Some Like It Wicked. Кэрол Мортимер

Grace!’ Pandora stood up to stare down in alarm at the prostrate and unconscious man.

      Rupert at last spared a narrow-eyed glance at the obviously dismayed Pandora Maybury, his gaze becoming positively appreciative as he took in the fact that the ripped front of her gown revealed surprisingly plump breasts beneath the thin material of her chemise, the nipples that adorned their firm, pouting tips showing a deep and alluring rose.

      Her cheeks flushed a similar colour as she became aware of his intent gaze, her hand once again moving up to clasp the ragged edges of her gown together in order to hide that delectable plumpness from his view.

      Rupert looked at her between hooded lids, taking in the gold of her hair arranged in fashionable curls at her crown, with several loose tendrils at her temples and nape, her face a pale oval in the moonlight, lashes lowered as she stared down at the prostrate man, making it impossible as yet for Rupert to see the full splendour of those ‘exquisitely beautiful’ violet-coloured eyes his friend had earlier described with such eloquence.

      She moistened plump lips with the tip of her tiny pink tongue before speaking huskily. ‘What shall we do with him?’

      Rupert arched dark, arrogant brows. ‘I have no intention of doing anything with him, madam. In fact, it is my intention to leave him exactly where he fell.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘No doubt he will have a slight jaw-ache when he awakens,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘But that, and the injury to his pride, will no doubt be all that he suffers. Unless, of course, Sugdon was right all along and you were actually encouraging the roughness of his attentions and now regret my interference?’ Rupert eyed her speculatively.

      She gasped, that blush in her cheeks deepening in colour. ‘How can you even suggest such a thing?’

      He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Some women prefer a little … enthusiasm, in their lovemaking.’

      ‘I assure you I am not one of those women!’ she snapped indignantly. ‘Now if you will excuse me—’

      ‘You cannot possibly go back into the house with your gown in that condition.’ Rupert made no effort to contain his impatience as he began to shrug out of his black evening coat. ‘Here, put this about your shoulders.’ He held the jacket out to her. ‘And I will go and arrange for the carriage to take you to your home.’

      Pandora was careful not to allow her fingers to come into contact with the Duke’s as she took the tailored jacket from him, struggling slightly as she attempted to hold the front of her gown together at the same time as putting the jacket about her shoulders.

      ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, let me!’ The Duke sighed his irritation with her struggles as he strode across the terrace to take the jacket from her and place it about her shoulders himself, Pandora at once enveloped in the warmth it had absorbed from his own body, along with the smell of his cologne and the cigar he had recently enjoyed. ‘I will go inside and see to the carriage and at the same time ensure that our hostess is made aware of your departure due to a headache.’ He glanced down in disgust as the other younger man gave a pained groan as he began to stir. ‘A very large headache!’

      Pandora’s lashes lowered as she avoided meeting Devil Stirling’s piercing grey gaze. ‘I—I do not believe I have thanked you as yet for your timely intervention, your Grace. I am much appreciative of your rescue just now.’

      ‘How appreciative, I wonder?’

      Her lashes rose sharply at the speculation she heard in his tone. ‘Your Grace?’

      ‘Never mind,’ he dismissed tersely as he straightened. ‘Perhaps you should come through to the library, and then you may close and lock the doors after I have left and so ensure that you are not disturbed before I return.’ He gave the rapidly recovering man at his feet another cold glance.

      Pandora gave an apprehensive shiver despite being huddled in the warmth of the Duke’s jacket, a warmth accompanied by a wholly masculine smell—the sandalwood and pine cologne, expensive cigar and another pleasant odour that was possibly uniquely Rupert Stirling—which was as reassuringly comforting as it was disturbing to the senses. ‘I will do so, gladly,’ she agreed as she preceded the Duke into the candlelit library, some of her trepidation leaving her as soon as she heard him locking the doors behind them before pulling the curtains across to secure her privacy.

      With the lessening of those feelings of immediate danger came the full realisation of what had just happened to her. The knowledge of what more might have happened to her if Rupert Stirling had not come to her rescue. Lord Sugdon, for all of his foppishness, was a large man and so much stronger than her, and if the Duke of Stratton had not come to her aid then she feared the other gentleman would have continued with his ravishment to the bitter end.

      ‘I believe it would be best if you don’t dwell on thoughts of what might have occurred,’ Rupert advised as he easily guessed the reason for the colour draining from Pandora’s cheeks.

      ‘Not dwell on it?’ she choked emotionally. ‘How can I not dwell on it when but for your own intervention he—he might have—’

      ‘Oh, good lord, now you are crying!’ Rupert gave a small groan as he saw the evidence of those tears as they spilled over her long silky lashes before proceeding to fall down the delicacy of her pale cheeks and knowing himself to be as impotent as the next man when faced with a woman’s tears. ‘Recall that I did intervene, madam, and let that be an end to it,’ he begged hastily.

      Those long silky lashes now rose, at last allowing Rupert his first glimpse of Pandora’s ‘exquisitely beautiful’ eyes. Eyes, he instantly discovered, that were indeed the colour of the deepest, darkest violets in springtime. Eyes a man—and at least two other men, to his certain knowledge—might gaze into and find himself lost to all reason as he drowned in those seductive violet depths …

      ‘I apologise for troubling you with my tears, your Grace.’ Pandora was visibly battling to stop any more of those tears from falling as she delicately patted the evidence from her cheeks with a lace-edged handkerchief she had recovered from the beaded reticule at her slender wrist.

      Rupert had indeed been troubled—was still troubled, if the truth be told, but by the mesmerising effect on him of those violet-coloured eyes, rather than the tears this woman had shed. ‘If you have any sense at all you will not attempt to move from the library until I have returned from arranging for the carriage to take you home.’

      Pandora could not help but flinch at the unmistakable steel she could hear underlying the Duke’s dictatorial tone, along with the expression of deep irritation on his aristocratically handsome face as he glared down the length of his arrogant nose at her, as if he now regretted having come to her aid at all. Or perhaps, having done so, he was merely eager to rid himself of the responsibility of her as quickly as was possible?

      ‘I assure you that I am perfectly sensible to my predicament, your Grace,’ she confirmed softly. ‘And should you appear out in the hallway without your jacket?’ Her eyes were wide with consternation as she saw that was his intention.

      ‘It would seem I have little choice when you are obviously more in need of it at present than I.’ With one last brief glance in her direction the Duke turned abruptly on his heel and stepped out into the hallway before closing the door firmly behind him. ‘Lock it,’ he directed audibly from the other side.

      Pandora quickly complied before pulling Rupert Stirling’s jacket more tightly about her as she leant weakly back against the door. She felt slightly safer now, but knew she would not feel completely secure until she was well away from Clayborne House and most of the people in it.

      Including her reluctant rescuer?

      Yes, that did indeed include the Duke, Pandora acknowledged as she now seemed unable to stop her trembling. There had been something in Rupert Stirling’s eyes when he had looked upon her in the candlelight just now, an expression of purely male assessment on his austere and aristocratic features, as he had seemed to take in everything about her in a