Earl of Sussex (Wicked Lords of London 0.50)

She reached out her hand and gave him the tiniest little push. Heat radiated from the spot where she touched him. “From what I hear, some moderation would be good for you.”

His eyes narrowed and he snatched up her hand that had just touched him, his other coming to her waist. Her very tiny waist, small enough he was sure he could circle it with his hands. But he wouldn’t be distracted now. What gossip was the ton saying about him? “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

She gave a little gasp and he wasn’t sure if it was his question, the use of profanity, or the fact that he’d pulled her body close to his. But a little fire lit in her eyes as her mouth parted. It was stunning. All he need do was drop his head.

He heated, his body and his mind responding to the challenge before him. He felt anticipation course through him at what she might say next. She didn’t disappoint. “Since it appears we’ve tossed out all rules of decorum, I’ll speak plainly. Do you deny that you are a rake?” Her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened in a way that made her resemble prey. Something akin to a growl rumbled deep within his throat. He wasn’t offended. But speaking of his rakish ways, and the look on her face, made him long to practice them on her.

“I make no bones about the fact that I have enjoyed a few willing women.” He pulled her completely against his body and the feel of her was delicious. Her soft curves molded to him in a way no other woman ever had.

But her mouth formed an O. “What are you doing?”

A chuckle erupted from his chest. “Relax, I said willing. Besides, I never dally with marriageable ladies.”

Her fear was immediately replaced with disbelief. “Really, not even women like Lady Ravenna?”

“How in the bloody blue blazes did you know about that?” He pressed her closer even as he blinked in disbelief. Just when he thought he’d had the upper hand.

She waved her hand, turning away and pushing against his chest for distance. “You weren’t exactly subtle, I’m sure.”

He let her push away though he instantly regretted it. Questions bubbled up to his lips. He’d called her out here to chastise her on her bad behavior but somehow it was him who was being chastised. A grin played at his lips. It was delightful. She was interesting, intelligent, and beautiful and he wanted to know more. “None of that matters. We are talking about our future--”

“And that is why you need to keep from over imbibing. We’ll never escape the marriage noose if we don’t put our heads together.”

That was an idea he liked immensely. Their heads together. He was about to tell her so when a movement at the door caught his attention.

A young lady stood in the doorway, with the same auburn hair and flashing eyes as Lady Tabitha. Gripping her hands together, she looked earnestly at her sister. “Tabbie, get back in here. Your absence has been noticed. Mother will have a fit if you don’t—”

Lady Tabitha sighed. “I’m coming, Tricia.” Then she turned back to him. “I will see you ton

ight.”

Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “You most certainly will, Tabbie.”

Tabbie tried to concentrate on the rest of the evening. But she barely listened to any of the conversation filtering around her. It wasn’t surprising to her that she was distracted. What was rather disconcerting was the cause. She should be dreaming up ways to escape this match not thinking about the feel of the earl’s arms. Luke, she’d heard the marchioness, his mother, whisper at dinner when he’d finally returned from the hall. She hadn’t sounded terribly pleased with her son.

It briefly occurred to her that she might just marry him. Let him touch her in all sorts of delicious ways. She’d felt the proof of his…affection when he’d held her close.

But that was a foolish idea that would only end in her heartbreak. He was a rake. He’d admitted it himself. Soon he would tire of her, only she wouldn’t be able to walk away. She’d be forced to watch as he found a new lady upon whom he could lavish his affection. She would go back to being the wallflower that he looked through in favor of a more attractive woman. It would shatter her to be rejected by him again.

Shuddering, she closed her eyes. That was when she realized that the marquess was speaking to her. And she hadn’t been paying attention at all. “Forgive me,” she gave an apologetic smile.

“I’ve heard a great deal about the charity work you’ve been participating in,” he repeated with a bland smile.

She was proud of the work she’d done. Recently, she opened a shelter for women and their children who’d lost or never had a provider. It kept them clothed and fed and, in return, the women mended laundry. It gave them a far better option than the workhouse they might otherwise have to endure. She’d seen those places. They were almost worse than death.

But she was adept at aristocratic conversation and she knew the man was simply being polite. She’d give him the briefest answer possible to excuse him from the discussion. “Thank you, my lord. It is very fulfilling.”

She expected the marquess to nod and turn away but his eyes were intent upon her. “Will you keep up such activities after you are wed?”

It was a trap. There was something about her he wanted to know. She was a candidate for his son. Of course his interest was more than casual.

Her father glared at her down the table, his warning to keep her tongue sweet ringing in her ears. With a sigh, she gave the expected answer rather than one she really wanted to say. “It will be up to my husband.”

The marquess gave her a satisfied nod and then turned away, but Luke’s eyes were intent upon her. One of his eyebrows rose in question and she ducked her head to keep from grinning.

It was as though they were having a silent conversation across the table, one where he understood the subtext of her comment, the person she was when she wasn’t pretending to be the lady her parents wanted her to be.

They’d known each other for hours and yet he understood her already. How peculiar.