Deborah Simmons - Tempting Kate

“I like them, too.” His voice seemed to deepen, flowing over her like rich chocolate, and Kate felt the touch of his eyes everywhere. She swallowed. Apparently she had been wrong to suspect he would disapprove, for he never behaved as one would expect. “I’m surprised your father.allows you to wear them,” he added.

“My father is dead.”

“Your brother, then.”

“I have no brother.”

“You must have a guardian.”

Kate stiffened. “That I do, but he does not care what I wear.” For all her uncle cared, they could be languishing in rags, but Kate had already said too much. She recognized the spark of interest that flared in Grayson’s eyes, and purposefully relaxed her stance. The man was trying to pry information from her! “Eat your dinner,” she said roughly.

“Only if you join me.”

“I already ate.”

“Stay with me, then. I’m infernally bored. Do you have a deck of cards? Perhaps we could play.”

He looked so hopeful that Kate could not deny him. “All right. I’ll fetch some.”

“Books, too?”

Kate nodded. “What shall you have?”

“You choose for me.” Although he spoke casually, Kate sensed that nothing about the man was casual. Calculating would be a far more accurate description, for behind the cool countenance was a keen mind that would rival anyone’s. But what could he expect to gain from a few volumes out of her father’s library?

Kate sucked in a sharp breath as she recognized his game. She would have to make sure that there were no plates or personal notations in the books she brought him, or he would discover her identity all too easily. In spite of herself, Kate smiled at his cleverness. She would enjoy crossing swords with the marquis—as long as he did not draw blood.

She turned to go, and Grayson let his gaze slide over her slowly. She had a nice, slim figure that was not as boyish as he had first thought. He liked the way her dress had tightened across her breasts when she put her hands on her hips, and he missed the view, now that they were covered up by a shirt and a waistcoat. Still, he had to admit that the trousers were appealing, too, for they clung to her legs, not tight enough to be too wicked, but not loose enough to hide anything.

He watched her leave, his attention focused on the gentle curve of her buttocks encased in the soft material, and he wanted to haul her back into the room and onto the bed with him. “Damn,” he murmured, surprised by the force of his reaction. Obviously it had been too long since he had enjoyed the charms of a female.

Leaning his head back, Grayson tried to remember, but he could not recall exactly when or with whom he had last been intimate. Clarice? Lady Ann? He had released his last mistress after the onset of his ennui, but had never replaced her, relying instead on the eager ladies of his acquaintance to satisfy his needs. Their faceless bodies melted together in his mind, not nearly as intriguing as the slender figure of the poppet.

She was a clever thing, too. Courageous and clever, but possessing none of the artifice of the bored London females. His body stirred, and Grayson lifted his knee, wondering if the unusual reaction was due to his prone position. Perhaps once he got back on his feet, Kate would no longer arouse him. Logic told him that would probably be the case, but, oddly enough, he hoped it was not.

She returned, carrying a stack of books that she placed beside the bed, and Grayson found himself staring at her hair as she knelt near him. A deep, rich brown, it gleamed. Fresh. Beckoning. Grayson’s mouth curled at his own fancies. The sober Miss Kate would hardly welcome his advances…or would she? She had come to life in his arms when he pinned her against the door, only a few days ago.

Yes, he thought with a smile, there was passion in her, the kind that had made her stand before him, pistol raised, to avenge her sister, and the kind that had made her touch him when she thought he would not know. Grayson’s body stiffened at the knowledge, and for the first time in his life, he faced the prospect of wanting something even he, the rich and powerful marquis of Wroth, could not have. It fired his determination to discover her identity, for that was the only way to be certain that she was unavailable.

She glanced up at him then, and Grayson let her see his desire. It shook her, although he suspected she had no idea what, exactly, he wanted of her. He might not know her name or her circumstances, but she was innocent, Grayson was sure of that. And despite her absurd costume, she was well-bred. Normally, such traits would put her out of his reach, for, as he had sworn to her before, he did not seduce young virgins.

And yet, if she was a poor relation, a governess or some other member of the house staff, he could press his suit without compunction. Kate would have security and comfort and money enough to aid her sister, while he would have a new mistress to rival any of those past. Heat shot through him at the notion, and the clear violet eyes that had held his faltered before it. Then she straightened abruptly and tossed the cards on the blanket, beside his hand.

Oh, she possessed passion, his little poppet, but she was smart enough to avoid it! Grayson’s lips curled in amused appreciation as he reached for the deck. “Piquet?” he asked, shuffling the cards easily.

She blinked, as if dazed, and Grayson smiled, pleased by her reaction to him. Although she might not acknowledge it, the poppet was definitely attracted to him. She did not simper or flirt like most women, but flushed angrily when he caught her admiring him. A most intriguing reaction, Grayson thought, dealing out the cards as though she had consented to play. When he noticed her gaze on his hands, he paused to draw in a low breath. If she kept that up, it was going to be a very uncomfortable game—for him. Grayson shifted his knee, to better disguise the erection that strained at the blankets.

“Shall we play for guineas?” he asked, hoping to divert her attention. Although he had never reached the limits of his legendary control, he had a feeling that Kate could test them mightily.

“No.”

“Pennies?”

“No. I will not play for money,” she said. She lifted her head to eye him with calm defiance. “I do not approve of gambling.”

Grayson smiled at her pretense of propriety, for he had already found out what he wanted to know. She had no money, that much was obvious. But what of her background? “Should I worry that your guardian will take offense at our little game?” he asked, picking up his cards.

Innocent that she was, she missed the subtle nuance that a more experienced woman would have parlayed into a flirtation. Instead, she stared at him, her lips a firm line. “Tom thinks we would be illadvised to tell you anything more.”

Clever girl that she was, Kate had easily divined his intent. He felt both proud of her and challenged, as he had not been in years. “Tom?” he said contemptuously. “You trust his judgment?”

She wavered only for a moment before fixing him with the clear, direct gaze that so appealed to him. “Perhaps not, but how do I know you will not turn me over to the magistrate and cheer while I hang?”

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