Lord Libertine. Gail Ranstrom

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ squeaked as one of her hands became caught between them.

      On the contrary, Mr. McPherson crushed his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. He used one arm to hold her so close against him that she could not gain leverage for her trapped hand to wedge him away. His other hand cupped the back of her head, preventing her from turning away from his mouth.

      She tried to protest, but all that came out was a muffled, “Mmm-ph…”

      She wasn’t aware of the door opening until she heard the clearing of a throat. She staggered backward and caught her hip on the corner of a chair when Mr. McPherson released her.

      “I say, Hunter, rather bad timing of you.”

      With a sinking feeling, she turned toward the door. Yes, her rescuer was the man from last night. The one who’d stolen her wits and whose kiss had been open to doubt. He was studying them both, a glass of something amber in his hand, his dark eyes judging and assessing.

      “McPherson,” he acknowledged. “Should I excuse myself?”

      Heavens! She could not decide if it would be safer to remain with Mr. McPherson or make her escape with Mr. Hunter. She glanced away and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She thought she tasted blood from the way Mr. McPherson’s teeth had mashed against her closed lips.

      “Yes, damn it,” Mr. McPherson said. “And close the door on your way out.”

      She turned back and saw that Mr. Hunter had his hand on the doorknob. He met her gaze and stopped. With a lazy smile, he dropped his hand to his side and shook his head. “Actually, McPherson, I like the quiet here. Why don’t we all sit down and have a chat?”

      Mr. McPherson’s face suffused with color. He seized her wrist and pulled her toward the door.

      “Leave the lady here, McPherson.”

      She held her breath while the two men faced each other down. In the end, Mr. McPherson made the decision she would have. He left, slamming the door behind him.

      “You are welcome,” Mr. Hunter said, the hint of a smile in his voice.

      Was he pleased to see her discomfort? She chafed her wrist and refused to look at him. “Thank you,” she grumbled. “I do not know what got into him.”

      “Truly?” His laugh was a low, warm rumble. “I have a few ideas, madam. Allow me to indulge them. Perhaps he did not appreciate the promise you made with your lips that you later recanted. Or perhaps you have so enchanted him that he could not help himself. Or—and this is just conjecture, you understand—perhaps he did not realize you were just making sport of him.”

      “I did not intend…that is, I did not know he would follow me tonight. I did not mean to encourage him in the least.”

      “For many men, once is enough.”

      She rubbed her hip to still her trembling hands. “Is that why you are here, sir? To renew your offer? Will you, too, devil my every step?”

      His glance dropped to her hands, then moved back up to her eyes. A flicker of emotion passed over his features, but she could not tell what he was thinking.

      He came forward and pressed his glass into her hand. “Drink,” he said. “It will calm your nerves.”

      He stepped away from her, as if he were uncomfortable being close. “As for me, I may devil your footsteps, but set your mind at ease—I will never force myself upon you. I have already said, have I not, that I will wait for your answer?”

      She frowned. What an odd blend of concern and anger he possessed, that he could both assist and insult her in the same moment. And she did not care for the touch of antagonism in his voice. “You confuse me, Mr. Hunter. One moment you are pursuing me most ardently, and the next you sound as if you do not even like me. You have taken great care to warn me against you. Is this sport? Are you trying to make your conquest of me more difficult, so the winning will be sweeter?” She lifted his glass, took a swallow and winced as the whiskey stung a little cut on the inside of her lip.

      “I think you drink that whiskey a wee bit too eagerly for a lady. Do you have a drinking problem, madam?”

      “Not yet, Mr. Hunter, but I am working on it.”

      He chuckled and shook his head. “I daresay you will get there. You appear to be deucedly determined. But I should warn you that a drunken woman loses her attraction.”

      She looked up and studied the handsome face. No. Whatever concern he might have had for her was gone. Now there was just a challenge. “What would I have to do to make you go away, sir?”

      “Come clean. Tell me what you are about. Or say, ‘Yes, Mr. Hunter, I will be delighted to take you to my bed.’”

      Bella was discomfited to learn that she could still blush—if the heat in her cheeks was any indication. She covered it with an extra measure of defiance. “Then would you go away? Truly?”

      But he only shrugged—not that she would have told him the truth anyway. “Money, then?” she asked. “If I paid you, would you go away?”

      He looked surprised, then a little insulted. “This is a first for me. How droll. No one has ever attempted to buy me off before.”

      “Really? Your company is so tedious that I would have thought you could make a rather nice living from it.”

      He took his glass from her and raised it as he gave her a crooked grin. “It would seem you’ve taken my measure, madam.”

      Heavens! Was there no discouraging the man? She sighed and started to push past him on her way to the door. He caught her arm when she was beside him and leaned sideways to whisper in her ear. “Have a care, Lace. I may not always be around to save you, and the way you are heading, you are going to need saving.”

      Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes and she blinked them back quickly. “What business is it of yours what I do? Do you devil everyone you dislike? Everyone who has ever done something of which you do not approve?”

      He gave her that slow smile again. “Did I say that I dislike you, Lady Lace? I do not recall that. On the contrary, it is my devotion to you that will keep me at your heels.”

      Chapter Three

      Drew’s hand tightened around his glass as he watched Lady Lace wind through the crowds when she returned to the ballroom. He wished he could call her graceless or gauche, but she held her own with a quiet dignity that belied her apparent purpose—to kiss every eligible male in society. He eased his grip on the glass before he could break the stem, but his stomach began to tighten.

      How many times had he pitied men who’d fallen victim to Cupid’s arrow? Who followed their ladylove’s every move and sigh? God save him that indignity. Lace was a slow burn in his blood, and as soon as he satisfied his need, he would be himself again. And now, to make matters worse, he’d have to find McPherson and make amends. He’d be damned if he’d lose a friend over a skirt.

      “My! Such a dark look, Hunter.”

      He turned and found Viscount Bryon Daschel and Percy Throckmorton standing behind him. “Then my look matches my thoughts.”

СКАЧАТЬ