from one man to the next then understanding dawned in his slightly myopic blue eyes. “Of course. Of course. We are to have a masked ball tonight in celebration of my daughter’s nuptials.”
As Trent studied the young men before him, a surprising hint of doubt seemed to touch the edges of his smile, but as a dutiful host, he continued, “You will join us, of course.”
Barrly smiled, his teeth completely bared. Once again, he lifted his cigar, the smoke swirling about his fair face and red hair. “We’d be delighted. What shall we go as John, dear. Devils or angels?”
“Why devils of course,” John peeled. “There’s already a host of angels in the house.”
Lord Conrade threw back his dark head and laughed pleasantly, as if he weren’t a predator looking for a fresh bit of meat. “Delightful. Nothing better than beautiful women. Don’t you agree, your grace?”
James turned to the young lord and nodded ever so slightly. “They are always pleasant to have about.”
Garret blew out a sigh. This was all going to hell in a basket. If he had his way, he’d throw all three blasted pups into a wheelbarrow and drop them into a dung heap. Still, one had to be a gentleman. . . Or at least, so James said.
“Are we to talk of women or shoot?” Garret demanded.
“Come now, my lord!” Conrade said grandly. “Women are the only thing to celebrate. After all, they are the givers of life and almost all pleasant things.”
Garret scowled. “I thank my mother for giving me birth. I realize it was quite a sacrifice on her part, but I will not stand about pining over females like some sort of fluff headed sheep.”
Lord Barrly eyed him carefully, a devil’s grin tilting his angelic lips. “A man after my heart. Love them and leave them, eh?”
“Something like that,” Garret murmured. It was actually exactly what he had done in the end. He could still clearly recall the last act of vengeance he had taken upon the woman he had been so sure he loved.
Love.
It was a ridiculous word alluding to an emotion that no human was truly capable of feeling. No. Not after what he’d done. Not after what he and Harry had done to each other.
Chapter 8
Five Years Earlier
Devonshire
Oh blast. Now she’d gone and done it. The words which had seemed so perfect in her head soundly positively ludicrous to her ears. She waited. Waited for him to laugh at her foolishness or to chastise her for her sinful suggestion.
He didn’t.
Instead, his gaze lowered to her lips, his amber eyes widening with a heat she had never seen before in a gentleman. How she longed to reach out, but she really wasn’t sure what to do.
Under his gaze, every bit of her seemed painfully alive. Stupidly, seemingly unable to control her errant brain, she found herself saying, “If you don’t kiss me, I shall have to kiss you . I shall make a muck of it you see. I have no idea how to go about a proper—”
In one quick movement, his hands were on her forearms and he pulled her to him. The boat bobbed wildly, but she ignored it, her only focus was him. On his strong arm wrapping about her, pulling her barely clad body against his.
With his other hand he cupped her chin. He lingered for a moment. “This isn’t wise,” he whispered. Then negating his own admission, he brought his mouth down on hers roughly. Hungrily. His hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck, holding her steady for his demanding kiss.
Harriet held absolutely still. It was all too much. The feel of his muscles under her fingertips. It was shocking how they flexed and bunched. The softness of his lips mixed with the hardness of his kiss rendered her dumb.
Something rose inside her, a desire to claim him just as he seemed to be claiming her. For this was what it felt like, him laying claim to her mouth. To her soul.
She opened her lips slightly, inviting him unknowingly. His tongue slipped between her lips, caressing her. Probing her. The wild rightness of it sent her
As Trent studied the young men before him, a surprising hint of doubt seemed to touch the edges of his smile, but as a dutiful host, he continued, “You will join us, of course.”
Barrly smiled, his teeth completely bared. Once again, he lifted his cigar, the smoke swirling about his fair face and red hair. “We’d be delighted. What shall we go as John, dear. Devils or angels?”
“Why devils of course,” John peeled. “There’s already a host of angels in the house.”
Lord Conrade threw back his dark head and laughed pleasantly, as if he weren’t a predator looking for a fresh bit of meat. “Delightful. Nothing better than beautiful women. Don’t you agree, your grace?”
James turned to the young lord and nodded ever so slightly. “They are always pleasant to have about.”
Garret blew out a sigh. This was all going to hell in a basket. If he had his way, he’d throw all three blasted pups into a wheelbarrow and drop them into a dung heap. Still, one had to be a gentleman. . . Or at least, so James said.
“Are we to talk of women or shoot?” Garret demanded.
“Come now, my lord!” Conrade said grandly. “Women are the only thing to celebrate. After all, they are the givers of life and almost all pleasant things.”
Garret scowled. “I thank my mother for giving me birth. I realize it was quite a sacrifice on her part, but I will not stand about pining over females like some sort of fluff headed sheep.”
Lord Barrly eyed him carefully, a devil’s grin tilting his angelic lips. “A man after my heart. Love them and leave them, eh?”
“Something like that,” Garret murmured. It was actually exactly what he had done in the end. He could still clearly recall the last act of vengeance he had taken upon the woman he had been so sure he loved.
Love.
It was a ridiculous word alluding to an emotion that no human was truly capable of feeling. No. Not after what he’d done. Not after what he and Harry had done to each other.
Chapter 8
Five Years Earlier
Devonshire
Oh blast. Now she’d gone and done it. The words which had seemed so perfect in her head soundly positively ludicrous to her ears. She waited. Waited for him to laugh at her foolishness or to chastise her for her sinful suggestion.
He didn’t.
Instead, his gaze lowered to her lips, his amber eyes widening with a heat she had never seen before in a gentleman. How she longed to reach out, but she really wasn’t sure what to do.
Under his gaze, every bit of her seemed painfully alive. Stupidly, seemingly unable to control her errant brain, she found herself saying, “If you don’t kiss me, I shall have to kiss you . I shall make a muck of it you see. I have no idea how to go about a proper—”
In one quick movement, his hands were on her forearms and he pulled her to him. The boat bobbed wildly, but she ignored it, her only focus was him. On his strong arm wrapping about her, pulling her barely clad body against his.
With his other hand he cupped her chin. He lingered for a moment. “This isn’t wise,” he whispered. Then negating his own admission, he brought his mouth down on hers roughly. Hungrily. His hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck, holding her steady for his demanding kiss.
Harriet held absolutely still. It was all too much. The feel of his muscles under her fingertips. It was shocking how they flexed and bunched. The softness of his lips mixed with the hardness of his kiss rendered her dumb.
Something rose inside her, a desire to claim him just as he seemed to be claiming her. For this was what it felt like, him laying claim to her mouth. To her soul.
She opened her lips slightly, inviting him unknowingly. His tongue slipped between her lips, caressing her. Probing her. The wild rightness of it sent her
Similar Books
