A Scoundrel by Moonlight (Sons of Sin 4)
“I shouldn’t have let you do that.”
That made him turn. Her gaze was fixed on the gold and blue embroidery on the tester above the bed. She was back to looking like a marble carving. He felt a powerful nostalgia for the beautiful, rosy creature who had kissed him as if she’d die if she stopped.
She hadn’t buttoned her bodice, although she’d tugged her shift over her breast. The thin linen did little to hide the voluptuous fullness or the pearled nipple. He squashed down a tide of lust as he recalled touching that perfect breast, kissing it. At his sides, his hands tightened into fists.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said more roughly than was justified. However right she’d been to stop him, desire swirled in his blood. He was honest enough to admit that if she hadn’t spoken, he’d now be lying between her thighs discovering paradise.
Her lips tightened, but she didn’t look at him. “That’s the problem, I was a fool.”
“It was foolish to wander into a man’s room in the middle of the night,” he said harshly.
He didn’t think she had any more color to lose, but she turned even more ashen. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“No.” She paused, then spoke with searing bitterness. “I must go and pack my belongings.”
“You shouldn’t take the blame.”
At last she turned her head in his direction. Shame clouded her amber eyes. “You’re a marquess. I’m a nobody.”
He winced, denial twisting his gut. “Please tell me you didn’t feel compelled to kiss me because you work for me.”
“No, kissing you was all my own stupidity,” she said flatly.
He drew a relieved breath. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first night when you mowed me down like a runaway carriage.”
He didn’t know why he extended this torture of having her close without being able to touch her. He should send her away with a promise never to bother her again. Except that looking at her gave him such pleasure, however awkward this moment. His caresses had loosened the severe coiffure. Her chignon sagged onto her nape and curls of blond hair teased her forehead and cheeks in a damnably enchanting way.
When her gaze widened, the beauty of her eyes struck him anew. “Well, why didn’t you?”
His laugh was dismissive. “I had no right.”
He’d had no right to kiss her tonight either, even if she’d kissed him first. He returned his brooding gaze to the fire.
“You’re the master here,” she said listlessly.
“That’s precisely why a gentleman doesn’t pester the servants.”
“Many do.”
“And lose the right to call themselves gentlemen. It’s unconscionable to take advantage of a woman who relies on my goodwill for her livelihood.”
Silence descended again. Strangely, this time it felt considerably less charged. Eventually curiosity won out over self-loathing and he turned to her. Instead of the contempt or fear or anger that he expected, she looked baffled.
“What is it?”
“You’re a strange man, my lord.”
He frowned. “Because I’ve got some glimmer of a conscience?”
“Yes.”
His lips lengthened with displeasure. “Nice that you have such a favorable opinion of me.”
“Why should you care what a mere servant thinks?” She sat and began to button her dress. Her fingers were deft, but the pink in her cheeks indicated that his presence while she performed this intimate action disturbed her. She wasn’t the only one disturbed.
He sighed with impatience. “You know, my lovely, it doesn’t work. It didn’t work when I first met you, and it’s even less effective now.”