A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

She blushed harder, though it seemed ridiculous. There was no reason to blush.

"You're quite sure your husband didn't leave you a secret inheritance? It'd be damned convenient."

And just like that, Emma's embarrassment dissolved and she was laughing again. She might never again take a car­riage ride with such a handsome gentleman. She'd be wise to enjoy it.

The booming knock on her door startled Emma into a strangled gasp. It wasn't a polite knock, and it wasn't at the back door. A constable, was her first thought, and the only logical one she managed in the minute that followed.

Emma set aside her sewing and rubbed her cold hands against her skirts. The skirts themselves were dark brown and merely serviceable, and it occurred to her that she was dressed quite appropriately for a morning trip to jail.

Just as she was pushing stiffly to her feet, the pounding started again and at the edges of her graying vision, she caught sight of Bess rushing down the stairs to the door. Emma edged toward the doorway of the parlor to watch her housekeeper open the front door and make a ponderous curtsy.

"Is your mistress at home?" a familiar voice growled. Somerhart. Emma's knees nearly gave up their fight to hold her weight.

Bess murmured something and began to close the door, but Somerhart's hand jumped suddenly into view. "It's barely noon," he explained, as he pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. His gaze traveled past the hall and caught her. "Ah, Lady Denmore. A moment of your time?"

"Fine," she muttered, trying to be angry at his imperti­nence, but far too relieved to do more than pretend. She backed up to the settee and let her knees give way.

When Somerhart entered, he made a show of glancing about as he strolled toward Emma. His study stopped with her brown wool dress. "I see no signs of hidden wealth, so I can only imagine that Lancaster doesn't have marriage on his mind."

"What?" Emma finally felt the dumbness of her relief burn away.

"Several people stopped me at my club last night, appar­ently hoping for a delicious reaction to the news that you've taken up riding with Lord Lancaster."

"Oh? And did you deign to whet their appetites?"

"Of course not. But they hardly needed it. You offer ample encouragement on your own."

"Good reason to sever our fantastical relationship, Your Grace."

"Mmm." He sat next to her without invitation and crossed his ankle over his knee. "You've insisted that you have no in­terest in taking a lover. So what are you about with Lan­caster?"

"That's none of your concern."

"None of my—"

"What are you doing here? As you said, it's barely noon. This is completely inappropriate."

"Ha!" The man's absolutely luscious mouth softened into amusement. He chuckled, then the deep rumble bloomed into a real laugh. "Inappropriate? This from a woman who participates in footraces?" He rubbed a hand over his eyes and laughed harder. "Inappropriate to visit before three. In my jealousy, I stormed over here before three. Good God, I've gone mad."

He looked nothing like a duke in that moment. With no hat to protect him from the wet day, his black hair was damp and ruffled. His blue eyes blazed with anger and amuse­ment, shielding her from none of his emotions. Emma tried to cover her smile with a discreet hand, but in holding back a laugh, she gave a very indelicate snort.

Somerhart pulled his chin in. "Are you laughing at me?"

"I'm sure . . . I wouldn't. . . Yes! Did you say 'jealousy'?"

"I did, so laugh away. I insist."

So Emma laughed, half at Somerhart, and half with the remnants of her relief. When she stopped laughing, she found Somerhart regarding her with a secret kind of smile. It twisted her throat into knots and she found she couldn't manage a witty comment. Still, she opened her mouth and waited for her breath to come back, but she waited in vain. Before she was over that beautiful smile, Somerhart pressed it to her parted lips. His smile was warm and tender and silky soft. But his tongue, when it touched hers, was even better. .. hot and slow and rich as velvet.

She didn't want this, she didn't. But his mouth worked magic. How could the cold, controlled duke taste so sweet? How could his lips brush such a gentle feeling into hers? And his tongue was the best kind of temptation, a fleeting glimpse of heaven that retreated just when she wanted more. Emma followed that hot pleasure and felt his hands grasp her shoulders. He eased her an inch away.

"Completely inappropriate . .." He tasted her bottom lip, then her top one, and rewarded her sigh with a much deeper kiss than the first. This kiss pushed aside tender thoughts, and Emma felt pulled down, sinking into heat. My first kiss, she thought, which was ridiculous. She'd been kissed before, and not just once. But this . . . this was intimacy. An introduction to that other world. The world she'd watched and wondered about, the world of pleasure and secrets and wickedness.

"You . . ." Somerhart whispered. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw. "It's you. Driving me mad." His teeth nipped the edge of her jaw before he tasted his way to the skin beneath her ear. He opened his lips over that spot and Emma shivered.

"I left my house furious."

"Why?" she managed.