Devilish Page 0,48

illness."

"I couldn't know you would be doing that."

He sipped and made no comment.

Diana tasted the cognac, then warmed it some more. "So, you were deliberately avoiding anything more scandalous?"

"It seemed wise."

Should she apologize? Damned if she would. Damned, too, if she'd be dismissed without knowing what was happening.

"Very well," she said, sitting on the chaise still warm from Madame de Couriac's body, and even carrying a ghost of her suggestive perfume. "What are they up to?"

He came and sat at the other end, as he'd sat with the other woman except that three feet of blue damask stretched between them, uninvaded. "Perhaps it is as it appears, Lady Arradale. She is wanton, he is ill."

"Perhaps."

"You doubt it?" He put his glass aside. "Put your foot in my lap."

Diana stared at him. "Why?"

"I am in the mood for rubbing feet."

He was in a strange and possibly dangerous mood, but she longed to know what it felt like. She slipped her left foot out of her shoe and shifted so she could place it on his thigh. That alone required a mouthful of fortifying spirits. He put both hands around her foot and began to rub her instep with his thumbs.

She suppressed a moan of pleasure. "She may be wanton," she said as steadily as she could, "but he is not ill."

"He likely is somewhat after the potion the doctor left. But no, you are fundamentally correct."

"So, what are they up to?"

His thumbs were working now along the base of her toes. She could not help but relax back and feared she must look as limp and languorous as the Frenchwoman had.

"They could have been after my documents," he said, thumbs working magic, but eyes on hers, "but then de Couriac would have gone to my bedchamber, not here. Therefore..."

"Therefore," she supplied, "he was hoping to force a duel. Are you further ahead for knowing that?"

"A little."

"He could have demanded a duel anyway. You were alone with his wife."

"Who had asked for my help and been seen in distress. No, he could not have insisted on a duel."

She had to believe he understood these arcane male ways. "What now, then?"

His hands stilled. "Now, Lady Arradale, I should kiss your foot." One hand, one nail, trailed along her instep around her heel and up to the bone of her ankle. "But that requires the removal of your stocking. Which is an interlude of its own..."

As his fingers slipped up from her ankle toward her calf, she stared into his dark eyes, dizzied.

"Do you wish the game to continue?" he asked.

Her rising heart rate steadied. This, she saw, was like his invitation to seduction at the ball. Not so much an amorous petition as a dare. Even, perhaps, a minor punishment for meddling in his affairs.

With aching regret, she pulled her foot out of his lax hands and sat up straight. "I don't think so."

"I didn't think so, either."

She drained her brandy and stood, but had to ask, "Why did you do that?"

He, against etiquette, remained seated. "Your curiosity was palpable."

Yes, punishment of a sort. She refused to show embarrassment.

Perhaps she should have called his bluff, but she knew he'd have gone through with it, even to sex. Which was an interesting thought in itself. He might think of it as punishment, but she could see it in a completely different light.

"I am curious," she said, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. "About a great many things."

"Curiosity, however, is one of the scourges of the soul, and enlightenment can lead to the darkest paths."

"How tedious to always move in the light." Could she? Here? With him?

"But safer."

"Do we want to be safe?"

He did rise then. "Some perils are far too serious for games. And you, my dear, are playing games." He raised her hand to kiss it with no greater warmth than courtesy required. "Good night, Lady Arradale. We leave early in the morning."

Dismissed, Diana could do nothing but leave, though she couldn't resist one glance back. Had he really meant what she thought he'd meant - that their interlude had been perilous for him?

In her room, she stood limp as Clara undressed her and prepared her for bed, trying to grasp what had just happened.

His hands on her feet.

A simple thing, and not particularly wicked. She could have Clara do that for her if she wished.

It would not be the same.

The slide of his fingers up from her ankle to her calf.

Still, nothing shocking except the suggestion that she let him remove her