On a Wild Night (Cyn9) by Stephanie Laurens

Author:Stephanie Laurens [Laurens, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2009-11-28T09:00:00+00:00

Kidnapping her seemed the only viable option.

The next morning, seated at his breakfast table slowly sipping coffee, Martin considered the where and how. And discovered that the card sent to him by Lady Montacute for that evening announced a masquerade, albeit one of the tame, watered-down affairs that these days went by that title. Domino, half-mask and the invitation as entrance, so her ladyship had decreed.

All those, he had.

Deciding how to make Amanda, disguised in domino and mask, readily identifiable to him and only him took no more than a minute.

Fourteen hours later, draped in a regulation black domino, her face concealed by a halfmask, she appeared on the threshold of Lady Montacute’s ballroom, accompanied by another lady and a gentleman. Judging by height and the golden curls beneath the unknown lady’s hood, Martin assumed she was Amanda’s sister; he’d take an oath the gentleman was Carmarthen. He waited only until, after exchanging a few words, the three parted before closing in on his prey.

He was the first to her side, but only by a few strides; other men had noticed her, alone, looking about, and thought to claim her hand. He didn’t bother with her hand; he slid his arm about her waist and drew her to him.

“Oh!” She looked up, knowing him in the same way he knew it was indeed her and not some other golden-haired lady who just happened to be wearing three white orchids at her throat. She blinked. “Where are we going?”

He was already steering her through the crowd.

“Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.”

He said nothing more as he whisked her into a corridor, then through a deserted parlor and out onto a terrace that rejoined the front porch; his hand at her back, he urged her down the steps, around the curved drive and so to the street. His carriage was waiting, horses prancing.

He opened the door. She clutched his sleeve. “Where . . . ?”

He looked down at her. “Does it matter?”

She glared, then turned to the carriage. He helped her in, then followed, shut the door; the carriage jerked, and they were off.

Amanda set back her hood. “That was—”

He moved—gripped her waist, lifted her onto his lap. One hard hand cradled her face and his lips came down on hers.

She lost her wits in that first assault, clutched his arms and let reality slide. Her senses drowned in the sudden rush of desire, of hot, unmistakable, irresistible passion. He took her mouth and she gave it, pushed her arms up to his neck and clung as the carriage rattled on and he continued to evocatively plunder. His arms locked about her, a warm steel cage cradling her, holding her to him, safe and secure.

It wasn’t far to his house; she was dazed but unsurprised when the carriage halted and he set her back on the seat, then flung open the door and she saw, beyond him, the dark, unlighted mass of his home.

This time, the carriage had halted before the front door; he descended, turned, swept her into his arms and carried her up the steps.

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