“Oh, good god,” Ellie muttered. Sucking in a long, steadying breath, she asked, “How long do you estimate that I will be here, withyou.”
“I should feel offended,” he said easily.
“You are offensive,” Ellie replied.
“But I have not decided on how long you will be here,” he finished. “You shall have to bear with my boorish presence a little while longer, while you wear such a voluminous nightgown. If I had come across you when I was fifteen, I could have hidden under that tent of yours.”
She tensed. “This is how a proper woman dresses. I cannot think you have met many of them.”
“Sweetheart, you are wearing enough miles of ribbon, lace and flounces to clothe every lady in the ton and half the girls in Covent Garden,” he said mockingly. “But I can understand, your aunt was not the paragon of fashion either. Her gowns were gunny-sacks with jewel trim. Your cousin is not much better.”
Ellie stared at him. “You are unsufferable.”
“I am.”
“Does it not bother you that I cannot figure out if I can stomach you or not.”
“Good,” he said, his head rolling. “I like keeping you on tenterhooks.”
“Ugh,” she huffed, getting to her feet. “Imbecile.”
His eyes notched open, “You have a smart, impudent mouth, mouse. I’d bet my last coin it’s not been tamed yet.”
She spun back, gaping. “Excuse me?”
Leaning on a mountain of pillows, and half-shadowed, he replied, “Have you ever been kissed?”
Crossing her arms, her head notched up, “How is that any of your concern?”
“I’ll take that as a no,” he replied, disdain in his tone. “Do you want to?”
It took Ellie half a beat longer than it would normally have to get his meaning, but when it dawned on her, she replied, “You want to kiss me.”
“It is an altruistic offer,” he proposed. “I suppose I glimpsed a dim, nun-like future for you, especially in that mammoth nightrail. But if you want to waltz into spinsterhood, un-kissed, who am I to object.”
“Good, because I reject your offer! Especially since you are completely foxed.”
He scoffed. “I am hardly drunk, but suit yourself.”
Spinning again, Ellie took two steps, then stopped as damned curiosity arrested her. What would a real kiss from a gentleman feel like? A heat melding of mouths, the powerful sweep of his tongue through her lips, the warm heat of his body against hers?
“Oh ho, are you having a moment of curiosity about the adventures you and I might share?” Dorian taunted her.
“No,” she lied. “When I do kiss a man, it will be a proper gentleman. And you are no gentleman.”
His laugh was sardonic. “You’re right. I am not one.” As she walked away, he added, “But scoundrels are so much better than a gentleman when it comes to seduction.”
She pivoted to look over her shoulder. “I do not envy you the headache tomorrow will bring. Goodnight, Your Grace.”
Dorian knew he was dancing with danger.
Just as the consequence of him sipping the brandy by the mouthful would come, poking and prodding at Evelina would not help matters. It was a perverse pleasure, but he liked seeing her eyes flame with a passion he knew she did not realize was inside her.
The brandy burned going down.
Tipping his head back to the headboard, he breathed out the pain still pulsing in his arm. “I was not lying about the kissing,” he murmured while watching the moon slowly descend to the treeline. “T’was the wrong time.”
What would it be like to kiss Evelina’s tart lips? The thought crashed in on him with the same force Nathan’s fist had once delivered to his gut in a prizefighting bout.
