A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

"But I am not your lover, Somerhart, and you've no right to treat me so poorly. What is it, exactly, that you suspect?"

They'd both reached the landing at the front door. Emma felt Hart's hands close around her upper arms. He pulled her back against him, her back to his chest, and his mouth pressed just behind her ear.

"You are my lover, Emma, and well you know it."

"No."

"I've brought you to climax. And you've brought me as well. Remember?"

Remember? My God, she couldn't stop remembering. His beautiful naked body in the soft candlelight. She shivered under his grip and fought the need to press her hips back against him.

"We are lovers, Emma, but if you require formal consum­mation, allow me to provide it." His mouth opened against her skin, his teeth grazed her, scraping more shivers down her flesh. Sensation flowed like water, dipping between her breasts, spreading over her belly.

Her nipples tightened as his hot mouth pressed harder. His tongue flicked up to her earlobe as she became aware of the hard length of his arousal snug against her back. Oh, she wanted it, wanted everything. No one would interrupt. She could take him upstairs right now and truly become his lover. But she had just avoided disaster, and though the relief had made her giddy and reckless, it made no sense to take any more unnecessary risk.

Emma shook her head. "Tell me about the woman."

That stilled his mouth. His fingers tightened to vises on her arms, then abruptly released her. "Who?"

"I've heard the rumors."

"Oh, really?" The words snapped out like cracking ice. "Which rumors are those?" Emma lifted her chin. "You know."

"I'm sure I don't."

"The rumors that you fell in love with a demirep. Some­one else's mistress. You asked for her hand. Begged her. There were letters . . ."

"Ah, those rumors." His bark of laughter was hard enough to make Emma jump. "That story is a decade old and I'm sure it has only gotten more sordid with each telling. And, by the way, my dear, I don't take kindly to the telling of it."

She swung toward him and met his gaze. Cruelty again. Ah well, she had certainly distracted him from his seduction. "I see," she said carefully.

"And those old stories have nothing to do with our affair."

"That is patently untrue. You control your world, Somer­hart, and now you consider me part of it. You issue demands, dictate rules. You have been paying that child to spy on me. Why, I cannot imagine, but your real fear . . . your real fear is that a woman will make a fool of you. Again."

His sculpted lips disappeared into a tight white line. "Watch your mouth, Lady Denmore."

"You have controlled every one of your partners in the past decade, Somerhart, but you cannot control me. I will not be intimidated. You have nothing to take from me and nothing to threaten me with."

"Nothing but your secrets."

She'd been expecting this and was very careful not to let her fear show. "I have no secrets. No more than the next woman, anyway."

"If I dug into your past—"

"Why would you? Why even think it? You are a duke. Rich and powerful. I am no threat to your life, your position. Look into my past if you feel the need. But my life is mine, just as private and valuable as yours is to you. If you really wish to investigate me, do so. But don't bother calling on me to apologize for your unfounded suspicions, for I'll have nothing to say to you ever again."

"Unfounded," he scoffed.

"I am not pursuing you!" Emma cried. "I have resisted you at every turn! And still you come skulking about here with your questions as if I were applying for the exalted position of the duke's whore. My God, you are proud. Hor­ribly arrogant."

Somerhart rocked back on his heels and pierced her with a hostile glare. "Is that what last night was about? My pride? Bringing me low?"

Emma inhaled so quickly that she felt momentarily dizzy. She watched past blurry eyes as Hart crossed his arms over his chest. She managed to take another breath. "W-what?"

"You meant to knock me off my arrogant pedestal."

"I. . . No." She was so shocked by his words—a confes­sion, really, of vulnerability—that she didn't care that she'd been trying to drive him out the door. "Yes, you are proud. Of course you are. And I wanted to see that. Your body, so proud and strong. I wouldn't. . . I just wanted to see what I couldn't have. I cannot act on it, but I wanted . . ."