Regency Rumour: Never Trust a Rake / Reforming the Viscount. ANNIE BURROWS

Gibson?’

      She looked into his stern features. If she said she didn’t trust him, he would get up and walk out, she could tell.

      ‘If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be sitting here in this room, on the sofa with you, with the door locked,’ she pointed out. ‘I just don’t really understand how …’

      ‘I know you don’t understand. That is why you must trust me. Let me teach you about your body and the power it has.’

      ‘Teach me about my body? How will that help?’

      ‘You really have no idea, do you?’ His eyes, which could sometimes look as hard as polished jet, softened to something she felt she could drown in.

      ‘If you were more aware of yourself as a woman, the power to attract a man’s notice would flow naturally from that.’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Why was it becoming so difficult to draw breath? ‘Of course I am aware that I’m a woman.’

      He shook his head, almost pityingly. ‘No. Miss Gibson, though you inhabit the body of a fully grown woman, you are still, in many ways, just a little girl.’

      ‘I am not!’

      ‘Oh, but you are. You wield none of the weapons that other women employ upon the battlefield of the ballroom. You walk and talk more like a man than a gently bred female of two and twenty summers.’

      He laid one finger upon her lips when she opened her mouth to make an objection.

      ‘And, my dear, it is quite obvious to every experienced male that nobody has ever kissed those innocent lips.’

      ‘Oh, but they have. I mean, they did. I mean, of course I have been kissed!’

      ‘Not to any great effect,’ he said with a slight sneer. ‘It was obviously a fumbling boy, not a man that kissed you, or you would not appear so untouched.’

      Untouched? Richard’s kiss had flummoxed her so much she had chased after him all the way to London.

      ‘Whereas,’ he was continuing, silkily, ‘if I were to kiss you, you would never be the same again.’

      ‘You are the most arrogant man I have ever met!’

      ‘No. Just truthful. If I were to kiss you, I would take great care to ensure you would never be able to look at a man’s lips in quite the same way again. When you next spoke to a man, any man, you would not be able to help wondering if his lips could wreak the magic that mine did. Your eyes would linger on them, speculatively. And he would know that you were summing him up. Know that you were wondering what it would be like to kiss him. And then he would want, above all things, to show you.’

      Magic? He was declaring that his lips would work some kind of magic upon her? And yet, it appeared, the magic was already beginning to work because as he spoke, she found it impossible to tear her eyes from his mouth. And wonder what was so special about it that one touch would change her into someone who could draw men to her like moths to a flame.

      Of course, he had a vast amount of experience.

      And he did have a reputation for being so very good at carnal things that any lady who’d been fortunate enough to attract his attention wanted it again. And suddenly it was not just his mouth she was thinking about, but his whole body, naked, in a rumpled bed, where he was rendering some faceless female delirious with desire.

      He smiled, a lazy, sensuous smile that did funny things to her insides and made her heart race. Or had it been racing like this for some minutes already?

      ‘Exactly so,’ he purred softly. ‘You are wondering what my lips will feel like. So, naturally, I wish to oblige you.’

      ‘How can you tell what I’m thinking?’ Her voice came out in a horrified squeak. Goodness, if he knew she’d just been picturing him naked, she would never be able to look him in the face again.

      ‘It is the way you are looking at my mouth, Miss Gibson. With curiosity. And longing. And, best of all, with invitation.’

      ‘I … I wasn’t …’

      ‘Oh, but you were.’

      He frowned. ‘At this point in the proceedings, with any other man but me, you would pull up the drawbridge and retreat behind it, since you do not wish to appear fast.’

      ‘P-pull up the drawbridge?’

      ‘Last chance, Miss Gibson. Stop me now, or I will kiss you. And I promise you, if I do that, you will never be the same again.’

       Chapter Seven

      She wasn’t the same already. She had never, ever, thought about what a man would look like naked, in bed. Or felt her lips tingle with expectancy. Nor had her heart raced like this while she was sitting completely still. And all he’d done so far was talk about kissing.

      Heavens, no wonder women were queuing up for the privilege of taking him as a lover.

      ‘Do you wish to continue?’

      ‘Wh-what?’

      ‘With your lesson. Do you wish me to take it to its conclusion?’

      Lesson. She blinked.

      And although there was still a pool of lethargy where her knees had previously been, most of the haze cleared from her mind at his curt reminder that this was not real.

      Not for him, anyway. He considered her a pupil, very much in need of tutoring in the arts of which he was a skilled practitioner.

      It was a good job he’d recalled her to reality. It would never do to start thinking there was anything romantic about what was going to happen next. She’d read far too much into a kiss before—and look where that had ended up.

      She must think of this merely as a practical demonstration from a master craftsman to his apprentice.

      ‘I cannot think of anyone better qualified to teach me about kissing,’ she said tartly, ‘than you, Lord Deben.’

      And with that, she shut her eyes, tilted her head back and puckered up her lips.

      ‘Miss Gibson …’ he chuckled ‘… you are the most absurd creature.’

      Well, that dealt with any last lingering shreds of girlish excitement she had not so far managed to squash. She opened her eyes and glared up into his mocking face.

      It was all very well accepting she was ignorant and in need of tuition, but that did not mean she would sit back and tamely let him mock her.

      ‘That’s it,’ she snapped. ‘I have changed my mind.’

      When she made as if to get up he reacted astonishingly swiftly, seizing her about the waist and pulling her back down. Then he took hold of her chin with his free hand.

      ‘Don’t fly into the boughs because I laughed,’ he said sternly. ‘You should not have pushed your mouth into that absurd little shape. It made you look ridiculous. Never do it again.’

      ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’

      ‘I dare because you asked me to teach you how to be more feminine, sweet tempest,’ he pointed out.

      It was strange he should have spoken of a tempest, because it really did feel as if some kind of tempest was raging through her. It was making her breathless. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage. But it wasn’t, at least not all of it, the product of outrage at his high-handed attitude towards her. A good deal of it stemmed from the determined way he was holding her captive, which was having the peculiar effect of making her want to sink into his strong embrace rather than make any attempt to struggle free of the confines of those muscular arms.

      ‘You