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you again. The Thorndale s. I ve promised to attend Lady Thorndale s musicale. Till tonight then, my Mistress of the Night. I shall be anxiously waiting for you. He brought her fingers to his lips. This is quite dangerous, my sweet. This attraction might well go beyond what either wants. What is desire if not dangerous and illicit? she sputtered, as he kissed her fingers once more. That is the very nature of desire, is it not? I hope you do not have cause to be disappointed. Desire and Passion have a way of doing that, once the initial flames turn to smoldering embers. I will never have cause to regret anything I do with you, milord. Will you? She wasn t certain, but she thought he might have murmured, I don t know before he released her hand. He reached into his jacket then and produced the most exquisite sprig of tuberose. For you, he brought it to his lips before laying it atop Tynemouth s posy. Till tonight. Till tonight, she mumbled, watching him walk away, languidly picking his way through the crowd. When she could no longer see him, she looked down at the creamy flowers he d place atop the daisies. Dangerous Love laying amongst Innocence. She felt herself shiver, wondering at the meaning behind the flowers, wondering how two men could see her in a different light. She looked up then, aware of a strange tingling down her back. She scanned the crowd, all nameless faces bumping and pushing before her. And then she saw him, alone by an empty table. Their eyes met and held, locked across the distance. He was so devilishly handsome standing in the sunlight, his broad shoulders outlined in the sun s rays. He removed his hat again, his hair blowing in the breeze and she most definitely forgot to breathe. He was, she thought, as he bowed one last time, utterly perfect. Mistress of the Night Charlotte Featherstone 72 Chapter Nine What the bloody hell was he thinking? He must have finally descended into madness, for what other reason could there be for him to be standing in Lady Thorndale s music room, bereft of his friends for protection, hoping to catch a glimpse of Madeline? This was dangerous. More than dangerous, it could mean the end of his reputation, the destruction of Miranda s dreams of marrying Renfrew if it got out he was possessed. The Beau Monde would have no qualms about ostracizing him and his relations. Despite the fact that most members of the ton were well educated, they still held beliefs that his illness stemmed from the devil, that evil possession was the cause. He couldn t afford to ruin his family s reputation, or his niece s happiness because, simply put, he was a panting lust-crazed fool for Madeline Brydges. But he was. Crazed. Lustful. Damn, he d had the most erotic dreams of her last night, all of them more than he d ever admit to, and all of them taking place in a Turkish Harem. Damn it to hell, why did he have to give life to his fantasies? He should have just brought her a volume of Shakespeare s sonnets. Something mundane and over used. Shall I compare thee to a summer s day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate. No doubt she had heard that one a time or two before. Hell, even that Tynemouth pup had probably uttered it to her, right before he d presented her with his handful of daisies. He had wanted to laugh when he d seen them lying atop the table, perfectly appropriate, perfectly innocuous. Innocence. If only the man knew what she d been up to the evening before. If only Tynemouth knew that it was his flowers that scented her hair, his lips that had been the ones to touch hers--his mouth she d moaned into. But, he d had to bring Byron, to tempt her with forbidden places and forbidden passions. He d had to tempt himself. He had to kiss her, to feel his tongue deep inside, possessing her, feeling at one with her. He d been a bloody, reckless fool and he d vowed to himself as he prowled around his room that morning that he would never give in to temptation again. And yet here he was, bloody well tempted by just the thought of seeing her. Voices from the hall thankfully gave him reprieve from his thoughts and he turned to study the figures that entered the room. He knew the names of most of the elegantly dressed guests, but as he had never felt fit to seek or oblige introductions, he knew none of them personally. With a sigh and a glance at his watch fob, he maintained his position of holding up the wall and waited for Madeline to make her grand appearance. He knew the second she entered the room. He didn t have to see her to know she was there, her breathtaking green eyes scouring the room for him. He felt the strange prickles race down his back, felt his hair begin to rise on his nape. He d heard his married friends talk of such phenomena but he d never gave it any credit, always dismissing their Mistress of the Night Charlotte Featherstone 73 outlandish reports as too many hours spent with females and a dangerous level of lust. But tonight he was a faithful disciple, a reformed cynic who now believed that there was some higher plane in which souls could communicate upon. He looked up in time to see her enter, her hand resting lightly on her father s arm. His breath left him and for one frightening, horrifying moment, he felt as though he would succumb to one of his fits. But when he should have been smelling burning bread and feeling his body shake and tighten, he felt only a burning in his chest. She was beautiful. Resplendent. Magnificent. Hell, he thought, as he watched her glide into the room, there was not one adequate word in all of the six languages he spoke to convey how absolutely breathtaking she was in her crimson gown. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |