Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager - By Sarah Mallory Page 0,39

takes me out of Bath early tomorrow morning.’

She stalked to the table. Her whole demeanour indicated that she wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. She was not intent upon flattering him, Jasper thought ruefully, as he poured wine into two glasses.

‘Miss Prentess, we have a long evening ahead of us. It would pass much easier if we observe the basic civilities.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Will you cry quits with me, at least until we have finished our meal?’

There was a stormy look in her eyes, but after a brief hesitation she gave a little nod.

‘By all means, my lord.’

‘Good.’ He held out her chair, his eyes drawn to the smooth curve of her neck between the frilled edge of the ruff and her upswept hair. He resisted the temptation to bend and plant a gentle kiss there—she was not to be won by such a liberty.

Susannah remained upright on her chair, her nerves at full stretch. She did not understand the man. The air was thick with tension, every word, every gesture, seemed loaded with meaning. When she had taken her seat all she could think of was his hands on the chair behind her, just inches from her shoulders. It made her skin tingle. He had not touched her, and when he took his own seat he looked cool and at his ease. From the soup to the syllabub he served her with skill and courtesy, carving for her the most delicate slices from the roast duck, helping her to a portion of the sole in red wine, a sliver of the potato pudding. There was never a hint that she was anything more than an honoured guest, but all the time she was aware of him sitting across the table from her. She kept her feet tucked beneath her chair lest they should accidentally brush his.

She watched his hands as he served her, remembering how he had held out the syllabub when he had taken her down to supper at Royal Crescent, his long fingers holding the spoon to her lips, the wonderfully decadent sweetness of the soft mixture on her tongue. Of course she would not allow him such outrageous freedom again, but there was no denying that the syllabub set before her this evening was dull and lifeless in comparison.

Her lips were dry, but she would not run her tongue across them. That would show weakness and might rouse in him the desire she suspected was just below the surface. Yet he insisted he did not wish to seduce her, that he would do nothing without her permission. She sipped thoughtfully at her wine. Was this tension, the awareness, only within her? A surreptitious glance across the table showed that he was watching her, a faint smile on his handsome face.

And he was handsome. Sinfully so. She thought back to when they had danced together, remembering the covetous looks of the other ladies. How they would envy her, here alone with him. It must be the dream, the fantasy, of so many females. Yet Susannah knew it should remain as nothing more than a fantasy—the reality of what could lead from such an encounter as this was too horrendous, too devastating to consider. She must be on her guard against the feelings he aroused in her. How many times had she heard a poor, misguided girl say, ‘I could not help myself’?

* * *

‘If you have eaten your fill, ma’am, shall we retire from the table? It would be more comfortable to sit before the fire.’

The viscount’s words dragged her back from her reverie. He came around the table and held out his hand to her. Not by the flicker of an eyelid would she admit to the flash of awareness that shot through her when she placed her hand in his. She refused to lean upon him, even though her knees threatened to give way beneath her and her whole body was tingling and alive in a way that she had never known before. Her breasts were hard, pushing against the thin silk of her bodice and there was an ache of desire low down in her belly. She felt as if she was caught in some giant web. It wrapped around her, easing her closer towards her escort. When they reached the sofa it took all her effort to push against that invisible web and place herself at the very end, as far from that disturbing presence as