The Bride's Necklace. Kat Martin

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      Tory gasped as his mouth settled softly over hers. For several moments, she simply stood there, letting the heat flood through her, absorbing the taste of him, only dimly aware of the hard male body pressing into hers. Then she remembered why she was there, that it was Claire the earl truly wanted. Tory pressed her hands against his chest, turned her head, and shoved hard enough to get free.

      “You’re lying!” She was breathing fast. She told herself it was anger. “You’re just saying that because I am here and not Claire.” She took several steps backward. “You…you would take whatever woman happened to appear in your bedchamber.”

      The earl shook his head, stalking her, matching her step for step until her shoulders came up against the wall and she couldn’t retreat any farther.

      “You don’t really believe that? We were playing a game, you and I. You were the prize I wanted, not Claire.”

      “That can’t be the truth. Men always want Claire.”

      “Claire is a child, no matter her years. You’re a woman, Victoria.” He pinned her with his lion’s gaze, caught her chin, held her so she couldn’t glance away. “Deep down, you know it’s you I want and not Claire.”

      She swallowed, stared into those hot golden-brown eyes and fought not to tremble. She remembered that same look the night he had come to her room, remembered the way he had kissed her in his study. She remembered the vague hints that he wanted her as his mistress, and God in heaven, she believed he was telling the truth.

      The earl tilted her chin up, bent his head and captured her lips. It was a gentle, persuasive kiss, softly taking, convincing her with every touch, every taste. He kissed the corners of her mouth, pressed his lips against the side of her neck.

      “If you’re telling the truth,” she whispered, “why didn’t…why didn’t you send the note to me?”

      She felt the faint pull of his smile. “Would you have come?”

      She wouldn’t have, of course. “No.”

      “I didn’t think so.” And then he kissed her again.

      Tory’s hands came up to his chest, fluttered, flattened against the front of his full-sleeved shirt. Sweet Lord, it was heaven, the softest, hottest kisses, his lips hard-soft, perfectly fitted to hers, coaxing and demanding, giving and taking all at once.

      “Open for me,” he whispered, his tongue sliding over her lips, sending warm shivers across her skin. He deepened the kiss and pleasure made her legs go weak. Her arms slid up around his neck and he pulled her more snugly against him, tasted her more completely, let her taste him.

      Tory trembled.

      She knew she should stop him. He was the earl of Brant, a rake and a rogue, a man who would ruin her if she let him. He cared nothing about her. He only wanted to satisfy his lust. And yet she sensed a need in him, had since that night he had barged into her room.

      Her own need surfaced, pulsed to life with every stroke of his tongue, deepened with the feel of his hands on her breasts, smoothing over them, molding them through her robe, sending little curls of heat sliding into her stomach. Her legs were trembling. He kissed the side of her neck as he parted the blue quilted wrapper and slid his hand inside, over her thin cotton night rail to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over her nipple.

      “God, I want you,” he said, pulling the little blue bow at her throat, reaching in to caress the fullness of her breasts. Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t swallow. Her nipples swelled, pressed into his palm. “Give yourself to me,” he said softly. “I know you want to.”

      God’s breath, it was the truth. She had never wanted anything so badly. She wanted to see where all this heat would lead, wanted him to touch her, kiss her all over. He was every wicked dream she’d ever had, every wanton fantasy. She had known that about herself, that she wasn’t like Claire, that she had desires and wants, and she wanted the earl of Brant.

      Tory shook her head, tried to step away. The earl held her firmly in place.

      “Don’t say no. Let me take care of you. You’ll have a better life. And you can take care of Claire. Neither of you will want for anything.”

      He was saying it straight out. He wanted her to become his mistress. He didn’t want Claire, he wanted her, Victoria, the sturdy sister, not the beautiful one. The notion left her feeling light-headed. Considering the life she faced and the desire she felt for him, it wasn’t a bad proposition.

      Tory simply could not do it.

      She was surprised to feel the hot sting of tears. Shaking her head, she eased a little away, forced herself to look up, into that sinfully handsome face.

      “I can’t. In a way, as wicked as it might be, I wish I could, but…” Another shake of her head. “It just isn’t something I can do.”

      He ran a finger gently down her cheek. “Are you certain? It isn’t so wicked between people who share similar needs, and you’ve Claire to think of. It would ensure both of your futures.”

      Claire. She felt guilty. She should do it for Claire.

      But perhaps that was just an excuse.

      Either way, she simply could not compromise her principles in that manner. And, of course there was the not-so-small matter of the robbery and attempted murder of her stepfather. She stifled a sudden urge to blurt out the tale, to throw herself into his arms and beg him to help her.

      She couldn’t take the risk. “I am quite sure, my lord.”

      Very gently, he bent his head and kissed the tears on her cheeks. “Perhaps in time you will change your mind.”

      Tory stepped away from him and drew in a shaky, courage-building breath, though in that moment she wanted nothing so much as to let him kiss her again, let him make love to her.

      “I won’t change my mind. Say you will not ask me again. Say it, or I shall have to leave.”