His traitorous gaze discovered the hollow of her throat.
His body didn’t care about her family name. It knew only what it wanted, and what Culross craved in his paramours.
Virtuous Miss Meghan McQuoid Smith had no idea the game she played.
Or perhaps she did…
Meghan stopped a handsbreadth away as if a single step could keep her safe from him.
Culross gave her the smile he reserved for fools.
From under a fringe of thick, long lashes, Meghan peeked up at him. “I’ve improved, you say?”
“You continue fishing about like a sailor searching for his supper, sweet,” he said, deliberately cruel.
“My, are you trying to change the conversation, Lord Culross?”
“This isn’t a conversation,” he said tightly. “I don’t converse with Mc—”
The chit’s tenacity proved greater than her pride. Meghan lightly flicked his mouth with her finger. “You’ve thought aboutme.” The sparkling crystals of her mask highlighted eyes that danced.
His brows snapped together.
God, he’d forgotten how sharp she was. He had enjoyed their sparring. She’d at least been an enjoyable thing to be about. Unlike her maudlin sister who’d annoyingly wrestled with guilt for wanting him.
But Meghan needed to be put in her place. “Hartwell hasn’t been so generous with his compliments.”
“Sweet.” Like the Queen of the Royal Court, she peered the length of her masked nose at him. “What a tired term you bandy about. I counted at least three original ones from Hartwell.”
“None for you though,dear heart.”
The lady didn’t flinch, only patted his shoulder. “Now you’retrying,dearAugust.”
His pulse roared in his ears. What insolence.
She’d be fire in his arms. Too bad the lady carried the surname she did.
“It must have been hard for you, watching your betrothed prepared to take two lovers, with my presence the only thing stopping him.” He infused calculated contempt in his tone. “It also spared you from being a voyeur to it all.”
“Trying to hurt me, my lord?” She thrust her trembling chin out. “As if you could. You have a short memory. I’m not the cowardly sort. I’ve gone toe-to-toe with you before.”
Aye, she had. “In a snowball match, love.” He lowered his lashes; a fresh wave of lust spread to his groin. “Not in my bedchambers.”
Meghan glanced about. “We are not inyourbedchambers, my lord,” she muttered, walking towards her discarded gloves. “We are in Lord and Lady Rutland’s orangery.”
Before she could collect the bothersome articles, Culross caught her palm and wheeled her back around.
“What do you—?”
As he raised her fingers to his mouth, the rest of her breathless question faded.
Not taking his eyes from hers, Culross drew the same naughty digit she’d flicked him with into his mouth and rhythmically sucked her finger.
Her eyes fell shut.
A tremble moved through the lady; the crystals of her gown tinkled merrily in the night still. The noisy rasps of her breath disguised his low, shallow ones.
He grinned around his mouthful.
