The Wicked Baron. Sarah Mallory
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beneath it to rest on her back. Immediately her body tensed. A tremor ran through him as her breasts pressed again him, separated from his skin by only a few thin layers of silk and linen.
‘I have been told the waltz is considered by some to be improper,’ she remarked. ‘It certainly feels very daring, to be standing so close.’
She looked up at him, smiling shyly, and suddenly he could not breathe.
‘Well, sir, what next?’
‘This.’
He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilted up her face and kissed her, very gently. She gave a faint sigh when he lifted his head, but did not move away. Tension crackled between them. Carlotta leaned against him, a tiny movement, but it was enough. With something very like a groan he swooped down on her again and his kiss this time was much more urgent. She responded, her lips parting in surrender to his demands and her body melting against him. His arms tightened. He nibbled gently at her lip and in response she put her arms around his neck.
Together they sank to their knees and he lowered Carlotta to the floor. She clung to him as he stretched out beside her, his mouth moving slowly, sensuously, over her lips while one hand slid to her breast. Luke felt her tremble, her back arched. A pulsing wave of desire swamped him. His fingers tore at her shirt, pulling it free from those soft, clinging breeches, then his hand was on skin, caressing the gentle curve of her waist. He ran his fingers over her stomach and she drew it in, gasping. He covered her face with kisses, drinking in the sweet taste of her, a taste of summer flowers and new-mown hay. His senses reeled. He had known many women, but never had the urge to possess and protect been so strong. She moaned softly and his touch faltered. He was overwhelmed with tenderness. She was such an innocent, it was important not to hurt her, not to frighten her. He knew the heady heights that love-making could achieve, but for her it would be new, strange and bewildering. Suddenly he was aware of their surroundings, lying on the cold, hard floor. By God it was not even his house!
He raised his head and stared down at her. Carlotta gazed up at him so trustingly and with a sudden, startling clarity he knew it would not do. This was not how he would show his love to Carlotta.
‘This has gone far enough,’ he muttered, almost to himself.
He got to his feet and held out his hand. Her brows contracted and she looked at him with bewildered, frightened eyes.
‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Have I done something wrong?’
His smile was strained as he pulled her to her feet.
‘Not you, sweetheart.’ He brushed his lips against her mouth in a fleeting, butterfly kiss. ‘You are everything I could wish for, but this is not right, not here, on the bare floor of an empty house. You deserve so much more than that.’ He looked towards the window. ‘I think the rain has stopped. We must get you home.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. Carlotta did not move.
‘I thought you were going to teach me to waltz.’
She sounded so lost that he had to stifle the temptation to take her in his arms again. He reached out to pull her cloak back over her shoulders.
‘I am no saint, Carlotta.’ He bent to pick up the candlestick.
‘You are not angry with me?’
He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss into the palm. ‘No, love. I am not angry with you.’
No, he had not been angry with her then, but now, as he led Carlotta on to the crowded dance floor, it occurred to him that he had been wrong about her; even then she had been trying to catch herself a rich husband.
With all the pleasure of someone walking to the scaffold, Carlotta accompanied Lord Darvell onto the dance floor. His hand beneath her arm was stiff; indeed, she thought his whole body was rigid with disapproval. She summoned up all her courage to help her through this ordeal. Anger came to her aid. What right had he to disapprove of her? When they took their places in the set she put up her chin and gazed steadily at some point over his shoulder. The music began; they held hands, moved forward until they were almost touching, the delicate flowers of her corsage trembling within an inch of his waistcoat. She must concentrate on her steps and forget her partner. There was no need for them to talk, after all. However, she soon discovered that Luke had other ideas.
‘Why did you change your name to Rivington?’ he asked her suddenly.
‘It is in deference to my aunt and uncle. They have been very good to me.’
‘And perhaps you are ashamed of your origins.’
‘I am not! It is not unusual to take the name of one’s benefactor.’ She almost snatched her hand away as the dance parted them. Insufferable man! He was determined to think badly of her. Carlotta’s head came up: she would not court his good opinion.
Luke fought down his anger. Damnation, one could not have an argument in the middle of a ballroom. The movement of the dance took him past his partner and he almost laughed aloud at the fury of her look. One had to admit those dark eyes flashed magnificently when she was angry. It seemed she planned to ignore him for the duration of the dance, but he would have none of it. The chit should learn that she must at least show him society manners.
‘How are you enjoying London, Miss Rivington?’
‘Very well, I thank you.’
He waited, and when she did not continue he raised his brows. ‘Is that all? Have you no praises to heap upon the entertainments and the shopping to be had in town?’
‘If I did so, you would write me down as a thoughtless, frippery creature.’
‘You would prefer me to think you sullen, and above being pleased.’
‘I do not care what you think of me,’ she told him in a low voice.
Luke growled with frustration. Blast it, why should the chit anger him so? He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Be careful with your scowls, Carlotta,’ he hissed as they parted again. ‘The wind may change and you will never smile again.’
Carlotta reined in her irritation. All around her the dancers were laughing and enjoying themselves. It would not do to let the world see she was arguing with her partner. As they came back together she said sweetly, ‘Thank you for the timely reminder, my lord. Because you cannot help your temper, it is no reason for me to lose mine.’
His smile was as false as her own, but his eyes glittered dangerously. She sought for something commonplace to say.
‘We are very fortunate with the weather, are we not? It is warm enough to make fires unnecessary, yet still cool enough to make dancing a pleasure.’ He did not reply. She thought he looked very much as if he was grinding his teeth. Carlotta raised her brows. ‘Come, my lord. When I go to such trouble to converse, surely you can make the effort to respond.’
‘Since we are now at the end of the dance I am spared the necessity.’
She put her fingers on his arm and allowed him to lead her off the floor. ‘We are both spared,’ she muttered. ‘We need no longer be polite to one another.’
‘I noticed no politeness, Miss Rivington.’
Carlotta’s eyes narrowed, but there was no opportunity to reply, since they had reached Lady Broxted, who was deep in conversation with her hostess. Lord Darvell left them without a word, but to Carlotta’s relief her aunt did not appear to notice. Instead she caught Carlotta’s hand and pulled her closer.
‘My dear, we are discussing the most delightful scheme. Mrs Price informs me that Madame Saqui is performing at Vauxhall next week and we are minded to get up a party—what do you think of that?’
‘Madame Saqui?’
‘She is a rope walker,’ explained Mrs Price. ‘Quite a sensation. She first performed at Vauxhall last year and was so successful that she had been retained.’
‘Well, Carlotta,