A Rake's Guide to Seduction by Caroline Linden

Author:Caroline Linden [Linden, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Man-Woman Relationships, England, Historical Fiction, Widows, Fiction, Romance, Historical, General, Love Stories
ISBN: 9780821780510
Google: aZ7cS910PbMC
Amazon: 0821780514
Goodreads: 2516134
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2008-06-02T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Celia shifted her weight after a few moments and slipped. She fell against him, grabbing at his arms and gasping a little laugh. Anthony realized he had perched her on the edge of a high table where her feet could barely touch the floor. He should let her go. He even started to pull back, easing his arms away from her. Her grip tightened, and she turned up her face, murmuring a protest in a drowsy, seductive voice. Anthony couldn’t resist her when she used that voice, so instead of helping her down and stepping away from her, he wrapped his arms back around her and lifted.

Celia gasped, then giggled, clinging to him with arms and legs. She kissed him on the mouth again as he carried her across the room and sat with a great thump on the sofa. There she relaxed again, astride his lap, draping herself over him and letting her skirts bunch up around her knees.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there. Anthony just stroked her back, plucking up a loose curl from time to time and winding it around his finger. He knew they had to talk, but the feel of her on top of him, in his arms, was just too distracting. He had kept his control and not spent himself inside her, but this…this contented, easy companionship stole away his discipline. He didn’t want to do anything but sit here with her for the rest of the night—for the rest of the foreseeable future, perhaps. He rested his head against the sofa back and let his eyes fall closed, holding her against his heart. He would have to plant a grove immediately, for he didn’t know how he could do without the scent of lemons from now on.

Dimly, Anthony became aware of sound—voices. Not just any voice, but David Reece’s voice. Laughter, and other voices. In the corridor, very nearby. He opened his eyes. What were the odds, he thought with a spark of black humor. He’d been an utter monk until the last hour and had been left mostly alone, even shunned at times. The voices grew louder, closer. He said a swift, urgent prayer that they would continue down the corridor, past the library, away from him and Celia and their highly compromising situation. He squeezed her tighter in his arms, as much hoping they could escape by being silent and still as to cling to her a few moments more, in case they didn’t. The steps were too close; Celia’s dress was half-undone, and his jacket and waistcoat were somewhere on the floor. There wasn’t time to compose themselves in any event.

The library door swung open, and light seeped into the room. “You’re a bloody fool, Norwood, to take that bet,” boomed David’s voice into the quiet. “If Her Grace says it’s so, it must be so. But I’ll be glad to take your money, once we…” He stopped abruptly, and a collective intake of air sounded behind him.

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