Julia Justiss - Regency Rogues - Stolen Sins

A pied piper to lead her wherever he wished, he looked down at her as he took her hand and kissed it. ‘My very dear Lady Margaret.’

Her world narrowed to the wonder of his blue-eyed gaze, the force of the need flowing from her to him, from him to her, in that simple clasp of fingers.

Before prudence had a chance to try to wrestle will back under control, she blurted, ‘I’m about to be very unladylike. But as I discovered some years ago, one cannot depend on the future; if one sees something one wants, one should seize it while one can.’

His eyes searched her face. ‘And you see something you want?’ he asked softly.

‘You,’ she whispered. And then sucked in a panicked breath, terrified, once the word had been spoken and couldn’t be taken back, that her brazenness would shock or offend him, that he would utter some blighting word and walk away. Would he be gentleman enough not to make her a laughingstock at his clubs? she wondered, light-headed at the risk she’d just taken.

Never taking his eyes from hers, he shook his head a little. ‘Excuse me, Lady Margaret. Did you just suggest what I think you did?’

‘Yes,’ she said tartly, her face burning now with heat of another sort, ‘and I do wish you would answer, instead of staring at me in that confounding way. If you intend to refuse, please do so, and let me bid you good day and quit the park before I expire of mortification.’

‘You must know I’m not about to refuse!’ With a laugh, he lifted the hand she’d almost forgotten he still held and brought it to his lips. ‘You must excuse my shock; I’ve never been offered carte blanche by a lady before. But now that I’ve recovered, I have only two questions: Where? When?’

She better do this immediately, before she lost her nerve. ‘My house—Upper Brook Street, Number Four. Now. The elderly cousin who lives with me for form’s sake is very deaf, and never rises before noon. Come by way of the mews. I’ll tell the grooms to admit you.’

He nodded, and without waiting for anything more—she was now so agitated, she couldn’t have stood still a moment longer in any event—Maggie tugged on the reins and led her horse away.

Giles stared after the retreating form of Lady Margaret, still not sure he’d heard her correctly. Rapidly he replayed the conversation in his mind: yes, it had not been just wishful imagining. She really had invited him to become her lover.

Now.

Hell and damnation, what was he doing just standing here?

With a joyful laugh, he tugged on the reins to bring his horse close, then threw himself into the saddle. After one reckless, whooping delight of a gallop around the deserted Rotten Row, startling milkmaids and scattering cows, he pulled up, laughing.

He still couldn’t believe it. After the suspicion in the eyes of her father when he caught them in library last night—after kissing her with wanton abandon on the sofa in her father’s library, the door open, a roomful of guests only a few doors away, any one of whom could have walked in and discovered them, he’d thought he’d be lucky if she even spoke to him again.

He’d come to the park to ride before his meetings this morning, to clear from his mind the fog of last night’s brandy and to work out how best to apologise. He couldn’t explain it to himself—how he couldn’t be near her without wanting to touch her, couldn’t touch her without wanting the feel of her body pressed against his, his mouth on hers…

Instead of being forced to grovel for forgiveness for his effrontery, after three short meetings, she was inviting him into her arms. He shook his head, marvelling. The progression towards that invitation was like no path of seduction he’d ever trod before. There’d been virtually no flirting, no exchange of remarks laden with suggestive double entendres, no meaningful glances, no surreptitious touches in public, heightening desire by inciting it when it could not be sated.

Just a great deal of conversation centred on politics, sensual tension ever humming between them, and one sanity-robbing, blazing inferno of a kiss.

Lord bless a lady who knew her own mind! The connection must be as powerful for her as was for him.

He took another circuit around the park, letting the gelding walk off the heat of the gallop, until he judged the lady would have had enough time to return home and prepare herself. The thought of her removing her habit, brushing out her hair, waiting for him, naked under her dressing gown, tightened his chest and hardened other things until, almost dizzy with desire, he could scarcely breathe.

His mouth dry, his member throbbing, he imagined that first touch. He’d worship her with hands and mouth before the first possession. Giddy with delight, on fire with need.

As for the committee meeting to begin soon, he dismissed it without a second thought. The Whigs had been trying to pummel through a Reform Bill for almost ten years; this one could wait a few hours for his attention.

He—and Lady Margaret—could not.

Grinning, he turned his mount towards Upper Brook Street.

By the time Maggie reached her town house, the heat of the ride had evaporated, leaving second thoughts to ambush her with the ferocity of a Reform zealot decrying a rotten borough. As she turned her horse over to the groom, she opened her mouth to tell him a gentleman would be coming for whom he must unlock the gate…but the words died on her lips.

She took the stairs to her bedchamber, directing a passing housemaid to go for hot water and another to help her out of habit and into a morning gown. Although she did keep clothing in both locations, since she was to spend several days at her father’s town house, her lady’s maid would be awaiting her there. Polly would think her mad when she turned up later, saying she’d inexplicably changed her mind and decided to go to her own home after her ride to bathe and change.

Not as mad as Mr Hadley would think her, when he arrived shortly to discover she’d changed her mind about an affair.

Oh, why could she not have reined in her raging desire before she blurted out that ill-judged invitation? She’d rather walk through the House of Lords in her shift than suffer through the interview she was about to have with her erstwhile lover.

He was almost certain to be angry, and with good cause. At best, he would think her a featherhead who didn’t know her own mind; at worst, he’d accuse her of being a tease—or a wanton. It made her sick to think of forfeiting his respect and friendship.

She took a deep breath to settle the nausea. There were worse things. She could weather this loss.

Yet another loss.

Steeling herself for the uncomfortable interview to come, she walked down to the parlour to await Giles Hadley.

She was pacing restlessly when he arrived, some fifteen minutes later. After a knock at the door, a puzzled footman showed him in, and he came over to take her hand and kiss it. ‘I’m afraid the groom forgot to leave the gate unlocked,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘I had to bang and shout before I attracted attention, and he let me in and took my horse. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.’

He looked down at her face as he said that, and his smile faded. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing in concern. ‘What happened?’

She pulled her hand free, the nausea returning with her nervousness. ‘Nothing—except I’m an idiot. I’m very sorry, Mr Hadley—’