Only by that route would he gain the surrender he sought, the complete and conscious giving that, for one of his nature, was the ultimate prize.
He raised his head; their gazes briefly touched, then he covered her lips, and took her mouth again. In a slow, thorough, leisurely engagement that left them both starved of breath.
Gradually, he drew back. Her breasts were swollen, tight beneath his hands; her skin felt like hot satin beneath his fingertips. He kept his lips on hers as he searched for and found the top edge of her chemise, and drew it up, tugging the drawstring so it tightened and held.
She stirred in his arms. He ended the kiss and lifted his head. Their eyes met for an instant, then she looked down; drawing her hands from his shoulders, she resettled and retied the chemise, then, a blush tinting her cheeks, she rapidly did up the buttons of her bodice.
He couldn’t keep his lips straight when she glanced at him; his satisfaction was too deep to hide.
She saw it, read it; a frown in her eyes, she waved him to the door.
Smiling, he turned, glancing at her as she fell in beside him. Before the door, he halted, caught her eye as she looked up. “I’ll send Maggs this afternoon.”
She blinked at him. “Maggs?”
“The footman.”
“Ah.” She drew herself up, nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
He grinned, ducked his head, and kissed her—stole one last kiss from her luscious lips—then straightened and met her eyes, green and slightly dazed. “I’ll see myself out.”
He managed to suppress a smirk; feeling positively virtuous, he opened the door, gracefully saluted her, then closed it.
Alicia stared at the panels. Beyond them, she heard his footsteps recede, then the front door opened, and shut.
He was gone.
Reason and logic returned in a flood; the last minutes—however many minutes it had been—replayed in her mind.
Her increasingly horrified mind.
Her lips still throbbed, her skin still tingled, her breasts… she could still feel the sensation of his mouth moving over them…
With a groan, she closed her eyes and slumped against the door.
What was she going to do?
SEVEN
“MY DEAR MRS. CARRINGTON, MAY I PRESENT SIR Freddie Caudel?”
Lady Hertford beamed at Alicia, who divined that gaining Sir Freddie’s notice was something of a coup. She extended her hand with a polite murmur.
Sir Freddie took her fingers and bowed gracefully. A gentleman in his middle years, he was handsome in a quiet, patrician way.
Alicia smiled. In a few short minutes, she established that Sir Freddie was a scion of an old and ancient house and consequently socially prominent, held a political post in the government, possessed a degree of polish and address to which younger men could only aspire, and was on the lookout for a wellborn, beautiful, and young bride.
Not surprisingly, Adriana had caught his eye.
Alicia hestitated, wondering if she should, in all compassion, nip Sir Freddie’s aspirations in the bud; from all she could see, Adriana was fast losing her heart to Geoffrey Manningham.
Sir Freddie had followed her gaze to where Adriana stood by Lord Manningham’s side. “I realize, of course, that youth and beauty go hand in hand, yet often you ladies have a remarkably discerning eye.”
Alicia met Sir Freddie’s blue eyes, guileless and amused. Geoffrey might be younger, yet Sir Freddie was undeniably distinguished, and his manners, while absolutely correct, had an ease about them, a comfortable confidence deriving from years of moving in the first circles.
Sir Freddie might give Geoffrey a run for his money.
More particularly for Adriana’s heart, which her hand would follow.
Lips curving, Alicia inclined her head. “If you wish to join my sister’s circle, I have no objection.” She seriously doubted Sir Freddie would succeed, but there was no harm in him attempting to upset Manningham’s applecart.
Sir Freddie offered his arm. “If you would introduce me?”
Placing her fingers on his sleeve, Alicia allowed him to lead her to Adriana’s side.
Adriana was, as always, polite to anyone who sought her attention. Introduction completed, Alicia withdrew, rejoining Lady Hertford at the side of the room.
“He’s very highly thought of,” her ladyship whispered.
“Marcus tells me he can be quite stiff-rumped on occasion, but always the true gentleman.” Adriana drew Miss Tiverton into the conversation with Sir Freddie; Lady Hertford smiled delightedly. “Such a sweet girl, your sister. Who knows? If Sir Freddie doesn’t fix her interest, perhaps he’ll look at Helen. Of course, there’s his age, but when men of his stamp look to take a wife, one can at least be sure they’re in earnest. And his estates are quite respectable, I believe—they’ve been in the family for generations.”
Alicia smiled easily; she let Lady Hertford’s chatter wash over her, nodding here and there. Eventually, her ladyship departed, leaving Miss Tiverton along with Adriana under Alicia’s watchful eye.
She did keep her gaze on her sister’s circle, some yards away, but the instant Lady Hertford’s distraction disappeared, Alicia’s thoughts focused on her own distraction.
Anthony Blake, Viscount Torrington.
Her reaction to his practiced seduction surprised her; she’d assumed she’d be uninterested, disinterested, that repulsing any gentleman’s advances, especially those of a predatory nobleman, would be instinctive, a natural response she wouldn’t have to pause to consider, let alone battle to achieve.
It was a battle she was losing; she’d already lost significant ground. Quite why, she didn’t understand.
When she was with him, in his arms or even simply alone with him, the world seemed to shift, the frame of reference by which she’d lived her life thus far to alter. It swung to focus on him, to accommodate him, to center, not just on him, not just on his wishes, but on hers—those wishes she hadn’t known she had.
When with him, her attention shifted to a different landscape, one encompassing all that was growing between them. That change was unprecedented, unsettling, yet fascinating. Even addictive.
Something in him called to something in her; from the coalescing of those somethings grew the power she sensed, the power that was strong enough to suborn her wits, shackle her senses… and seduce her.
She shivered, and refocused on Adriana’s circle, and saw Sir Freddie successfully solicit her sister’s hand for a waltz. Noting Geoffrey Manningham’s studiously impassive countenance, she smiled.
Hard fingers, a hard palm, closed about her hand.
She turned as Tony—Torrington!—raised it; eyes capturing hers, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. Faintly smiled.
“Come and dance.”
Within seconds, she was whirling down the floor. She didn’t bother trying to resist; instead, she turned her mind to her most urgent need—trying to understand what was going on.
He seemed content simply to dance, to hold her in his arms and revolve about the ballroom, his gaze resting on her face, on her eyes.
Drinking her in.
She lowered her lids, screening her eyes, shifted her gaze to look over his shoulder. Smoothly, he drew her closer as they went through the turns, and didn’t ease his hold; abruptly she was aware of their bodies, the subtle brushing of their hips, of his thigh parting hers as they turned…as if he’d reached for her and enveloped her in a flagrantly intimate embrace. The memory leapt to her mind, instantly impinged on her wanton senses.
Instantly stirred her hunger.
She looked up, met his gaze. “This is madness.”
The words were low, breathy. He smiled, but his eyes remained on hers, his gaze intent. “If it is, we’re both infected.”