Her aunt, Lady Whipple, shifted in her seat to Allie’s right, adjusting her lorgnette and studying the Scottish poet with avid interest. Her aunt was not one to squander an opportunity to ogle a handsome man.
Kendall remained stock-still on her left, his hand fisted on his thigh, the ruby glint of his ducal signet ring flashing in the dim light.
Did her twin brother know thatshewas the woman in Mr. Penn-Leith’s tale? And regardless of the answer, how could she use that fact to her advantage?
Mr. Penn-Leith’s gaze returned to hers, though he didn’t stumble over his words this time.
Instead, he held her eyes, as if they were the only two in the room and his poem were entirely for her ears alone.
He had accused her of being a “siren of the night,” but at the moment, he was the bewitcher. And she the bewitched, snared by the rise and fall of his voice, dragged into the rhythm of his words.
Allie’s pulse quickened. Heat warmed her cheeks.
Drat. She owed her maid an apology.
Worse, would Mr. Penn-Leith’s presence here impact her plans?
No. She refused to scuttle everything due to his untimely appearance.
But then—madonna mia!—the Scot described their embrace, his eyes unerringly finding hers as he spoke. The intensity of his gaze—the intimacy of his words—scalded her.
She looked away, but his voice carried on:
“Her lips a mulled wine kiss, velvet warm and lush—
A soldier’s greedy buss of leave-taking,
Pouring breath and life into lungs bereft
And weighted with fevered longing.
Her cheek at my palm, silken and flushed.
The beat of my heart, an anvil ringing.”
Behind her, a lady let out a tremulous, “Ooooh!”—half gasp, half yearning sigh.
Allie nearly did the same.
Velvet warm and lush . . .
His words conjured the memory. The Scot’s startled hitch of breath. A split-second hesitation of surprise. And then his ravenous reply, lips owning her own, branding, claiming—
The beat of my heart, an anvil ringing.
Fire and frost warred for dominance in Allie’s chest.
Was she . . .
Was she . . .blushing?
She had thought blushing a reaction lost long ago . . . right along with her naiveté, hope, and belief in the goodness of the human race.
“Scandalous,” Kendall muttered.
Allie glanced sideways. Her brother sported a formidable dent between his eyebrows.
“We should not have come tonight. I should have sent our regrets when Her Majesty declined to attend,” he continued on a whisper. “Mr. Penn-Leith goes too far.”
