“They shouldn’t be out at night at all, let alone unescorted,” said Cal with feeling. “I have utterly forbidden it.”
“Which adds to the appeal of the adventure.”
Her calm acceptance of their misbehavior infuriated him. “You shouldn’t be out alone and unescorted at night, either,” he snapped. “Especially at a political rally.” There were riots everywhere in England these days. People got hurt.
“Lord Ashendon, I am a spinster of six-and-twenty and am quite my own mistress. I am not accountable to you or anyone else for my behavior.”
“I know that,” he growled. “But your foolishness encourages others to imitate you.” It was unfair and he knew it.
And of course, she wasn’t the kind of female to let it pass. She snatched her hand off his arm. “Do not try to put the blame on me! Your sisters had no idea I was planning to attend. I don’t believe they had any plan to attend the rally, either—they just saw the crowd and followed out of curiosity.”
She marched on a few steps in silence, but she was clearly building up a head of steam. “Their adventurousness hasnothingto do with me, and everything to do with the way they’ve been... oh, ‘cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d’for the last year—and for most of their lives!”
He might have known a teacher would resort to flinging Shakespeare around, as if it were the clincher to every argument.
She continued, “And it’s especially difficult for them to accept whentheymust dress entirely in black and are not allowed out because they’re in mourning for their father and their brother, and yetyoucan go out carousing, wearing whatever you like and—”
“Carousing?”he interrupted wrathfully. “I’ll give them carousing! I was dining quietly with a fellow officer, a friend I haven’t seen in y—” He broke off, noticing, in the light of the lamp overhead, a stain on her otherwise pale face. “Stand still,” he ordered, and when she glanced at him in surprise he caught her by the shoulders and turned her toward the light.
A bruise was forming on her cheekbone, and dried blood made a dark crust around one of her nostrils. And, now that he looked, drops of blood stained the front of her clothing.
“Dammit, you were injured too. Why didn’t you say something?”
Flustered, she tried to move away. “I’m perfectly all ri—”
“Don’t move, I said.” He cupped her face gently in his hands, the better to examine her injuries.
Or so he told himself.
He’d left his gloves at Galbraith’s hotel. His hands werebare but warm. Her skin was cool from the cold night air, silky and damp from the mist. Pale and soft as moonlight.
The darkening bruise on her cheekbone woke an anger in him that surprised him. He gently smoothed his thumb along her jawline. She stiffened.
He cradled her face in the lightest of holds and studied her. She stood motionless, expressionless: a trapped doe braced to flee.
She had only to pull away or say something and he would release her. He could feel the tension vibrating through her, but she said nothing.
Her eyes watched, wide and dark, twin pools of mystery, colorless in the night.
She made not a sound. He could feel her breath, soft and warm.
Her cool, silky skin was warming under his fingers.
Her mouth—God help him—her mouth was dark and luscious and damp and enticing. Without thinking he bent to taste it, a light, swift kiss that somehow... lingered.
She stiffened a moment, then made a soft little sound and her mouth softened under his. She tasted of... oh, lord... rose petals and moonlight and innocence. And beneath it all lay heat, luscious womanly heat.
Ravenous hunger went spiraling through him. He drew her closer to deepen the kiss, but she resisted, pushing back at him with a little sound of anger. Or distress. He released her instantly.
She stumbled back a few unsteady paces. He put out a hand to support her, but she jerked away. One burning glance at him through wide, unreadable eyes and she turned her back on him, taking deep unsteady breaths that gradually calmed.
He watched her, pulling her composure back together like a suit of armor.
His own pulse was still pounding. His brain made no sense of what had just happened. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. He barely knew her. She was a respectable woman, a teacher in a girls’ school. Practically a nun.
Though that mouth didn’t belong on any nun. And now the taste of her was in his blood...
He should probably apologize, but he was damned if he would. He didn’t regret a thing, only that it hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. And that he’d been raised a gentleman.
