“You scoundrel!” she gasped, hating how husky her voice sounded. Hating how her heart pounded. Hating how she trembled infinitesimally.
She only needed to lower her hand and turn her head the smallest of fractions, and their mouths would meet. Her entire awareness became centered around the featherlight pressure of his lips at the corner of her mouth. Maryann could feel his heartbeat in the space between them—or was it hers?
He was lacking in morals and propriety…but he was so tempting to her senses. What if she could do all the things she secretly dreamed of doing? Like kissing this rogue. She stood on the precipice of madness…of feeling something other than a vague hope, yet she did not move her head that slight inch that was needed to taste his mouth.
Before she could gather her wits and push him away, he lifted his head. The marquess kept his eyes closed for several moments before peering down at her.
“In the coming days, if anything odd should happen to you, you will let me know right away.”
The shift in his mood and conversation rattled her for a moment. How mercurial you are. “Anything odd? Whatever do you mean?”
“You were reckless enough to link our names together. So now…my friends are your friends.”
“I dearly hope not,” she said with a scoff. “I assure you my intention was never to importune upon your undesirable connections.”
He laughed, the sound rough yet so charming. “And my enemies are now your enemies,” he murmured, staring at her with an indefinable expression.
There was a flash of an unfathomable emotion in his gaze when he said that, and despite the bemused smile above his sensual lips, he was most assuredly serious.
“Enemies?”
“Yes.”
“I do not understand.”
“You were happy to use my name to escape an engagement, so you will accept the consequences that come with the ruse.”
Good heavens. “Consequences such as you breaking into my room, scaring me out of my wits…and anticipating odd occurrences in my life?”
“Yes.”
“You are a madman,” she said faintly.
“There is more.”
“Surely not,” she said with a sarcastic bite.
“You will still owe me a kiss.”
A flash of heat went through her. It appalled her, knowing he was not the man for her, that she could still be so drawn to him. “I owe you nothing of the sort.”
His chest rumbled with a low, primitive sound, drawing a startled gasp from her.
Palpable tension infused his frame. “Do you want me to take it now?”
Take it? How crude, unflattering, and unromantic. But also, raw, honest, and real. A surge of wild heat flamed between her thighs, and her heart quickened. “I… No!”
“Is this all you wanted of me, to use my reputation?”
The low roughness of his voice and his unexpected intensity had the strangest sensation twisting low in her belly. Maryann had never felt it before, and it rattled her nerves. “Yes.”
“What about this?”
He dipped into his pocket and produced a wrinkled paper. He flicked it open and she recognized… It was her list! Mortification struck her like lightning. She snatched it from him and crumpled it in her fist, the memory of writing about wanting his kiss making her wish she were the fainting sort. A swoon into oblivion would do right about now.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered, so very aware if she leaned in only slightly, and tipped, their mouths would meet.
“You dropped it in the gardens at our first meeting.”
She stared at him, her breathing ragged. He reached out and gently encircled her throat, his thumb rubbing a soothing motion over her racing pulse. The touch was dominant, possessive, and sent a new wave of shock and heat hurtling through her senses. Maryann’s lips parted. “It was really you that night…the man in the mask.”
He seemed fascinated with the hand he held to her throat. His touch was tender, but somehow, she felt the power in it.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Lady Maryann.”
Her heart jerked, and she made no reply. He released her and whirled around, his coat swirling at his ankles. Then he dipped and went through her windows, closing them from the outside.
Several minutes passed, and Maryann did not move from where she leaned against the wall, quite aware her heart had not settled. She kept waiting for the man to reappear. Hurrying to the window, she closed the latch and rested her forehead against the cool pane.
Oh God, what have I done?
Chapter Six
Nicolas bit his knuckles through his gloves until they ached. Not even that pain stopped the desire stirring to life with violent force. Hovering in the dark gardens of Lady Maryann’s home, he peered up, watching her silhouette at the windows as she looked down upon where he lingered. His intentions had been for her to understand that there might be danger in associating with him, and that she should be careful. Nothing more.
So then how had that devolved into him staring at her like a hungry predator as she entered her room, then sparring with her, to then convincing himself not to toss her on the bed and have his carnal and oh-so-wicked way with her?
So it’s ravishment, then?
He closed his eyes against the memory of that husky whisper. The heat in her eyes as she stared at him had affected his senses most profoundly. And it shocked Nicolas, this unanticipated interest on his part. Lady Maryann had wanted him to kiss her, but beyond the curious arousal in her eyes, there had also been fright, and that awareness had leashed his as nothing else could.
She moved away from the window, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. Moving with efficient stealth, he walked away and jumped over the side gate, lingering in the shadows cast by the small trees and hedges before strolling down the streets.
“Her damn mouth needs to be outlawed,” he muttered, thoroughly irritated with his attraction. And her eyes, bloody hell, they were the finest he’d ever seen. Golden brown flecked with sparking green at the center. “And why is she so fearless?”
When she had realized someone lingered in the dark, she hadn’t screamed or fainted, which he truly expected. It had intrigued him that she went for a weapon when it shouldn’t have, given the night with the shovel. Her skill with a rapier was greater than that of most gentlemen he knew, and her mettle might even be tougher. The brilliant splash of her unbound hair had captivated him, and even the peek of bare feet and dainty toes had tied him in knots.
He had deliberately acted the scoundrel, slashing open her nightgown, and even then the damn woman hadn’t fainted away. Her fresh, artless loveliness would tempt any man, yet based on the little digging he had done, she was often overlooked. “Damn fools.”