“Shh.”
With a firm grip, he closed both hands on her calf and began to massage the muscle, his fingers methodically loosening the tension.
She glared at him, her words a whispered hiss. “Are you mad?”
His smirk became a wicked sort of grin. “Merely mischievous. Do you wish me to stop?”
Judith bit her lip, her breath catching in her chest. His actions—scandalous as they were—held no seductive intent. He could have been grooming a horse. But his ministrations had brought relief to the pain in her leg and foot, and the heat of his palms, the pure strength in his hands and arms sent a rush of desire up through Judith’s body. Warmth bloomed in her belly and between her legs.
“I—” She stopped, her words faltering.
“How is the cramp?”
She nodded, trying to catch her breath. “Much better. I—thank—”
Rydell’s expression changed then, the smile fading into something calmer, alluring. His eyes narrowed, his gazed focused on hers as his touch on her leg gentled into long, soft strokes, drifting higher.
Judith gasped. “You must not—”
“Shh.”
His fingertips traced the edge of the ribbon holding her stocking in place. The heat between her thighs spread, and Judith found herself fighting to keep her breathing calm and regular. She clutched her fists into her skirts, fighting the urge to slip her fingers into his dark curls. “Rydell—”
“Shh.”
One finger tugged at the ribbon’s bow, and Judith realized with a start what he had in mind. “You cannot—”
The ribbon loosened. He freed the top of her silk stocking and eased it down her leg. “But I can.”
Judith pressed her head against the wall, panting as he removed her slipper and pulled her stocking free, tucking it and the ribbon into his coat pocket. He replaced her shoe and eased her foot to the floor. He stood slowly, leaning into her, their bodies almost touching. “I wish,” he whispered, “to own a part of you.”
Judith’s lips parted in a gasp, his words galvanizing her, an unexpected and stark craving spearing through her. Rydell took her upper lip between his own, tugging, worrying it, as he cupped her face in his hands.
I cannot do this! It is scandal!In everything she had done, every lover she had taken, she had never been this public, this outrageous, this—
He teased her mouth with his tongue, gliding it along her lower lip, as his last words resonated deep into her soul.I wish to own a part of you.Desire, a deep craving for this man, flooded over her, consuming her with a demanding need to be with him in every way possible. She had never desired any man this fiercely, this—
She released her skirts and pushed against his shoulders, breaking her mouth from his. “You must stop.”
He did, pulling away slightly. “You did not enjoy—”
“I did.” She shot a quick glance toward Margaret and Edmund, who still faced the theater, although Margaret’s attention had drifted to the boxes opposite theirs. “But I cannot want you this much—need you—” She swallowed hard, trying to regain some composure, forcing her voice into a tight whisper. She had to break this hold on her. She shook her head, her thoughts wild. “Besides. I thought you had someone, someone who you—” She gestured vaguely toward the stage.
Something shifted in him. Rydell stiffened, his expression souring with his mouth becoming a thin line, his eyes narrow and downcast. “So did I.”
“I am your second choice then?”
He looked back at her, his gaze piercing. “Hardly.” But he stepped away. “I have to take care of something. It may take a while. But I will find you again.” He scooped his hat off the floor, but paused, looking over his shoulder. “And you are no man’s second choice. Unless he is a fool.”
Then he left.
Judith took a deep breath and released it slowly, letting her arousal, her inflamed passion for Lord Mark Rydell leach from her.
It took several deep, slow breaths before her legs steadied enough for her to walk to her chair behind Margaret and Edmund. Neither gave her a scant glance, and she hoped they would not notice one bare foot and ankle as they left for home.
I wish to own a part of you.
The words spoke of a desire Judith had longed for her entire life. She had had few courtiers in her first and only season—the second daughter of an almost impoverished household had little to offer but wit and competence. She had been no one’s first choice, not even Edmund’s. But he had been a scarred and wounded veteran of the war with the American colonies, a widower with two sons, and not even an earl. A second sonwith few prospects beyond his own investments. Wealth and a title could have won his first choice for a second bride—or possibly his second, third, or fourth choices—but another year would pass before an accident would take both his father and older brother from the lineage. Despite his pursuit of some of the more desirable debutantes, he had been turned away at almost every door. So Edmund had to settle for Judith after the others rejected him, as he had often told her the first four years of their marriage, especially after he had become earl. “If only I had waited another year.” A phrase he often used when their relationship turned unpleasant.
