Regency Rumour: Never Trust a Rake / Reforming the Viscount

Magic? He was declaring that his lips would work some kind of magic upon her? And yet, it appeared, the magic was already beginning to work because as he spoke, she found it impossible to tear her eyes from his mouth. And wonder what was so special about it that one touch would change her into someone who could draw men to her like moths to a flame.

Of course, he had a vast amount of experience.

And he did have a reputation for being so very good at carnal things that any lady who’d been fortunate enough to attract his attention wanted it again. And suddenly it was not just his mouth she was thinking about, but his whole body, naked, in a rumpled bed, where he was rendering some faceless female delirious with desire.

He smiled, a lazy, sensuous smile that did funny things to her insides and made her heart race. Or had it been racing like this for some minutes already?

‘Exactly so,’ he purred softly. ‘You are wondering what my lips will feel like. So, naturally, I wish to oblige you.’

‘How can you tell what I’m thinking?’ Her voice came out in a horrified squeak. Goodness, if he knew she’d just been picturing him naked, she would never be able to look him in the face again.

‘It is the way you are looking at my mouth, Miss Gibson. With curiosity. And longing. And, best of all, with invitation.’

‘I … I wasn’t …’

‘Oh, but you were.’

He frowned. ‘At this point in the proceedings, with any other man but me, you would pull up the drawbridge and retreat behind it, since you do not wish to appear fast.’

‘P-pull up the drawbridge?’

‘Last chance, Miss Gibson. Stop me now, or I will kiss you. And I promise you, if I do that, you will never be the same again.’

Chapter Seven

She wasn’t the same already. She had never, ever, thought about what a man would look like naked, in bed. Or felt her lips tingle with expectancy. Nor had her heart raced like this while she was sitting completely still. And all he’d done so far was talk about kissing.

Heavens, no wonder women were queuing up for the privilege of taking him as a lover.

‘Do you wish to continue?’

‘Wh-what?’

‘With your lesson. Do you wish me to take it to its conclusion?’

Lesson. She blinked.

And although there was still a pool of lethargy where her knees had previously been, most of the haze cleared from her mind at his curt reminder that this was not real.

Not for him, anyway. He considered her a pupil, very much in need of tutoring in the arts of which he was a skilled practitioner.

It was a good job he’d recalled her to reality. It would never do to start thinking there was anything romantic about what was going to happen next. She’d read far too much into a kiss before—and look where that had ended up.

She must think of this merely as a practical demonstration from a master craftsman to his apprentice.

‘I cannot think of anyone better qualified to teach me about kissing,’ she said tartly, ‘than you, Lord Deben.’

And with that, she shut her eyes, tilted her head back and puckered up her lips.

‘Miss Gibson …’ he chuckled ‘… you are the most absurd creature.’

Well, that dealt with any last lingering shreds of girlish excitement she had not so far managed to squash. She opened her eyes and glared up into his mocking face.

It was all very well accepting she was ignorant and in need of tuition, but that did not mean she would sit back and tamely let him mock her.

‘That’s it,’ she snapped. ‘I have changed my mind.’

When she made as if to get up he reacted astonishingly swiftly, seizing her about the waist and pulling her back down. Then he took hold of her chin with his free hand.

‘Don’t fly into the boughs because I laughed,’ he said sternly. ‘You should not have pushed your mouth into that absurd little shape. It made you look ridiculous. Never do it again.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that!’

‘I dare because you asked me to teach you how to be more feminine, sweet tempest,’ he pointed out.

It was strange he should have spoken of a tempest, because it really did feel as if some kind of tempest was raging through her. It was making her breathless. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage. But it wasn’t, at least not all of it, the product of outrage at his high-handed attitude towards her. A good deal of it stemmed from the determined way he was holding her captive, which was having the peculiar effect of making her want to sink into his strong embrace rather than make any attempt to struggle free of the confines of those muscular arms.

‘You should let your lips relax,’ he instructed her. ‘Perhaps part them a little for me. Moisten them, if you wish.’

He licked his own, then, as if demonstrating what she ought to do.

She couldn’t have torn her eyes from his mouth if her life had depended on it.

‘R-relax,’ she stammered.

He smiled and gently caressed her lower jaw with his gloved hand. A flash of something very like electricity struck her midriff as he angled her head into a position of his own choosing.

‘By all means close your eyes, if you wish.’

He was lowering his head towards her. Any second now …

‘I find that absence of sight heightens the other senses.’

Immediately, she screwed her eyes tightly shut. Though it wasn’t about heightening her senses, since hers were pretty over-stimulated already, so much as hiding. She did not want him looking into her eyes when they kissed, in case he saw …

What? That she had never felt like this? Could never have imagined feeling like this? That, in short, he was right, damn him? That just having a man of his reputation holding her so close was making her all soft and melting and more aware of her femininity than she had ever dreamed possible?

Particularly since he was so hard and demanding, and masculine.

She swallowed.

And felt his breath, hot against her cheek. Then he nuzzled her ear. And breathed in, deep and slow, just as though he was … What was he doing? Smelling her? Why would he want to do that? Although, hadn’t he said something about heightening the other senses? And it was very … affecting, having him just breathe in and out like that, as though he was inhaling her very essence.

She couldn’t help being extremely aware of the scent of him, too. It was incredibly intimate—yes that was the word, intimate—to be so close to a man that she could identify the unique smell of the shaving soap he’d used, overlying freshly laundered linen and what she suspected was just him. Spice and musk. Masculinity.

Oh, bother the man. What was he waiting for? Why did he have to make such a meal of it? Why could he not just get on with it?

His hand went to the nape of her neck. His fingers speared upwards, into her hair, massaging her scalp. He nudged at her jaw line with his nose, as though he wanted her to tilt her head back still further.

And because it felt rather as though her spine was melting, she had no problem with letting her head loll against the back of the sofa.

He buried his face in her neck.

‘Oh!’ He was still not kissing her. Instead, he was very gently nipping along the length of her neck. And now not only her spine, but every single bone in her body was melting.

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