any of your problems, but it may make some,” he drawled.

“I don’t need it to solve problems. I’ve problems aplenty. Why do you think I’m here?” She bit her lip before she could say more, cursing herself inwardly again for revealing too much.

“Are you not here for the same reason as the rest of us?” he asked softly. “To seek mindless pleasure in the arms of another?”

“Of course,” she lied.

“Hmm.” He settled her hand back onto his arm with a light touch. “Something tells me there’s another reason.”

In that instance, how she wished she could tell him. How she wished she could unburden herself completely, entrust him with all her secrets, her worries. That she could untie her mask and his and dispense with the pretense that she didn’t know him.

But even inebriated as she was, Ophelia knew doing so would only serve to ruin what was between them.

“Pleasure is why everyone joins the Wicked Dukes Society,” she countered, keeping her tone light. “Is it not?”