“Hullo? Anyone in here?”
The voice—Gabby’s?—cut through Vi’s haze. She froze; Carlisle did the same. Footsteps padded closer. She didn’t dare breathe, every muscle quivering with the fear of discovery…
“Got you!” Gabby announced cheerfully.
Taut as a bowstring, Vi fully expected the steps to swing open, to be exposed—dear God,withCarlisle. Instead, she heard the sound of whipping fabric, followed by male groans and shuffling on the platform overhead.
“I told you the curtains were a curst silly place to hide, Goggs.”
Through her panic, Vi recognized the disgusted voice as Parnell’s.
“You didn’t have a better plan,” Goggs said plaintively.
“You both did ever so well.” Gabby’s tone was consoling. “In fact, you’re amongst the last to be found. There are only three more—oh my goodness, did Lord Wormleigh just run past in the hallway?”
“We’ll help you hunt old Wormleigh down,” Goggs offered.
A stampede of footsteps… and then the room went quiet.
The door to the Priest Hole swung open, the light momentarily blinding. When her pupils adjusted to the brightness, she saw that Carlisle had hoisted himself out. He was looking down at her, and the severe set of his features obliterated the remnants of her passion-daze.
Emotion roiled in his scorched-earth eyes… anger? Regret?
Shame and confusion crashed over her.Why did I… withCarlisleof all people? God, what have I done? What must he think of me?
She didn’t evenlikehim. Yet his dark hair and cravat lay crumpled by her hand, and her nerve endings still sparked with lustful sensations. Her cheeks flamed.
Laughter rang in the distance. Carlisle’s muscular frame went rigid.
“We can’t be found together. You stay,” he commanded. “I’ll go.”
She could only nod. Moments later, the hole sealed shut once again, leaving her alone in darkness. Alone and shivering with discovery… because she now finally understood what all the fuss was about.
Chapter Seven
The following afternoon, Richard entered the amphitheatre. The magnificence of the domed interior momentarily lifted him from his dark musings. A forty-foot ring stood in the middle and, behind it, a raised stage backed by red curtains. The strains of an orchestra emerged through the closed drapery and added to the crackling anticipation. Guests were already filling the velvet-cushioned benches, eager to see the newly arrived performers from Astley’s.
Standing near the back wall, Richard scanned the crowd—and spotted Violet Kent near the front of the theatre. As usual, she was surrounded by male admirers. Scowling, he noted how delectable she looked: she wore a pink frock topped with a cherry-colored pelerine that matched the shade of her lips. Thinking of how sweet her mouth had tasted brought a throbbing heat to his loins.
Rationally, he knew that she was a mistake. A part of him had always known that she posed a particular danger to a man of his temperament. The curse of his ancestors flowed in his blood: like the Carlisles before him, he bore that fatal attraction to his opposite. He was naturally drawn to beautiful flirts, found that combination of feminine exuberance and delicacy fascinating. Such women roused his basest instincts, an elemental need to protect and claim. Unfortunately, his past had demonstrated repeatedly that that way lay disaster.
His jaw clenched. Courting Violet Kent would undoubtedly lead to catastrophic results. Hell, he didn’t even know the specifics of her dowry, whether it would support the needs of his estate. Yet for the first time in a long time, his personal desires overrode all other considerations.
Things had gone too far last night. He was furious at himself for taking advantage of an innocent. For losing control and violating his own code of ethics. Nonetheless, he was a gentleman, and his honor dictated that he now do the right thing. That he make amends for the liberties he’d taken—albeit with Miss Kent’s cooperation.
Her verygenerouscooperation. The memory of it flashed like a fever.
Returning to his chamber last night, he’d finally succumbed to the raging lust that she’d ignited in him from the start. Lying in the dark, he’d given his fantasy free rein. He’d envisioned Violet spread on the bed, his head between her thighs. He’d eaten her pussy until she’d cried out, her surrender honey-sweet on his tongue. Then he’d flipped her onto all fours, hoisting up her slim hips and plunging home. Her tight, wet pussy had milked his cock like afist, wringing his seed from him, making him come harder than he ever had before…
In all his years, he’d never experienced anything like her feminine passion. So vibrant and uninhibited—yet innocent too. In the Priest Hole, her inexperience had been evident and, he admitted to himself, powerfully arousing. At the same time, he wanted to shake some sense into her. Didn’t she know the danger she’d courted, hiding with a man in the dark? Didn’t she realize how vulnerable she was?
She’s not yours to protect, his voice of reason warned.Recall your past mistakes.
His jaw tautened as he watched Violet laugh at some quip of Parnell’s. Her laughter lit her whiskey eyes, her entire face aglow. For an instant, he found himself wondering what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such radiant warmth.
Seeing her with the fashionable buck made Richard feel old and taciturn. The ten-year age difference between Violet and him might have been a hundred. Even as a younger man, however, he’d never been the dashing type, the kind of suitor a lady might wax poetic about. He didn’t like to mull over past failures, yet now his mistakes itched like old scars.
His judgement when it came to the fair sex had been proven unreliable. He couldn’t read females, couldn’t decipher what they were truly thinking or feeling. Both Lucinda Belton and Audrey Keane had seemed to welcome his addresses, greeting him with winsome smiles, their dispositions lively and sweet. Yet in the end, his offers had come to naught. He could have understood their rejections… had they not been steeped in duplicity as well.
