Lady of Sin by Madeline Hunter Read Free Book Online Page B

Knightridge, how dare—”
    “I also remember your kissing me back very erotically, with enthusiastic passion.” His gaze lowered to her chest in a way that made her nipples tingle.
    “Sir—”
    “I remember stays undone and the most lovely breasts in my hand and mouth.” His gaze rose until it locked with hers. “A man would have to be a fool to regret any of that, Lady M. It would be hypocritical of me to apologize for that part of your visit, and equally so for you to demand such a lie.”
    She gaped at his boldness. She tried to find something indignant to say. Unfortunately, his shocking frankness had her body warming and her mind clouding.
    He stepped closer. He dipped his head toward hers until his dark eyes were mere inches from her own. She was sure he was going to kiss here right here in the second drawing room while the remaining guests drank punch beyond the doorway.
    She should step away. Only she couldn’t because she was remembering too. His words had called forth the sensations again and they were too seductive to deny.
    “I remember every caress and kiss we have shared, madam, and I will not pretend otherwise,” he said quietly. “I tried, but have discovered I am incapable of maintaining the deception.”
    She closed her eyes for the kiss that was coming. She waited for those firm, warm lips to press hers. She waited for his strong arms to embrace her and hold her close.
    She waited for the fire of passion to blaze through her soul yet again.
    Nothing happened. No kiss. No touch.
    Confused, she opened her eyes to see the back of Nathaniel’s frock coat passing into the main drawing room.

CHAPTER
FOUR

    M emories filled Charlotte’s head as she tossed in bed that night. Beautiful, cherished images invaded and lingered, demanding attention and reconsideration.
    She saw Lyndale’s private drawing room, full of shadows dotted with pools of candlelight. Musicians played by the windows and she could hear gaming in an adjoining room. The earl’s notorious collection of art was barely visible. Like the figures on the sofas and chaise longues, only its vaguest features could be seen.
    The atmosphere and lighting demanded whispers and furtive kisses. Instead people spoke freely. Joyfully. Except for the Roman costumes and the women’s masks, if one ignored the entwined bodies barely visible here and there, it appeared a pleasant, normal party.
    That had surprised her. She had expected something very rare, more like a bacchanal one might view in a painting. These guests wore the right garments but they seemed too much of this world. Of her world.
    She recognized some of the men. She stood there in her own costume, wondering if her mask obscured her identity enough. Now that she was here, she did not know what to do.
    “Are you realizing that you do not belong here?” a voice said.
    She froze. She knew that voice. Worse, it sounded like he knew her.
    She looked over her shoulder. Apollo sat on a chaise longue in the corner. Not reclining, but resting his back against the wall behind it. A belted white linen tunic covered his body to his knees. Golden hair fell around his face and bronze sandals laced up his shins. He sat alone. He did not participate in either the conversations or the pleasures.
    Nathaniel Knightridge suited the role of the god of light very well. She could not stop looking at him.
    His gaze reflected no recognition. Nor did she see the kind of interest that several other male guests had sent her way already.
    “Sit here. No one will approach you.” He gestured to the end of the chaise longue.
    She walked over, wondering if the nearby candle would give her away. It did not, but it revealed much more about him. He appeared melancholic and reflective. He barely paid her attention as she perched on the edge of the cushion.
    He closed his eyes and listened to the music, but eventually he looked her way again. “Are you disappointed? Did you expect naked people writhing on the carpet?