His mouth remained light on hers, although she felt the tension in his arms as he resisted the urge to tug her closer. How did she know this? Pure instinct. She was woefully inexperienced with a man. She was playing out of her class with a man of the world like Lord Erskine.
Which didn’t mean she aimed to stop the game.
This time with intent, her tongue darted forward to touch his. Heat shuddered through her, sparking a fusillade of unfamiliar sensations. She shifted to relieve the building pressure between her legs.
Philippa might be innocent, but she wasn’t stupid. Her body prepared itself for his. She’d grown up in the country. The mechanics of the sexual act were no mystery. But mechanics had no connection with the unprecedented responses rushing through her, softening her muscles, making her blood throb with need, weighting her breasts and belly with desire.
Heaven help her, he didn’t need to drag her into his arms. The devilish purpose of that long, careful seduction now became clear. Philippa couldn’t bear to be separated from him by even as much as an inch. She was the one who wantonly pressed forward.
He was irresistible, so warm, so big, so powerful. When her body slid against his, she felt the immediate change in him. His kiss shifted from exploration to unalloyed possession. She should be terrified, but instead she felt desired. His tongue plunged between her lips, claiming her. His arms twined around her, so that she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to.
He swung her until she sprawled across his lap, her face tilted toward his, her breasts crushed against his bare chest under the coat. What had begun like a game became as serious as life and death.
She felt dizzy with lack of air and the storm in her blood. The heaviness between her legs made her wriggle. If she’d ever doubted Erskine’s interest, her position now left her in no doubt.
That was astonishing enough. What was even more astonishing was that she wanted him, too. She’d never experienced desire. She’d had no idea how it overwhelmed every consideration but physical need.
She moaned consent against his lips. She was too far gone for fear. There was only heat and hunger and his wild, wild kisses.
He tensed against her, but she gripped his shoulders. All that mattered was that he shared more of those shattering sensations. Then through the pounding in her ears, she heard the rattle of the lock. Before she could break away from Lord Erskine, someone flung open the door.
Keeping her in his lap, Lord Erskine twisted around at the interruption. In the glare of what felt like a hundred candles, Philippa blinked owlishly.
Then horrified shrieks split the night.
Chapter 4
Damn, damn, damn.
Erskine fought the urge to punch the wall, even if this whole bloody mess was his fault. He’d locked them in the dressing room. Then he hadn’t had the sense to keep his hands to himself. Now here he was on the floor with an innocent girl in his arms, and the game was well and truly up.
But Philippa Sanders had been so sweet, so near, so utterly irresistible. The temptation had been overwhelming.
Which was no excuse for mauling her. And now exposing her to full-scale scandal.
Even through the thick door, he should have heard activity in the outer room. But Miss Sanders had so captivated him that he’d paid no whit of attention to anything else.
“Mamma, please hush,” Philippa said urgently, and without effect. “You’ll have everyone in here to see what the fuss is about.”
“How could you? You wicked, wicked girl. How could you?” And a litany of similar complaints about her younger daughter’s character and morals. All at top pitch.
Blast the harridan. Erskine would wager that they’d hear her in London. His grip on Philippa tightened, although it was too late for him to save her from trouble.
Behind the distraught parent’s rotund figure, Amelia stood, hatred glittering in her icy blue eyes as she regarded her sister. Right now, Amelia looked ready to commit murder.
Erskine had always suspected that Amelia’s angelic looks hid a nasty streak. He suppressed a shudder and thanked heaven that the elder Sanders girl had never appealed to him.
Mills, who held the key to the dressing room, raised his candelabra and greeted his master with a cool smile. “Merry Christmas, my lord.”
Nothing shook Mills’s composure, although a faint tightening around his eyes hinted that Mrs. Sanders’ hysterics came close.
“Philippa, how could you do this? How? Oh, I can’t even look at you!” Mrs. Sanders sucked in a noisy breath. “And still you sit there, basking in your sin.”
Guilt punched Erskine in the gut as he realized that he should have released Philippa the instant the door opened. Holding her was purely instinct, some rusty protective urge remaining from a boyhood of rescuing stray dogs and birds fallen from their nests. He thought he’d outgrown his need to shelter small, defenseless creatures. Apparently not. Philippa was a stalwart soul, but one glance at her wan, set face indicated that she needed protection.
Before he could apologize, she struggled free and stumbled to her feet. Feeling absurd on the floor before his accusers, he rose as well. In a futile attempt to shield her, he hovered at her shoulder. She sidled away, bumping into the leather trunk in the corner. Clearly she didn’t appreciate his attempts to play the hero.
Damn it, why should she? He’d acted like a dunderhead.