A Scoundrel By Moonlight

His hold softened in a way she couldn’t describe. She stared up at him, transfixed, afraid. No wonder poor silly Dorothy had fallen under his spell. He was the most compelling man she’d ever known.

Her skin tightened with anticipation. Slowly his lips skimmed across hers in a caress as different from her allout assault as satin from iron.

The kiss lasted no more than a second, yet flooded her with such longing that her knees buckled. She leaned back against the door.

He still looked uncompromising. His features were all hard planes: strong bones, jutting nose, adamantine jaw.

Yet his lips … His lips had been softer than a feather.

She snatched a jagged breath and struggled to speak, but before she could, he gave her another of those sweet kisses. Did he linger a little this time? Taste her as delicately as he’d sample a fine claret?

Her breath caught as he raised his head and regarded her with familiar concentration. To steady herself, she hooked her hands around his neck. “That was …”

Lovely? Wrong? Frightening? Beguiling?

Heaven help her. Heaven condemn her. She’d started this. Now she’d opened the gates to destruction on a level she’d never contemplated.

One thumb trailed down the line of her jaw, leaving a tingling wake. His lips quirked in a faint smile that set her heart cartwheeling. The huskiness in his voice stroked across her nerves like silk. The clean, male scent of his skin surrounded her, too familiar in a man who should be a stranger. “You’re not usually lost for words, Miss Trim.”

She’d never been kissed before. She’d always imagined that whoever the lucky fellow was, he’d use her Christian name. Still, something about the way his lordship said “Miss Trim” made her shiver with excitement. And God forgive her, lately when she’d imagined kisses, the man kissing her had been Lord Leath.

Nell felt as if she toppled over a cliff. She should flee, forsake her quest for vengeance, forget that however unacceptable the attraction, she found this man so appealing. She should scuttle back to Mearsall and her dear, kind stepfather, and her dull existence, and be grateful that dullness promised safety.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said shakily.

“You kissed me first.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

She wasn’t surprised when he laughed. Even she thought that she sounded absurd.

“You seem new to the activity. I merely offered an alternative technique.”

She thought she’d blushed before, but this critique set her cheeks on fire. “I don’t go around kissing random men, my lord. I refuse to apologize for my inexperience.”

“I’m glad.” He caught her loosely by the waist. She was overwhelmingly conscious of those large hands holding her.

“For my inexperience?”

“That you made an exception to your rule.”

“I suppose you’re used to women throwing themselves at you,” she mumbled, knowing she made a fool of herself. A man like Leath probably couldn’t step outside without tripping over eager young ladies wanting to kiss him. Wanting more.

The idea of him doing more to her sent Nell’s heart hurtling into her ribs.

He smiled. How she wished that he’d stop. That gentle curve of his beautifully cut lips set her pulses rocketing. “If only life was so exciting for a politically minded marquess.”

She wasn’t deceived. Even disregarding Dorothy’s story, she couldn’t see women ignoring his manifold attractions. He’d been angry when he’d discovered her in his room. She sensed no anger now. Just perpetual waiting.

She backed away and bumped hard into the door. “I must go.”

His hands tightened. “You freely entered the lion’s den, Miss Trim.”

“Stop calling me Miss Trim,” she said crossly, bracing her hands against his powerful chest. She told herself to push him away, but her disobedient fingers curved into hard muscle. He was so wonderfully warm. Beneath her right palm, his heart beat like a conqueror’s drum.

The kiss had been intimate. Feeling the life pounding through him felt more so. What a mistake she’d made coming here. Even if she left immediately, she and the marquess would never be strangers again.

“Would you rather I called you Eleanor?” he asked silkily.

Her eyes widened. “Only my father called me Eleanor. Everyone calls me Nell.”

“I rather like the idea of kissing Eleanor.”

“I rather like the idea of going back to my room.” She squeaked in horror. That sounded like a proposition. “Alone.”

“So no curiosity?”

She saw by his expression that the shake of her head lacked conviction. “I’m sorry I invaded your apartments.”

“I’m not.”

Shocked, she stared at him. “You’re not?”

“I have a lovely woman in my arms and no particular plans for the rest of the evening.”

Her stomach lurched in dismay. Dear Lord, at last she saw the seducer. And as he’d so rightly said, she’d put herself squarely in his sights. She shoved his chest. It was like trying to move a monolith. “No.”

“No?”

“Droit de seigneur went out of fashion with the farthingale.”

“So you don’t want to share my bed?”

“No.” Although her blood beat hard and hot at the thought of having that big beautiful body as her plaything for the night.

“Yet here you are.” The edge in his tone made her shiver.

“I … told you why.”

“Yes, you’re suffering a bad case of unrequited love.”

She pushed at his chest again. “Not love. Just infatuation.”

“Prove it.”

Her wriggling stopped and she regarded him aghast. “I’m not a doxy.” Bitterness seeped into her voice. “I don’t even know how to kiss, as you so ungallantly pointed out.”

His laugh this time held the characteristic grim note. Briefly when he’d kissed her, he’d looked like a gentler, younger, kinder man. Now the purpose in his expression made her quake with nerves. And unwilling excitement. She’d never stood so long in a man’s embrace. Next to Leath, she felt small and feminine. Powerless too, which should terrify her. After all, he threatened ruin, and there was nobody to save her.

“You’ll keep your chastity, although God knows you tempt fate.”

“I thought you were in the library,” she said stubbornly.

“No excuse.”

“So let me go.”

His smile wasn’t reassuring. “Not until you’ve learned how to kiss a man.”

She braced against him. “I think I’m better off not knowing.”

“I’m appalled that a woman so lovely is untouched.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Compliments won’t make me stay.”

“Perhaps not. But this might.”

He captured her lips in a quick, commanding kiss. Odd how much he could convey without words.

“You … you flatter yourself, my lord.”

“Do I? You’re still here.”

She gulped in air. She kept forgetting to breathe. Then when she did, Leath’s musky essence intoxicated her, making coherent thought impossible.

Another inhalation. Only to realize that he no longer held her. His beautiful hands hung loose and open at his sides, although his rough breathing indicated disquiet.

She raised her hands from his chest, loathing how his warmth lingered on her palms, and reached behind her for the doorknob. “You’ll stop me if I try to leave.”

Nell had a horrible feeling that she sounded like she wanted him to keep her here.

“Try it and see.”

Despite all the evil she knew of him, she had the strongest feeling that she could trust him with her life. Was she right? Or was she another stupid girl caught in a rake’s net?

“Just a kiss?” she whispered, hardly believing that she wasn’t already halfway back to her room. She wondered if he had any idea what potent effect his raw masculinity had on her frail willpower. “Can I trust you?”

The edge returned to his voice, although he didn’t move. “You’re the one who broke into my bedroom.”

Completely unjustified guilt surged. He was a bad man and she’d been doing the work of the righteous. But she couldn’t deny that she’d felt shabby breaching his inner sanctum. “One kiss and then I’ll go.”

“As you wish.”

“You agree?” she asked in shock.

“It’s time to move from negotiation to action, my dear Eleanor.” To prove he meant it, he drew her into his arms.

Chapter 8

Miss Trim’s—Eleanor’s—lips trembled against Leath’s. Touching her was so sweet that he almost forgot that he didn’t trust her. Not for a moment did he believe that she was smitten. On the other hand, he did, against all sense, believe that she’d never kissed a man before.

Where the devil had she been living? In a cave under a mountain? He always chose sophisticated, experienced lovers. But there was something breathtaking about setting his lips to Eleanor’s and knowing he was the first.

This girl possessed no worldly skills to augment his pleasure. Which didn’t mean there was no pleasure. There was far too much, damn it.

The proximity of his bed, the late hour, her tantalizing combination of shyness and eagerness. All conspired to erode his anger and suspicion, and remind him that she was beautiful and night after night he’d dreamed of touching her.

Gentleness won out as he tasted lips locked against him. A pang of inconvenient tenderness struck him as he recalled her kissing him as if battering him into submission. Now her resistance seeped away until she fit against him as though created to please him. He kissed the corners of her mouth, then nipped softly at her full bottom lip.

A muffled protest parted her lips.

It was enough.

The tip of his tongue invaded her mouth. Just that small incursion blasted him with enough heat to incinerate good intentions.

She jerked back, cinnamon eyes dark, troubled, heavy with desire. “That was … strange.”

He smiled and cradled her head between his hands. “You’ll come to like it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” He beat back another wave of tenderness. When she stood willingly in his arms, trembling with the onslaught of new feelings and experiences, she undermined his every defense. Again he pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips. “Open for me, Eleanor.”

Her eyes were glazed. “I—”

Leath swooped, sliding his tongue into the hot depths and tasting her fully. He closed his eyes, the better to savor every nuance. She was sweeter than cherries or peaches or apricots. Like honey, but with a tart edge.

She made a sound in her throat. Denial or encouragement? Then her tongue fluttered against his, and this time, her sigh betrayed enjoyment. Her hands kneaded his loose shirt like a kitten sharpening its claws.

How long did he stand beside the fire kissing Miss Trim? He didn’t know. Eventually, inevitably, kissing wasn’t enough. His lips drifted across her face and down her neck. When he concentrated on a nerve at the junction of neck and shoulder, she cried out. Her fresh scent became richer, earthier.

He aroused her. God knew, she aroused him. His hand shook when he raised it to the line of buttons descending from her demure collar. He fumbled at the fastenings—he, who hadn’t fumbled with a woman’s clothing since he’d left Cambridge.

Her face flushed with pleasure. Her eyes were closed and her glistening mouth parted as she awaited more kisses. She leaned into him as though her legs couldn’t support her. He wasn’t feeling too stable himself. His blood pounded hot and heavy, the need to touch her skin an insistent hum in his ears. Her breath emerged in ragged sighs and her strong, graceful hands curved around his shoulders.

The gray dress gaped. He felt like a traveler venturing into an unexplored land. How he’d fantasized about stripping away her nun-like clothing.

He bent to kiss her collarbone, lingered on the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Sliding one hand under her shift, he cupped her breast. The weight of her flesh in his palm crashed through him like a hurricane.

She gasped and stiffened. “This is wrong.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He might be a fool; he’d never been a liar.

“You promised … kissing only,” she said unsteadily, although without withdrawing.

“Then let me kiss you again.”

Her lips quivered with uncertainty until with a sigh, she succumbed to the heat. Her beaded nipple scraped his palm. When he flicked it with his thumb, she started and gasped into his mouth. She pressed forward, silently begging for more.

Her reaction excited him. Urgently he pushed her undergarments down to bare one breast to the firelight. Seeing that satiny white flesh crowned with deep pink made him shake with need. The sight was somehow more arousing because plain white linen covered her other breast. He felt as though he unwrapped the most wonderful present in history.

Unable to stop himself, he bent to take that pearled nipple into his mouth. She gave a soft cry and squeezed closer. He drew harder, curling his tongue. Then, when she panted and squirmed and dug her hands deep into his hair, he gently bit her. Another start of shock.

Dear God, she was so responsive. He couldn’t remember a lover so attuned to pleasure.

Her swollen, parted lips beckoned him. He kissed her again, glorying in her quick, hot answer, even as he hoisted her high in his arms and carried her to the huge bed that he’d never shared with a woman.

When he came down over her, her legs parted to cradle him. He pressed into her mound, letting her feel his weight and size.

She wriggled and made a choked sound, but he was too far gone to pay attention. One unsteady hand stretched down to raise her skirts. He burned to touch her sex.

She made another strangled sound against his lips and caught his hand as it reached her thigh. Vaguely through raging tumult, he sensed that her body wasn’t as loose and welcoming as it had been.

Wits dull with arousal, he raised his head. “Eleanor?”

His heart sank. She looked tense and afraid and unhappy. His hand stilled at her hip, although he couldn’t bring himself to retreat.

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