friend was not sitting alone in the shadows with naught but a book for company.
A prick of guilt jabbed at her conscience. Had she actually been enjoying the evening so much as to forget about her fellow ‘Sinner’? She owed Charlotte an abject apology for abandoning her to a crowd of strangers…
Hell. Spotting the reflection of her friend’s silvery hair in one of the large glass-front curio cabinets, Kate swore a silent oath. Standing next to Charlotte was Cluyne, his face pinched in an all too familiar scowl.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Without waiting for a reply, she backed up and quickly skirted around the card tables.
“… You are mistaken, sir. I am quite sure that it is not a Somei Yoshino but a Shidarezakura depicted on the vase.” Charlotte’s voice was as firm as the decorative ironwork framing the cabinet’s glass doors. “Do take a closer look at the shape of the leaf.”
Her grandfather grumbled something under his breath and reached into his pocket for a pair of spectacles. “Hmmph,” he snorted, once they were perched on his nose. “You may—may, I say—be right.”
“Forgive me, Charlotte,” interrupted Kate in a rush. “I lost all track of time.”
“That is quite all right, my dear. You looked to be enjoying a spirited discussion with the gentlemen.”
“Yes, it is always interesting to hear different points of view…” Argument was stimulating. Only now was she aware that the debate had brought a touch of heat to her face. Strangely enough, Charlotte also seemed to have two hot spots of color on her cheeks.
Whether from anger or embarrassment was impossible to discern in the candlelight.
“Thank you for keeping Lady Fenimore company, Your Grace,” said Kate in a rush. “But we need not impose on your hospitality any longer.” Turning to Charlotte, she took her arm. “Come, I’m anxious to show you the book of botanical prints from America.”
Cluyne’s frown deepened for an instant before he stepped aside to let them pass.
“I apologize,” whispered Kate as she led the way to a sofa near the crackling fire. “I hope you were not stuck there with Cluyne for long.”
“Long enough to get into a disagreement on the species of cherry tree shown on his Ming Dynasty vase.”
“Lud, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Her friend quirked a grin. “He was forced to concede his error.”
“He ought to know better than to challenge a ‘Sinner’ on a question of science.”
“I think that I shock him,” said Charlotte cheerfully. “How nice to know that at my age I can still tweak a few noses.”
Kate made a face. “I don’t mean to disparage your accomplishment, but it doesn’t take much to upset the duke. He has no sense of humor.”
Charlotte looked thoughtful. “Actually, I think he does. He just hasn’t been encouraged to show it.”
“Perhaps you are right.” Though she didn’t think so.
“But let us leave off discussing Cluyne. Tell me about your conversation with the gentlemen.”
“They were explaining some of the issues that shall be decided during the coming months in Vienna,” said Kate. “Which, by the by, sounds like a fascinating city.”
“So I have heard. It is a center of music and art, as well as learning.” Charlotte paused. “And the pastries are said to be divine.”
“Just imagine,” she mused. “It will be an impressive gathering of people from all over the Continent….”
• • •
Marco watched Kate from over the top of his playing cards. The candles cast a ring of gilded light around her hair. A softly shimmering halo. Though God knows, the lady was no angel.
Not with her devil-be-damned defiance of Society’s rules.
Her lips twitched in response to something her companion said, and he felt his own body stir with a sudden spasm of heat. A throaty laugh floated through the air, its salt-roughened sound leaving a wake of pebbled gooseflesh as it slid over his skin.
What was it about Kate Woodbridge that aroused such a visceral physical reaction in him?
Shadows played across her face. Light and dark. Innocence and experience. Aquamarine eyes, swirling with hints of sunbeams and storms. Beckoning him to strip naked and dive into their depths.
A surge of pure, primal lust welled up inside him. Oh, he was evil—truly evil—to be thinking of how luscious her honey-colored hair would look fanned out on a tangle of creamy white sheets, how sweet her bare breasts would taste against his tongue. How sensuous her sleek, sweat-sheened body would feel beneath his, rising and falling with the same inexorable rhythm as the ocean tides.