Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

India frowned at Lord Barclay’s ignorance. “Mustafa still has his tongue and his fingers and toes.”

Jonathan coughed, choking on her unadulterated frankness. Lady India was no ordinary young English miss. She’d been forced to live a life that few people, except perhaps prostitutes, could imagine. He lifted his eyebrow as she continued. “Like the other eunuchs, he is quite capable of pleasuring his favorites with those. But becoming a eunuch rendered him incapable of the primary means of physical pleasure. The only men, other than the sultan, allowed to look upon or touch any female in the harem, are eunuchs. That ensures that the children born in a sultan’s harem are all his.”

“But an eunuch . . . ” Jonathan shuddered. “I can almost feel sorry for him.”

India shook her head. “Don’t waste your pity on Mustafa. He receives his pleasure in other ways.”

Jonathan was almost afraid to ask. “What other ways?”

“He derives great pleasure from disposing of unwanted and troublesome concubines,” she answered. “He is particularly fond of slowly strangling them with the silk cord you used to tie his hands. And that would have been my fate had the sultan decided not to release me.”

Bloody hell. Jonathan really didn’t want to know that. “Why did the sultan decide to release you?”

“I have blue eyes.”

“Very blue,” he agreed. “And quite becoming.”

She blushed at the compliment. “Not to the sultan. He found them troublesome, especially since the women in the harem were convinced that I was the devil in female form. I caused Mustafa and the sultan no end of trouble because the women in the harem believed I was capable of black magic and of bewitching them.”

“You mean you aren’t?” Jonathan teased.

India blinked in surprise.

“Because I feel quite certain that you may have bewitched me.”

Chapter Six

“Have I, my lord?”

An hour ago, Jonathan would have sworn that Lady India didn’t engage in the fine art of flirtation, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

“You must have.” Jonathan looked into her dark blue eyes. “For it’s the only explanation for what I’m about to do.”

“What are you about to do?” she breathed.

Kiss you. Jonathan inhaled deeply, unable to stop himself as he reached out and caught her chin up with the tip of his finger. “I’m about to throw caution to the wind and relieve the sultan’s eunuch of his responsibility and escort Lady India Burton on her triumphant return to London.” He gave her every opportunity to refuse or to escape, but India stood looking up at him, and Jonathan gave in to the impulse. He tilted her face up to his, then leaned down and gently covered her lips with his own.

As she closed her eyes and accepted the kiss, it was quite obvious to Jonathan that it was her first.

But what she lacked in finesse, she made up for in sweetness and enthusiasm. Jonathan savored the taste of her, reminding himself that despite her ardor for kissing, she was untutored and deserved more tenderness than raw passion. And he devoted himself to giving India everything she deserved. He nibbled at her lips, then traced the texture of them, lightly brushing them with his. Jonathan touched the seam between her lips with the tip of his tongue, showering India with pleasure as he tasted the softness of her lips and absorbed the feel of her mouth; poring over every detail, every nuance of her lips and mouth and teeth and tongue, with a single-minded determination to give pleasure.

India moved closer, shivering in delicious response as Lord Barclay abandoned her lips and kissed a path over her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose; brushing his lips lightly over hers once again before he continued on his path to the pulse that beat at the base of her throat.

Jonathan broke the kiss the moment he felt Lady India trembling in his arms. He stepped away, silently cursing himself for his weakness, as he put some much needed distance between them. “I apologize, Lady India.”

India opened her eyes and looked up at him. “For kissing me?”

“For taking liberties,” Jonathan answered. “Because I’d no right to presume that you would welcome my attentions.”

“You had every right to presume I welcomed your attention,” India told him. “For it’s true.” She blushed. “I wan

ted you to kiss me. And if you hadn’t kissed me first, I would have kissed you as soon as I determined the best way to go about it.”

“Going about it is easy,” he said, bending his head to her upturned face once again. “Just close your eyes and offer an invitation. . . .”

He brushed her lips a second time. “It’s the stopping that’s hard.”

“Then don’t stop,” she told him. “Do it again.”