She eyed him askance. “You didn’t look as if you were thinking through anything. You looked like you were thinking of something far more enticing. Or even someone. Your friend Lucia, perhaps?”
Now, that was jealousy. He might not previously have been on the receiving end of it, but he could tell it when he heard it. And it had the most peculiar effect on him, heating his blood until he felt on fire.
He wasn’t the only one igniting. As he circled her, he noted the sudden flush in her cheeks. “You seem very interested in my association with Lucia.”
“You seem very comfortable with her. And she is quite beautiful, after all.”
“She is indeed,” he said, just to see her reaction. “Despite being nearly my age, she has a youthful quality about her that never seems to fade.”
Her mouth formed a mutinous line. “You’re not that old, you know.”
“You’re the one who said I wasn’t getting any younger.”
“Well, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you’re about to keel over.” She stared ahead, not meeting his eyes. “And she’s only a bit older than your former fiancée. No wonder she has a youthful quality.” She tipped up her chin. “Whether she will keep it is another matter entirely.”
Biting back a smile, he said, “I thought you admired her.”
“I did. I do. It’s just that . . . well, I don’t think—”
“That she’s right for me?” he said, echoing her remarks the other night about Miss Trevor.
“Don’t be silly. Of course she’s not right for you. She’s an actress.”
“And it would bother you if I married an actress.”
“Married!” She snorted. “You would never do any such thing. You’re too circumspect for that. But you might . . . well . . .”
“She already told you that she isn’t, nor ever was, my mistress.”
Clarissa walked over to stare into the mirror of a nearby dressing table. “But you’ve had mistresses?”
The question surprised him. Gently bred females didn’t ask such things. Unless they were very interested in the answer. “I should think that’s my private business,” he said, trying to provoke her into admitting her jealousy.
She whirled on him, her expression stiff. “Which means you have. Otherwise, you would have denied it.”
“Fine. I have. Why do you care?” He held his breath. It suddenly seemed very important to hear her reply.
“I just never thought of you as . . . well . . . that sort of man.”
That sparked his temper. “What sort of man? The kind with physical needs?” He stepped closer. “The kind who can find beauty intoxicating and intelligence stimulating?” When her breath began to quicken, he lowered his voice. “The kind who can be tempted to do what he should not?”
She nodded, her gaze dropping to his cravat, as if she were afraid to stare into his face.
Wanting to see her eyes, he tipped up her chin. “I’m not perfect, minx, as you know quite well. And certain women are a very potent temptation to me.”
Temper flared in her eyes. “Like Lucia.”
“Like you, you silly fool.”
He lowered his head slowly, giving her a chance to balk. When she merely gazed up at him like a startled fawn, he kissed her.
God, how could he have forgotten how lush her mouth was, how sweet the taste of her? When she willingly opened to him, he exulted and deepened the kiss. He wanted to sink into her like a warm bath, to explore every inch of her lips and tongue and teeth.
She came up on tiptoe, and he fisted his hands in her sleeves to hold her closer. She stilled, and he did, too, afraid of frightening her off as he had the other night.
But then she melted against him, and he was well and truly lost. He couldn’t summon an ounce of his usual control—he wanted to devour her. Her mouth was a revelation, showing him the difference between merely desiring a woman’s body and desiring her mind and her soul. He plundered her lips over and over, drinking her soft gasps, growing more aroused by the moment.
She tore her mouth free of his to whisper, “Why are you doing this? You know you shouldn’t.”
He bent to nibble her ear. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I . . . I . . . No. But I do want to understand why . . . this is happening between us.” She nuzzled his cheek. “You don’t like me.”
Choking back a laugh, he murmured, “You don’t like me. Yet here we are.”
As he kissed his way down her neck to her throat, she uttered a shuddering breath. “I do like you.”
“And clearly I like you, or I wouldn’t be standing here giving in to temptation.” He tongued the hollow of her throat, reveling in her soft moan and the way she slid her hands up his coat lapels.
“But this is . . . more than liking.”
“Yes.” He took her mouth again.
Definitely more than liking. Desire had him in its grip and he didn’t want to be free. So, as long as she didn’t push him away, as long as she was tangling her tongue with his and twining her arms about his neck, he would take advantage.