A Scoundrel By Moonlight. Anna Campbell

the shake of her head lacked conviction. “I’m sorry I invaded your apartments.”

      “I’m not.”

      Shocked, she stared at him. “You’re not?”

      “I have a lovely woman in my arms and no particular plans for the rest of the evening.”

      Her stomach lurched in dismay. Dear Lord, at last she saw the seducer. And as he’d so rightly said, she’d put herself squarely in his sights. She shoved his chest. It was like trying to move a monolith. “No.”

      “No?”

      “Droit de seigneur went out of fashion with the farthingale.”

      “So you don’t want to share my bed?”

      “No.” Although her blood beat hard and hot at the thought of having that big beautiful body as her plaything for the night.

      “Yet here you are.” The edge in his tone made her shiver.

      “I … told you why.”

      “Yes, you’re suffering a bad case of unrequited love.”

      She pushed at his chest again. “Not love. Just infatuation.”

      “Prove it.”

      Her wriggling stopped and she regarded him aghast. “I’m not a doxy.” Bitterness seeped into her voice. “I don’t even know how to kiss, as you so ungallantly pointed out.”

      His laugh this time held the characteristic grim note. Briefly when he’d kissed her, he’d looked like a gentler, younger, kinder man. Now the purpose in his expression made her quake with nerves. And unwilling excitement. She’d never stood so long in a man’s embrace. Next to Leath, she felt small and feminine. Powerless too, which should terrify her. After all, he threatened ruin, and there was nobody to save her.

      “You’ll keep your chastity, although God knows you tempt fate.”

      “I thought you were in the library,” she said stubbornly.

      “No excuse.”

      “So let me go.”

      His smile wasn’t reassuring. “Not until you’ve learned how to kiss a man.”

      She braced against him. “I think I’m better off not knowing.”

      “I’m appalled that a woman so lovely is untouched.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “Compliments won’t make me stay.”

      “Perhaps not. But this might.”

      He captured her lips in a quick, commanding kiss. Odd how much he could convey without words.

      “You … you flatter yourself, my lord.”

      “Do I? You’re still here.”

      She gulped in air. She kept forgetting to breathe. Then when she did, Leath’s musky essence intoxicated her, making coherent thought impossible.

      Another inhalation. Only to realize that he no longer held her. His beautiful hands hung loose and open at his sides, although his rough breathing indicated disquiet.

      She raised her hands from his chest, loathing how his warmth lingered on her palms, and reached behind her for the doorknob. “You’ll stop me if I try to leave.”

      Nell had a horrible feeling that she sounded like she wanted him to keep her here.

      “Try it and see.”

      Despite all the evil she knew of him, she had the strongest feeling that she could trust him with her life. Was she right? Or was she another stupid girl caught in a rake’s net?

      “Just a kiss?” she whispered, hardly believing that she wasn’t already halfway back to her room. She wondered if he had any idea what potent effect his raw masculinity had on her frail willpower. “Can I trust you?”

      The edge returned to his voice, although he didn’t move. “You’re the one who broke into my bedroom.”

      Completely unjustified guilt surged. He was a bad man and she’d been doing the work of the righteous. But she couldn’t deny that she’d felt shabby breaching his inner sanctum. “One kiss and then I’ll go.”

      “As you wish.”

      “You agree?” she asked in shock.

      “It’s time to move from negotiation to action, my dear Eleanor.” To prove he meant it, he drew her into his arms.

Chapter 8

      Miss Trim’s—Eleanor’s—lips trembled against Leath’s. Touching her was so sweet that he almost forgot that he didn’t trust her. Not for a moment did he believe that she was smitten. On the other hand, he did, against all sense, believe that she’d never kissed a man before.

      Where the devil had she been living? In a cave under a mountain? He always chose sophisticated, experienced lovers. But there was something breathtaking about setting his lips to Eleanor’s and knowing he was the first.

      This girl possessed no worldly skills to augment his pleasure. Which didn’t mean there was no pleasure. There was far too much, damn it.

      The proximity of his bed, the late hour, her tantalizing combination of shyness and eagerness. All conspired to erode his anger and suspicion, and remind him that she was beautiful and night after night he’d dreamed of touching her.

      Gentleness won out as he tasted lips locked against him. A pang of inconvenient tenderness struck him as he recalled her kissing him as if battering him into submission. Now her resistance seeped away until she fit against him as though created to please him. He kissed the corners of her mouth, then nipped softly at her full bottom lip.

      A muffled protest parted her lips.

      It was enough.

      The tip of his tongue invaded her mouth. Just that small incursion blasted him with enough heat to incinerate good intentions.

      She jerked back, cinnamon eyes dark, troubled, heavy with desire. “That was … strange.”

      He smiled and cradled her head between his hands. “You’ll come to like it.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “I am.” He beat back another wave of tenderness. When she stood willingly in his arms, trembling with the onslaught of new feelings and experiences, she undermined his every defense. Again he pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips. “Open for me, Eleanor.”

      Her eyes were glazed. “I—”

      Leath swooped, sliding his tongue into the hot depths and tasting her fully. He closed his eyes, the better to savor every nuance. She was sweeter than cherries or peaches or apricots. Like honey, but with a tart edge.

      She made a sound in her throat. Denial or encouragement? Then her tongue fluttered against his, and this time, her sigh betrayed enjoyment. Her hands kneaded his loose shirt like a kitten sharpening its claws.

      How long did he stand beside the fire kissing Miss Trim? He didn’t know. Eventually, inevitably, kissing wasn’t enough. His lips drifted across her face and down her neck. When he concentrated on a nerve at the junction of neck and shoulder, she cried out. Her fresh scent became richer, earthier.

      He aroused her. God knew, she aroused him. His hand shook when he raised it to the line of buttons descending from her demure collar. He fumbled at the fastenings—he, who hadn’t fumbled with a woman’s clothing since he’d left Cambridge.

      Her face flushed with pleasure. Her eyes were closed and her glistening mouth parted as she awaited more kisses. She leaned into him as though her legs couldn’t support