The Wedding Game(17)

He took advantage of the opportunity to nip her fingers. Rather than painful, the pressure of his teeth through the white kid leather was shockingly pleasant. Hurriedly, she pulled her hand away again. ‘Stop that.’

‘Do not do this. Do not do that.’ He tsked. ‘Did you not wish to ruin my chances with Arabella? Being caught playing hunt the squirrel with her sister would most assuredly do so.’ In the darkness, she imagined his mocking smile.

‘I did not mean to do it by ruining myself as well.’

‘Are you sure? If you wish to trap a husband, there is no quicker way to do it than to force him into such a compromising position.’ The hand that had been holding her arm was stroking the bare skin between sleeve and glove. Suddenly, she felt as light-headed as she had pretended to be a few moments ago.

‘For the last time, I do not wish to wed anyone. Most especially not you.’

‘Then perhaps this is the sort of dishonourable liaison you spoke of on Bond Street. Maybe I am the one in need of rescue,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘It would be better for both of us if we were discovered immediately.’ His hand stroked down her arm until her glove pooled at her wrist. Then he continued to her fingertips to pull it away, leaving her hand bare.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, though she was sure she knew. Even worse, she did not mind.

‘Taking a forfeit,’ he said, raising her hand to his lips again. ‘You might think it amusing to play childish tricks with me, Amelia. But I am not some green boy put on this earth to be the butt of your joke. If you play games with a man, you must prepare for what will happen when you lose.’

He was right. It had been foolish of her to push this man to the point of anger. Even more foolish to become trapped with him in a situation that could lead to ruin for both of them. Suddenly, she was all too aware of the size of him and the feel of his body, hard against hers. She should at least have the sense to be frightened. Instead, she held her breath, eager to know what came next.

He pressed his mouth to her palm and she felt the tip of his tongue following the lines on her skin. She had once been to a gypsy who claimed to read one’s future there. It had been nonsense, of course. The old woman had proclaimed her destined to a long and lasting love based on an unbroken wrinkle of skin.

But now, Mr Lovell was running his tongue along that very line, his lips creating a gentle suction. His teeth were teasing the flesh that the fortune teller had called the mound of Venus. She had hinted at a carnality that Amy and her school friends could not understand, though they had giggled over it at the time.

But today, she was sure she knew what had been meant. The pressure of those straight white teeth made her bite her own lip to keep from crying out.

She should do the sensible thing and pull her hand away, with some cutting remark about his unwilling attention. But she made no effort to move. It must be shock. Nothing more than that. She should not be enjoying this.

He took her inaction as permission to take more liberties. His other hand came up to cradle hers to his mouth and he bit down hard enough to make her jump. Then he turned it slightly, settling his lips over the web of skin between thumb and forefinger.

She gasped and yanked her hand away. ‘What was the meaning of that?’

‘I should think the meaning plain enough,’ he said, in a voice that was annoyingly calm. ‘As long as we are trapped in a cupboard together, we might as well find a pleasant way to pass the time.’

‘You flatter yourself if you think I am enjoying this,’ she said, though her breath came in gasps that proclaimed she lied.

‘Then I must be doing it wrong.’ The hand that had been on the door handle was now cupping her bottom. ‘Is this better?’

Infinitely so. But Lord knew what would happen if she admitted the truth. ‘If you need a woman to correct your technique, there are houses full of them in Covent Garden. I suggest you go there and leave proper young ladies alone.’

‘I am not normally prone to such assignations. I certainly do not indulge in them at public gatherings. I am very conscious of my reputation.’ He sounded puzzled by the statement, as though he needed to make the sort of maidenly assertion she could not think to make. ‘Apparently, I’m more conscious of my rep than you are of yours.’ This was followed with a pinch that made her jump forward, pressing herself even tighter to his body.

‘I know perfectly well that this is improper,’ she said. She put her hands flat on his chest, meaning to push him away. Instead, the fingers of her ungloved hand found the opening of his shirt, dragging a nail along the bare skin. ‘It was never my intention to be in here with you.’

He sighed. ‘I suppose that is as close as I will get to an apology. You must give over these attempts to separate me from your sister. I will meet her eventually, you know. And speak to your father as well.’ Their lips were separated by a bare whisper of air. She could feel the imminent kiss, like the flutter of a moth’s wing against her face.

‘I only mean to forestall you until a worthy gentleman makes his move,’ she reminded him. Perhaps, once he knew he had lost, things might be different between them. Or perhaps they would change right now. She opened her mouth, ready to yield.

But no kiss came. ‘A worthy gentleman?’ The air around him seemed to chill with a dangerous silence. ‘What, exactly, is it about me that you find objectionable? Is it my character? I make sure that it is exemplary. Is it my birth? Because that does not seem to bother the rest of London.’