Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) by Kristen McLean

Author:Kristen McLean [McLean, Kristen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Young Ink Press
Published: 2016-04-27T18:00:00+00:00

* * *

Kathryn had tucked her fingers under his waistcoat to brush the lawn of his shirt. He seemed to be a furnace pushing against her hand with every breath, and she began to feel the mush he never failed to turn her brain into.

He closed his eyes, and a muscle ticked dangerously in his jaw. He was affected. Good. After resorting to candlelight and impractical lingerie, she needed some encouragement. Who would have thought it would be this difficult to seduce a libertine?

Unless, of course, he was disgusted by her brazen display.

But, no, she should not even consider that yet, not before she had given it her best effort. She would not be banished to some country estate to live out her days in endless ennui once this little retreat was through. She would not! If that meant using feminine lures to convince him not to turn her into a country bumpkin, then so be it.

She moved her fingers against his chest, pretending simply to feel the fine material of his waistcoat. Was all of him this hard?

Long, blunt-tipped fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she lifted wide eyes to his as he unfastened several buttons then slid her hand farther under his waistcoat to rest over his heart.

“If they had been skilled enough to draw blood, it would have been here.” His heart pounded rapidly, matching the pace of her own. Then he let go of her wrist, and both of his hands were back at his sides.

“That would have killed you,” she breathed, and her brow knit as she stared at the dark blue silk swallowing her hand.

He nodded.

“I was afraid they would,” she admitted softly, concentrating on the subtle designs worked into the fine silk.

“You were afraid for me?” He searched her face. Then the corner of his mouth lifted mirthlessly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Someone ought to,” she said. “You certainly don’t.”

“Yes, well,” he muttered. “The devil looks after his own.”

“You are no devil, Grey,” she said, lowering her lashes in a way she hoped was alluring. “You are a man.” She mentally readied herself then slid a trembling hand down his chest, but before she could dip below his waistband, he groaned and gripped her shoulders, stepping away.

Tears of frustration threatened to burst. No doubt, she had done something unspeakably gauche, but how was she to know if her own rake of a husband refused to show her? How could she possibly be so utterly undesirable that even he wouldn’t want her?

“Do you not like to be touched there?” she asked tightly.

His face twisted before he laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, yes, I like to be touched there.”

“It’s me you don’t like, then,” she concluded with a blessedly steady voice, but she felt her eyes begin to well. Stupid girl, upset about not having the attentions of a rake. “I quite understand, given the circumstances. Now that I have made an utter fool of myself, perhaps it’s best we say good night.

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