The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,81
hardly think a man who consigns desperate women to the role of mistress to see to your pleasures is so very progressive.”
His color turned an interesting shade of red she’d never before seen human skin turn. “I . . . I assure you. My . . . my . . .” Oh, now this she was rather enjoying, the smug, assured Lord Scarsdale stammering like every last lady, from debutante to dowager, he’d charmed the pantalets off.
“Mis-tress,” she clearly enunciated for him, and his cheeks went crimson. And here, before talking to Charles at various points in the last several months, she’d not believed scoundrels and rogues capable of that feat.
“First, Emma, I would have you know that those women were—”
“In need of funds to secure their futures?”
His frown deepened. “I was going to say ‘quite pleased with the arrangement.’”
That blow landed, no doubt, exactly as he’d intended, like a sharp barb between the breasts. “Oh, undoubtedly,” she drawled, heaping all the sarcasm she could into those two words. Emma headed for the door.
“Never tell me you’ve not thought of that night we shared.”
His words brought her up short, halting her in her tracks. He’d gone there . . . that place she’d no chance of holding the upper hand over. Even so, Emma brought back her shoulders and faced him anyway.
It was a mistake.
He smiled slowly, then pushed away from the table and, letting his arms fall, began a slow, languid stroll across the room. Toward her. His steps sleek, his movements even sleeker. He stopped between her and the doorway out.
She knew what he was doing. She knew exactly what he intended, and knowing should have made her immune to it, and yet, God help her, he moved like a panther she’d once watched in fascination at the Royal Menagerie.
He stopped, a fraction apart, so close she felt his breath, a hint of brandy and the whisper of chocolate, an unexpectedly sweet flavor upon him, that begged to be tasted.
Her opinion of him was so very low.
And for only good reasons.
Why, he’d spent years giving them to her. Glad she resented him as much as he resented her. Until now. Hating it with all his soul . . . that he’d not been better for her.
In this moment, everything he wanted to do with her and to her marked him the very scoundrel she took him to be. But God help him, with her eyes fiery and her cheeks flushed with that bright color, and those long, straight strands falling over her shoulder, she seduced him more than any scandalous garment she could have donned.
Reaching behind her, he brought the door shut, and turned the lock.
Click.
Emma followed his actions with her eyes. “What are you doing?” Even as he brought a hand up, cupping her cheek, and her lashes slid shut, and she leaned into him.
“I have thought of only you and that night, Emma.”
“And destroying my club,” she added. But her hands crept up, and she gripped the front of his jacket.
“Well, building up my own.” He ran a trail of kisses down the curve of her cheek.
“It is the s-same thing.” She moaned, the little wanton spill of her desire from her lips fueling his, and Charles filled his palms with her lush buttocks, drawing her close to his shaft.
“I thought you were a society?” he asked, nipping lightly at her neck.
“D-did I not say that?” Emma reflexively moved her hips against him, and Charles buried his face in her shoulder. His breath grew faster, as with her every undulation, his passion swelled.
“You didn’t.” And then he shifted his head, hovering his mouth along the bodice of her dress, that pause a clear signal that this moment was for her to decide. That Emma would be in charge of where this night should go. This time. Emma lifted her lashes and looked him in the eyes.
“We shouldn’t be here. Not a-alone.” Her voice quavered, but neither did she make a move to leave or end this forbidden exchange they stole on the fringe of Lady Rutland’s revelries.
“Lord Alvanley has quite secured the attention of everyone present.” He lowered his mouth close to hers, and Emma lifted her head to meet his. But Charles stopped. “Do you want to leave, Emma-love?”
“No,” she whispered, and then her eyes slid shut as he kissed a path along her neckline. “Wh-what is it about you th-that I cannot w-walk away?” she rasped.
“Because you’re learning what I learned too late .