* * *
She was kissing him.
Again.
And damn it, Zachary did not know if it was the sudden shock of falling on his arse, having a pair of tempting breasts thrust into his face, her surprisingly mellifluous laughter, or the untutored enthusiasm of her smiling lips on his, but he was having a more difficult time keeping himself from responding. From taking control of this one-sided attempt at—well, he could not call it a seduction—whatever thisnonsensewas. He could show her how to properly kiss. Her lips were lush and full, and with the proper guidance, he had no doubt—
No. Was he mad? He could not respond. This was neither the time, nor the place. Moreover, Lady Isolde Collingwood was most definitely not the woman.
His hands settled on her waist in an instinctive gesture. He was not a man who prided himself on his gentlemanly honor, but he was a loyal friend, damn it. And that meant he could not afford to dally with Wycombe’s wife’s sister.
She was also thoroughly foxed. More soused than a drunkard who had spent a day imbibing his favorite swill. He had never kissed a woman who would not remember the act. To do so was despicable. A violation in its own right. He attempted to dislodge her, but Lady Isolde’s fervor only increased.
With the ardor of a woman who had just been told she had been spared the noose, she pressed her mouth more firmly to his, sealing their lips together. Not a gentle lover, Lady Isolde. He hated to imagine the manner of enthusiasm she would apply to sucking a man’s cock.Christ, she would probably bite the damned thing off.
“Anglesey!”
He recognized that voice.
Letitia.
“How dare you, you miserable cad?” she added.
For good measure, he supposed.
Hell, she sounded enraged. Rightfully so, finding him with another woman atop him. Little did she know it was entirely against his will. Well, perhaps notentirely. He was a man, after all. And Lady Isolde was quite lovely, even if her dress was outlandish and garish and abysmal. And even if she was disguised and believed kissing was meant to be nothing more than a harsh mashing together of mouths. He struggled again to gently disengage himself from Lady Isolde without hurting her.
But it would seem that Letitia’s ire only increased his amateur seducer’s amusement.
Lady Isolde lifted her head, laughing wildly until she stopped on a hiccup, her startlingly emerald gaze meeting his. “You had an assignation planned.”
Why attempt prevarication? It was true.
And much to his dismay, his assignation had been foiled quite handily by her subsequent appearance and…antics. Who said ballrooms were deadly dull? From this moment forward, he would have to come prepared, lest he once more found himself the prisoner of a weeping, drunken woman. But then, how often would Greymoor’s mother dupe Zachary into attending such a bothersome event as this? Balls were meant for virgins and dowagers and desperate lordlings who needed wives, and he was none of those things.
“I did have one planned,” he admitted to Lady Isolde, feeling rather sheepish.
And strangely moved by her plight. Being rejected and betrayed stung worse than any other hurt ever could. No one knew that better than Zachary, thanks to Beatrice.
Curse her faithless soul to the fucking devil.
“I suppose I ought to apolo—apolo—” Once more, Lady Isolde broke off into a fit of laughter, unable to complete her sentence.
He supposed she was reaching the stage of delirium now.
It was just as well he had never returned her kiss. He would wager every last pound in the family coffers that she would not recall a moment of her presence in this salon when she woke in the morning.
“Apologize,” he finished for her, sighing. “Yes, you should.”
But they had an audience, and one who did not seem inclined to retreat without causing a scandal.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Letitia was demanding, her voice ringing stridently from the threshold of the salon.
He lifted his head from the carpets, a grim aura of portent striking him and chasing all other emotions. “Darling, come inside and close the door before you alert the entire assemblage.”
The wrong thing to say, apparently.
Her brows shot up nearly to her hairline in her dudgeon. “You dare to chastise me? After I find you cavorting with…with…LadyIsolde Collingwood? Is that you?”
