A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal by Meredith Duran Read Free Book Online

boor did not pretend to miss her meaning, giving her a slow smile that made her throat tighten and blood sting into her cheeks. “Absolutely,” he said. “And what of you?”
    “Me
what
?”
    “What am I to think of you?”
    “Nothing,” she spat. “I’m nobody.”
    “Oh, never that,” he countered. “A confused little girl, no doubt.” He let go of her hair; his knuckles brushed down her cheek, the lightest touch ever to raise the hairs at her nape. “A miracle … perhaps.” His voice dropped. “A figment of a desperate man’s imagination? Possibly.”
    “You’re spoony,” she whispered. Mad as a bloody hatter.
    “Hmm. Again: possibly.” His hand moved down her throat. Gently skimmed the line of her collarbone. That hand wasn’t showing any sign of stopping. “Or possibly just very insightful.” His touch lingered at her shoulder, his thumb delivering a firm, massaging pressure. She stiffened against it. She’d rake his eyes out.
    “Come into a man’s bedchamber at night,” he said in a low voice, “and he might mistake you for his dream.”
    A jolt of dread shot through her. “Take your hand off me.”
    “Oh, I would. But the day I’ve had … After such a day, such a miserable defeat arranged at someone else’s hands, it’s very difficult to take orders. Fancy it, if you can: having your life turned upside down by a villain. So many expectations crushed. And then the villain’s daughter appears, intent on blowing your brains out.”
    He meant her. He meant her father as the villain. “I never knew him,” she said quickly. “Never. I’ve nothing to do with him—”
    His finger pressed across her mouth. Hot, rough. Her stomach fluttered. “Shh,” he said, soft and comforting, as though she were a babe. “No matter. You’re still the answer to the riddle. And you called me perverse. I wouldn’t like to disappoint you.”
    In astonishment she watched him lean down to kiss her.
Brilliant
: an opportunity to knee him in the balls.
    But his hand planted itself back into her hair. He retook his grip and held her immobile as his lips touched hers.
    She snapped at him.
    He drew his head back a little, laughing. “Feisty.”
    “I’ll bite your tongue out,” she warned him.
    “Will you?” He looked diverted. “Shouldn’t you properly be begging for mercy? From the police, etcetera?”
    She froze. Was that an offer? Had he just asked for her body in exchange for her freedom?
    His smile slipped into a knowing angle. “Here’s your chance,” he said, and leaned in again.
    She tried to hold still as his tongue slipped between her lips. Tried to endure it. Only a fool would refuse such a bargain.
    But his mouth was … warm. Not as she’d expected. His lips were gentle as they molded against hers. She felt dizzy, suddenly. This wasn’t right. He should be mauling her. She’d been kissed before, hurried gropes she’d beaten off or smacked away, but never like this.
    He pulled back a little, his heated breath covering her mouth. “How are we doing?”
    “Sod off,” she muttered.
    With a little laugh, he applied himself again.
    She hesitated only briefly. He would call the coppers or he wouldn’t, but maybe he meant what he’d said: maybe she could sweeten him up and leave him kindly disposed. She opened her mouth and kissed him back.
    In reply, an interested little noise came from him.
Mmm
. His hard body came all the way up against hers. He was taller by a head, but her neck didn’t hurt: he’dslouched down to meet her. And he was licking into her like a child after the last traces of pudding in a bowl, and his mouth tasted like brandy, hot and rich and dark and clever. His hands, long fingers, felt down her spine, pressing, testing, against her lower back, finding the ache there, rubbing it out. She felt a surge of heat, animal-like, this strong, naked man rubbing against her as his mouth devoured her. Why not? What choice did she have?
    The quiver in her belly