Sapphire. Rosemary Rogers

want money,” she said under her breath. “I want to be acknowledged. I want my mother, who was Lord Wessex’s legal wife, to be acknowledged.”

      He spun her around, proving to be a superb dancer. “Surely you jest.”

      She was forced to move away from him to remain in step with the music, but the moment he took her hand again, she met his gaze with determination. “I assure you, sir, I do not jest.”

      The dance came to end and all the dancers bowed, curtsied and clapped.

      “I want you to go now,” Thixton said, his disdain for her obvious in his voice as he looped her arm through his and escorted her off the dance floor. “Go now or you will find that it is I who does not jest.” In the hall, he released her. “As I told you before, there are laws against fortune hunters like you, and the constable will be more than happy to take you to prison where you belong.”

      “Fortune hunter! Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but I—”

      Thixton turned and strode down the hall and entered a room, closing the door behind him.

      For a moment, Sapphire stood there seething, her gloved hands pressed to her sides as she tried to catch her breath. Another dance had begun and the sound of the orchestra seemed to swirl around her in the twinkling candlelight.

      Her gaze shifted to the door where Thixton had gone. There were no guests in the hall. It was completely inappropriate for an unmarried woman to follow a man into a room without a proper chaperone, but without considering the consequences, she hurried down the hall, drew back her hand and rapped hard on the door.

      When she got no response, she knocked even harder. “Mr. Thixton, I’m not through with you!”

      The door jerked open and Thixton looked down on her. “Did you not hear what I said?” He knew she was trouble, had known it a week ago when she’d shown up on his doorstep trying to see what she could squeeze from the stone of his inheritance. And she was even more beautiful tonight—her rich auburn hair glossier, her eyes even more beguiling and her mouth—it took his breath away. The curve of her sensuous lips made him hard at once, made him want to take her there in the doorway the same way he had taken the sad Mrs. Williams that night on the balcony. But something told him she would not be such an easy conquest and certainly not as easy to forget.

      “Sir, it is you who are apparently hard of hearing!”

      “Get in here.”

      He pulled her into the room and closed the door behind them.

      They were in a dark-paneled, masculine-style room dominated by a large billiards table. A billiards room that smelled of tobacco, leather and him.

      Taking a step back, Sapphire rested her hand on the edge of the walnut table. “You have to listen to me.”

      “I have to do no such thing.”

      He strode toward her and she realized then that he had removed his coat. The white shirt beneath his black waistcoat was impeccably pressed, as was the cravat at his neck. He wore his clothing well.

      She took another step back, confused by the ridiculous thoughts that were popping into her head. “Yes, you do have to listen to me. I was—am Lord Edward Thixton’s legitimate daughter and—”

      “Wait a minute.” He pointed his finger at her, still walking straight toward her. “Were you sent here by that cousin? What is his name?” He snapped his fingers, the side of his mouth turning up in a half smile. “Charles,” he said. “Charles something. He said he knew the best ladies of the evening.”

      His hand snaked out, and before she could get out of his way, he grabbed her wrist again. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Why this game, hmm?” He pulled her close to him, gazing down at her with an incredibly smug smile. “You do clean up nice, I’ll give you that. A prettier whore I don’t believe I’ve ever seen.”

      “Let go of me, sir,” she said as she struggled to remove herself from his grasp. But he overwhelmed her, not just with his physical force, but with his nearness—the smell of him, the heat of his body in the places where it touched her.

      Instead of getting away from him, she somehow managed to entangle herself further in his arms. “Let go of me,” she insisted, pushing against his chest as her heart pounded.

      “One kiss,” he said. Holding her close, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, her skin, he could smell the depth of the unrest she could unleash on him. He could feel it and he knew he would be able to taste it in her mouth. “Just a sample of your wares first before I put out any hard-earned money.”

      “Sir!” she spat, so angry now that she could barely focus on the face hovering over her as she bent backward in order to keep his body from touching hers any more than it already was. “I assure you I am no—”

      His mouth came down hard over hers, muffling her last words. She’d been kissed before, by Maurice, and by a few other young men on Martinique, but never like this. His mouth was merciless, searing her lips like a flame, forcing them apart. He held her with one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders, crushing her. When she tried to move her head to escape, she felt his hand slide upward until his fingers brushed the nape of her neck, holding her trapped in his arms.

      Sapphire’s legs went weak. She couldn’t think. Her mind was screaming but she could make no sound. To her horror, Blake thrust his tongue into her mouth, and as she grasped a handful of his waistcoat to loosen his hold, she somehow rose upward, deepening his kiss even further, forcing little whimpers from her throat.

      She feared her pounding heart might burst from her chest. He was smothering her, filling her with heat.

      Suddenly, there was a sound.

      Thixton jerked back, glancing over his shoulder, but did not release her.

      7

      “Pardon me, Lord Wessex.” The intruder cleared his throat. He stared at Sapphire, who was trying to extricate herself from Thixton’s arms. “I hadn’t realized you were—” he cleared his throat again, obviously amused “—occupied.” His hand on the doorknob, he backed out the door, smiling lasciviously at Sapphire.

      He thought she was some sort of wanton, as well! “Wait,” Sapphire cried, flustered, trying to smooth the bodice of her gown. She still couldn’t catch her breath. “This isn’t how it appears, sir. I only—”

      “Lord Wessex.” The intruder, still smiling, bowed to Thixton and paid no attention to Sapphire as he pulled the door closed behind him.

      “How could you do such a thing?” Sapphire demanded as she took a step back from Thixton, still trying to straighten her gown. Then, realizing a thick lock of her copper hair had fallen from its fashionable upsweep, she tried furiously to return it to its place, but when she pulled out a pin to fasten the stray lock, more hair came tumbling down.

      Thixton just stood there staring at her, seeming a little perplexed. “You really aren’t a harlot, are you.”

      “Certainly not.” She pushed back a lock of loose hair and then gestured angrily in the direction of the door. “Little good the truth will do me now! That man…that man will go out there and tell everyone I was here alone with you.”

      “And that you were kissing me?” he asked, taking a step toward her, smiling again.

      She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. “I was not kissing you, sir,” she spat.

      He took another step toward her and she sidestepped him by going around the other side of the billiards table.

      “I…I must talk to you about my father. About Edward Thixton,” she said, attempting to gather her thoughts and remind herself of the reason she’d come here tonight in the first place. Only now she could think of nothing but him. Of nothing but the feel of his mouth on hers. The taste of him…