Silk And Seduction Bundle 2. Louise Allen

cheek. ‘You will pay for that.’

      Before she could make a move to stop him, Viscount Mildenhall pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her cry of protest was swallowed under the insistent pressure of his mouth. His arms clamped her own to her sides, so that although she struggled with all her might, she was quite unable to break his hold.

      At first she was far too angry to feel scared. Then after only a few seconds, she discovered that there was something wickedly fascinating about being kissed, thoroughly kissed, by an utterly determined man. She stopped struggling as some essential, deeply buried aspect of her femininity came leaping to life in acknowledgement of his masculinity. Her lips softened and parted. With a low growl, Viscount Mildenhall plunged his tongue into her mouth, taking the experience onto a whole new level.

      Her mind reeled. Her heart pounded. Her stomach did an excited little flip.

      And Viscount Mildenhall, sensing her capitulation, brought one hand round to the front of her gown and cupped her breast.

      His audacity shocked her.

      ‘What are you—’ She gasped, her eyes widening in dismay. ‘You cannot—’

      ‘It is what women who pursue men get,’ he sneered. ‘Exactly what they deserve. Since the night you made a play for me at Mrs Leeming’s, I have made it my business to find out about you. Did you know that men are making wagers about how long it will be before you follow—’ he delved inside her bodice ‘—in your mother’s footsteps?’

      Then he fastened his lips to her neck.

      Imogen felt as though she was splitting in two.

      She hated the scathing way he had spoken of her mother. She knew the casual way he was fondling her breast, as though she was a light skirt, was grossly insulting.

      Yet the sensuality of that caress was sending rivers of desire coursing through her veins. Her body wanted to arch into his, entwine itself around him.

      ‘Please, please,’ she heard herself moaning. ‘Kiss me again.’

      The viscount raised his head and smiled at her. With such contempt it roused what remained of her pride.

      When he lowered his mouth to take the kiss she had begged for, she bit him.

      ‘What the—!’ He reared back, and Imogen, who had been taught well by Rick, struck him in the face, first with her right fist, and then her left.

      There had not been room for her to take a really good backswing. It was shock, she expected, that sent him reeling backwards. And a stroke of luck that his shoulder slammed into an ornamental urn—that turned out to be full of sandy loam. Which cascaded all over him as it rocked on its plinth.

      She made good her escape while he was still struggling to prevent it from toppling onto the flags below the terrace.

      She had only just got inside when she careered full tilt into Rick, who had a glass of champagne in each hand. He did not spill a single drop when she crashed into him, she noted somewhat hysterically as she clung to him. He merely raised his arms in the air, absorbing the impact of her body with a slight grunt.

      She felt him turn and put the drinks down, then put his arms round her as he asked, ‘What the devil has happened?’ He put her from himself, then looked down at her with concern. His eyes snagged on the front of her gown, and narrowed. ‘Has some man tried to take advantage of you?’

      For the first time, Imogen noticed that the flimsy material was torn. It must have happened when she wrestled herself out of the viscount’s hold.

      His face darkened. ‘I shall kill him,’ he growled, making for the outside door.

      ‘No, Rick! Don’t say such a thing!’ She grabbed his arm and hauled him round. ‘If you get into a fight over this, everyone will say I am just like my mother, luring good men to their doom! Don’t you see?’

      His eyes flicked from her to the door and back again.

      ‘Dammit, Midge,’ he growled, ‘it’s my job to bring the fellow to book.’

      ‘No,’ she countered. ‘It is your job to protect me. And you won’t do that by making a fuss about…about…’ she swallowed down her outraged pride ‘…a mere trifle. All you will do is stir up even more gossip.’

      She glanced over her shoulder then, fearful that the viscount would come storming into the house after her. He would be bound to act in such a way that nothing she could say would stop Rick from murdering him!

      ‘It won’t be just my chances for a good marriage I will lose. I won’t even be able to get employment in a respectable household. Oh, please, Rick, can you not just take me home and pretend this never happened?’

      He reached out and, with one gloved finger, touched a spot on her cheek.

      ‘I say, is that blood?’ he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘If the fellow has really hurt you, Midge, no matter what you think, I will have to call him out!’

      ‘Blood?’ She blinked, bewildered for a second. ‘Oh, I should think that is probably his. I bit him.’

      ‘You…bit him?’ Rick looked startled.

      ‘Yes, and then I hit him, both hands, just as you taught me. One—two!’ She mimed the punches for his edification.

      He looked a little mollified. ‘Don’t suppose you laid him out, by any chance?’

      ‘No,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘Though I have put a mark or two on his face, and ruined his coat.’ She remembered the look on his face when soil had rained down on him, and couldn’t help smiling. She had hit his most sensitive spot. His vanity. No wonder he had not come indoors yet. He would not want anyone to see him covered in dirt!

      She came out of her daze to find Rick rearranging her shawl so that it concealed her torn bodice.

      ‘Come on then,’ he said, putting one arm comfortingly about her shoulders. ‘I shall take you home.’

      It was only then that she realized she was going to have to give an excuse for leaving so suddenly.

      ‘My aunt!’ she cried, stopping dead in her tracks. ‘I cannot go back into the ballroom looking like this!’

      ‘Don’t you worry,’ Rick said, ushering her inexorably along the corridor that led towards the front hall.

      ‘I shall tell her you have a headache or something. Females are always falling ill at events like this, aren’t they?’ Rick pressed Imogen into a chair, and strode across to a footman who was eyeing them indolently. ‘Hi, you, fellow! Take a message to Lady Callandar, will you? Tell her I’ve had to take Miss Hebden home. Sudden indisposition.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And tell Viscount Mildenhall I will catch up with him later, at Limmer’s. Had to escort my sister home.’

      ‘Lady Callandar that Miss Hebden is indisposed,’ repeated the footman, pocketing the coin Rick pressed into his palm. ‘And Viscount Mildenhall that you will be at Limmer’s, after taking your sister home.’

      Satisfied he had the message correct, Rick hurried back to Imogen’s side.

      She barely registered him shepherding her out of the front door and into a waiting cab.

      Oh, how right her mother had been to warn her to beware of exchanging furtive kisses with rakes by moonlight! She hated the viscount. She really did. And yet, when he had swept her into his arms, the emotion that had been uppermost had not been revulsion at all. But excitement.

      The feel of Viscount Mildenhall’s tongue sweeping into her mouth had been as intoxicating as champagne. Exhilarating bubbles had fizzed through her whole body, bringing it to life in a way she had never imagined could be possible.

      She raised her fingers to her mouth, suddenly understanding her mother’s downfall in a way that had always, until tonight, completely baffled her.

      Because