To All the Rakes I've Loved Before (A Honeycote Novella) by Anne Barton Read Free Book Online Page B

it. Some of the older ladies are casting disapproving looks this way.”
    “Perfect,” he growled. As his gaze dropped to the swells of her breasts, her pulse raced. “How are you wearing your hair?”
    “I don’t know. Did you have something in mind?”
    He seemed to consider for a moment, then reached for a loose tendril behind her ear and wound it around his finger. “Piled on top of your head, but with a few long curls dangling down your back and in front of your shoulder. Like this.” He released the curl and smiled as it sprang free, tickling her nape. “You are beautiful.” He uttered the words so sincerely that she almost forgot they were pretending.
    “And you are the most handsome gentleman in the room,” she said, mostly to show that she wasn’t taking the whole imagining thing too seriously.
    He tugged her closer, placing both his hands on the small of her back—quite a bit lower than could be considered proper. His breath warm on her ear, he whispered, “Can you hear it?”
    “What?” The only thing Amelia heard was the frantic beating of her own heart.
    He chuckled softly. “The violin, the flute. It’s a slow waltz. Listen to the beat.”
    Slowly, he began to sway, encouraging her to do the same. He guided her hands to his shoulders, and she rested them there, barely resisting the temptation to sink her fingers into the firm, contoured flesh beneath his robe.
    “I am a horrid dancer.” She wasn’t fishing for a compliment. She just thought he deserved fair warning.
    “It’s more likely you’ve had horrid partners. Move with me.”
    Before she knew it, he’d begun the steps of a waltz—at least she thought they were. She’d never waltzed before. And suddenly, she understood what all the fuss was about.
    Stephen held her so closely that she could clearly see the dark fringe of his lashes, the many colors of the bruise along his jaw, and the thick, corded muscles in his neck. She could feel the warmth coming off his body and sense the strength coiled inside him.
    He kept her in that intimate hold. There was no stepping in and stepping out, no changing partners. Not even a short reprieve in which a girl might attempt to catch her breath.
    They moved in a circle, Stephen leading her surely with pressure of his palms on her waist, then shoulders, then hands. But she was beyond rusty, and when she took a wrong step, her chest bumped lightly into Stephen’s, causing a brief, incidental contact that was strangely and wonderfully intoxicating.
    “You’re doing fine.” The low, deep timbre of his voice vibrated through her. “Now we turn this way”—he slid to one side, reaching across her belly, grazing the underside of her breasts. Smoothly, he raised his outside arm, which was joined with hers, forming a bridge over their heads.
    As they stared into one another’s eyes, they made a full, slow turn.
    Stephen smiled a wicked kind of smile that set her belly on fire, took both her hands in one of his, and held them above her head.
    His gaze turned dark and hungry. “Amelia,” he said.
    That was the precise moment she realized she was in trouble.

Chapter 8
    Though Miss W. is not formally out, she dared to waltz with Lord B.
    What’s worse, she is clearly on the verge of kissing him.
    —from the make-believe gossip papers of Miss Amelia Wimple
    Stephen’s sudden light-headedness had nothing to do with his injuries and everything to do with the blood rushing to his cock.
    They’d been about to execute a turn and he held both Amelia’s hands over her head—a vulnerable position, to be sure. Her breasts, high and round, thrust forward, their pebbled tips straining against the thin fabric of her gown, making his mouth go dry. Along the graceful column of her throat, he could just make out the rapid beating of her pulse. Her soulful brown eyes beckoned, luring him closer. And when her full lips parted, he was undone.
    All pretense of dancing over, he released her arms and cradled the