Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume 3. Louise Allen

the force of his arousal, aware of the soft skin, the fragrance that rose from it, the primitive need to strip the silks and lawns from her body. What was it about this woman? He had never so much as flirted with a respectable single woman. She was a virgin, for God’s sake!

      Under his hands she quivered and he realised his big hands were gripping her shoulders, the fragile bones trapped under his palms. But she made no sound and the pansy-dark eyes were watching him with something he was quite unable to read.

      What had happened? He had thought after that first mistaken kiss that he was simply enjoying her company, the intelligent, amused comments, the sweet femininity surrounding him without any games being played, without any demands being made. Maude was a novelty, a woman he thought might actually become a friend and now—this.

      This overwhelming desire came out of nowhere, over-setting him just where he thought he was strongest. He had believed that his will was firm, that his self-control was absolute, that his life was ordered, controlled, planned. And now here was this society chit reducing him to a mass of screaming, mindless need without so much as a flirtatious glance.

      And this was not need he could take to some whore to slake. Oh, no, this was need for her, for Lady Maude Templeton, and he might as well desire the moon.

      He had done harder things than this, Eden told himself, gritting his teeth and forcing his hands apart. Harder things, more painful things, although just at the moment, in the grip of this madness, he could not recall what they were.

      Where had this come from? He was a sensual man, he knew that, knew he would never be celibate. But this lust for an innocent young woman he hardly knew? But he did know her, he realised, with the part of his brain that was functioning clearly. He knew her better already than any woman in his life, other than Madame Marguerite.

      He managed to let Maude go, then caught her elbow as she staggered slightly, as though her knees were shaking. How long had he been standing there, holding her, drowning in those lovely, wondering eyes? ‘I’m sorry, did you hurt yourself when you tripped?’

      ‘No. No, not at all. So clumsy of me.’ She stepped away, apparently steady on her feet now, which was more than he felt. That damned dizziness again. ‘That will teach me to drink two glasses of wine,’ she added, sounding ruefully amused.

      Did she not realise what had almost happened just then? Had she not seen how much danger she had been in? It seemed not. And he—what peril was he risking? He could not afford to find himself obsessed with the daughter of a peer, he could not afford the lack of focus that unrequited desire would bring. Or the retribution Lord Pangbourne would bring down on his head if his self-control slipped and he debauched the earl’s daughter.

      ‘Time to go home,’ Eden said, finding his voice emerged quite normally, not with the huskiness of the desperation he was feeling.

      ‘Yes, of course. My cloak…’ Maude gestured towards the shadows, then stood while he swung the heavy velvet around her shoulders. ‘Thank you. Now, where did I put my reticule? Ah, here it is.’ She seemed to Eden’s bemused eye to be quite calm, which could only mean she was very innocent, despite her assured air and her age, or completely impervious to whatever dubious attraction he had for other women, or both.

      He held the door for her, then followed her out into the wide passageway, resisting the urge to take her arm, knowing he could not trust himself to touch her. She did, however, seem unusually quiet. Perhaps some sixth sense was making her uneasy. Eden walked beside her, racking his brains for conversation and finding none. And finding no possible excuse for not sending her away, breaking their contract, never seeing her again.

      Eden seemed unusually silent, Maude thought as they made their way along the wide, deserted corridors and down the sweep of the stairs to the front lobby.

      She looked up, seeing the hard line of his jaw, the dark shadow of his beard just beginning to show. Beyond she could see the head of the unicorn, thrusting out of the wall, its horn lowered, its nostrils wide. It had never seemed fierce to her before, or threatening, but now it did.

      Someone materialised from the shadows, opened the door and whistled. Eden stepped out into the night, still not taking her arm, and the cold air struck her skin, making her realise just how heated she was. There were the sound of hooves on the cobbles and a carriage drew up.

      Eden snapped his fingers at the groom, who jumped down and hurried to let down the steps and help her enter. ‘Eden?’ she queried.

      ‘I will ride on the box.’ He shut the door and she was alone. Shivering slightly, Maude fidgeted with her cloak and tied the cord at her neck. There were gloves in the pocket and she pulled them on, feeling the need to cover as much skin as possible, as though that flimsy warmth would stop the fine tremor running through her.

      Now she was alone she could think about those few crowded moments after she had stumbled and he had caught her in his arms. What had happened? She was not sure. She was not certain even how long he had held her, his strong fingers locked around her shoulders. She had stumbled, Eden had caught her—and for her the world had stopped on its axis.

      But for him? He had been so still, his eyes so intent, his breathing hard. Had he felt the sensual shock that had gone through her? Or was it simply that he had found himself, late at night, with his arms full of young woman and it had taken a moment for him to control a man’s natural reactions?

      But she did not want him to feel only desire, flattering though that was. She wanted his emotions involved, not his instincts. When they made love—she closed her eyes and shivered—she wanted it to be because he loved her. But Jessica and Bel had warned her that was not how men thought. And it seemed they were right.

      Maude was still wrestling with her desires and her ignorance as the carriage slowed and stopped. When the door opened Eden was standing there, his hand held out to help her down. It seemed he was prepared to touch her now. The groom was already climbing the front steps to knock.

      She made herself hold Eden’s gaze for a long moment, then pulled up her hood and put her hand in his. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Thank you, I enjoyed your company very much.’ He kept his voice low, conscious, as she was, of the driver up on the box.

      ‘And I, yours. It was a delicious meal; please thank your chef for me,’ she responded, as though they were parting after a normal society dinner party. ‘I look forward to the auditions.’

      One of the footmen had come to open the door. Maude inclined her head to Eden with a smile and walked with perfect poise across the pavement, up the steps and into the hall. ‘Thank you, James. You may lock up now. His lordship will be very late and he has his keys.’

      She kept her back straight all the way up the stairs, along the landing and into her room, even though there was no one to see her. Anna came in answer to the bell and chatted cheerfully as she unlaced Maude’s gown, put away her jewels, unpinned and brushed her hair, unperturbed by her mistress’s silence.

      When she had gone Maude sat up in bed and watched the dying fire and contemplated, for the first time in her life, a problem she did not know how to solve.

Chapter Eleven

      Maude was up there, in her box, although it was scarcely half past eight. He could sense her as clearly as if the scent of gardenias had wafted down to the bare stage and driven away the stink of gas, greasepaint and dust. Eden took the list of hopefuls for the audition from the stage manager and scanned it, although he already had it clear in his mind.

      ‘Who have you got to play opposite them?’

      ‘Tom Gates.’ Howard, the stage manager, ran his hands through his grizzled brown curls and frowned at the stage. ‘What props do you want, Guv’nor?’

      ‘Table, chair. Throw a shawl over the chair, put