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Rolling her nipple between his thumb and finger, he seemed to know how it made her feel, how that awful and delicious throb ignited in her belly and between her thighs, for he deepened his kiss until she truly felt faint this time, as if the floor was dipping away from her and the entire world had faded into a heated mist. She was clutching at him, both hands somehow tangled in the front of his elegant evening coat, clinging to him as if she could no longer stand.
“Christ…Celia,” he muttered thickly, the words sounding almost like a groan.
Suddenly his head bent and he was kissing her breast, his tongue tracing erotic patterns over the sensitive peak as she shuddered and clung to him and made little whimpering sounds in the back of her throat.
She gave a halfhearted protest, though it sounded muffled and more like a moan. His arms were so strong, insistent, and she closed her eyes and yielded to the intensity that raged inside her, a tight, burning knot that spread fire through her entire body.
Celia arched against him, seeking an elusive release from the torment, far too conscious of the pressure of his long, hard-muscled legs against hers, of the abrasion of his elegant evening jacket against her bare breasts.
Everything had disappeared around her, the shadowed alcove, the filtered strains of a waltz, the laughter and conversation of hundreds of guests beyond the flimsy wall disappearing as if never in existence. All that was real was the pulse, like a heartbeat, that urged her to lean into him, to allow him to take these indecent liberties.
Celia didn’t know what would have happened had he not suddenly pulled away, leaving her feeling strangely bruised and aching inside, bereft.
As if through a fog she heard him say, “As much as I’d like to continue this, it’s neither the time nor place.”
He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders again, a steady pressure to hold her. “Fix your dress. For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that,” he said more harshly when she didn’t move, shocking her into response.
She jerked at her bodice to cover her breasts, her face flaming. “If you do not like how I’m looking at you, my lord, that can be easily remedied.”
Wrenching away from him, she almost ran out of the alcove, pausing behind the screen of palms to wipe her mouth and rearrange her bodice, her fingers trembling so badly it was difficult.
Damn him! He had so effortlessly unraveled her plans, sweeping them away with no trouble at all. And he had shown her how foolish she’d been to think she could control him.
Celia managed to compose herself, and was glad for her years of training under the nuns at St. Mary’s, for she betr
ayed no sign of turmoil when Northington appeared at her elbow, his voice a low command.
“For God’s sake, behave as though nothing is wrong, then no one will notice. I’ll escort you to your cousin.”
“That’s the least you can do,” she returned coolly. Oh, it wasn’t so difficult if she concentrated on anything but him. She was aware of the crowd as they passed through women garbed in diamonds, rubies and sapphires, aware of the interested glances from men in knee breeches and dark evening coats such as Northington wore.
“Don’t play with fire, Miss St. Clair,” he said just before they reached Jacqueline, “unless you know how to keep from being burned.”
Turning toward him, she smiled, and saw his eyes narrow. “Your warning is appreciated, but as you can see, I’m not even singed, my lord.”
An appreciative smile curled his mouth. “Ever the surprise with you, I see. Perhaps I misjudged you.”
“Oh, no. I think your judgment is astute.”
“You do like taking risks, then. We’ll see how you fare when the stakes are much higher.”
“Is that a challenge, my lord Northington?”
“Think of it as—an invitation.”
They had reached Jacqueline and Carolyn, and with a sardonic bow, Northington presented her to her cousin and murmured his gratitude for the dance.
Lady Leverton fixed him with a rather cool eye as she said, “Your impetuous conduct has disappointed several of the gentlemen present tonight, Lord Northington. By claiming the first dance with Miss St. Clair, you have dashed numerous hopes.”
“Have I? My apologies, Lady Leverton. As you can see, I have returned her to you in excellent condition.”
“As you found her,” was the tart reply, and Colter’s brow rose.
“Her reputation is intact, my lady. She merely felt a bit faint and I revived her.”
Colter took Celia’s hand, lifted it to his lips and murmured in French, “Until we meet again,” then left them.
“Are you all right?” Jacqueline leaned close to murmur in her ear, and Celia nodded.
