A Reckless Encounter

“You would make an excellent foil, my lord. Too bad you aren’t available as a target.”

“And it’s too bad that you’re not being honest with me or with yourself. I don’t remember that you fought me this hard the last time we were alone. In fact, I seem to recall you kissing me back.”

Her face flamed. Her gaze slipped from his. “You have a vivid imagination, sir.”

“No, I’m much too pragmatic to waste time imagining kisses. I prefer—” he paused, dragged a fingertip along the curve of her jawline, watched a pulse beat madly in the hollow of her throat “—the real to the imagined,” he ended softly, and bent to kiss her.

His finger beneath her chin held her in a light grip, lifted her face slightly to his. He heard her quick inhalation just before his mouth covered her half-open lips.

Warm, sweet, tempting, she made no effort to pull away, but allowed him to kiss her. This time, there was no response, no participation. She offered no resistance, but no reaction. He slid an arm behind her back to hold her.

“It won’t work,” he said against her mouth.

Bringing her hands up between them, she balled them into fists and wedged some distance between their bodies. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a voice that held only a slight quiver.

“Oh, you do.” He tucked a curl back beneath the sash of her bonnet, let his hand linger on the delicate whorl of her ear, a slight feathery brush of his finger over the seashell curves that summoned a shudder from her. He smiled. “Oh, yes, you most certainly know what I’m talking about. This pretense that you don’t want me to kiss you is a waste of time at best, bad acting at the worst.”

She relaxed slightly, let his arm bear her weight as she looked up into his eyes. “You have a marvelous opinion of your effect on females, I see. How pitiful that is for you. Do you truly think that all you have to do is kiss a woman and she will fall into your arms? Ignore her station in life, her reputation, her family? I think you’re far too accustomed to your little actresses who must use the few advantages life has given them to get ahead. They must suffer the attentions of arrogant men just to survive. I, however, have other alternatives. Release me at once, or I will scream so loudly everyone in this park will come to my rescue.”

“I’m tempted to test you,” he said, “but there’s time enough for that.”

She stared at him, obviously taken aback. “Does nothing prick your insufferable ego, my lord?”

“Many things. Protests from females who enjoy being kissed are not among them, however. I didn’t imagine your response.”

“No,” she once more surprised him by saying. “You did not imagine it. You simply attached more importance to it than it deserves. Now if you will please escort me back to your carriage, I want to go home.”

She pushed him away and stood up, brushed imaginary wrinkles from her smooth satin skirts and gave him a stare so cool and detached that he let her win this point. For today. Only for today. He swept her an ironic bow.

“Your carriage awaits, Miss St. Clair.” He put out his arm as if they were in a ballroom. After the briefest hesitation, she tucked her gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow and accompanied him back to the curricle.

The vehicle dipped as he lifted her into it, let his hands linger long enough around her waist to make his own point, then he rounded the boot to climb up and take the reins and release the brake.

“It has been an interesting afternoon,” he said as the horses moved forward, hooves digging into the dirt and gravel of the road. “I trust you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have.”

“Probably not,” she replied serenely, and stared out over the open side of the curricle as if he no longer existed for her.

“I think,” he said bluntly, “that you are taking your charade too far.”

“Do you? Shall I tell you what I think, my lord?”

“By all means.”

“I think,” she said softly as he turned his head to meet her gaze, “that you will never forget me.”

“And I think,” he replied with an intent stare, “that I will not intend to try.”

9

It was a dangerous game she played, and she knew it. For a few panicked moments, Celia thought she’d overplayed her hand. He was so…so predatory, that she’d wanted to erase his smug confidence, prick his arrogance.

Yet he was swift enough to take up her challenge.

Oh God, this was so unexpected! She hadn’t bargained for this, hadn’t thought it through well enough. Consumed by the need for vengeance, she had blithely assumed that she could arrive in London, confront Lord Northington and ruin him with her accusations and documents. But her plans were coming unraveled before her eyes.

Now she realized that it would be much more difficult than she had ever considered. The peerage formed a united front against outsiders even though they harshly judged them on their own terms. The earl’s undoing must be more carefully structured, or she would lose any chance at all of getting what she wanted.

What did she want? The complete annihilation of the man who had caused her mother’s death. Justice demanded it.