Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

He would have made a good father.

Francesca left him standing there and began to walk. She felt confused and emotional. Should she do as the courtesan said and allow this grand passion to run its course? Should she risk her heart and her future on a man? Should she place herself in the most vulnerable of positions and say, “Here I am, take me, make love to me, and then discard me”?

But the truth was that Sebastian made her heart beat faster and her throat tighten with longing. There were times when he seemed to understand her better than she understood herself. Surely that means something? she told herself, as she reached the corner.

That was when she heard the step behind her. She knew who it was—she didn’t need to glance back—and knowing that she could recognize him from his step made her want to push him away. For her own self-preservation.

“Stop following me,” she said.

“You asked me to follow you,” Sebastian replied in his deep voice.

“I asked you to look after my family.”

“Damn and blast it, Francesca, what do you think you’re doing? Are you going to stroll all the way back to Wensted Square? Alone?”

“No.”

He’d come up beside her and was frowning at her, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“Then what are you doing?” His voice dropped, became a caress.

She felt her body respond, melting, aching.

“I’m going to stroll all the way to Half Moon Street,” she said. “Will you come with me?”

Francesca knew she was burning her bridges. She was taking Aphrodite’s advice, something she once would never have imagined possible. Heart beating fast, she turned to face him.

He was staring into her eyes, reading them, reading what she was saying without words. And then he smiled and reached to take her arm. His fingers smoothed the cloth as if it were her skin. “It would be my pleasure,” he said.

Chapter 19

“Francesca…” he began, as the door to his rooms closed behind them.

“Don’t speak,” she murmured, and touched her fingertip against his lips. “I don’t want you to ask me questions or make promises. I just want to be here, with you.”

He cupped her face, drawing her against him, and her arms slid so naturally about his neck. Was this the sort of passion she would remember all her life? Or would Sebastian be forgotten in the dozens to follow?

Francesca couldn’t imagine forgetting him, or anyone else replacing him. And yet her family history foretold that was what would happen.

His mouth brushed against hers, teasing, and she felt the heat and languor of desire begin to possess her. The kiss deepened and she closed her eyes. The clean male scent of him filled her nostrils, the woven cloth of his coat abraded her fingers, and the hard muscles of his body moved against her soft curves. She was drowning in his presence, and she didn’t care.

He dropped to his knees before her.

Francesca swayed, taken aback. He was gazing up at her, a wicked glint in his eyes and a far more wicked smile on his mouth. “I want to do something else.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, and bent down to kiss his mouth. “Will I like it?” she murmured.

He didn’t reply, but his smile broadened.

Sebastian placed his hands oh-so-carefully on her thighs and began to gather her skirt and petticoats up. Francesca felt her excitement growing as he drew out the moment, his hands sliding under the last petticoat and finding the cotton of her drawers, and the silk ties. With one tug the undergarment fell to her ankles, and she rested her hand on his shoulder as he helped her step out of it.

His fingers were warm, knowing, as he stroked her inner thighs. She wriggled, and he knew that she wanted him to touch her there but he resisted, caressing all around, before delving into the slippery folds and making her whimper with need. And then, to her amazement, he began to use his tongue.

Shock soon gave way to pleasure. What he was doing was wicked, beyond anything she’d imagined, but it felt wonderful. She began to quiver as the unstoppable feelings of ecstasy came upon her, and then she was gasping and sobbing out his name, her legs so weak they could barely hold her upright.

She was unaware of him standing up, of him lifting her and carrying her toward the bedchamber. The sunlight glinted through the curtains, highlighting the jeweled colors of rugs and draperies. He laid her on top of his bed as if she were precious treasure.

“Does everyone feel like this, at least once in their lives?” she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.