The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,26

beautiful and she never wanted it to end. Hands surrounding her face, he sought something in her mouth that she most definitely wanted to give, bending to her deeper, more completely with each meeting. His tongue swept hers and she moaned and twined her fingers in his hair and surrendered herself thoroughly to him.

He broke the kiss.

With an involuntary chirp of protest, she opened her eyes. His were dark and more astonished than she liked.

Air jerked out of her lungs.

Dropping his hands from her face, he reached for her wrists and removed her arms from his shoulders. Then he released her and stepped back. He was blinking now and he shook his head once.

“Didn’t you—” She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “You did not enjoy that, I guess.”

“Good God, Elle. If I’d enjoyed that for a minute longer I would now be enjoying all of you on that divan there.”

She choked on the flare of heat that coursed straight up the center of her body.

“That—That suits me.” She folded her hands before her.

His beautiful mouth cracked into a grin. “You look like a princess and you taste like a goddess. But you still sound like a little print mistress.”

“Thank you. I think?”

“Thank you, most certainly.” He ran his hand distractedly through his hair—his hair that she now knew felt like satin and wanted to feel quite a lot more.

It must have shown in her eyes. His chest heaved upon a hard breath.

“We’ve got to get out of here, now,” he said, “before I do something I shouldn’t.”

She wished he would. But she appreciated the wisdom in his suggestion. Being discovered in this manner would not help her achieve her ultimate goal. A bishop of the Church of England was unlikely to welcome a wanton hussy into his house for tea.

But with Captain Masinter’s gaze upon her now, Elle did not feel wanton or hussy-like. She felt beautiful.

Going to the bookshelf and replacing the Utopia, she moved to the door. From behind, his hands circled her shoulders, big and strong and astonishingly gentle and he bent his head and kissed her shoulder. Her entire body shimmered in pleasure and a sigh slipped through her lips. Lightly he ran his fingertips down her arms, and stroked his thumbs over her palms. She shuddered and tilted her head.

“I could stand here all night tasting you, yet never get my fill,” he murmured against her shoulder. “Wonder what those blokes in your native country call it when they feel this way.”

“My native country?” she whispered.

“Hungary.” His lips brushed her earlobe and pleasure cascaded all down her side. “When they feel this ravenous for a girl”—his teeth grazed her neck and she gasped at the pleasure—“d’you suppose they say they’re English? You know, ‘By Jove, I’m devilishly English for that pretty girl!’”

She giggled. Then she cleared her throat. “Not girl. Woman.”

The lightest caress of his lips feathered over her skin. “I am devilishly hungry for you, woman.”

His mouth was doing remarkable things to her, but his hold on her hands remained loose.

“You’re not slapping my face,” he said, his voice muffled behind her ear. “That’s a good sign.”

“How is that a good sign?” she said unsteadily.

He laced their fingers together, her small palms against his, and a little moan escaped her.

“You don’t think I’m a scoundrel now,” he said.

She drew her hands away and moved the final step to open the door.

“I do still think you are a scoundrel, Captain.” She knew better than to lose her wits over provocative words. “It is only that I do not mind it quite as much as before.”

~o0o~

The captain collected his half-sister and they left the Mayfair mansion and drove across town to the printing house.

“Now,” he said as the carriage halted before Brittle & Sons, “you’ll tell me where you live and we’ll see you home. Properly.”

“I cannot.”

“Have you a grand secret you are unwilling to divulge, Elle?” Seraphina said. “Perhaps you truly are a princess, and only playing at being a printer’s assistant. Is that it?”

“I cannot explain, but I cannot allow you to see me home.”

“Then you will come home with me and sleep in my guest bedchamber,” Seraphina said, taking her hand, “and tomorrow morning after we have had a cozy breakfast and talked over every detail of the grand success of Princess Magdala of Hungary tonight, my coachman will return you here.”

“Thank you, but I cannot. I have work to do in the morning.” And Minnie sitting at