He was very aware of the enticingly bare expanse of her bosom, of the cleavage between her generously rounded breasts, of her gracefully arched neck, of her bold, strangely attractive face, of the shining mass of her fair hair. He felt his temperature rise a notch, his breath quicken, his groin tighten.
He drew her forward until she stood between his spread legs, and drew her arms about his waist until she locked them behind him. He cupped her face with his hands, smoothed his thumbs over her dark eyebrows and then down her cheeks to rub over her lips.
He ran his tongue over his own lips as he lowered his head and then over hers-they were soft and warm and unresisting. He drew down her bottom lip with his thumb, ran his tongue back and forth over the soft flesh inside, and then, when she opened her mouth with a low sound of acquiescence, he kissed her fully, sliding his tongue deep inside.
Desire exploded in him with furnace heat. He wrapped one arm about her shoulders and the other about her waist to draw her closer, and lost himself in sheer carnal lust.
"What are we doing?" she asked suddenly a short while later, jerking back her head and glaring at him with bright eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Kissing?" he suggested, rubbing his nose across hers and grinning at her. "We did both just agree, did we not, that it has been an enjoyable week? Why not make it more so?"
"Perhaps," she said, her hands on his shoulders as if to push away from him, "you need to be reminded that we are not really betrothed."
"Yet this is our betrothal party," he said, "and you have assured your brother that we adore each other and are going to live happily ever after together. You never lie to your brother."
He had better be careful, he thought, or he was going to talk himself into something he could not talk himself out of.
"I do not kiss every handsome stranger I encounter," she retorted.
"Only the ones you temporarily betroth yourself to?" He grinned and wrapped both arms about her waist. It was very small, a delicious contrast to her bosom and hips.
She stared at him. "Promise me you will not be persuaded to come to Lindsey Hall," she said. "This needs to be ended now-as soon as possible after tonight."
"You are afraid," he asked softly, rubbing his nose over hers again and teasing her lips with his own, "that you will not be able to resist my body much longer?"
She tutted. "I have never in my life met such a conceited man," she said.
"I am mortally afraid," he said, "that I will not be able to resist yours."
He meant it too. Having Lady Freyja Bedwyn in bed, he suspected, would be the sensual experience of a lifetime. Unfortunately, he would never know for sure. She was a lady-an aristocrat. She was out of bounds. But a betrothal, he was finding, even a fake one, was setting severe temptation in his way. In hers too, it appeared-despite her words she was making no concerted effort to get away from him.
"I could begin the feast here," he said, nibbling at her lips with his teeth, "and work my way down to your toes. Toes are a marvelously erotic part of the anatomy. Did you know that?"
"I did not," she said firmly, drawing her head back a few inches to glare at him. "And this is quite improper talk. You are laughing at me. Your eyes give you away every time."
"Do they, sweetheart?" He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck where it joined her shoulder. She hunched the shoulder and tipped back her head. Her fingers twined in his hair and clutched it. "And do they also tell you that I might never reach your toes? I might be distracted by something altogether more erotic halfway down."
He heard breath hiss into her. This might be the moment to protect his nose from acquiring a bend of its own, he thought, but when he lifted his head he could see that her lips were parted and her eyes heavy-lidded. She did not have fisticuffs on her mind, then.
"We ought not to be here," she said. "We ought to be with your grandmother's guests. They will wonder where we are."
"They will think that we are stealing a few moments for ourselves," he told her. "They will be charmed."
She moved her head forward then, closing her eyes as she came, and kissed him fiercely on the lips, opening her mouth, opening his, and invading him with her tongue.
She had both arms coiled about his neck and he had both hands splayed over her buttocks when the door opened.
"Ah," the cold, rather languid voice of the Duke of Bewcastle said as Joshua opened his eyes, lifted his head, and slid his hands up to a more decorous position on either side of her waist, "here you both are."
He stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him as Lady Freyja spun around, flushed and slightly disheveled.
"Do you ever think of knocking, Wulf?" she demanded haughtily.
He raised his eyebrows and looked faintly surprised. "No," he said after pausing to give her question some consideration. "A servant directed me here."
Freyja was horribly embarrassed-partly because she had launched herself with such lascivious intent at the marquess, partly because Wulf had walked in and caught her at it. It was only after the marquess had moved his hands that she had realized where they had been. And of course they would have been in full view to Wulf-she had had her back to the door.
She glanced down hastily but was reassured to find that the low bodice of her gown still covered everything it had been designed to cover. Now, she thought crossly, she was going to look doubly pathetic in a few days' time when this farce was all over.
Wulfric had not come to drag her back to the party by the hair, it seemed. He settled into one of the gilded chairs, rested his elbows on the arms, and steepled his fingers-a characteristic pose when he had something of some import to say.
"Sit down, Freyja," he said, indicating the other chair before joining his fingertips again. "I understand that there was a great deal more at play during the infamous ball at the Upper Rooms one week ago than presented itself to general observation."
Freyja, seating herself and feeling the marquess come to stand behind and slightly to one side of her chair and set a hand on the back of it, suddenly felt no doubt at all that Wulfric knew everything.
"It would appear," he continued, "that quite unknown to most of the guests present, there was an unseemly rush to win the race over which of two betrothals, both involving the same gentleman, was to be announced first. Am I correct in this assumption, Hallmere?"
There was a predictable thread of laughter in the marquess's voice when he answered.
"Not exactly," he said, "though according to my cousin Constance, the marchioness was hoping to advance our apparent courtship to such a degree that an announcement would have seemed superfluous. I preferred to defend myself with offense."
Wulfric leveled upon him the sort of keen, icy look that had most ordinary mortals withering up in the vain hope of disappearing altogether. Freyja did not look to see if the marquess was one of them. She should, she supposed, be feeling enormous relief. The worst part of ending the masquerade-telling Wulf-was to be avoided. She might have guessed that he would discover the truth for himself.
"This betrothal is to end as soon as the Marchioness of Hallmere and her daughter have left for home, I assume?" Wulfric asked.
"With heartfelt thanks to Lady Freyja for saving me from a life sentence and apologies for any inconvenience to her, yes," the marquess agreed.
"It has not been inconvenient, Wulf," Freyja added firmly. "Indeed I agreed gladly to the scheme. And the tedium of life in Bath has been considerably alleviated during the past week."
"During which time you have been enjoying excursions into the hills and surrounding countryside at all hours of the day, alone with a gentleman who is not your betrothed," Wulfric said. "And embracing him."