The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

Christian opened his eyes and knew there and then he was lost. He’d be repenting until the end of his days for what he was about to do. But he didn’t care. Surely a man deserved to taste heaven after spending years in hell.

He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and held it there while he inhaled the floral scent of her skin. Rose. So sweet. So delicate. So tempting.

His other hand slid around her waist and guided her to stand between his legs. “I know what it’s like to be a viscount with endless responsibilities, to be a father and lord of all he surveys. But I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a man.”

“You’re more of a man than anyone I’ve ever met.”

The compliment warmed his heart as well as another part of his anatomy. “Can I kiss you, Rose?”

She exhaled, moistened her lips and nodded.

The touch of her lips was everything he imagined it to be: instantly soothing, deeply arousing. What started as light brushing and chaste nips, soon ignited into something far more powerful and intense.

With a moan of appreciation, he crushed her to his chest, coaxed and teased her lips apart so his tongue could explore her mouth’s wondrous depths.

Rose.

She met him with equal enthusiasm. Her hands journeyed up over his chest and around his neck. Dainty fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, holding him in position. Audible pants filled the air as a desperate hunger to taste each other deeply took hold.

He broke contact on a gasp, his body wracked with the need to carry this woman to his bed and make her his own.

“My lord,” the whispered words drifted over him as he kissed along her jaw and neck.

“Call me Christian. Let me hear my name fall from your lips.”

“Christian.” Her head fell back exposing the elegant column of her throat. Damn. He’d never seen a sight as beautiful.

As he worked up to the sensitive spot below her ear, relishing in her little moans and sighs, he opened his eyes and stared out at a sky littered with stars. God, he felt so alive. So blissfully free. Perhaps the Lord had answered his prayers.

But then something caught his attention.

A plume of black smoke crept into his field of vision, swirling higher and growing in density. Another person might have questioned the phenomena, but Christian knew exactly what it was.

“Rose.” He clasped her arms and forced her to straighten, kissed her once on the lips as she gazed dreamily into his eyes, purely because he couldn’t help himself. “I need to open the window.”

A mischievous smile touched her lips. “It is rather hot in here.”

He shook his head. “There’s smoke in the sky above Morton Manor.”

On a loud gasp, Rose swung around. She stepped aside, and Christian rushed forward and raised the sash. The smell of burning wood flooded his nostrils, carried on a breeze from the direction of the house.

“You’re sure it’s the manor?” Panic infused every word.

“Most definitely.”

“Then we must do something.” She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards the door.

Christian caught her by the arm and forced her to stop. “I’ll go. Stay here with the children. I fear if they wake to a commotion it might rouse painful memories of the night Cassandra died.”

“But what if there are people trapped inside? You can’t tackle a fire alone.”

By the time he reached the manor, it would be too late.

“Stay here,” he insisted. “I shall return shortly.” He took her face between his hands and claimed her mouth in a kiss that could well have to last him a lifetime. “Do not open the door to anyone. Promise me. Promise me you’ll remain here.”

She hesitated and glanced back at the window.

All the old doubts crept into his mind. What if his nightmare wasn’t over? Visions of the future flashed before his eyes. He saw Rose rushing towards him just as the burning building collapsed, leaving her buried beneath the rubble.