Chapter One
Ashley strolled past the ancient tall case clock outside the supper room in Lord Rundale’s large town house as nonchalantly as possible. One of Rundale’s footmen arched a brow at this, her fourteenth pass, and Ashley raised her brows back. Now, if only she felt as confident on the inside.
The clock ticked incessantly, loudly reminding her of each passing second. Without looking she knew the hour was ten past eleven, a full forty minutes after Lord Nicholas Martingale had told her he would meet her. She should pretend she didn’t care. She should return to the ballroom and dance with one of the gentlemen who offered to partner her.
But she wanted to be in the garden with Nick’s hot mouth on her flesh and his skilled hands teasing their way under her skirt.
Ashley fanned herself.
She must compose herself.
She paused, listening to the muted strains of the orchestra playing a quadrille in the ballroom. Men and women laughed, the sound mingled like the citrus, rose, and lavender of the guests’ purchased scents. The noise, the frenzy, the energy of a ball—of any social event—never failed to excite her. For hours afterward, she would feel revitalized.
But lately, something else—rather someone else—had revitalized her far more. Just thinking about Nick was enough to make her heart pound and her hands shake. For the past two months, she’d feared that she was falling in love with him. But after last night, after all the wonderfully sinful things he had done to her, she knew she was in love with him.
Not that she was going to tell the man. She was no foolish ninny, no novice to the game of courtship. Nick might be her first lover, but she had five brothers, and she understood the intricacies of the male mind—what few intricacies there were, at any rate. She’d also had more than her share of suitors, and the one thing she’d learned from that concentrated male attention was men liked to pursue. Men liked to stalk and hunt and capture.
She’d hold her affection for Nick close, wait to reveal it until she was certain of his sentiments.
Ashley marched before the inexhaustible clock again—her fifteenth pass—and frowned at the hands. Where was he?
He’d seen.
Ashley stiffened. The insidious thought crept into her mind and dug its tentacles in deep. In defense, she smoothed her dress carefully over her legs.
He couldn’t have seen. He couldn’t have.
Annoyed at her foolishness, she blew out her breath as the clock chimed the quarter hour. She couldn’t afford to be absent from the ball any longer. A sob rose in her throat, but she pushed it down and notched her chin up. Turning swiftly, she marched right into Lord Geoffrey. The third son of a duke and one of Nick’s good friends, Lord Geoffrey had obviously left the ballroom and come to the narrow hallway in search of her.
He caught her arm now and smiled down at her. Indicating the Rundale’s dining room, where the supper would soon be served, he said, “Eager to sample the offerings from Lord Rundale’s kitchens, Miss Brittany?” His smile and tone were flirtatious, and normally Ashley, a consummate flirt herself, would have answered with her own teasing phrase. But just now she didn’t feel like flirting. She felt ugly and unwanted.
Damn Lord Nicholas!
She smiled tightly. “Good evening, Lord Geoffrey. Actually, I’m on my way back to the ballroom.”
“I’d be happy to escort you, but I have a feeling you might want to tarry a moment longer.” He extracted a small slip of vellum from his cuff and held it out. Ashley grasped it, tucking it in her skirt before anyone might see. Her heart raced and her thoughts were a jumble. Somehow, she managed to smile and murmur some words of thanks. Leaning close, Lord Geoffrey whispered, “Save me a dance.”
She nodded, watching with barely disguised impatience as he sauntered away. As soon as he was out of sight, Ashley dove into a nook at the end of the corridor occupied by a half-clothed statue of a Roman goddess. She ducked behind the goddess and, ignoring the footman’s pursed lips, flicked open the note and read the words scrawled in Nick’s elegant hand.
Library. Eleven.
Her gaze jumped to the clock. It was now quarter past. Nick wasn’t late. She was!
Dash it all and dash Lord Geoffrey in particular.
She turned and raced toward the library, slippers shushing on the marble floors as she crossed the vestibule, where a stray guest or two arrived or departed. “May I help you, miss?” the butler called after her, but Ashley ignored him. Instead, she lifted her ivory and blue skirts and ran the rest of the way, stopping outside the library door to catch her breath.
She put a hand to her heart, took three deep breaths, and patted her hair back into place. Then, with a smile pasted on her lips, she opened the door and practically tumbled inside.
“Nick?” she whispered, her voice tinged with exhilaration.
But instead of an answer in his deep baritone, another sound entirely greeted her. The woman’s moan was carnal and bespoke supreme pleasure.
Ashley knew the sound well. She had made it herself just last night.
“Oh!” She put her hands to her lips and began to back up. Her face felt hot, and she prayed she had not interrupted anyone she knew. “I’m so terribly s—”
“Ashley.” The voice was calm, unperturbed.
