Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom. Deb Marlowe

temper tantrum. She did this to him. Every time he got near her she shone a light on his every flaw, magnified his every emotion until he thought he would go mad with it.

      He thought of Batiste, a malevolent threat hovering over Trey and Chione and their family—in just the same way his father had hovered contemptuously, dangerously in the background for most of his life—and he knew he would indeed go mad if Lily Beecham did not co-operate.

      ‘You don’t know as much as you think you do, Lily. Of a certainty you don’t know what you are asking of me. But perhaps you are right,’ he said, moving closer, his heart pounding, his blood surging. ‘There are also many things that I do not know—including why you feel such antagonism towards me.’

      ‘I … I don’t,’ she whispered, suddenly flustered.

      ‘You do.’ He was glad to see her unbalanced. It was only fair. She stirred him up until he felt as if he must prove his manhood or die trying. He approached her stealthily, a hunter prowling forwards with soft, light steps. And she, she was his prey. ‘You lecture me, but I think you must follow your own advice. Everything I see and hear of you tells me that you are a warm person, giving to others. But you will not consider my request—even though it might benefit your cousin and will help save a family from a dangerous and unscrupulous man. And why not? Because the request comes from me?’

      ‘No.’ Her freckles disappeared again in the flush that rose from beneath her gown.

      ‘It’s true.’ He advanced further, trapping her between him and the iron bars of the gate. ‘Look deep, as you’ve asked me to do. You are allowing your dislike of me to influence your judgement.’

      Her breathing quickened. He could see the flutter of her pulse in her throat, the quick casting about of her gaze as she searched for an escape. ‘I don’t dislike you.’

      Discipline had gone. Reason and judgement had disappeared. The other, darker side of Jack’s soul ruled now. It roared to life inside of him, loosing a great whirl of longing and want and more than a bit of anger too. The small bit of sanity he had left knew that anger had no place in this, and urged control. But it was too late for restraint. He held Lily’s gaze prisoner with his own and asked the question to which he must have the answer. ‘Then what do you feel, Lily, when you look at me?’

      ‘I …’

      ‘Honesty, remember? Tell me the truth.’ Their lips were but a whisper apart.

      She shook her head, looked away, breaking the hypnotic link between them. ‘Not dislike,’ she said to the ground.

      He knew that she meant to hide the desire in her eyes—the same desire that flowed molten through him even now. Did it burn like fire through her veins—as it did his? He reached out to trace a fiery path, drawing a fingertip over her collarbone, along the smooth and shimmering nape of her neck. He lifted her chin and forced her to confront him, herself and the truth.

      ‘Something else entirely,’ was all she said.

      The darkness inside of him rejoiced. She was caught—pressed up against the cold iron bars at her back. Jack’s erection bulged hot and leaden between them, and he suffered a brief, stabbing need to press it against her, to trap her between hot and cold, hard and harder. Yet he didn’t do it. Not yet.

      Logic and reason put forth one last try, tossing a fleeting image of Batiste at his mind’s eye. Jack ignored it. He’d gone beyond the reach of logic, into a place where pure emotion and hot, liquid lust held sway. Batiste could go to hell. Jack had given himself over to animal need and he revelled in it, sucking in the clean scent of her, gazing with wonder at the flushed expectation on her lovely face.

      Then his eye fixed on her mouth. She stared back. That gorgeous, plump lower lip beckoned. As if she knew what it would do to him, she caught it suddenly between her teeth. The startling contrast of soft lush pink and hard white enamel made him want to howl. And then, ever so slowly, her bottom lip slid free, and the tip of her hot tongue traced a soft, wet trail along it.

      His heart thumped. His cock surged. He slid his fingers into her curls of red-gold, cradled the back of her head for one long, tender second, and then let go to grasp the bars on either side of her. Pain flashed in his arm, but she made no protest, and only anticipation showed on her face. Jack slipped loose from the last vestige of reason and control, leaned in and branded her with his hot, searing kiss.

      Honesty. That’s what Jack gave her with his wild, insistent mouth. It was not what he’d set out to do. Lily had seen the calculation in his eye when he took his first step towards her. But she’d seen it disappear, too. Driven further away as he grew physically closer, supplanted by longing, and need and pure, undiluted want.

      Almost from the first moment they met, Lily had asked, pes-tered, demanded that he come out of hiding and show her his true self. Now at last he’d taken the first step and opened a crack in the protective barriers around him. Her arms crept up, across the expanse of his chest and over his shoulders, locking behind his neck and pulling him close. No matter what he said, and despite his unreasonable request, she knew she had an obligation, a responsibility to meet him halfway.

      He deepened the kiss, tempting and coaxing with lips and tongue and mouth, while a cascade of voices clamoured an alarm in her head. They threw accusations at her, ugly words like immoral and shame and sin.

      She ignored them. This entire trip to London, she realised, had truly been about shutting out other voices and distractions, and learning to hear her own.

      So she listened. At first she could only hear the clear and happy note that was born of his kiss. Jack, it hummed. Jack, Jack, Jack. But she forced herself to concentrate further. And what she heard was music, learning and debate. Camaraderie and intercourse with other people with similar interests. And a great clamouring for more. More of all of that, but above all, more of Jack Alden.

      Joy erupted within her, stretching and growing until she had to give it voice. She moaned her approval and happiness and relief. And he answered in kind, emanating a low, appreciative rumble that originated in the back of his throat, but somehow ended up pooling hot and deep in her belly. Neither of them could deny the reality and the truth of this moment, just the two of them coming together with nothing else between.

      Their kiss changed in the moment when her lips parted and her mouth opened under his. Suddenly he was inside, and the hot, slick slide of his tongue made her wild with need. Passion poured out of him and into her. She took it, honoured by the enormity of his gift, and gave it back to him twice over.

      Slowly he coached her, taught her tongue how to play. An eager student, she met him thrust for thrust and pressed herself closer against him. His hands came off the bars and settled into the curve of her neck and shoulder, steadying her while he kissed her with long and languid strokes.

      He drew back a fraction and Lily gasped, her breath coming fast and rough. It nearly ceased altogether when he buried his face in the curve of her throat. Her pulse tripped and pounded against him as he made his way down her throat with alternate hard, biting nips and soft, teasing kisses.

      But honesty is a rare and fragile thing, and Lily should not have expected Jack’s first foray into the light to be a lengthy one. He gradually slowed and stilled, until they stood clasped unmoving in each other’s arms, his face still buried in the crook of her neck and her cheek pressed hard against his shoulder.

      He was the first to disengage. Their hot breath mingled as their gazes met. His chest heaved as desire and need faded.

      Lily knew how difficult this must be for him, and yet she had not expected to see regret loom so quickly, nor so strongly that it almost resembled despair. She shook her head. ‘Jack, don’t,’ she whispered.

      But the breach was repaired and he had already retreated behind his walls and into safety. His head was shaking, too, in constant small movements that nevertheless signalled a large degree of denial.

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘This isn’t right. It isn’t me.’

      ‘Jack.’