life, something real, something that only he could fire. He was in her blood, in her heart, in her mind. She drank him in, revelling in the sensation, sinking into it, opening herself, allowing all her defences to crumble. Venetia had been kissed by men before, but not like this, never like this. It made her forget herself, made her forget who she was, who he was. There was only him, only this moment, only his mouth on hers, wooing and demanding both at once, firing a passion that only he awakened, and the overwhelming need for him.
She kissed him harder, faster, with all the rage of urgency that was surging through her. He pulled her into his arms and her body answered the call of his, cleaving to him, wanting him so much that it hurt. Her mind was spinning, her body quivering beneath the masterful caress of his hands upon her back, her breasts, her waist, her hips. She was breathless, reeling, dizzy with desire. The last thread of sanity dangled dangerously close to breaking. She placed her hands on his chest and broke her mouth free from his.
His eyes were black as the devil’s and just as dangerous. Their gazes clung together, their breaths hard and fast, her breasts brushing his chest with every rise and fall.
‘Do you see?’ she whispered, staring into his eyes. She held him tight, knowing that were she to let go she would fall into this thing that was yawning between them.
‘I do,’ he said. His voice sounded as breathless as hers and he stroked a hand against her hair.
She was not acting. She was not playing a game. This felt more real than any other thing in her life. And much more powerful. She struggled to hold on to the vestiges of control, forcing herself to think of Robert, of Rotherham, and the fact that Linwood had put a bullet through Rotherham’s head. She pulled herself free of him, knowing that all the while he touched her she could not think straight. She felt breathless, shaken, shocked by how much she wanted him. It felt more than physical, it was every aspect of him that drew her to him. And the more she came to know him did not dissuade her as it should, but, in contrast, served only to attract her all the more. It took every ounce of her willpower to draw the veil of Miss Fox over her and stop this before it went too far; all of her years of acting experience to feign a control and calmness she did not feel.
‘I think that is quite enough stargazing for one night, Lord Linwood,’ she said in something of Miss Fox’s cool voice and got to her feet. But there was a breathlessness to her words that she could not completely disguise and inside her chest her heart was racing and her blood was rushing, and every part of her longed for every part of him. And Linwood looked at her with those dark dangerous eyes as if he knew.
* * *
Linwood glanced around the ballroom the next night at the members of the ton who mingled with the demi-monde in this world of fashion and frippery, without seeing them. He was thinking of Venetia and what had passed between them in the glasshouse. She had revealed something of her true self. Although she was a talented actress he had seen enough of her to tell the difference between when she was acting and when she was not. And he did not think that last night had been about acting. Last night there had been a vulnerability to her, an honesty, a degree of trust, in revealing those parts of herself that she kept hidden. She seemed genuinely shocked and confused by the searing attraction that existed between them, as if that had not been a part of the plan, if indeed there was anything of a plan between her and Clandon. The way she had looked at him as she uttered those words, a look that was nothing of artifice but open and real. You are not what I expected. He had thought of it all the night through. She was not what he had expected. None of this was what he had expected. He wondered what she would do were he just to confront her over Clandon, but he knew he could not risk tipping off Rotherham’s son that he was wise to him, not when