A Reckless Encounter. Rosemary Rogers

      “I have no idea. Do you find me too forthright in my replies?”

      “To the point of rudeness.” He smiled at her angry gasp. “Perhaps it’s the custom in America.”

      “No,” she said after a moment. “It’s not the custom. I have behaved badly, my lord, and I apologize.”

      His eyes narrowed slightly. Her apology was too ready and too glib; he didn’t believe it for an instant.

      “Apologies are easy, Miss St. Clair. What restitution do you offer?”

      “Restitution? You expect too much, my lord.”

      “I disagree.”

      The waltz would be ending soon. He steered her toward the far end of the ballroom, a subtle curve that she had not yet noticed. She arched her head to look up at him.

      “Your arrogance is outrageous, my lord. It’s easy to see that you have earned your wicked reputation.”

      “May I ask why you took a sudden dislike to me?”

      For a moment he thought she would not answer, then she said, “Perhaps I do not wish my name added to your long list of conquests.”

      “A list that is long in supposition and short in actuality.”

      “Nonetheless, your attentions can both elevate and ruin a lady’s reputation. Discretion, it is said, is everything.”

      “And so it is. Then it would be indiscreet to dance with you again.”

      Her upward glance was oblique. “More than four dances in an evening and my reputation will be in tatters.”

      “If that’s the case, I’ll dance with Lady Jersey five times. That would set tongues wagging and add to my wicked reputation.”

      “You jest, my lord!”

      “Yes, Miss St. Clair, I jest.” She was light on his arm, tall enough that her eyes were level with his jaw, taller than most women of his acquaintance. A faint smile curved her mouth and laughter gleamed in her eyes.

      They had reached the far end of the ballroom where a chill breeze filtered in through doors that led onto a wide terrace. Two steps took them through it, and they were outside. She didn’t seem surprised.

      “Why did you bring me out here, my lord?”

      She eased free of his loose embrace and moved to the wide balustrade that edged the terrace. Reflected light streamed through windows in ragged squares to illuminate her face as she turned toward him, draped gracefully upon the stone ledge. The gown she wore was a virginal white spangled with gold, demure in style yet unable to disguise the lush curves of her slender body.

      “I think you know why I brought you out here,” he said, and saw that she did. It was in her eyes, the aware gleam of a female certain of her allure.

      Green-eyed little witch. He should give her what she so prettily expected. Lady Katherine’s brazen touch had reminded him it had been too long since he had been with a woman, and now the silent invitation in Miss St. Clair’s wide eyes was instantly arousing. His arm snaked out to pull her close, to hold her against his chest and press her against him. She made some kind of soft sound—protest? Pleasure?—but made no effort to push him away. His hand tangled in the hair on her nape, pulled her head back to give him access to her lips as he brought his mouth down over hers.

      She tasted as he’d known she would, hot and sweet and willing. Her lips opened from the pressure of his mouth on hers and he took instant advantage. His tongue slid inside the heated velvet of her mouth, taking complete possession as she made a soft, choked sound like a moan.

      He felt her shiver, moved harder against her, so they fit from chest to hips. Deliberately leaning into her, he pinned her between the balustrade and the rigid pressure of his erection. It prodded against the soft swell of her belly, an insistent persuasion, and for a moment, he felt her yield.

      An instant later she wrenched free and would have pulled away if he had not held her. His hand curled around her wrist, the other cupped the back of her neck. His thumb rubbed idly over the silky skin of her jawline.

      Her lips were slightly swollen from the force of his kiss, wet and enticing. He was tempted to kiss her again.

      “Penance, Miss St. Clair,” he said softly instead. “Retribution is now paid in full. Care to sin again? I rather like this form of atonement.”

      “No,” she said coolly, more coolly than he’d thought she felt, standing and staring at him with the light from the ballroom full on her face, no sign of passion in her eyes as she regarded him. “I find I’m not as interested as I thought I would be. Now that I have been absolved of my earlier transgression, be so good as to allow me to pass, my lord. I feel a bit chilled out here. No,” she added when he started to take her arm. “Your escort will only cause more comment. My cousin is looking for me, and I do not intend to invite gossip. I’ll go back alone, please.”

      “For now, Miss St. Clair.”

      Stepping aside, he let her pass. There was more to this “milk and water Colonial” than even Katherine had guessed. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her return to the ballroom. This was not the end of it. She was no missish virgin playing a game, but a woman who knew what she wanted.

      Just as he knew what he wanted from her.

      7

      Jacqueline paced the floor of Celia’s chamber with small, energetic steps. Her hair was awry, straggling from the usually neat coil atop her head; the curls she liked to wear in ringlets on her forehead dangled in her eyes rather than the usual tidy coils. She was distraught as she passed beneath the soft glow of a wall sconce, still wearing a ballgown that dragged across the Aubusson carpet in a satin trail.

      “Whatever were you thinking, Celia?” she moaned. “To so insult Lord Northington—what mischief made you do it?”

      Celia sighed. “After what Lady Jersey said…”

      “My God, do you think any of that matters? Lord Northington is a member of the peerage! And it is only gossip. Oh, if he is offended enough he can ruin your chances—”

      “He is not offended.” Celia dragged a brush through her loose hair; it crackled slightly, fine filaments arcing to meet the silver-backed hairbrush like a pale cloud of lightning. “He is intrigued.”

      Jacqueline paused in midstep and turned to stare at her. “What do you mean?”

      “I mean that, instead of fawning over him as were all the other young ladies and their mamas, I presented him with a challenge. It has not escaped my notice that there are men who prefer challenges to easy conquests. Did you not notice that his eyes did not leave me the rest of the evening?” A slight lie; she’d been well aware of him, but he had seemed content enough to ignore her for the short time he had remained. What would Jacqueline say if she knew what he’d done on the terrace?

      She turned on the dressing stool to face her cousin. “I find him—aggressive.”

      Jacqueline was staring at her with an arrested expression.

      “What is it, petite? Did—did Northington insult you when you felt faint? He didn’t say anything—”

      “No, no, nothing like that, I swear it, but he did approach me again before he left the ball, and I agreed to ride with him in the park Tuesday. So you see, I have piqued his interest with indifference.”

      Gaping at her, Jacqueline finally nodded. “Yes, but it is true! Oh, how foolish I have been. You are right, my little one,” she babbled in French, half-laughing. “You have managed what most have not! To snare the attentions of the elusive Lord Northington.”

      “If only half the rumors are true, there are many who have managed to snare his attention for a while.”

      “But