The Second Seduction of a Lady by Miranda Neville Read Free Book Online Page A

angry red line of the scratch. He took his time about it, relishing the soft skin impregnated with a subtle floral fragrance. All too soon he reached her wrist, but he had no intention of stopping. He prolonged his pleasure, lingering at the tender joint. She gasped when he let his tongue emerge to enjoy the taste of salt and blackberry, but she didn’t struggle. So he held the hand, liberally stained with purple juice, in both of his, nuzzled the palm and took the tips of her strong slender fingers, one by one, into his mouth.
    “Max,” she murmured. Finally she’d used his Christian name. “My hand is dirty.”
    “It tastes sweet,” he said, replacing the forefinger with the middle one.
    “Here,” she said, sounding a little desperate. With her free hand she grabbed a berry from the basket. “If you must eat.”
    He raised his head from her hand but otherwise made no other movement except to part his lips. He held his breath, his heart hammering wildly. The fruit glistened in the sunlight before she inserted it into his waiting mouth. Sweet and tart, just like her. Even more than the fruit he relished the avid look on her face as she watched him swallow.
    “Thank you,” he said softly. “Now let me find one of the biggest and ripest for you.”
    He’d already spotted his quarry on the bush, out of the corner of his eye. He plucked it carefully and pressed it into her slightly open mouth. She chewed convulsively and a tiny driblet of purple seeped out. Quick as a wink he took the lush lower lip between both of his and sucked off the juice. And before he knew it, he was kissing Eleanor again and she was kissing him back.
    Standing a foot or so apart, only their lips touched, and their hands. He’d never released the one he’d so thoroughly kissed. One corner of his brain was urging him to seize her, embrace her, press her against the growing evidence of his desire, throw her to the ground and possess her. Only knowing that haste had once led him to lose her stayed his passion. Stayed, not dispelled.
    He wanted her body, heart, and soul, forever. Her body he’d won before and he sensed from her response that he could do so again. But her heart was hidden behind defenses he’d never suspected existed, because he’d never taken the trouble to find out. As for her soul, he’d bruised it badly when he’d betrayed her trust with that foolish bet. He still had work to do.
    He kissed her gently, their lips moving together soft and sweet. It wasn’t a deep kiss but a slow investigation of taste and texture, a scouting trip with the promise of a full exploration. Max let lust fall away as he devoted his mind to the joy of a simple kiss with the woman he loved.
    Still, she was the first to break contact, not him. He wasn’t that saintly. “Caro,” she said in strangled voice, blinking foolishly. Since her back was to the open field, Max had an excellent view over her shoulder of Caro and Robert, hands clasped and about to kiss.
    “Robert!” he shouted. His first thought was that Eleanor should not know. If she did, she’d keep Caro away from Robert and their frequent meetings would stop. He needed time, much more time, to win her over.

 
C HAPTER F OUR
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    I t was a long time since Eleanor had dressed for a ball with such anticipation. Five years to be precise. By chance Robert Townsend’s twenty-first birthday fell on the anniversary of the Petworth militia ball. She was somewhat disgusted with herself that the cause of her excitement was the same in both cases, the pleasure of dancing with the same man.
    However hard she tried to think like a sensible woman of thirty years, she couldn’t stop feeling like a girl as young and foolish as Caro. Her body swayed in time with imagined music, drawing a remonstrance from the maid who was lacing up her stays. She twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the swish and rustle of her favorite blue silk gown, then picked out the steps of a lively gavotte, just to