She sighed, curling up in her bed and snuggling her bedclothes around her as she relived the moment when those light, tender kisses had turned hungry, demanding, passionate, as if someone had lit a torch within him, and in her. Setting her alight like touch paper to fireworks. Hot, shivery, thrilling sensations.
And then Milly. Wretched, nosy, infuriating creature. No wonder Lord Salcott—no, she was going to think of him as Leo now—no wonder Leo had been angry.
His curt farewell doubtless came of frustration. And embarrassment at being caught kissing her. He was a very private, rather proper man.
Izzy wasn’t embarrassed. On the contrary she wanted to sing it to the rooftops. But of course she couldn’t.
Would Milly blab? Izzy thought about it. Apart from the threats she herself had made, if Milly’s mother ever discovered her precious daughter was in the habit of wandering the garden in her nightgown in the middle of the night, Milly would be in such big trouble.
No, there was no danger of Milly telling. Even if she did, who would believe her? It would be Izzy’s word against Milly’s. There were no other witnesses, apart from Lord Salcott and he wouldn’t be telling.
If it got out, Izzy’s reputation would be ruined, but Lord Salcott would be held to be acting as any man would—taking advantage of what was offered. In any case, nobody would dream of trying to force an earl to marry the illegitimate daughter of a baronet.
Gray morning light slipped through the cracks in the curtains. She didn’t want to get up: she wanted to stay here in bed, reliving the glorious sensations of the night before.
On the other hand she was bound to see him again this morning. What would he say? What would she say?
Last night had revealed a whole new Lord Salcott to her—one she’d only caught glimpses of before—and she couldn’t wait to see more of him, to get to know him as a man, not just as the Grumpy Guardian.
Would he kiss her again? A delectable shiver ran through her as she considered the possibilities. Smiling to herself, she stretched again and threw back the bedclothes.
***
Leo slept badly that night, tossing and turning. He drifted in dreams where he was lost in magical kisses, then woke up sharply with the gut-wrenching awareness that she’d sprung a trap on him—or tried to.
Sleepily he relived the sweetness of her expression as she teased him about his anger. The touch of her soft fingertip as she traced invisible lines on his face. The scent of her that wrapped itself around his awareness so that never again would he mistake that fragrance for anyone else. The warmth, the soft sensual giving of her.
Her kisses had felt real. Sincere. Heartfelt.
He ran a hand through his hair. He’d been fooled before by a woman’s so-called sincerity...
Words echoed in his brain.You’re well and truly compromised now... well and truly compromised... well and truly compromised.
He sat up in bed, the chill of the predawn air bringing him to full wakefulness.
He refused to be trapped into marriage by anyone, let alone a pair of manipulative females. What did they think he was? Some kind of weak, gentlemanly fool? An easy mark?
Manipulative.Sir Bartleby had warned him, and Leo had dismissed the letter as spite. More fool him.
He rose and, after seeing to his needs, dashed water on his face. He glanced at his reflection in the looking glass and clenched his jaw.
They’re quite nice lips, when they’re not being squished into hard lines.
Dammit, she was haunting him. He tried to relax his face, to banish the signs of his anger—anger thatshe’dput there. But the more he tried, the more his frustration grew.
Exercise, that’s what he needed, exercise to drive out the demons. He pulled on riding breeches and a coat and dragged on his riding boots. He yanked the curtains back and saw it had started raining. The paper lanterns from the party lay limp and soggy on the grass below. The sight gave him a perverse satisfaction.
He went downstairs, dashed off a note to Race, inviting him to a late breakfast, then took himself off for a dawn ride in Hyde Park.
The rain intensified. Cold pellets stung his skin. Leo relished it. It spoke to his mood. The scent of wet grass and muddy earth, the vital heat and smell of the horse beneath him, and the faint tang of smoke from a thousand chimneys were refreshing, he told himself, ridding him of the scent of woman and roses and vanilla. The scent of betrayal.
You’re well and truly compromised now...
There were very few others in the park—the rain and the hour of the morning—and Leo rode hard and fast in the pouring rain until he was soaked to the skin and his horse was tired. He turned for home.
His demons were subdued, at least, if not entirely vanquished.
Matteo exclaimed in horror as he dripped on the floor, and rushed to fetch him a towel. “Stop fussing, man,” Leo told him, and rubbed the towel roughly over his face. “A spot of rain never hurt anyone. I’m English.”
