It was a crime, was it not, to kill one’s father?
Not that she
really
wanted to strangle him in any way but a metaphorical one, but this evening, when he had thrust her almost literally into the arms of the Earl of Westhope, she had nearly done the unthinkable and refused to dance with His Lordship in public, thereby humiliating the man and defying her father in front of all of society.
Instead, she had gritted her teeth and waltzed with the most handsome, rich, incredibly
boring
eligible bachelor of the
haut ton
.
It had encouraged him, and that was the last thing she wanted to happen.
The earl had even had the nerve—or maybe it was just stupidity—to misquote Rabelais when he brought her a glass of champagne, saying with a flourish as he handed over the flute, “Thirst comes with eating . . . but the appetite goes away with drinking.”
It had really been all she could do not to correct him since he’d got it completely backward. She had a sinking feeling that he didn’t mean to be boorish—he just wasn’t very bright. Still, there was nothing on earth that could have prevented her from asking him in her most proper voice if that meant he was bringing her champagne because he felt, perhaps, she was too plump. Her response had so flustered him that he’d excused himself hurriedly—so perhaps the entire evening hadn’t been a loss after all.
Clad only in her chemise, she went to the balcony doors and opened them, glad of the fresh air, even if it was a bit cool. Loosening the ribbon on her shift, she let the material drift partway down her shoulders, her nipples tightening against the chill. The ballroom had been unbearably close and she’d had some problems breathing, an affliction that had plagued her since childhood. Being able to fill her lungs felt like heaven and she stood there, letting her eyes close. The light wheezing had stopped, and the anxiety that came with it had lessened as well, but she was still a little dizzy. Her father was insistent that she kept this particular flaw a secret. He seemed convinced no man would wish to marry a female who might now and again become inexplicably out of breath.
Slowly she inhaled, let it out. Yes, it was passing. . . .
It wasn’t a movement or noise that sent a flicker of unease through her, but a sudden, instinctive sense of being watched. Then a strong, masculine hand cupped her elbow. “Are you quite all right?”
Her eyes flew open and she saw a tall figure looming over her. With a gasp she jerked her chemise back up to cover her partially bared breasts. To her surprise, the shadowy figure spoke again in a cultured, modulated voice. “I’m sorry to startle you, my lady. I beg a thousand pardons, but I thought you might faint.”
Amelia stared upward, as taken aback by his polite speech and appearance as she was by finding a man lurking on her balcony. The stranger had ebony hair, glossy in the inadequate moonlight, and his face was shadowed into hollows and fine planes, eyes dark as midnight staring down at her. “I . . . I . . .” she stammered.
You should scream,
an inner voice suggested, but she was so paralyzed by alarm and surprise, she wasn’t sure she was capable of it.
“You swayed,” her mysterious visitor pointed out as if that explained everything, a small frown drawing dark arched brows together. “Are you ill?”
Finally, she found her voice, albeit not at all her regular one, but a high thin whisper. “No, just a bit dizzy. Sir, what are you doing here?”
“Maybe you should lie down.”
To her utter shock, he lifted her into his arms as easily as if she were a child, and actually carried her inside to deposit her carefully on the bed.
Perhaps this is a bizarre dream . . .
“What are you doing here? Who are you?” she demanded. It wasn’t very effective since she still couldn’t manage more than a half mumble, though fright was being replaced rapidly by outraged curiosity. Even in the insubstantial light she could tell he was well dressed and she caught the subtle drift of expensive cologne before he straightened. Though he wore no cravat, his dark coat was fashionably cut, and his fitted breeches and Hessians not something an ordinary footpad would wear. His face was classically handsome with a nice straight nose and lean jaw, and she’d never seen eyes so dark.
Was he really that tall or did he just seem so because she was sprawled on the bed and he was standing?
“I mean you no harm. Do not worry.”
Easy for him to say. For heaven’s sake, he was in her bedroom, no less. “You are trespassing.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, inclining his head.
Was he a thief? He didn’t look like one. Confused, Amelia sat up, feeling very vulnerable lying there in dishabille with her tumbled hair. “My father keeps very little money in his strongbox here in the house.”
“A wise man. I follow that same rule myself. If it puts your mind at ease, I do not need his money.” The stranger’s teeth flashed white in a quick smile.
She knew him, she realized suddenly, the situation taking on an even greater sense of the surreal. Not a close acquaintance, no. Not one of the many gentlemen she’d danced with since the beginning of her season, but she’d seen him, nevertheless.
And he certainly had seen
her
. She was sitting there gawping at him in only her thin lacy chemise with the bodice held together in her trembling hand. The flush of embarrassment swept upward, making her neck and cheeks hot. She could feel the rush of blood warm her knuckles when they pressed against her chest. “I . . . I’m undressed,” she said, unnecessarily.
“Most delightfully so,” he responded with an unmistakable note of sophisticated amusement in his soft tone. “But I am not here to ravish you any more than to rob you. Though,” he added with a truly wicked smile, “perhaps, in the spirit of being an effective burglar I should steal
something
. A kiss comes to mind, for at least then I would not leave empty-handed.”
A kiss?
Was the man insane?
“You . . . wouldn’t,” she managed to object in disbelief. He still stood by the side of the bed, so close if she reached out a hand she could touch him.
“I might.” His dark brows lifted a fraction, and his gaze flickered over her inadequately clad body before returning to her face. He added softly, “I have a weakness for lovely, half-dressed ladies, I’m afraid.”
And no doubt they had the same weakness for him, for he exuded a flagrant masculinity and confidence that was even more compelling than his good looks.
Her breath fluttered in her throat and it had nothing to do with her affliction. She might be an ingénue, but she understood in an instant the power of that devastating, entirely masculine husky tone. Like a bird stunned by smoke, she didn’t move, even when he leaned down and his long fingers caught her chin, tipping her face up just a fraction. He lowered his head, brushed his mouth against hers for a moment, a mere tantalizing touch of his lips. Then instead of kissing her, his hand slid into her hair and he gently licked the hollow of her throat. Through her dazed astonishment at his audacity, the feel of his warm lips and the teasing caress caused an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach.
This was where she should imperiously order him to stop, or at least push him away.
But she didn’t. She’d never been kissed, and though admittedly her girlish fantasies about this moment in her life hadn’t included a mysterious stranger stealing uninvited into her bedroom, she
was
curious.
The trail of his breath made her quiver, moving upward along her jaw, the curve of her cheek, until he finally claimed her mouth, shocking her to her very core as he brushed his tongue against hers in small sinful strokes.
She trembled, and though it wasn’t a conscious act, somehow one of her hands settled on his shoulder.
It was intimate.
It was beguiling.
Then it was over.
God help her, to her
disappointment
, it was over.
He straightened and looked more amused than ever at whatever expression had appeared on her face. “A virgin kiss. A coup, indeed.”
He obviously knew that had been her first. It wasn’t so surprising, for like most unmarried young ladies, she was constantly chaperoned. She summoned some affront, though strangely, she really wasn’t affronted. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”
“Oh I am, if a somewhat jaded one. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be taking my leave lest your reputation be tarnished by our meeting, because it would be, believe me. My advice is to keep my presence here this evening to yourself.”
True to his word, in a moment he was through the balcony doors, climbing up on the balustrade, bracing himself for balance on the side of the house. Then he caught the edge of the roof, swung up in one graceful athletic motion, and was gone into the darkness.