One Night Scandal

She frowned and looked down at the table to evade his prying stare. “I wish I could help you. But there is nothing left to say.” She cleared her throat and looked longingly at the earring her brother had given her. “If you would like, I shall keep the earring and try again later when no one is around. Sometimes the uninterrupted silence helps me concentrate.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. He snatched the earring from her open hand. “I do not think I can part with it yet. Sentimental value, you see.”

“Oh.” Disappointment washed over her until she realized his keeping the earring meant he must care . . . at least slightly. She tamped down the exciting idea. While it was a thrilling sentiment, it did not matter if he cared for her. She was too far below his station.

Perhaps Somerton could pilfer the earring from him. She so wanted her earring returned.

“You appear distraught that I won’t give the earring to you. Now, why would that be?”

She blinked and finally looked him in the eye. “I am certainly not distraught or disheartened that you wish to retain your keepsake from an illicit liaison.”

“Illicit?” His low husky laugh brought gooseflesh to her arms. “There was nothing illicit about it.” He leaned closer to her and whispered, “Sensual. Passionate. Erotic. But not illicit.”

Sophie swallowed, unable to move her gaze away from his warm brown eyes. She could lose herself in his eyes. Her lips parted slightly, and she wished he would lean just a little closer to kiss her. To feel the scintillating sensation of his lips on hers would be far too difficult to resist. A mere kiss would never be enough.

She jerked back against her chair. A smug smile lifted his lips as one brow arched at her. It was almost as if he knew what she’d been thinking! He couldn’t possibly know.

He leaned back almost tipping his chair. “So tell me, Miss Reynard, have you ever been to Venice?”

“No,” she lied and immediately regretted it. With their mutual friends, he could easily discover she had been in Venice only a few weeks ago.

“Never?”

She shook her head. Now that she’d started the lie, there was no going back. “No.”

“You should travel.” He scraped back his chair and walked closer to the fireplace. He held out his hands to the fire as if chilled.

“Lord Ancroft, I do not believe there is anything else I can tell you. Perhaps you should leave now.”

He leaned against the mantel and smiled at her. “Do you really think I should leave already?”

“Yes,” she whispered. A quick flash of fear shot through her. The man was dangerous on so many levels.

“But we have so much more to discuss.”

“Do we?” Sophie’s nerves tingled. “What exactly do we need to discuss?”

“Why a beautiful woman like you would lie to me.” He slowly walked closer until he stood behind her chair.

“What have I lied to you about?” she demanded.

“So much.” His fingers grazed the back of her neck then untied her turban.

“What are you doing?” She started to move from her chair but his hands clasped onto her shoulders forcing her to remain seated.

He loosened her hair, each pin tinkling against the wood floor.

“If you don’t stop, I shall call my footman!”

He bent down and grazed his warm lips across her neck. She trembled from the sensation, remembering far too well exactly how sweet his kisses tasted. God, she wanted to taste him again.

She couldn’t stop her head from leaning back and tilting, allowing him better access to her neck. His breath warmed her as his mouth closed over the sensitive area where her shoulder met her neck. She wanted to be closer to his mouth, to him. The hard grip he had on her shoulders lightened, and his thumbs gently caressed her.

What was it about this man that caused her to react so passionately? She wanted to turn around and fall into his arms for the rest of the night. His lips moved slowly up her neck. His tongue traced the outer shell of her ear until she quivered with yearning.

“I haven’t heard you call for a footman yet,” he whispered in her ear.

“Hendricks,” she called halfheartedly.