A Daring Liaison. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ looked down at the top of her head, bowed to the pebbled path. Her scent, the soft warmth of her hand as it rested in his, the curve of her throat that begged his kisses, and the fullness of her lips just waiting for his. His eyes slipped lower to the provocative swell of her breasts above the modest neckline of her gown. Though they were mostly hidden from view, his imagination fueled an immediate and strong response in his body. One that he hoped Mrs. Huffington was yet innocent enough to miss.

      He shook his head to clear it. Was this part of her allure—this mixture of worldliness and innocence? The undeniable appeal that had lured two men, perhaps three, to their deaths?

      “Is something amiss, Mr. Hunter?” she asked.

      The lowered intimacy of her voice caused him to stop and face her again. There was an unquestionable risk in growing closer to the woman, but he was a man who’d always liked the thrill of danger. “Mrs. Huffington, I hope you will not think me presumptuous, but how long do you plan to be in town?”

      “No longer than it will take me to settle matters regarding Aunt Caroline’s estate. I find London society a bit … ruthless.”

      He, too, lowered his voice. If the chit was flirting, he’d give her more than she’d bargained for. “If you are referring to the gossip shared over teacups, I cannot deny it. But I hope you will be staying longer.”

      Georgiana’s heart tripped. He leaned closer. Too close. “Are you flirting, Mr. Hunter?”

      He gave her the boyish smile that used to turn her insides to mush. “Neither of us is innocent of the world and its … pleasures.”

      She held her breath as he lifted her hand and bent his head to brush his lips across her knuckles. A dark lock of hair fell across his forehead, and instant warmth seeped through her. She knew quite well that Aunt Caroline had been right about him. He teased, he flirted and once he’d stolen a kiss, he was on to the next woman. Who would know that better than she? Charles Hunter was an irresistible rake who had broken half the hearts in the ton. But not hers for a second time. She was immune.

      After two marriages and a rather serious courtship, she had experience of a man’s passion. But Charles Hunter’s slow, easy grace was nothing like poor Arthur’s, who’d done no more than kiss her before his tumble down the stairs. Nor was his seduction akin to Gower’s quick, hard passion, come and gone in a blink. Yet not so sweet as Adam Booth’s humble kiss.

      No, Mr. Hunter was in no hurry, and that unsettled her. He was a challenge to everything she’d come to believe—that love and passion were not for her, and marriage would be a disservice to any man for whom she bore any fondness at all. But it might almost be worth a kiss or two, since she no longer bore any fondness for him. Just curiosity. Could he still render her senseless with his kiss? Cause her heartbeat to race? Kindle a burning in her soul?

      She looked up into those deep unfathomable eyes and he seemed to read her mind. He lowered his head toward hers, parting his lips just slightly. She wanted to cry. To run. But she wanted to kiss him even more. Aunt Caroline’s voice echoed in her mind. Once a man like Charles Hunter has what he wants, he will go on to the next conquest.

      Slowly, reluctantly, she withdrew her hand. “You are most gallant, sir, but I think we’ve … studied the topiary rather longer than we intended.”

      He offered his arm, which she took. A frisson of misgiving warned her that there was more to Charles Hunter than Aunt Caroline had suspected. The night had deepened and the shadows encouraged her to say things she might not have dared in daylight. “Why did you really ask me into the garden, Mr. Hunter?”

      He seemed surprised by her frankness. “I should think that would be apparent, Mrs. Huffington. As you have become my sister’s friend, we shall be often in the same company. ‘Twill be more pleasant if I can count you a friend, too.”

      Friend? Their brief moment of familiarity had passed, and the time had come to be polite again. “I believe we have established that much, sir.”

      He guffawed. “I like the way you speak your mind, Mrs. Huffington. Quite refreshing. Is there anything coy about you?”

      “Heavens! I hope not. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit past the blushing maiden stage of my life. And, alas, there is no one left to remind me of my manners.”

      He arched one dark eyebrow. “Do not look to me for reminders, Mrs. Huffington. Had I my way, you’d be joining the gentlemen for cigars and brandy. I am far more likely to encourage your frankness than complain of it.”

      They entered the terrace doors to the strains of a waltz already in progress. Mr. Hunter swept her into his arms without a “by your leave” and led her into the whirl of soberly dressed gentlemen and gaily gowned women.

      “Why, yes, Mr. Hunter. I’d love to dance,” she said with mild reproach.

      “The first of many to come.”

      Oh, she doubted that. Too much Charles Hunter would have her undone and forgetting both her scruples and Aunt Caroline’s warnings. A moment later the dance ended and Mr. Hunter took her arm to lead her back to his sister.

      Their way was blocked by two couples who had stopped to chat.

      “… just as brazen as you please,” one woman was saying. “And now it seems she has dug her talons into Charles Hunter, dragging him into the gardens like a common trollop…. ”

      Georgiana’s cheeks burned.

      “I would think she’d have the decency to remain in the countryside,” the other woman agreed. “Everyone knows what she is.”

      “And what is that, Francine?” one of the men asked, his gaze flicking over the woman’s head to meet Georgiana’s eyes.

      “Why, a schemer at best. A murderess at worst,” the woman answered. “And if I were to choose between the two—”

      The scorching heat was replaced by a sudden icy coldness in the pit of her stomach. She could not mistake the mocking glance of the man who’d asked the question. She looked up at Mr. Hunter, and the expression on his face was terrifying—dark and furious. She started to turn, thinking he would quickly lead her around the group.

      His grip tightened on her arm. “Hello, DeRoss. Everly. Ladies,” he said with an inflection that cast doubt on the name.

      Georgiana was torn between amusement and humiliation.

      “Hunter.” DeRoss, the man who’d asked the question, looked pointedly at Georgiana, pressing the introduction.

      Mr. Hunter gave a slight smile, but there was something predatory about it. She suspected there was worse to come and lifted her chin with every bit of pride she could muster.

      “Have you met my sister’s dear friend, Georgiana Huffington?” he asked as he placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. The move was proprietary and flattering. And false.

      Mr. DeRoss and Mr. Everly both gave the barest of bows and Mr. DeRoss spoke for them both. “Charmed, Mrs. Huffington.”

      She curtsied as slightly as they’d bowed. “Gentlemen,” she murmured.

      But Mr. Hunter was not inclined to stop there. “Miss Wilton-Smythe and Miss Grayson, allow me to present СКАЧАТЬ