Hard fingers touched her chin and tipped her face up to his. “Such a pretty flush,” he murmured in a hoarse voice. “But I don’t think you’re ill, after all.” His gaze drifted over her face, and then, without warning, he dragged his fingertips down her cheek, his hazel eyes flaring with heat as her flush deepened in the wake of those seeking fingers.
Or…was it possible he wanted her?
What would he do if she touched him? Philander and Horatio, the heroes of her book, had fallen into fits of wild passion on every page, sighing and gasping over their ladies’ every touch. If she touched her fingers to his lips, would Lord Huntington lose control, as they had done?
You’re rather intense when you’re aroused…I’ve never know a more insatiable man…not many women could satisfy you.
If Iris could trust what she’d overheard Lady Beaumont say, it took very little to unleash the fierce passion Lord Huntington hid under his cool, stiff manners.
The part of Iris that was still wounded over his first rejection shrank back with fear at the idea of touching him, but the other part—the part that whispered this time it would be different—reached up slowly, so slowly, and touched a fingertip to his bottom lip.
He sucked in a harsh breath, and his lips parted on a quiet moan.
The desperate sound made heat surge into Iris’s lower belly, so she did it again—her fingertip brushed gently across his warm lips, her touch so light she might have wondered if he felt it at all if his eyelids hadn’t dropped half-closed over eyes gone black.
He felt it.
He didn’t touch her, but his hot gaze traced every line of her face, lingering on her lips, and Iris could do nothing but stare back at him, mesmerized by the wild desire she saw in his eyes. His entire body had gone rigid as he strained to hold it back, but if he should let it go, unleash it…
Dear God.
Iris was innocent, yes, but even she understood the desire Lord Huntington now held so ruthlessly in check would sweep all before it.
Her heart gave a panicked leap in her chest, and she jerked her hand away from his face.
“No.” He grasped her hand in his and brought her fingers back to his lips. “Touch me again.”
Iris did as he bade her, because as much as she feared that powerful desire, she also wanted to drown in it. He held her hand as she did what he demanded and dragged her fingertip over his lips again. His eyes drifted closed, but he seemed to know what she would do without looking, because just as she drew her hand away, he opened his lips and pressed a tiny, damp kiss on her fingertip.
Neither of them moved, but stood there staring at each other, their panting breaths the only sound in the silent hallway, until at last he released her hand, and stepped away.
“Goodnight, Miss Somerset.”
Iris watched him go, but long minutes after he’d disappeared around the corner, she still stood frozen by her bedchamber door.
She wanted him. There was no mistaking the way her breath caught when he looked at her, or the way her belly filled with liquid heat when he touched her.
She’d jilted him. Her entire future—and her sisters’ futures—rested on her ability to convince another gentleman of her affections.
And still, she wanted Lord Huntington.
Chapter Eleven
“Well, Miss Somerset, what’s it to be this morning? Slow and gentle, or swift and rough? Choose your pleasure, and we’ll begin at once.”
Iris’s lips pressed together, and her fingers tightened on her riding crop. Lord Wrexley had invited her to take a ride with him this morning after breakfast, and he’d politely escorted her to the stable to help her choose her mount, but despite his gentlemanly attentions, she didn’t miss the note of amusement under his polite tone, or the tiny smirk flirting at the corners of his lips.
As little as a day ago, she would have admired his easy manners, and returned his charming smile with a flirtatious one of her own, but today it was as if Lord Huntington were a devil perched on her shoulder, whispering in her ear.
He isn’t a man you can trust. Stay away from him.
“That’s quite a ferocious grimace, Miss Somerset.” Lord Wrexley’s smirk widened into a smile that was both angelic and suggestive at once. “I’m referring to horses, of course, and riding. But perhaps you thought I meant something else?”
Iris wasn’t sophisticated—or, she hadn’t been before she began her reading lessons with Lady Annabel—but she also wasn’t an utter half-wit. She knew precisely what Lord Wrexley was insinuating, and her lips turned down in a stern frown. “You’re not as subtle as you imagine, my lord. Indeed, you’re rather wicked, I think.”
He threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “And you’re far more charming thanyouimagine, particularly when you scold. You get the most fetching little furrow, right here.” He dragged a finger lightly between her eyebrows.
“Violet said the same thing, but she didn’t think it was at all fetching.” Iris touched her forehead, her fingers brushing his away, but she tried to shake off her uneasiness with him. It wasn’t proper of him to tease an innocent young lady, but surely he couldn’t be as bad as Lord Huntington made him out to be? Lord Wrexley wasn’t licentious or debauched—only high-spirited.
