“Now I have you all to myself,” he said with some satisfaction. “Come here, petal.”
She lost no time in obeying, staring up into his face. He was so very handsome, and he had flirted with her for so many months. Surely, he would declare himself.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
She hesitated. The truthful answer wasno, or at least not yet. But she thought she certainlycould, and she most definitely wanted to, so she nodded. “I—I think so.”
“You think so? Evidently I have not been charming you enough.” He lifted one of her curls from her neck, toying with it absently, and she flushed. “I have a great many plans for you, petal. But I suspect you will need to love me first. Would a kiss tip the balance in my favour, do you think?” He tilted her chin up to his, and his eyes appeared to crackle with that same fire she had seen in them before. Not warmth, the way she had seen in Sir Percy’s eyes, but something entirely more scorching. Liable to burn her.
“Will you apply to my mother after?” she asked breathlessly.
He barked a laugh. “Your mother? My flower,yourpermission is all I need, I think.”
This was most definitely not how she had imagined his declaration going, but he bent and kissed her, and all thoughts of propriety went out of her head. His mouth was warm and demanding, almost frightening in its roughness as he gripped her wrist a little too tightly. Right where her mother had pinched her. She opened her eyes to protest, but he broke away and shook his head.
“Say nothing, else someone will discover us together.”
Thatwouldbe bad, she supposed, but if they were going to marry anyway, she didn’t think it mattered quite as much as he was making out. Either way, his arms tightened around her enough that she struggled to breathe, and as he forcibly kissed her again, she could hardly have made a noise if she had wantedto. Not that she did. He dominated every sense, forcing her into submission, and she yielded.
So this is what kissing is like.
Once she had a little more practice, she suspected she would know better what to do, and although she did enjoy this—quite a lot, actually, her body buzzing under his—she suspected she would enjoy it more once she knew what to do with her hands. Where did one put one’s hands during a first kiss? He held her jaw and her wrist, and after some internal debate, she rested her hands lightly on his lapels.
That had evidently been the right thing to do, because he made a noise of approval. “You will look so pretty bare before me,” he said, and she wanted to argue that in all the ways that mattered, shehadbared herself before him. But before she could say anything further, his body ripped from hers. She cried out, this time in shock rather than pleasure, as a shadow took William’s lapels, the same she had been holding, and his fist encountered William’s handsome, perfect face.
Chapter One
June 1816
Lady Cecily Somerville stared at Sir Percy Somerville from the other side of the darkened opera house. A tenor began to sing, but although Cecily usually delighted in the opera, in music of all kinds, she found herself unable to concentrate on anything except the sight of her husband.
Her husband, specifically, with another woman.
Cecily knew of Caroline Spenser the way all ladies know of a notorious mistress of theton—reluctantly, and with a good deal of misgiving. And she, like all ladies of theton, felt a sudden burst of protective spirit towards her husband.
No, protective wasn’t quite the right word. Wrathful, more like. Both that Caroline Spenser made advances towards her husband, and that he seemed more than amenable to these advances.
It was not that Cecily wanted Sir Percy for herself. She had never wanted him to marry her—and when he had, he had stolen her away from the only man she might ever have loved—but she certainly did not want to watch him fawn overanotherlady. He always told her that he had eyes only for her. And she had believed him, because he could have had anybody, and he had chosen her, even after discovering her in another man’s embrace.
Now this. Her.Caroline. A voluptuous beauty with whom Cecily, all sharp angles, could never compare.
Percy bent over Caroline’s hand with his signature grace, the strands of silver in his hair glinting in the candlelight, and laughed a little. Cecily ground her teeth. Even she had to admit that he looked uncommonly good that night. More so than usual, which could no doubt be attributed to the lady by his side. Who also, though Cecily didn’t want to admit it, was in good looks. Percy was not the first man to be ensnared with her; he would not be the last.
And Cecily was forced to watch the humiliation unfurl for herself.
She turned to the young gentleman by her side with a wide smile. After Percy had irritated her once again, she had persuaded Lord Featherstone to issue her an invitation to the opera. But, apparently, that was where his devotion ended. At the steel in her expression, the poor boy looked almost terrified, as though her tongue were sharp enough to cut them both.
No matter. Whether or not the thought petrified him, she would find a way of flirting. Then, if Percy ever glanced over at her—which, to her precise knowledge, he had not yet done—then he would see her engrossed in her much younger companion.
“I love the opera. Don’t you?” She tossed her head, knowing her ringlets bobbed, knowing they glowed in the light. Candlelight was where she excelled; it gave her pale skin the semblance of colour, glossed over her freckles, and brought out a burnished light to her hair. In daylight, she appeared like anyother small, pale, freckled young lady attempting to match up to the beauty standards of theton.
In candlelight, shegleamed.
“I—” he began.
“It’s so romantic. And the singing is always divine.”
He barely glanced at the stage. “I suppose so. I prefer seeing what everyone else is doing.”
