Page 27

Regina bristled at his mocking tone and sat a degree straighter. “You deny it?”

“I do,” he said, holding her gaze as he lifted his glass of brandy to his lips.

Though she could not say why, watching his mouth touch the glass and the strong column of his throat working as he swallowed made her skin prickle with awareness and she felt hot all over. Unable to tear her gaze away from his mouth, she saw as much as heard what he said next.

“I’m afraid my sin is far more depraved and far more deserving of your anger and scorn than you have imagined.”

His voice was low, and the word sin seemed to linger in the air. It seemed to caress her skin, inviting her to discover just how it felt to indulge in it fully.

Regina, already sitting ramrod straight, put up her chin. “I cannot think what you mean,” she said, dismayed that her voice was no longer firm, but strangely breathless.

“No, I don’t imagine you can.” His rueful tone only made her crosser still, and she glared at him.

“Then I beg you will explain yourself and stop speaking in riddles, for it is terribly vexing,” she snapped.

Ashburton nodded and set his glass on the mantelpiece before turning to face her. “Very well, Mrs Harris. You asked for the truth, and so I shall provide it. The reason I have been avoiding you is that I feared what might happen if I allowed us to be alone together again.”

Regina stared at him, wondering if she had somehow missed the pertinent part of that explanation, for she was still no clearer what the problem was.

“What might happen?” she repeated in confusion. “Whatever do you mean? What might happen?”

This time it was a genuine question and the earl’s gaze never faltered as he replied, staring at her as each word slid beneath her skin.

“I might do something I ought not,” he replied softly. “I might… move closer,” he said, putting action to the words until he was stood directly before her.

“O-Oh?” Regina stammered, for she could not think of anything sensible to say and yet she felt she ought to say something.

He nodded, his expression grave. “I might get to my knees before you,” he added, doing just that as Regina’s breath snagged in her throat. “I might try to get closer still.”

Regina gasped as his hands clamped down on the arms of the chair and he leaned in. Not knowing what else to do, she leaned back as he leaned forward, finding herself pressed firmly against the cushions.

“This is why I stayed away, Mrs Harris,” he said softly, his face so close to hers his breath fluttered against her skin, the faint aroma of the brandy he had drunk as intoxicating to her as if she had herself downed the entire glass in one go.

What was happening, Regina wondered, dazed and more confused than she had ever been in her life before.

Was the exquisite Earl of Ashburton—the most elusive man on the marriage mart—telling her he desired her?

Surely not. Yet she looked into his eyes, those silver-blue eyes that were usually full of reserve, so cool with restraint, and saw a fire blazing there.

Her breath caught as she comprehended he was not mocking her, not trying to humiliate her, but in deadly earnest.

Suddenly, his expression changed, a mixture of shock and mortification settling upon his handsome face. “Forgive me,” he said, the contrition in his voice laced with self-disgust. “I promised myself I would behave, but it seems even that promise—”

He moved away as he spoke and Regina, knowing only that no one had ever wanted her before and that this man of all men was the embodiment of a dream she had not even permitted herself to acknowledge, reacted without thinking.

She reached for him, her hands grasping hold of the lapels of his immaculately tailored coat and yanking him back with considerable force.

She did not doubt she had caught him off guard, for the flash of surprise in his eyes was priceless, and she might have laughed if she were not consumed with the desire to press her mouth upon his. So she did.

For a full minute, his wits were scattered with such vigour, Pip did not know what was happening.

He was so shocked by the prim Mrs Harris making such a bold move that his brain melted.

It was the only explanation for the way his mind had become entirely blank.

Well, that and the electric charge that seemed to light up his entire body the moment their lips touched.

He had sensed it when their fingertips had brushed and told himself he’d imagined it even as his longing to touch her grew increasingly unwieldy with every moment.

He had meant to behave himself. When he had entered his study, it was with the sincere desire to explain his predicament and seek her help in finding a solution.

It was all the fault of those damn buttons, he decided wildly.

The moment he had seen her elegant fingers toying with that prim line of buttoned up buttons, everything had gone to hell.

It was more provocation than he was capable of withstanding.

Honestly, what was she thinking wearing that…

that dreadfully dull gown with its inciting line of silk-covered fastenings when his control was hanging by a thread?

It would appear that she wasn’t thinking any more clearly than he was, however, as her inexpert and clumsy kisses became increasingly bold. Well, thinking was overrated, and they were both going to hell, he decided. He may as well enjoy it.

Pip snatched her glasses from her nose and dropped them carelessly on the table, where they immediately slid off and fell to the floor.

Uncaring of their fate, he leaned closer, pushing her knees apart as layers of fabric and petticoats rustled and hissed.

His hand slid behind her neck, tipping her head back as he took control of the kiss.

Her breath hitched as he slowed her awkward kisses, showing her the way of it, the deliberate slide and parry of tongues and an exchange that bordered on a delicate form of combat as she sought at first to mimic and then to best him.

Her eagerness, the force of her desire, only made his own burn hotter as he fought to get closer, frustrated by too many layers as her skirts bedevilled him and those wicked buttons invited him to undo them one by one.

Knowing his patience would not cope with such a trial, his hands fell to her skirts.

Yet she too seemed to feel the same irritation as her hands finally released their death grip on his coat and slid down his chest, only to yank at his shirt.

She wrenched it free of his waistband and Pip groaned with pleasure as her cool hands slid over his hot skin, making him shiver with delight.

Their kisses grew increasingly fervent as he tugged at her skirts, his hands encircling her ankles and sliding up her calves, up behind her knees.

His grip firmed as he tugged her forward to the edge of the chair, pushing up her skirts whilst never breaking the kiss.

She had one hand beneath his shirt, sliding over his chest as the other tangled in his hair, holding his head as if she feared he might break the kiss, foolish girl.

As if he could. He was in the grip of a madness so all-consuming he could think of nothing but this moment, and every delectable moment still to come.

Thank God she had been married before and was an experienced woman.

At least he need not worry about ruining an innocent or he might just lose his mind.

For a moment he wondered at her clumsy kisses but pushed the concern away.

Many men could not be bothered with kisses, wanting only to satisfy their basest desires, or sometimes simply to get a child on their wife, reserving anything resembling affection for their mistresses.

She had implied several times that her marriage had been an unhappy one, and if her fool of a husband had not had the decency to explore all aspects of pleasure with his wife, that was his loss.

Pip was not about follow his example. Besides, she was a quick learner, and her fiery passion stole his breath, never mind any lingering shred of reason.

So he did not think of what might happen once they had sated their need, as his palms slid up her satiny thighs, devouring her gasp of surprise as his fingers brushed against the soft triangle of curls.

Sliding his hand closer to his goal and touching that most hidden part of her, his heart soared as her hips jerked upwards, a soft cry torn from her mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered against her mouth. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He touched her again, careful and caressing as she broke the kiss, her eyes flying open to gaze at him in wonder.

In that moment, he realised that her eyes, usually obscured by those wretched glasses, were beautiful.

A delicate hazel, they were flecked with emerald and gold, and she stared at him with such trust and such dazed wanting, that his chest seemed to expand with sheer joy.

He had always been a generous lover, enjoying giving his time, finding as much gratification in his partner’s satisfaction as in his own.

Yet, watching her face as each touch resonated through her body was somehow different and far more profound.

Indeed, he believed it to be the single most erotic and memorable moment he could ever remember in a life that was not unencumbered by romantic adventures.

Stern Mrs Harris, coming apart in his arms with such wanton abandon, would live in his memory until his dying breath.

“Oh,” she gasped, her eyes widening, something like fear flickering there as he sensed the moment the climax would take her.

Lord, but her husband must have been an ignorant brute, for she clearly did not know what was happening to her, what the touching and pleasuring led to if a man had a whit of sense or the decency to care for his partner.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I’ve got you. I won’t let go. Trust me.”