Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)

She closed her hands on his shoulders, his words scalding into her.

He nodded. “You don’t like numbers. I’m trying to think what we have in common. That was what you said, right? Find what we have in common?”

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to stay cold and distant. Instead, he tempted her with her deepest desires.

“Right,” he said, setting his jaw. “I can think of one thing we both enjoy.” He put his lips back around her nipple. He teased the sensitive bud back and forth. And then his hand circled down below, rubbing the sensitive flesh between her legs.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “Lord Blakely—”

He lifted his head, his eyes hooded. “Gareth,” he said.

“What?”

“My name is Gareth. Don’t call me Lord Blakely. Not now.”

He leaned his head against hers, nose to nose. Their breath mingled into sweet perfume. His hand, still trapped between her thighs, stroked gently. Jenny thrilled, half pleasure, half shame, that he touched her in that intimate way.

His eyes glowed. “Tell me your name,” he insisted.

“Nobody’s called me by my name in twelve years.”

“Nobody’s called me Gareth in twenty-four. I’ll not go another day without hearing it.”

Church bells struck the hour. It was the first event outside the two of them Jenny noticed. The heavy vibration from those deep tones echoed through her, a reverberation of the pleasure he sent through her with his touch. She counted the strokes. One, two…

His thumb stroked across her bare nipple again. “God almighty,” he whispered against her neck. “Please tell me your name.”

Three, four, five. Jenny rang like that bell. She tried to remember all the reasons why she couldn’t tell him her name. Six. Why she couldn’t allow him, naked and virile, into bed with her. Seven. Why he couldn’t sink into her right now, stretching her wide. Eight, and the bells stopped.

Eight o’clock.

Another echo, this one in her own mind. His words, at the beginning, before he’d even entered her rooms.

It was now eight o’clock in the evening.

Jenny straightened, her hands flying to her cheeks in horror. “Ned!”

“Ned?” She felt his thighs contract. He drew back, a scowl on his face. His tone was formal, with just a hint of offended sanctimony. “My name is Gareth.”

Jenny shook her head in exasperation. “Your cousin Ned.”

He sat, still and wary as a crouching leopard. He didn’t even blink. But she felt understanding come to him in the gradual contraction of his muscles. First the thighs that supported her. The tension traveled up his shoulders, through his hands. Finally, she saw fine, dark lines spread like a net across his face.

He let out a breath. “Ned. Ah, yes. Ned. I had completely forgotten. Do I have to go to him?”

The last question made him sound like a plaintive child. But he made the decision without Jenny saying a word. She could see his choice in the squaring of his shoulders. As if he were hefting a great weight in donning the mantle of Lord Blakely. He’d said he would meet his cousin at eight, and so meet the boy he would. His implacable honor and responsibility allowed no other option.

She stumbled to her feet, freeing him of her weight. He adjusted his clothing—fastening buttons, brushing his coat into some semblance of order. He didn’t look at her.

“I will return.” He fastened his cravat around his neck with the air of one tying a hangman’s noose. “As soon as is practicable. It’s only fifteen minutes there and back. This shouldn’t take long.”

He paused, his hand resting on her naked shoulder. And then he walked away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A BLAST OF HEAT from the massed, milling bodies struck Gareth in the face as he entered the crowded room at the Arbuthnots’. He was already overheated from hurrying, and tense with thwarted desire.

Under the best of circumstances, he despised crowds. They made any room feel a bit too small. They stank, scents of human sweat layering atop rosewater and jasmine in nauseating fashion. And even though he knew rationally it was not so, he always felt as if everyone were looking at him.

This crowd was no more appealing than usual. He scanned male faces, attached to somber black suits, looking for his cousin. Next to him, a majordomo announced him in a carrying tone.