With that, she glided up the stairs without another word.
When she was gone, Scarlett looked up at Malcolm.“Should I be concerned?”
“No,” he grumbled.“She just delights in being a pain in the arse.”
“Still, she is a marchioness, and she nearly caught uskissing—”
“Beatrice doesn’t care about that,” he said, with a shake of his head.“She and her husband did far more thankissbefore their marriage, I can tell you.And he wasn’t the first fellow that she… well, let’s just say there is a libertine streak in my family, and Severn isn’t my only sibling who inherited it from my father.”
Scarlett’s mouth fell open.She had no idea that a lady could conduct herself in such a way and still be accepted in polite society—or become a marchioness, for that matter.
“Forget Beatrice,” he said.“I will see you tonight.Perhaps we can find a, uh, moment alone.”
“Will you dance with me?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt so deeply childish that she wanted to expire of mortification.
Dance?Truly?As if she were a bright-eyed innocent and not a full-grown woman who had been moaning on this man’s cock three nights ago?
He gave a little cough and blanched.“Perhaps.”
Now, she truly wanted to die.He didn’twantto dance with her.In fact, it occurred to her that he probably did not care for dancing.Or maybe he didn’t want to advertise their connection so loudly.
But then, without warning, his lips were on hers, and those thoughts were gone—because she was kissing him back.He pressed her against the wall, his hands at her waist, and she drank in the warm, strong promise of him.
Just as quickly, he pulled back.
In his absence, she felt empty, bereft.
“I just had to do that,” he said.“While I had the chance.”
He nodded and then retreated, retracing the steps that had led him to the stairs in the first place.
For a moment, Scarlett couldn’t think of why she was standing in this hallway.Who was she?What was her name?What was she supposed to have been doing?For a fleeting second, she had no answer to these questions.
All she could think about were green eyes, warm lips, and the strong hands that had been on her waist seconds before.
But then she remembered.Tilly’s sash.The housekeeper.The ball.Her sister’s betrothal—not to be secret for much longer.
She hurried off then and retrieved the sash without encountering anyone else.
She returned the way she had come, mounted the steps, and approached Tilly’s room.
Before the door, however, she pulled to a stop, because it was just barely ajar and she heard fevered, whispered voices from inside.
“If you think I am going to sit here, Tilly, and watch you pledge yourself to another man—”
“Stop, Severn.It’s no use.”
“You’re mad.You’re mad to think that.”
And then Severn Westmore, the brother of her sister’s betrothed, began kissing her sister.Passionately.And—Scarlett had to admit—it looked as if he had done it before.
More than once.
Tilly didn’t push him away.
Instead, she let him kiss her, her hands intertwining behind his neck.
