A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

"No, they'd rather practice their sword thrusts from a dis­tance."

Her head cocked infinitesimally and Hart tried to call the words back, but they were already free, revealing secret things about him.

"Is that what you like about me?" she asked. "That I tell you what I think? Everyone's afraid of you, you know. I as­sumed you preferred it that way. Every man in his place, every woman trembling at your feet."

"Yes."

"Well, I do not tremble."

I could make you tremble, he t

hought. When she froze, Hart realized he'd said the words aloud. He could hardly manage to summon up regret. He could make her tremble, and often.

"I'm sure . . ." She paused to swallow the rasp from her words. "I'm sure you could. I do not doubt you learned very useful things in your youth. But it's simply not possible."

All his frustrations coalesced with a wrenching jolt. Hart leaned forward and made her jump. "Why? Are you work­ing toward some quiet, profitable marriage? Because you are already spectacularly unsuccessful at being a respectable widow."

Her mouth curved up.

"Any man who would accept your rampant gambling would accept a few indiscretions as well."

"Would he? How very generous of him."

"I don't understand you."

"Then we are both equally confused."

Hart laughed, not truly amused, but he could laugh or jump from the carriage or strangle her. So laugh he did. The coach leaned around a corner, and Hart snapped open the window coverings to see the neat row houses of Belgrave Square.

"I am sorry that I cannot accept an invitation to your bed, Duke. But I cannot."

"Why," Hart muttered, "do I feel the veriest idiot, attempt­ing his first, bumbling seduction?"

"If you aren't forced to exercise a skill, finesse vanishes. No one has challenged you in years, I'd imagine."

Hart slid his gaze across the darkness to meet hers. "Is that what this is? A challenge?"

Her eyes widened in alarm. "No."

"Hmm." His muscles relaxed a bit. He leaned back into his seat and turned to the window.

"No," Lady Denmore repeated. "This is not a challenge. Pray don't launch a campaign."

"Don't be alarmed." Anticipation inched up his spine and spread pleasure over his skin. How long had it been since he'd felt that? "I am not an invading army."

"You could be," she insisted.

Hart smiled at the view. "The neighborhood is deteriorat­ing. We must be drawing close to Marlborough Road."

Her exasperated huff filled the carriage and drew Hart's thoughts to gasps of pleasure. A challenge. He felt his skin draw tighter across his whole body, felt his blood expand­ing. "Yes," he said, as if she had spoken.

"I was not challenging you. My life is not a game, Your Grace, and I would not appreciate your treating it as such." Her voice shook a little, he noticed. Trembled.

Hart grinned into the night. "My sister would say I've been an arrogant ass, and I've found her to be frighteningly intelligent." He met Lady Denmore's wide-eyed gaze. "Like you."

She shook her head.

"Will you be attending Moulter's retreat?"