A Wicked Lord at the Wedding by Jillian Hunter

was going to have to rescue you.”
    Sebastien snorted. The day Will Prescott rescued anybody would be one for the history books. The young actor was as thin as a twig and half as intimidating, with barely a stubble of beard to prove his manhood. He quailed at the sight of fake blood on stage. He’d had nightmares since childhood. But he was Eleanor’s family and constant companion. Sebastien felt a reluctant fondness for him even if he suspected that she was the one who took care of Will, despite his claims to the contrary.
    He climbed the steps after Eleanor and closed the door.
    The carriage trundled off at a neat pace before either of them had a chance to sit.
    Eleanor removed her cap, her dark red hair tumbling free. Sebastien smiled to himself as she dropped back against the seat and began tugging impatiently at her trousers. He wondered how long it would take her to realize she was trapped. And that he was willing to help her if she would only ask.
    “I recovered the letter as promised,” he said, pretending not to notice her predicament until her indignant gasps grew too loud to ignore. “Is anything wrong?” he asked.
    “You closed my tail in the door!”
    “I didn’t—” He glanced down, grinning slowly. “Did I?”
    She collapsed to the floor of the coach, flinging hima look. “Are you going to sit there with that awful smirk while I struggle to get it free?”
    “You only have to ask if you require my help.”
    “I thought I was asking.”
    “It’s an honor,” he said, leaning over her. “After all, how many times is a husband asked to extricate his wife’s—well, it’s probably better not described.”
    “No.” She swallowed as he bent his head to hers. “It’s better untrapped. This is very uncomfortable.”
    “I can imagine.”
    “It’s tempting to believe you did it on purpose.”
    He tutted. “Should I ever have the pleasure of trapping you, it won’t be in a carriage racing through the streets of London.”
    “I hope that isn’t a threat?” she asked softly, falling still.
    He chuckled. “When have you ever known me to resort to physical force?”
    “Sometimes I think I’ve never known you at all.”
    “I intend for that to change. Assuming that you’ll give me a chance to prove myself.”
    Her lips tightened in a beguiling smile. “I’m hardly in a position to do anything else.”
    Ah, an opening.
    Or was it wishful thinking on his part?
    Damn if it mattered in the end. A man learned to put his foot in the door and make a place for himself.
    “Sebastien,” she whispered uncertainly.
    He took a breath. Her soft mouth tempted him.He leaned closer to kiss her at the inopportune moment that Will turned the corner on two wheels.
    “Hell,” he said, and caught her under her arm, steadying her against the bouncing motion of the carriage. She started to laugh. For a moment he contented himself to hold her. Then slowly he lifted his other hand, stroking his fingers down her face, her throat. Her eyes darkened, holding his, drawing him to her.
    “Dear me,” he said quietly. “You have gotten yourself in trouble, haven’t you?”
    “I realized that on my wedding day,” she said.
    “Ah. It comes back to haunt me. I’d hoped you would forgive and forget.”
    “Sebastien, please. We can discuss our ill-fated wedding at another time.”
    He pulled off his mask and went down on one knee, running his hand from the captured appendage to the seat of her trousers.
    “I think I perceive the problem.” He patted her rump consolingly. “Your tail is attached to your costume. One clearly goes with the other.”
    “How astute of you.”
    Her champagne-scented whiskers tickled his nape for several tortuous moments, and her breasts, whose shape he would never dream of describing as Anjou pears, pressed against his shoulder. Desire for her beat through every blood vessel of his body. She was his, and yet he was afraid he had lost her.
    “What
are
you doing down there?” she