to the nun's habit. Lady Whitmore. I merely thought the decolletage was a bit extreme for a sickroom, and I assumed you preferred to be fashionable. You may wear whatever you please."
"Thank you for your kind permission," she said with only the faintest bite beneath her soft tone. In fact, she'd forgotten that beneath the rounded white collar of the habit the plain black dress was cut very low, ostensibly to allow men to survey her bounty before she actually divested herself of her clothes. She resisted the impulse to yank her dress up higher. Her breasts were firm and well shaped; let the dour clergyman look his fill.
"You have a point, Mr. Pagett," she murmured. "Though it's a shame when you and I are so particularly matched. In costume, at least."
For a brief moment the words hung in the air, seeming to take on a different meaning. And then Pagett scowled at her, ignoring her breasts as few men had managed in the past ten years. "I doubt we would find we have anything else in common," he said, sounding irritable. "Perhaps it would be better if you were to join your fellow sybarites..."
"I will stay." In fact, she'd considered slipping away, but most likely Charlotte was in the room they were sharing, sound asleep.
The footmen were already carrying Montague from the candlelit salon amidst his weak curses and languid protests. The look Simon Pagett cast her was far from promising. "He's in safe hands with me.
Lady Whitmore, no matter what he says. It would probably mate things a great deal simpler if you went and joined the others."
She looked at him for a long moment. "And it would doubtless make things a great deal simpler if you returned from whence you came and waited until you were supposed to show up. Sometime next week, I collect?"
At first he didn't answer her, and she had the odd, uncomfortable sensation that he saw her too clearly. "Why would you suppose any such thing?"
"Because Montague would scarcely invite a stick-in-the-mud, disapproving parson to a house party composed of notorious libertines, would he?"
Now she could see for certain—he was amused. It barely touched the comers of his fine eyes, and his mouth kept its grim, uncompromising line. Nevertheless, he was amused.
"You think not. Lady Whitmore? In fact, he was expecting me tomorrow, and the Revels usually last a good four days, do they not?"
"Only three this time." She didn't stop to wonder why he'd know that much.
His lips curved in a cool smile. "Perhaps Montague is beginning to accept the fact that he is mortal after all. I expect he hoped to be strong enough to enjoy at least a part of the Revels, and to rub my nose in it." He stared down at her for a long moment, as if he'd forgotten what he was going to say.
She was feeling oddly breathless. If he wasn't going to speak, then she should, rather than stand there in that awkward silence. Of course, the way to break it would be to excuse herself, and that was exactly what she should do. Except she didn't want to.
There was an arrested expression in his eyes, and the silence held. Until something made him come to his senses, and he turned away with a short, dismissive laugh. "Montague will be resting for the next few hours, once the doctor leaves. You may as well
"We've got an arduous battle ahead and you'll need your strength."
"Battle?" she echoed, confused. "Battle for what?"
"Montague's immortal soul." He turned, then looked back for a moment. "And likely yours as well."
And without another word he was gone.
For a first kiss it was not bad, Adrian thought coolly. Charlotte Spenser froze as his mouth touched hers, too shocked to do anything more, and Adrian pressed his advantage, pulling her closer against his body, wrapping his arms around her so she couldn't escape easily, and proceeded to work on seducing her mouth first. He slid one hand up to her gold-rimmed glasses, slipped them off and deliberately dropped them on the ground before she even knew what he'd done.
She could probably feel his iron-hard erection beneath her silly monk's habit, even if she didn't know what it was. Quite impressive—he hadn't been this excited so early in the game for a long time. He usually needed his partner to be completely naked and under him before he reached this dangerous point, further proof that he'd been far too interested in Charlotte Spenser to