Mrs. Mallory stared at him for a moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a very appealing manner; then she laid her hand upon his arm. Her touch, though very light, sent a jolt of awareness through his body. Her tawny hair and unusual eyes gave her a striking appearance; she did not conform to the standards of English beauty, yet he found her damnably attractive. He couldn't put his finger on an exact reason why, but he did nonetheless. She seemed quite slender, but as she walked up the hill with him, he thought he detected the suggestion of curves beneath her shapeless brown sack of a dress. Interesting.
"Her Grace's tales of India are legendary in this house," he remarked. "She has made Caro faint on more than one occasion."
Mrs. Mallory laughed, a delightful, throaty ripple. "I will have to ask Her Grace what produced such a reaction; perhaps I might be so fortunate."
"I am sure you have quite a few stories of your own. Did you live in India long?" he asked.
"Seven years," she replied.
He detected a note of wistfulness in her words. "You miss it."
She turned away. "Yes."
"And do you miss your husband?"
A flush stained her cheekbones, highlighting the freckles scattered across them. Her brilliant green eyes narrowed in reproach. "That is an impertinent question, sir."
"I specialize in impertinence, as you may have noticed. Last night at dinner I detected a note of unhappiness in your voice when you spoke about him." Jade. That was the color. Her eyes reminded him of Chinese jade.
She pursed her lips. "My husband and I had a marriage of convenience, sir."
"Ah… so you mean you do not miss him." He smiled.
She gasped and blushed a deeper shade of pink. "It is none of your business."
"Not that I blame you," he interjected. "He sounded like a rather dull fellow, a poor match for someone of your obvious wit and intelligence."
"Come now, my lord, none of your flummery." She tilted her head to look him in the eye. "Her Grace warned me about you, you know."
"Did she?" He quirked an eyebrow. "And just what did my great-aunt tell you?"
"That you were a rake and a scoundrel who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake."
His smile turned suggestive. "I do have that reputation."
"You sound rather proud of it."
"Why should I not be?"
"So you enjoy breaking hearts?" Her amazing eyes regarded him with undisguised interest.
"Do I?" The back of his neck grew hot. "That is a rather singular question, Mrs. Mallory."
"I do not see why you alone have license to be impertinent," she declared. "Well, do you?"
How quickly she had put him on the defensive. Thrust, parry, and riposte, indeed! "I don't think I've broken too many," he replied. "And certainly not on purpose."
"But if you know you might break your mistress's heart eventually, why do you do it?"
He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Her gaze did not waver. "Why do you do it?"
"You mean… why am I a rake?" he asked, incredulous. Ye Gods. No other Lady of Quality would dare ask him such a thing. "Do you always speak your mind, Mrs. Mallory?"
"I do when I think someone is evading my questions."
Touché! Bainbridge threw back his head and laughed. Lord, she intrigued him more with each passing moment! "Then I shall have to be honest with you, ma'am, or you will never let me hear the end of it. The truth of the matter is that I enjoy women-and sampling the different pleasures they have to offer."
The blush in her cheeks spread over her entire face. "I see."
"Most of the attraction is physical; surely you can understand that, having been married."
She ducked her head, and did not reply.
Ah… the demure little widow had gotten herself in over her head. He chuckled. "I admire long legs, a lovely neck, and a slender figure with a high, rounded bosom. Nothing too overblown. A figure, in fact, rather like yours."
Her eyes rounded in surprise. Then her lips flattened, and she started to pull away from him. "Really, my lord. You are doing it again."
"Never say I didn't warn you. But I'm not finished."
"That's quite all right. You have satisfied my curiosity."
"Oh, come now, Mrs. Mallory," he reproached her. "You wanted an honest answer, and I am attempting to give you one. Or are you afraid to hear it?"
She straightened, a rebellious set to her chin. "I am not. Pray continue."
He slowed to a halt and leaned closer to her, close enough to smell her perfume, an exotic blend of sandalwood and gardenia. "I was saying," he murmured, "that most of the attraction is physical, but not the entire focus of my interest."
"Is it not?" Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.
"No." He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. She shivered at his touch. His groin tightened. "I also favor a woman with a ready wit and more than a modicum of intelligence. A woman who has seen something of life and knows what she wants. What do you want, Mrs. Mallory?"
She gave a visible swallow and looked up at him. "Then why not marry, my lord? Why not find a woman who attracts you on both points?"
He leaned closer still, until his mouth was inches from hers. "Now you are evading my question, so I'll ask you again: what do you want out of life? Really want?"
"I…Idon't…"
Her rosy lips parted. That was all the invitation he needed.
He kissed her. Not a forceful kiss, for that would frighten her, but a gentle, teasing kiss designed to test her response, to draw her out. Or at least that was what he intended. She tipped her head back, her warm lips parted beneath his. Lord, she tasted good, like exotic spices and sunshine. Her sandalwood perfume enveloped him. Every nerve in his body flickered to life.
He shifted an arm around her waist; she trembled but did not resist. He pulled her to him, inordinately pleased to discover the narrow span that lurked beneath the acres of fabric she wore. A narrow waist, flaring hips, and more bosom than he would have imagined. Intoxicating. With a groan, he cupped her rounded bottom, pulling her hips against his.
She stiffened, gasped, then wrenched herself away from him, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes ablaze with green fire. Her fingers shook as she touched her swollen lips. "What I want, my lord," she spat, "is to live without fear of being seduced by an unprincipled rogue!" With that, she clutched her shawl around her shoulders and fled through the opening in the boxwood hedge.
The marquess stared after her, breathing hard, his erection pressing against the tight confines of his breeches. His blood sang through his veins. God, he wanted her. One kiss, and he wanted nothing more than to sheath himself within her, to claim her completely.
Madness! He was getting caught up in his own trap.
He shook his head, as if he'd just emerged from a dream, and exhaled in a long sigh. Never had he lost control of himself like that, save when he was a callow youth. What was the matter with him? Something about her response to his kiss had tempted him past the point of reason-and all he wanted right now was to kiss her again. He hadn't felt this great an attraction to a woman since… well… his current mistress. He grinned. At least he knew he hadn't lost his charm.
The marquess pulled out his pocket timepiece. The others would be back soon. At least he'd had time to put the first portion of his plan in motion, if not the most critical part. Resolving to seek out Mrs. Mallory later, he tugged at his rumpled jacket and started off in the direction of the house.
When his relations returned from their outing, the marquess found the duke surly, the duchess near tears, Lady Elizabeth petulant, and the dowager up in the boughs. Without so much as a glance left or right, her face pinched in a terrible scowl, the dowager started up the stairs to her room. The duke offered to assist her, but she waved him away. The duchess and her sister retreated to the drawing room and closed the door.
Bainbridge turned to his cousin. "What happened?"