for a moment she froze. She'd been kissed like that before, and she knew all the tricks of a measured response. But those clever tricks evaporated, and she closed her eyes, sinking, sinking. He kissed her with a fierce hunger that shook her to her bones, a deep, carnal kiss that was more sexual than anything she'd done in her entire life.
He lifted his head, glaring down at her. "You think I don't feel desire. Lady Whitmore? That's not a trout inside my breeches. You think I don't want you? You're the only woman to make me this crazy in ten years. You think I couldn't break my vows and betray my conscience and take you standing up against the wall, right here, right now? Damn you."
He gave her a little shake, and she let out a small, a very small murmur of distress.
“But you don’t fool me. You don't like men, you don’t like sex which is far worse than simply being a loose woman. You don't even get pleasure out of the act."
"I get—" Her denial was immediate, but he cut her off.
“No, you don't. Which is why I'm not going to betray everything I believe in, in service to whatever sick game you like to play. I won't do it. Damn you." He pulled her back into his arms, and she looked up at him, torn, confused, longing. "Damn you," he said again, just a whisper, and his mouth found hers.
The kiss was gentle this time, but there was nothing innocent about it. It was sweet and sexual, a kiss of such unbridled longing that it frightened her, and she reached up, meaning to push him away, but instead her arms went around his neck and pulled him closer, down to her, losing herself in the wonder of his mouth.
It was amazing that anything could penetrate the sudden, unexpected, sweet haze of longing that swept over her as he wrapped his arms around her. Just her name, in a hoarse whisper, and she yanked herself away, expecting that Monty had woken up.
Instead she saw three figures at the end of the wide terrace. Two liveried figures, and a limp, berobed woman in between.
Charlotte.
14
Adrian Rohan lounged in the chair, surveying the busy club with a jaundiced eye. There was a great deal of noise coming from the faro table, where someone had clearly just won or lost a fortune.
Normally Adrian would have risen and strolled over to see who had changed their life, at least for the day, but he was bored, restless, annoyed. Gaming had lost its charm for him, wine its taste, sex its delight. For the past three weeks Etienne had tried to interest him in his old pursuits, but nothing managed to entertain him. He'd made an effort, letting his father's cousin drag him off to the clubs, the bordellos, but nothing was able to capture his interest.
Not even the remarkable prowess of Madame Kate's best fellatrix could do more than produce a desultory release, when normally he would have enjoyed the act immensely. He moved through his life with a stunning apathy. He was tired of everything, including Etienne de Giverney, who was growing ever more tedious in his attempts to distract him. Drink bored him, high-stakes gaming was tepid, he'd had every woman that caught his fancy, everything was flat and tasteless.
"That fool Lindenham," Etienne wheezed as he sank into the chair opposite him. "Wagered the family estate on a roll of the dice. Always a bad idea, no matter how lucky he seemed to have been earlier in the evening. He'll probably blow his brains out in a fortnight."
"Or win it back next week," Adrian said absently. "Etienne, I'm thinking I might rusticate. Town has grown dreadfully stale lately, and I'm thinking a bit of fresh air and exercise might improve my spirits."
"You had plenty of fresh air and exercise at Montague's place. Then again, your little piece of fluff didn't let you out of your cave al all—no wonder you're feeling the need of blue sky. Assuming you'll find it in this dreadful country."
"If you don't like our weather you could always return to France, cousin," Adrian suggested in a sweet voice, unaccountably annoyed.
"And lose my head? I think not! I'm more than happy to wait out the revolution right here. It won't be long before the canaille give up. As long as they keep executing each other there soon won't be anyone left to rule, and they'll have no