“How could you possibly think that?” he said harshly, and a shadow appeared in her laughing eyes.
“We kissed.”
“We did not kiss!” His voice rose, and he quickly quieted. “You kissed me.”
“It’s the same thing. I kiss all my friends.”
“Not your male friends. But I forgot, I’m not a man, I’m your butler.”
Her disbelieving expression suddenly reminded him that she was older than she looked. “Oh, really?”
He wasn’t going to get involved in a discussion of his manhood. “You don’t kiss servants,” he said sternly.
“But you’re not my servant, you’re my protégé. And I don’t see why I can’t sleep in your bed. Norah says that’s what real protégées and patrons do.”
God help him, was this torture ever to end? “You know why not.”
She grimaced, then sighed. “Can’t we just cuddle for a little while?”
“No. You’re going back to your room and staying there, and you’re not coming down here again unless I specifically invite you. This may be your father’s house but these are my rooms and I don’t want you here.”
“But—”
The last bit of his temper shredded. “Georgie, you know perfectly well what men and women do in bed together.”
“We don’t have to do that,” she said. “You could just kiss me again....”
“I didn’t kiss you in the first place, and it’s a lucky thing I didn’t. You need to kiss someone of your own class.”
“I have. Several times. They weren’t as good as you.”
For a moment, he was completely silenced. She was innocent, not stupid, but she was being deliberately obtuse. And he was going to kill whoever it was she’d kissed.
“For the last time, I didn’t kiss you,” he snapped. “Now get off the damned bed and go find your own.”
To his surprise and relief, she did, climbing down and landing on the floor, her bare toes just peeping beneath the thin nightdress. “It’s too dark,” she said.
“I’ll light your way.” He turned and picked up the lamp, anything rather than look at the enticing shadows beneath the threadbare cloth.
He didn’t bother with his coat or shoes—if anyone in the household saw them, he’d be out on his bum before he could utter a word of protest. They were safer going up the servants’ stairs, and he led the way, determined not to think about the soft loveliness of her. Damn it.
They saw no one, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he opened her bedroom door and gestured her inside. “Can you light my lamp?” she asked in a chastened voice.
Sighing, he set his own lamp down on the dressing table and started toward hers, lighting it quickly and efficiently. She was still standing by the door, and he had to be a glutton for punishment, because he said, “Get in bed,” when he knew that vision was going to haunt him almost as much as seeing her on his bed would.
“I will,” she said. “After you go.”
He nodded coldly, heading for the door, but she didn’t move out of the way, and he knew he was going to brush by that fiendish nightgown.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?” she asked as he moved past her.
He froze, looking down at her. She had that mischievous expression on her face again, and he wondered how he could have underestimated her. “You’re playing with fire, little girl,” he said softly.
“You kissed me once already,” she teased him.
Something snapped. “You’re about to get burned.” And before he could think twice, he put his hands on her arms and dragged her slight body against his damned hard one, setting his mouth against hers.
She was so shocked her mouth was open, and he deepened the kiss, pushing her up against the wall of her bedroom and pressing against her. She made a sound, probably of distress, but he ignored it, using his tongue, kissing her so thoroughly that she felt weak in his arms, and he wanted to lift her up and carry her to the bed, to rip away that flimsy nightgown and place his mouth everywhere, on her breasts, between her legs. He wanted her so badly it weakened him as well, but he just kept kissing her until he had to stop for breath.
