Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

He smiled at her, quite gently. “Do not force me to hold you and pour it down your throat. You are in my house, in my bed, and in my care. Now, open your mouth.”

She sipped until the glass was empty.

“Excellent. I was wondering if it was ever in your nature to be biddable. No, don’t rip up at me. You’ve worn me to a bone and I’ve got some work to do before I can go to bed.”

“I . . . I’m sorry.”

He leaned down and lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Don’t make me feel like a cad, Chauncey. I am glad you are here. I would have preferred the circumstances to be different, but what’s done is done. I want you to sleep now.”

She raised her face and met his gaze. Unconsciously she moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. She heard him draw in his breath. “You are not a prig,” she said.

No, he thought, anything but. “Hold still, Chauncey,” he said.

She watched the man bend over the woman, as though she were apart from them, observing from across the room. Apart from him until she felt his lips gently caress her mouth. She drew back, startled.

“So sophisticated,” he murmured. “Has no man ever kissed you before?”

“Yes,” she muttered. “Owen. It was awful.”

“I dread to know what you did to him.”

“I kicked him the first time. The second, I bit his tongue.”

“Did the prig kiss you?”

“Of course not! He was a gentleman.”

“Why did Owen kiss you the second time? Didn’t the fellow ever learn?”

He watched the myriad expressions flit over her face as he awaited her response. He wasn’t really surprised when she evaded him by asking impishly, “Why did you kiss me?”

“That was not really a kiss, my dear,” he said, a devilish gleam lighting his eyes. “That was but a beginning . . . exploration.”

“I cannot slap you. It would hurt my ribs.”

“So I have you in my power. Doesn’t that alarm you?”

She chuckled and almost instantly regretted it. “Please,” she gasped, “don’t make me laugh. And you, sir, should remember that I have a saint protecting me.”

Delaney rose and stared thoughtfully down at her. He could see the laudanum drawing her into sleep, though there was still a pert challenge in her eyes. “Should I take my chances and kiss you again? After all, you didn’t try to destroy my manhood.”

She flushed, though he doubted she would have, had it not been for the laudanum dulling her control.

“Dare I believe I’ve had the last word?”

“I’m going to sleep,” she said, and closed her eyes.

“Good night, Chauncey,” he said.

She didn’t open her eyes until she heard the door of the bedroom close very softly. Slowly she raised her fingers to her mouth. Her lips felt soft, somehow different. Tomorrow, she told herself, jerking her hand away, tomorrow I shall begin to question him about his holdings. He will show his true colors. He must! With no laudanum dulling my mind, I will also ask him more about all the very interesting people he met in London.

Chauncey, bathed, her hair arranged in lazy curls falling from a topknot, sat up in her bed, waiting for him to come. When she finally heard a man’s footsteps in the corridor, she planted a dazzling smile on her face.

It was Saint Morris.

“My,” he said, whistling, “I feel like the sun just broke through the fog and is shining on my miserable head. Well, girl, you’ll not have need of me for much longer.”

Chauncey wanted to ask him where Delaney was. After he examined her briefly, she asked in her most offhand voice, “Have you seen my host, sir?”