Her Christmas Earl

Every hair on her skin lifted in awareness. She heard the unspoken promise in his words. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

“So far.”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

That sounded ominous. Her stomach lurched with forbidden excitement. She moved further away, out of temptation’s reach. Unfortunately in this glorified cupboard, that wasn’t very far at all.

How mortifying that twenty years of respectability crumbled by the second. As yet, Lord Erskine hadn’t gone beyond holding her hand and admitting that he’d noticed her. Imagine how cooperative she’d be if he tried a little harder to seduce her.

She swallowed to moisten a dry throat. “This has gone far enough.”

“As you wish.”

Curse him. He sounded like he didn’t care.

Oh, she was a fool. Of course he didn’t care. All his talk about the charms of quiet, brown-haired women was just that—talk. He must laugh himself silly to think that she swallowed this drivel about his interest. As if a man like Lord Erskine would spare a glance for plain-spoken, plain-featured Philippa Sanders. She only had his attention now because there wasn’t another candidate, and he must be bored, locked in this cupboard. He was probably wishing that Amelia had decided to retrieve her own letter.

The thought stung. As she meant it to. “Perhaps we shouldn’t talk anymore.”

She retreated further, bumping the base of a leather chest that filled the corner. How she’d love to stride away with pride intact. But of course, her pride wouldn’t be wounded if she wasn’t trapped with a sweet-tongued Don Juan.

Even so, she could get up. The room was small, but not so small that she had to huddle at Erskine’s side. The thought had just crossed her mind when his hand brushed her cheek.

Every muscle went absolutely still. Even her heart stopped beating.

The tingling contact lasted a mere second. Then it was over.

She should shift. Protest. Make it clear that she had no intentions of providing this rake with an amusing interval before his return to the fleshpots.

The fleeting tenderness in his touch kept her mute. Mute and waiting.

It felt like an eternity before he touched her face again, cupping her jaw in his large, capable hand. Still he was gentle, and his gentleness opened a rift in her heart. She’d never allowed herself to long, but this soft caress in the thick darkness made her yearn for a man’s touch as she’d never yearned for anything in her life.

Such power a rake had.

But not even recalling the scandalous stories about Lord Erskine made her demur.

She trembled, waiting.

And still she waited.

Surely a rake wouldn’t allow his prey a chance to reconsider her surrender.

Then the air vibrated in a way she couldn’t define, and his lips glanced across hers. Her muffled response smacked of welcome rather than objection. His hand curled around her arm and he drew her forward until she angled across his chest, perfectly placed for more kisses.

Another pause.

Before his lips met hers again, she was shaking as if she’d been left out in the snow instead of confined in this cozy den. She should tell him to stop. Kissing Lord Erskine was even more reckless than breaking into his room. But still that treacherous tenderness held her acquiescent.

Tenderness had been tragically rare in her life, and it lured like a warm fire on a cold night. She curled her hands over his shoulders, giving him silent permission to continue. She behaved with shocking wantonness, but right now, she’d readily break any rule as long as this enchantment continued.

This time he lingered. Lord Erskine’s lips were firm and cool. A hint of pressure here. A brief touch there. Everything deepening her need.

The intimacy was astonishing. She caught a hint of his breath, sweet with a rich hint of port. Lord Erskine’s hand sweetly cradled her cheek, making her feel more fragile than glass.

She remained in her right mind enough to recognize that, for all his careful handling, this was seduction. The moment he placed his lips on hers, all impulse to anything except pleasure had vanished. Before she’d broken into his room, if anyone had suggested that she’d willingly kiss the reprobate Lord Erskine, she’d have laughed in their face. Now the prospect of more kisses made her giddy with excitement.