Still, it all seemed somewhat futile by the stark light ofthe breakfast table. Until she caught sight of him. He stalked into thebreakfast room as if he hadn’t a care. After what they’d shared the nightbefore, she’d know his figure anywhere, that masked, handsome face and darkhair. It was him. The man who had made love to her all night and then vanishedby morning.
Her breath escaped from her lungs in a slow flight.
His cold gaze did a tour of the breakfast room, travelingover the occupants until it landed upon her. Maggie froze. Unbidden, the sinfulmagic he’d worked on her body rose in her mind. She imagined him licking her,sucking her nipples, recalled the feeling of his cock hard and demanding insideher.
Good heavens.
Her drawers were damp already. She looked away from him,flushing, hoping he hadn’t an inkling as to how much he’d been in her thoughts.If he hadn’t cared enough to linger, she had no hope that he would evenacknowledge her this morning.
“Handsome devil, isn’t he?” Lady Needham asked softly. “Imust say I had my eye on him, but he’s been in love with another for ever solong.”
“You know who he is?” Maggie asked, startled.
“Of course I do, my dear. But I can’t tell. It would spoilthe fun.” Her hostess winked. “And what good is the world without a spot offun?”
Her mystery man inclined his head, acknowledging her ever soslightly. A spot of fun indeed. She couldn’t look away from him. It was as ifno one else in the breakfast room, none of the other glittering, titteringmasked revelers, existed. Her heart gave a sudden pang. Why had he left withoutwaking her? Would he seek her out again? She couldn’t bear to hope. Theworld-wise woman within her knew she ought not to hope.
“Ah, it would seem that our gallant has eyes for one ladyonly this morning.” Lady Needham’s voice was still quiet, but an edge ofcuriosity had crept into her smooth drawl. “Lucky, lucky Lady New York.”
“Sandhurst,” Maggie corrected her without thought. Drat,perhaps she should have kept her identity secret. She forced herself to lookaway from the man who had so easily set her world on end. “I’m Lady Sandhurst,”she admitted to her hostess, albeit sheepishly. If she’d been hoping to seemworldly, she’d just failed.
Lady Needham gaped at her. She appeared to be a woman veryrarely at a loss for words. But Maggie had managed just that. She supposed shewas something of a recluse in society, certainly not known for much of anythingsave having a husband who was desperately in love with Lady Billingsley. She’dgrown accustomed to that unfortunate bit of fame.
“Sandhurst,” her hostess repeated at last, sounding utterlyperplexed.
She shifted uncomfortably, her corset pinching her waist.“I’m aware my husband’s reputation precedes me.”
Lady Needham stared. “You don’t know, do you?”
Maggie frowned. “Of course I know, my lady. It isexceedingly difficult to avoid gossip in London, try as one might.”
“Just so.” A small, indecipherable smile played at LadyNeedham’s red lips. “I’m pleased you’ve joined us for our naughty revelries, mydear. Welcome to the wicked.” She held up her diminutive glass of juice in apetite toast.
“Thank you,” Maggie murmured, feeling still rather confusedby the exchange, and more than a bit intimidated. She supposed she ought toexpress gratitude, even if it would seem she’d been given her initiation to thewicked the evening before. A most thorough welcoming that had been. Trying tostifle the heated thoughts that particular thought produced, she raised herglass of freshly squeezed juice from her orangery as well.
“I’ve just had a depraved thought, my dear Lady S.”
“Call me Maggie,” she invited her newfound friend. She’dnever become accustomed to her married name, especially since it was a mantleshe’d never worn in truth. In her heart, she was still plain old MargaretDesmond, who’d been something of a wallflower in New York society and hadremained one in London.
“Maggie, then.” A full-blown smile blossomed on LadyNeedham’s face. “And you shall call me Nell. I’ve a delightful game of naughtycharades planned for this afternoon, and I’d love dearly for you to join me.Will you?”
Good heavens. She’d never dabbled much in parlor games, andespecially not the iniquitous sort. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to play. I’msomething of a newcomer to the wicked, if you’ll recall.”
“Ah, that can be easily remedied. I’ll teach you.” Nellwinked. “Besides, the stakes aren’t necessarily high. They’re only what youwish them to be.”
Maggie pondered her hostess’s mysterious reply as she turnedher attention back to her plate. Somehow, she suspected there was somethingmore to her hostess’s invitation, something she was too untried to comprehend.There was no hope for it. She supposed she would simply have to rediscover herold sense of adventure. Perhaps she had allowed it to lapse for far too long.
* * * * *
Bloody, bloody hell. Simon studied his wife in her stunningafternoon frock of violet silk. She wore twin diamond stars in her artfullypiled hair. Her waist was cinched to a perfect silhouette, emphasizing hergenerous bosom, which was revealed by the deep cut of her bodice. She laughedat something a no-account blackleg said to her. He wished it didn’t sound sodeuced inviting. He wished she wasn’t so damn beautiful. He wished he’d neverknown the exquisite pleasure of making her come the night before. More than anything,he wished she wasn’t his wife. Wanting her would have been so much easier ifshe were anyone else’s wife but his.
But she was, and for some stupid, mutton-headed reason, he’ddecided to stay on at Lady Needham’s den of vice. And for some equally stupid,mutton-headed reason, he’d allowed himself to be cozened into a game of naughtycharades. Of course, when his hostess had first presented the invitation, hehadn’t realized his wife would be a part of the games. If he had, he’d likelyhave run in the opposite direction, arse-on-fire style.
Or would he have?
He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. Why the hellcouldn’t he have made love to another woman in her stead? Any other woman wouldhave done. Every other wanton society woman was present, and he’d had to chooseher. What a duffer he’d been, rendered too oblivious by his lust to see whatwas plainly before his nose.
She glanced at him then, and damn if her blue stare didn’tsend a surge of lust straight to his traitorous cock. He thought of how lovelyher breasts were, pert handfuls with luscious nipples that tightened when hesucked them. He thought of how she tasted, sweet and musky, how she had criedout and writhed beneath him in her introduction to pleasure.
