Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,13

The prim, serious mouth of Lina's cousin. He wanted to see if her hair was the same rich copper between her legs. He wanted to see if the freckles covered her breasts, her belly, the insides of her thighs. He wanted to strip the unflattering clothes from her long body, to—

Montague's voice rose to a wavering crescendo, and he passed the goblet to the next acolyte, disappearing back into the shadows. Lady Whitmore was the third in line, clearly anxious to get started, and Adrian knew he was going to have to make up his mind. Evangelina Whitmore was beautiful, available, he'd never had her. He was a fool to even have second thoughts.

As she moved he noticed the tall monk who'd been shadowing her and frowned. Had she already chosen her partner for the next hour, or for the full three days ahead of them?

And then he saw the white ribbon on the monk's arm. A watcher. He had no particular problem with that—he'd found a number of women enjoyed an audience. It inspired them to new heights. Though he always wondered if their noisy pleasure wasn't then more for the audience and less the result of his own expertise.

Not that that was something that troubled him overmuch. He was quite gifted at the giving and receiving of pleasure. An audience had long since ceased to be a novelty for him—if Lina Whitmore came equipped with a witness then he might look elsewhere.

But to his surprise he saw them part company, and he wondered if he'd been mistaken. He'd been very sure they were together, yet Evangelina was disappearing into the darkness, away from him, and he wondered if she'd gone after Montague. There'd be no joy from that union, for either of them, but that was hardly his problem.

It was the monk who suddenly interested him.

While he considered himself broad-minded when it came to the pursuit of pleasure, he found his own tastes ran to women exclusively. Monty had always chided him for his lack of imagination when it came to choosing partners thusly, but Adrian ignored his old friend. Women were such delightful creatures, so beautifully constructed, as if made for one reason and one alone.

He knew otherwise, but his blood was up and he was focused on that one thing alone. With Lina Whit-more gone, he needed to find someone equally enticing. It shouldn't be that difficult.

"Why the hesitation, my boy?" Etienne had sidled up to him, his monk's habit open to expose a burly chest thick with grizzled hair. Etienne was partial to group efforts, while in general Adrian preferred one woman at a time. There were too many people at an orgy—he tended to lose track of limbs and mouths, and sheer sensation had palled long ago.

Adrian gave him his charming smile. "My intended has gone off with another. I find I must regroup."

"Can you not join them?"

The idea of having sex with his oldest friend was entirely unappealing. He remained close with Montague, whose tastes had made themselves evident later in life, by keeping the question of physical affection at a distance. To put it bluntly, he didn't care who or what Montague fucked, as long as it wasn't

"I'll look elsewhere, I think," he said casually, his eyes still on the new monk. He could tell by the way he walked that he was quite young, and he moved farther into the gardens decorated with impressively explicit statues. Adrian could tell by the rigidity in the young monk's shoulders that he had never seen or considered what was going on between the carved participants, and—

A slow smile curved his mouth. "I believe I've found my muse.” Etienne followed his gaze. "You've changed your habits, mon cousin. I thought you didn't care for your own sex.”

"She's female," Adrian said briefly, watching as she moved away, deeper into the Garden of Delights. She hadn't screamed or fainted—perhaps he'd underestimated her. She must be far more experienced than he'd guessed.

"Ah, I see. And you've chosen her? Enjoy yourself, then. If she's game, come find us.” Adrian's only response was a faint smile. He started after her, moving silently with the shadows so as not to alarm her, only to find her starting up at the coup de grace, the undeniably lovely and undeniably pornographic statue of the Rape of the Sabines.

In this case, rape seemed to hold the more common meaning rather than the classical one of simple abduction, as the ever-ready marble Roman was in