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His uncanny ability to know her thoughts unnerved her, and the truth of the matter struck a vulnerable chord. She had considered the option but simply had no prospects at the moment.
“If you are offering, Lord Rockwell, I am flattered but must decline,” she retorted as she removed her gloves, slowly peeling one past her elbow and exposing the smooth, pale skin of her forearm.
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. They both knew he had no intention of inviting her to be his mistress, but her response amused him. His gaze fell to her bare arms. The heat in his eyes made her feel as if she had taken off all her garments, not just her gloves. Emboldened by his appreciation, she angled herself on the settee and put a hand to the nape of her neck.
“I seem to have missed a pin,” she said. “Would my lord oblige in removing it?”
He made no movement, making her wonder whether her inexperience in playing the coquette appeared that obvious, but then he crossed the distance between them and sat down beside her, his thigh dangerously close to her rump. She felt his fingers upon her hair and suppressed a shiver.
“You are mistaken, Miss Herwood. I see none.”
She could sense the warmth of his body, and when he trailed a knuckle down the length of her neck, she suddenly wanted him to grab her and kiss her. But he had resumed his seat opposite her, leaving her wanting. She frowned. He had propositioned her. Did he expect that she would throw herself at him? Looking into his eyes, she suspected that he knew the effect he had on her. But she must have impressed him to some degree or he would not have offered to forfeit fifty pounds for one night of attention. Granted, fifty pounds was no significant sum for him, but he could have had women of far more consequence at his beck and call for far less.
Inspired by this reasoning, she stood up and sauntered toward him.
“Shall we retire to your bedchamber, my lord?”
“I prefer different quarters.”
His response struck her as odd, but the sofa upon which he sat appeared comfortable enough. She dropped to her knees, the wine humming in her veins. Surprise lighted his eyes but he did not move. His gaze caressed the swell of her cheek, the skin above her décolletage and, seeming to penetrate the material of her dress, the curves beneath. Her body tingled from head to toe beneath his regard. She dared to put a hand upon his knee. When he did not flinch, she glanced into his countenance and thought she saw flames in his eyes.
“You have managed to learn the arts of a courtesan,” he observed coolly, with only the faintest hitch in his voice.
Her heart hammered in her ears. She was a novice playing with fire. Never before had she been so bold with a man. But never before had she dealt with a man who refused to be seduced by the very woman he had propositioned.
“You have finished neither your biscuit nor your tea, Miss Herwood.”
“I have no need for your tea and biscuit. I am in full command of my faculties, Lord Rockwell, despite the presence of a bit of wine,” she responded.
“Ah, Miss Herwood, how poorly you lie.”
She would have risen, thrown her hands up in exasperation and reached for her gloves and hat, daring him to stop her from leaving, but he had cupped her chin in one hand, his forefinger lazily grazing the soft spot beneath her jaw. She fought the desire to melt into his hand and the weakening in her limbs, for she had to uphold her earlier assertion. It was no easy battle, and the wine, which had hitherto been her supporter, turned foe in this matter.
“You contravened my command. I would have overlooked one glass of wine, but you have partaken of more, Miss Herwood.”
Command? The word jolted her to attention and she pulled away from him. His touch rattled her senses far too much.
“You insist upon playing my guardian, Lord Rockwell?”
He smiled. “If that were the case, you would be splayed across my lap for a sound spanking.”
Her mouth went dry at the thought. A small voice inside advised her to run from this man. At the very least she ought to put some distance between them, but a darker side of her was drawn to him more than ever.
“Patience, my dear Miss Herwood,” he gently coaxed.
Patience? Would he have her return to her seat, twiddle with the damn biscuits and wait…wait for what?
“Have I misunderstood your proposition, Lord Rockwell? Did you not say that I could discharge my debt if I were to lie with you?”
“I did proffer one night of pleasure.”
“And by pleasure you meant a tête-à-tête over tea? La! How silly of me to have suspected you of more roguish intentions.”
As she spoke, she realized a part of her would be quite disappointed if he answered in the affirmative. She rose to her feet but he grabbed her at the wrist and pulled her across him with startling deftness. How easily he manhandled her.
“Make no mistake, Miss Herwood. I intend to take my pleasure of you,” he growled, his mouth beside her ear.
“Then why delay, my lord?” she whispered back against his ear over the loud thumping of her heart.
