The Honourable Fortune Hunter (Scandalous Miss Brightwells 5)

A great fire began to build within him. Anger at the wrong that had been done to the innocents this past year, where idle salon gossip had callously besmirched and smeared reputations. Anger at the price of atonement. And desire—deadly desire—for taking what was on offer before he tossed it all away with the seeming callous disregard with which his dismissal would no doubt be received.

But desire trumped honour, and he didn’t let her go when he should have. “And is this how you want to feel when matters progress beyond a kiss?” he demanded, roughly, pulling her more thoroughly into his arms and bringing his mouth down to hers in a kiss that was far more demanding than hitherto.

Perhaps if she hadn’t responded so willingly the last vestiges of his honour would have swooped down to save him. Save them both.

But her whispers of need, her feminine heat, her warmth, and softness, were an invitation he could not refuse. Cupping her cheek with one hand, his other cupped her shapely bottom, skimming up her waist to trace the heated flesh at her décolletage.

Desire ratcheted up further. The darkness that lurked dangerously within the depths of his depravity swirled about his brain, and he slipped his fingers beneath the silk of her gown, the rigid busk of her stays, beneath the cotton of her chemise, the last layer against her skin, insinuating their way further down to feel the small hard nubs of her nipples.

She should have arched back in shame and horror.

Instead she merely gasped and pressed herself closer, her breath rasping in her throat, her mouth devouring his while she gripped him round the neck like a lifeline.

It was only as he was in the very act of whisking her from the ground and placing her along the length of the window seat to ravish her there and then—and knowing he could do it without objection—that honour finally swooped down from the blackness to perch on his shoulder and veritably bite him on the ear.

So shocked at himself was he that his withdrawal created a sudden vacuum, and she stumbled in the space his bulk had hitherto inhabited, looking up at him with surprise and confusion.

“My apologies, Lizzy.” He tried to collect his breathing, “I think we both got a little too carried away.” He bowed formally, pressing his lips together in shame and disgust, while the stricken look on Lizzy’s face as she took a step forwards nearly undid him.

“Theo—”

“And just so you don’t spend the night fretting about it, let me reassure you that what we have just done in no way constitutes a danger with regard to the begetting of children.”

The enormous relief that crossed her face should have made him laugh. Fondly. And then gather her into his arms, which was what he wanted to do more than anything else at this moment. Instead he said, grimly, “That is only a danger in the absence of clothing, and I am quite sure you would take care to keep your clothes on in the presence of any gentleman.” He gave a grim laugh at his poor attempt at humour, then turned, saying over his shoulder as he made for the door, “Good night, Lizzy.”

He didn’t want to look back and see the look she sent him.

He didn’t have to.

For he could feel it scorching his back.

Chapter 14

Feeling disoriented, dizzy, excited, and distraught, all at the same time, Lizzy collapsed onto her bed the moment Mabel closed the door behind her.

“What is it, miss? Yer look fair done in. ’T’was it that young man yer ter marry? Mr Dalgleish? Why, ’tis, isn’t it?” Mabel sounded shocked. “Yer 'air is all disordered!”

Lizzy put a hand to her coiffure which was suffering from a lack of several key hairpins and shook her head. “No, it was Mr McAlister,” she murmured, closing her eyes and feeling the effects of the brandy and the remembered excitement still coursing through her.

“Mr McAlister? But…I thought yer was 'ere ter agree ter Mr Dalgleish? Now there’s an 'andsome feller.” Mabel’s tone was almost cajoling as she sat on the bed beside Lizzy and started removing hairpins, gripping her mistress’s shoulder to turn her so she could unbutton the back of her dress.

“Not nearly as handsome as Mr McAlister,” Lizzy sighed, eyes still closed.

“But…but Mr McAlister’s a fortune ’unter.” Mabel’s busy fingers stilled. “They’re sayin’ it both upstairs an’ down. “Yer know it ain’t goin’ ter be easy ter bring Mrs 'Odge round ter bein’ 'appy 'bout Mr McAlister.” Yer can’t marry 'im, miss! Not if yer want any peace.”

“I can’t marry him because he’s marrying someone else.”

“Someone wiv a fortune, no doubt! See, he ain’t no good fer yer. ’An’…he tried ter kiss yer?”

“He did kiss me, Mabel. And it was wonderful.” Lizzy opened her eyes and stared dreamily at the ceiling. “I’d kissed Mr Dalgleish earlier in the evening, and it wasn’t nearly so nice as kissing Mr McAlister. Oh Mabel, what shall I do?” She jerked upright and bit her lip.

“Fer a start, yer better not tell anyone else, that’s what yer’ll do,” Mabel said disapprovingly. “What would Mrs 'Odge say?”

“Do you think I’m such a ninny-hammer as to tell her?” Lizzy asked scornfully. “I’m sure Mr McAlister isn’t nearly as bad as people say he is. You can’t disagree that he was perfectly charming when he looked after us so well. And he saved my life, after all.”

“Well, it were 'im wot fired the shot that frightened the 'orses so ’twas the least 'e could do.”

“It was the boy he was teaching, Mabel. Do not misrepresent the matter.” Lizzy felt a surge of indignation on Theo’s part. “Really, he’s the nicest, handsomest, most thrilling gentleman I’ve met, and I don’t care that he’s a fortune hunter for that is what Mr Dalgleish is, only no one seems to condemn him for it.”