Her laugh was supposed to be light and airy. Instead it sounded bitter even to her own ears. "You don't feel desire, remember. Vicar?"
"I don't give in to desire. It doesn't mean I don't feel it quite profoundly. Unlike you. "
She froze. "Don't be ridiculous. As you put it so elegantly, I spread my legs for anyone. I like to sleep with men. Is that so hard to believe? You think only men feel sexual desire?"
"I think women feel sexual desire quite strongly. I just don't think you do. You're a fake, a poseur. Lady Whitmore. You may open your legs, for whatever twisted reason you have, but you never open your heart. "
Since he wasn't releasing her hand, she moved closer still, pressing her body up against his, her anger overcoming every other feeling that might have tempered it. "Spare me your homilies. Vicar, they make me ill. " She rubbed up against him, like a cat in heat, mocking him, but as he released her hand he caught her arms, putting her away from him. But not before she felt the unmistakable outline of his erection.
"My, my. . . It seems your vow of celibacy might be ready to take a tumble. Unless you walk around with a spyglass tucked in your breeches. It seems you want me to spread my legs for you. " Her smile was mocking as she waited for him to push her away.
He wouldn't pull her back, she knew she was safe. She didn't want someone like Simon Pagett in her bed—he saw her with uncomfortable clarity. She preferred drunken lordlings and—
"I gave up meaningless couplings outside of marriage for reasons you couldn't possibly understand. "
“Try me. And I do mean that. "
“No," he said flatly.
"There it is again. No. Don't. Never. You really should find new words. Like Yes. Do. Always. "
His fingers tightened, and he was going to kiss her. His grip was almost painful, and he lifted her off her feet, pulling her closer, and she wanted this kiss more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. His hands hurt her, though she doubted he realized what he was doing, and she closed her eyes, waiting for his mouth to meet hers.
And then she found herself plopped down on the floor, unceremoniously. "I refuse to play your games. Lady Whitmore. "
She should have left well enough alone. He was far more of a danger to her equilibrium than the men she slept with—he had the capability of destroying all her hard-won defenses. But she couldn't stop herself.
"Coward," she said.
Monty let out a soft snore. Before she realized what was happening, Simon had grabbed her arms again and pushed her outside the tall French doors, out onto the stone terrace in the early-morning light. He pushed her up against the stone facing, holding her there, and put his mouth on hers.
It was astonishing. It was full-mouthed, seething with lust and abandon, and for a moment she froze. She'd been kissed like that before, and she knew all the tricks of a measured response. But those clever tricks evaporated, and she closed her eyes, sinking, sinking. He kissed her with a fierce hunger that shook her to her bones, a deep, carnal kiss that was more sexual than anything she'd done in her entire life.
He lifted his head, glaring down at her. "You think I don't feel desire. Lady Whitmore? That's not a trout inside my breeches. You think I don't want you? You're the only woman to make me this crazy in ten years. You think I couldn't break my vows and betray my conscience and take you standing up against the wall, right here, right now? Damn you. "
He gave her a little shake, and she let out a small, a very small murmur of distress.
“But you don’t fool me. You don't like men, you don’t like sex which is far worse than simply being a loose woman. You don't even get pleasure out of the act. "
"I get—" Her denial was immediate, but he cut her off.
“No, you don't. Which is why I'm not going to betray everything I believe in, in service to whatever sick game you like to play. I won't do it. Damn you. " He pulled her back into his arms, and she looked up at him, torn, confused, longing. "Damn you," he said again, just a whisper, and his mouth found hers.
The kiss was gentle this time, but there was nothing innocent about it. It was sweet and sexual, a kiss of such unbridled longing that it frightened her, and she reached up, meaning to push him away, but instead her arms went around his neck and pulled him closer, down to her, losing herself in the wonder of his mouth.
It was amazing that anything could penetrate the sudden, unexpected, sweet haze of longing that swept over her as he wrapped his arms around her. Just her name, in a hoarse whisper, and she yanked herself away, expecting that Monty had woken up.
Instead she saw three figures at the end of the wide terrace. Two liveried figures, and a limp, berobed woman in between.
Charlotte.
14
Adrian Rohan lounged in the chair, surveying the busy club with a jaundiced eye. There was a great deal of noise coming from the faro table, where someone had clearly just won or lost a fortune. Normally Adrian would have risen and strolled over to see who had changed their life, at least for the day, but he was bored, restless, annoyed. Gaming had lost its charm for him, wine its taste, sex its delight. For the past three weeks Etienne had tried to interest him in his old pursuits, but nothing managed to entertain him. He'd made an effort, letting his father's cousin drag him off to the clubs, the bordellos, but nothing was able to capture his interest.
Not even the remarkable prowess of Madame Kate's best fellatrix could do more than produce a desultory release, when normally he would have enjoyed the act immensely. He moved through his life with a stunning apathy. He was tired of everything, including Etienne de Giverney, who was growing ever more tedious in his attempts to distract him. Drink bored him, high-stakes gaming was tepid, he'd had every woman that caught his fancy, everything was flat and tasteless.
"That fool Lindenham," Etienne wheezed as he sank into the chair opposite him. "Wagered the family estate on a roll of the dice. Always a bad idea, no matter how lucky he seemed to have been earlier in the evening. He'll probably blow his brains out in a fortnight. "