spirit from the forest, or djinn from the smoky lamp?
Momentarily disoriented, he had to stare at the ghostly reflection for an instant longer before the face of Kate Woodbridge came into focus.
Her stance mirrored his—they stood facing each other, legs slightly spread, palm pressed to palm, with only a thin slice of glass between them. He could see the throb of pulse at her throat, the rise and fall of her chest as her breath slowly misted the window. His skin began to tingle. Somehow the effect was intensely erotic.
“What the devil are you doing out there?” Her muffled voice slapped down the thought. “Stand back. You are welcome to break your neck during your drunken stumblings, but I’d rather you didn’t crack the glass.”
He jerked upright.
“You had better come in, before you do yourself any harm.” She motioned to an iron-framed door near the corner.
Marco did as she bade. The latch clicked open, and as he crossed the threshold, he was immediately aware of warm, humid air kissing against his cheeks. Its earthy sweetness filled at his nostrils, making him momentarily light-headed.
“Have a care,” she warned. “These orchids just arrived from Madras, and my grandfather will have your head on a pikestaff if you knock them over.”
“There is no need to shout,” he replied. “Neither my wits nor my hearing are impaired. In fact, I’ve had very little to drink this evening.”
“Ha! Sir Beesley was complaining that you couldn’t seem to count to ten when you partnered with him at the card table.”
“It was not the brandy; it was the company. I was bored playing whist with a bunch of stiff-rumped bureaucrats.”
“Then why did you leave London?” demanded Kate.
“I was bored playing vingt-et-un with a bunch of debauched scoundrels.”
“What does it take to excite your interest—” she began, then stopped with a snap. “No, on second thought, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
Marco laughed. “I thought scientists were supposed to be inquisitive by nature.”
She sucked in a breath, but didn’t reply.
He deliberately moved a little closer to her. “Afraid that you might learn something you don’t know?”
In the low, flickering play of the lantern’s flame, her face seemed to take on a slight burn.
“There’s precious little I haven’t…”
“Haven’t what?” he demanded when she stopped abruptly.
Kate looked away from the light.
“Seen? Or done?” Marco curled a sarcastic smirk. “Somehow, I rather doubt you have any real idea of how depraved life can be.”
Her eyes flared wide for an instant. But the look of vulnerability vanished just as quickly, leaving him to wonder whether he had merely imagined it.
“Think what you like,” said Kate in a tight whisper. Picking up her skirts, she started to turn. “Since you claim to be sober, you should have no trouble finding the way out on your own.”
“Wait.” Marco seized her wrist. “Not so fast.”
Hemmed in by the overhanging trees and potting benches stacked high with fragile seedlings, the narrow walkway allowed little room to maneuver. She tried to back away but bumped into a slab of solid oak.
A hiss of air escaped her lungs.
“Still a trifle sore, bella?” asked Marco, unable to keep from taunting her. Her face looked so lovely when it was on fire. “Let that be a lesson to keep a tighter rein on your impulses.”
Her hand curled in a fist. “Has anyone ever told you what an obnoxious, arrogant ass you are?”
“More times than I can count.”
“But you don’t care to listen?”
“I don’t care to change. There is a difference.”
“Not a meaningful one,” she countered. “Now, let me go, sir. Before I force you to do so.”
“Oh, that sounds intriguing.” With a casual flick of his fingers, he drew her close, so close that her breasts were pressed up against the front of his coat. Dropping his hands, he slid them lightly over her hips.
Heat thrummed through him as their thighs brushed. She gave a little gasp at the intimacy.
“There. I’m ready.”
“You won’t be grinning quite so smugly when my knee smashes into your testicolos.”
She had a point. “A lady is not supposed to know such nasty little secrets.”
“And who said I was a lady?”
Her chin rose a fraction, revealing a hairline scar on its tip. For one mad moment, Marco felt the urge to touch it with his tongue. A proper young lady didn’t have the nick of a knife blade on her skin. A proper young lady didn’t have a weathered weariness shading her expression. A proper young lady didn’t have a hardened yet haunted look