Page 23 of Only Scandal Will Do

His attention snapped back to her. “Do you remember everything about that night?”

“Every moment of it is seared into my memory, my lord,” she said bitterly. “But I can

understand why you might easily forget it. It was probably one of many such nights for you.” Her contempt must have resonated with him, for he suddenly refused to meet her eyes.

“I assure you, there was never a night like that before.” He spoke quietly, and she sensed a tension in him. “I had never done such a thing before. Never participated in such an auction. Never tried to take a woman unwillingly to my bed.” He stopped speaking. Just stopped. Then his breath hissed as though he’d slowly released it.

“I cannot find the words to tell you how deeply I regret I was not a better man that night.” He paused, and she held still and waited. “What I tried to do was madness, without thought, without honor. I do not even have an excuse other than my base desires, and that your abundant charms overwhelmed me.” His face was shadowy in the scarce light of the sickle moon, but he sounded contrite. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. I have no right to expect it. But I would ask you to allow me to attempt to remedy the situation.”

Kat shook her head slowly. “What on earth do you believe you could do, Lord Dalbury, that could even come close to a remedy for the terror and humiliation you put me through? Do you think now that I have met you, heard your feeble attempts at an apology, and rejected them, the memory of that night will magically disappear?” She fought to control her anger, though she yearned to blast him with it. “What magic potion would you have me take that would erase the memory of you pinning me to the bed? Because if you have such an elixir, then yes, I will gladly take it from you and obliterate you absolutely and irrevocably.”

He stood silent at her words, then said simply, “I have only myself to offer, my lady.”

“You would have me kill you, my lord? In that, too, I agree I would oblige you, but not at the cost of my own life. I understand the English law punishes those who do murder quite severely.” Kat was astonished when he lurched backward, as from a blow.

“No, my lady, I would not have you kill me,” he said, sounding grimly amused. “Though indeed that would probably give you most satisfaction. I meant I would have you marry me.”

His words surprised a laugh out of her. “Marry you?” The laughter grew. “I see, my lord, you think me both a whore and a fool.”

“I think you are neither, Lady Katarina.”

“Then you are the fool to believe I would put such a man as you in control of every aspect of my life.” That he thought she would even entertain the suggestion was insulting.

The pale moonlight shadowed his face, but she could read displeasure there just the same.

“You judge me solely on one act that, I assure you, was grossly out of character for me. You cannot possibly know what kind of husband I would be.”

“And never will, Lord Dalbury. I can swear to you that I would not marry you if I were in

Hell and you were my only hope of Heaven.”

He inclined his head toward her, a faint smile touching his lips. “I believe you made a similar claim about dancing with me, Lady Katarina. Yet we have indeed enjoyed a dance together despite your words.” His tone was soft, the sensuous, cajoling one he had used to seduce her that night in the House of Pleasure.

Kat trembled, recalling the incredible sensations of his hands, his mouth on her body.

Damn. He could not do this to her again. Not just with his voice.

“Is there nothing that would entice you to leave your Hell for my Heaven?”

She struggled to answer, opened her lips to deny it, only to find her mouth completely sealed by his.

CHAPTER 9

The feeling of his mouth on hers transfixed her. She could hear her heart racing, thudding painfully in her chest. Not with terror, but with something she feared even more: pleasure.

He was gentle, for all the swiftness of his attack. Just like before. Softly he pressed her lips, leisurely outlining her mouth with his tongue. The sensation sent shivers all over her, even as a flush of heat rose in her core. Her body molded to his, his hard muscles rippling against her as he shifted his weight and gathered her more tightly. He clasped her head in a grip that supported rather than restrained. Cradled described that feeling best. Yes, cradled in his arms.

That overwhelming sense of safety washed over her again, and she relaxed into the comfort of his embrace. Her body remembered the exquisite sensations of before and delighted in them. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed closer, opening her mouth, urging him to enter. He obliged wholeheartedly, sweeping in to claim his playground. Kat whimpered as a sweet urgency filled her. She wanted to remain this way forever.

Her senses returned only when he eased away, leaving her trembling with desire for him and enraged at herself for allowing such a thing to happen again.

He looked at her, eager for a response.

She obliged him, exploding her hand onto his scarred cheek, loud as a whip crack, with enough force to make her fingers burn and prickle.

The astonishment on his face almost made her laugh. He was so damned arrogant and self-assured. Well, she’d taken him down a notch. She shook her hand to coax some feeling back into the palm.

“Does that answer your question, Lord Dalbury? Apparently I prefer the Hell of my own choosing.” She walked away, needing to put distance between them. One glance at Dalbury persuaded her she could not deal with the marquess on rational terms at the moment. Her heart still beat erratically, her lips tingling with phantom kisses.