scarcely able to throw the door closed at her back before he had warm, feminine curves pressed against him.
The scent of bergamot and lemon oil, undeniably welcome in these shabby rooms badly in wont of cleaning and dusting, washed over him. Her hat fell from her head as she was jostled into him, revealing her face. He found himself looking down into the astonished emerald eyes of Lady Helena Davenport.
He had a moment to note her breasts were ample and full, crushed again his chest, and her lips were wider than he remembered. She had the most entrancing dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose, her pale-blonde hair coming free of her coiffure in silken wisps.
She looked like a Renaissance Madonna.
But she had come to this cesspit to be thoroughly ruined.
The part of him which could never be entirely governed by reason, propriety, and honor suddenly rose to rude prominence in his trousers. He was seized by a crushing urge to taste her lips. To slam his mouth on hers and give her a punishing kiss.
Would she kiss him back?
Would she be scandalized?
He inhaled sharply, shocked at himself, at the cursed weakness for the flesh he could never seem to overcome no matter how hard he tried. This is wrong. He exhaled. Think of Lady Beatrice. Inhaled again. A mistake, as it turned out. All he could smell was her.
She clutched at his shoulders as if he were a lifeline. “Huntingdon! What are you doing here?”
He settled her on her feet and released her, stepping back, recalling his outrage. This was his friend’s sister. Shelbourne would be devastated if he knew what she was about. And as Shelbourne’s friend, he was duty-bound to act as another brother to her.
“I am saving you from the greatest mistake of your life, my lady,” he told her grimly, trying to forget the way her body had molded to his. “What in heaven’s name were you thinking, arranging an assignation with a disgusting scoundrel like Lord Algernon Forsyte?”
“I was thinking I would be ruined,” she snapped, irritation edging her voice now that she had regained her balance.
She was angry with him, he realized, astounded. She ought to have been awash in gratitude, thanking him for his generosity of spirit. Instead, her lips had thinned, and her jaw was clenched. Her brilliant green eyes glittered with irritation.
He blinked. “You wanted to be ruined?”
Surely he could not have heard her correctly. He had expected her to say Lord Algernon had wooed her with pretty words of love and coerced her into meeting him here. He had imagined she would tearfully thank him and then promise to never again do anything so rash and dangerous.
“Of course. Why else do you suppose I would have arranged to meet him at his private rooms?” she asked.
What the devil?
Huntingdon struggled to make sense of this bloody mire. “You do not fancy yourself in love with him, then.”
“No.”
“You know a man such as he will never marry you,” he pressed.
“I would not marry him either.”
He frowned at her. “Then I fail to understand the meaning of this horrible folly, Lady Helena.”
“The meaning is freedom,” Lady Helena said, tipping her chin up in defiance. “Mine.”
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Her Virtuous Viscount
Wicked Husbands Book Six
By
Scarlett Scott
Jilted by the woman he loved, Tom, Viscount Sidmouth, has decided he will happily remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. He wants nothing to do with affairs of the heart. And he most certainly wants nothing to do with the wild widow next door.
After spending years trapped in a loveless marriage, Hyacinth has returned to London on a mission to experience everything she missed. Balls, parties, flirtations, and assignations—she wants it all. She isn’t about to allow her disapproving neighbor to spoil her fun. She’s living her life one raucous celebration at a time.
Until she inadvertently winds up in the viscount’s garden late one night and he kisses her senseless. There’s something about the handsome, forbidding lord that makes her want to abandon her rules.
And Tom? He’s beginning to think that perhaps the only way to forget about his broken heart is to lose himself in a fling. Why not with the wicked woman who drives him to distraction? It’s not as if he is going to fall in love…
Chapter One
London, 1879
Hyacinth was on her second bottle of champagne. At least, she thought she was, when she realized her beloved puppy was no longer at her side.