Scandalous Regency Nights. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ you,” he murmured.

      She glanced up to see hunger in his eyes, naked and raw. A surge of heat rushed up from her breasts to her face. Blushing like a schoolgirl, dash it. And the color no doubt clearly visible in the light of the torchères strategically placed along the walkway. “La, sir, a compliment indeed.”

      He tilted his head as if puzzled by her coquettish tone. Did he see through her defenses to the rapid beat of her heart? He smiled and waved his bottle. “Let us find somewhere to sit. We can open this and talk.”

      Further on, they did indeed find a loveseat fashioned from bamboo and wicker, and cushioned with chintz, and set in an arbor of vines.

      “How lovely,” she said.

      “A perfect setting,” he replied and led her to the seat. While she settled her skirts, he eased the cork free with a gentle pop. Vapor issued from the neck of the bottle. He filled the glasses, not spilling a drop.

      “You do that with great expertise,” she said.

      “Had lots of practice.” He glanced upwards. “I didn’t dare shoot the thing though that lot.” He grinned with nothing of the cynic about his mouth. Her heart tumbled slowly and pleasurably.

      She raised her gaze to the gleaming arch of glass. “Oh, gracious. No indeed.”

      Their voices mingled in laughter swiftly absorbed by the verdant greenery. A companionable sound. Her stomach clenched. A painful longing within the joy of discovery of a kindred spirit. What would it have been like to marry a man with the ability to laugh? She forced the thought aside. Regret had no place in this evening. Lady Falstow had advised her to live for the moment. After all, she’d paid her full dues as a dutiful wife.

      Darby handed her a glass of wine. Their fingers brushed. Little shimmers of something hot ran up her arm. A shiver of anticipation ran across her skin.

      The quick uplift of the corners of his lips said he, too, felt the spark. “To your beautiful eyes.”

      “To your lovely mouth,” she replied and drank deeply, the champagne cool and tart on her tongue, the bubbles misting her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

      “My lovely mouth?” He raised a brow and leaned back against the cushion, his eyelids lowering a fraction as if to hide the heat in his gaze. Not possible. She was veritably scorched.

      “I like the way it smiles.” Oh, lord, one mouthful of wine and she sounded foxed, when in reality it was he who made her feel giddy. Or perhaps it was the perfume of so many flowers? “You must think me a fool, Mr. Darby.”

      “Please, call me Tony. And no, I find you … delightful. Uniquely charming.”

      Her heart beat a little faster. Her skin tingled. This was how it began, the dance of intimacy. Words and looks and sighs. Only she wasn’t sure she remembered the steps. Still, she would not sit like the proverbial wallflower and let the music pass over her head.

      “Tony.” She shook her head. “I think I prefer Anthony. And I am Margaret.”

      He took her free hand in his large warm one. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Margaret. It suits you.”

      “Plain and proper is what my father said.” She smiled, remembering her beloved father’s face.

      “I see nothing plain and proper about you, Margaret.” His gaze drifted lower, and once more, betraying heat rose up her neck and blazed in her cheeks. “You cast a hothouse of exotic flowers into the shade.” He leaned closer and breathed in slowly. “You smell wonderful.”

      Carried by his soft outward sigh, the words brushed her collarbone. Her heart picked up speed, a breath caught in her throat, her lips parted. Things were moving far too fast with this man. She knew nothing about him. Yes, she would indeed live for the moment, but only if the moment was right. She sipped at her champagne, using the glass as a shield. A poor one, to be sure, but a symbolic gesture any gentleman would recognize.

      He leaned back with a smile, his hand along the back of the sofa, a hairbreadth from her shoulder. “So, you are recently returned from Russia. How did you find it?”

      “Cold.” She laughed, because she really did not mean the weather. “My husband spent most of his time at court, but in the summer we traveled to his estate. The country is vast and very different from here.”

      “In a good way, I presume?”

      How did one express five years of homesickness without whining? “I learned a great deal about the land and its people, but I am glad to return to England.”

      Another question lurked in his eyes. She could see him trying to decide whether he should ask it or not. She asked, “What do you want to know?”

      He smiled. “Am I really that obvious? I was wondering if you left ties back in Russia. If you will return there?”

      “A politic way of wondering if I have children, perhaps? And no. I have no ties and no intention of returning. My husband had more than one heir from a previous marriage. His position at court required a hostess. I learned Russian. I can organize a banquet for a thousand people or a tête à tête for two.” Why was she telling him all this? He would think she was looking for another wifely position, when nothing could be further from the truth. “My husband left me a comfortable independence, and I now seek my own amusement.”

      “Was it really that bad?” he murmured.

      The gentleness in his voice cut through her carefully constructed defenses, not something she wanted on a night such as this. “You mistake me. It was not bad at all. The Russian court glitters beyond anything imaginable. The czar is all powerful.”

      “And many of the people are serfs.” He pursed his lips. “I don’t see how it can last. Look at France.”

      The man was talking to her as if she had a brain. She shook her head. “You are right. I do not see it lasting either. And nor did my husband. He advised following England’s lead. Alas, I do not see anyone taking up his standard. Certainly not his heir.”

      “I’m so sorry.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “For your recent bereavement. It was tactless of me to remind you.”

      “Ah, once again you mistake the matter. Konrad died more than a year ago. I mourned his passing, but he was not a young man, he lived a full life, and I fulfilled my duty.”

      He withdrew his hand from the sofa’s back and for a moment she thought she might have given him a disgust of her callousness, but he lifted her hand from her lap. He gently turned it over and bared her wrist of glove with his forefinger, then leaned down to brush the pulse point with his lips. Tingles ran across her shoulders and lifted the hairs at the base of neck. “Now it is your turn for life,” he said softly.

      Footsteps rang on the flagstones. She snatched her hand back. They jumped apart like guilty children. She laughed.

      He grinned ruefully. “Dash it. The food.”

      She arched a brow. “You said you were hungry, Anthony.”

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ