Confessions at Midnight by Jacquie D'Alessandro

trembled through her.
    He'd expected her to affect him strongly, but never, not even in one of his numerous fantasies about her, had he ever anticipated the impact of that single kiss. He'd intended to seduce her slowly. Obviously their encounter, as well as her ardent response, had caught her equally as off guard, because he knew she wasn't the sort of woman to welcome overt advances. Or a quick grope in the garden. No, that certainly wasn't the way to tempt her. Unfortunately, that's precisely what he'd done, and had accomplished nothing save frightening her off. The profound distress in her eyes when she left the terrace was a look he wouldn't soon forget.
    Daniel took a deep swallow of his now lukewarm coffee and asked himself the disturbing question that had circled through his mind the entire sleepless night.
    Did she know who she'd been with?
    Had she known
he
was the highwayman? Known that the man she'd kissed so hungrily, had responded to so passionately, was him?
    Deep, dark satisfaction filled him at the thought that she'd known, was fully aware of whose arms held her. Whose lips kissed her. The notion that she hadn't known, however, all but seared him with white hot jealousy-an ugly emotion he rarely experienced, yet its intensity left no doubt as to what it was. The only woman who'd ever inspired the feeling in him was… her. Certainly Society was filled with men who were wealthier, more handsome, luckier at the faro tables, had more lovers than he-all of which could inspire jealousy. Yet the only man he had ever truly been jealous of was Edward. And only then because of Carolyn.
    Surely she'd known it was he behind the highwayman's mask. Hadn't she? The thought of her kissing another man the way she'd kissed him… bloody hell, it made his blood boil beneath his skin to even consider it.
    Well, if she didn't know, he intended to see to it that she did. As soon as the hour was more appropriate and this damnable headache abated, he would call on her. And tell her. And allay the concerns that had caused her to flee last night. Whether she cared to admit it or not, she was clearly ripe for an affair, and he had no intention of allowing another man to claim what he wanted.
    He lowered his coffee cup and rested his aching head in his hands. Another mistake, as the image that had bedeviled him ever since she left him on that terrace slammed into his mind once again… the conclusion of their heated interlude. Her skirts inched up, her legs wrapped around his waist. His erection buried in her tight, wet heat. Slow, hard thrusts that quickened, deepened, propelling them both over the edge-
    A guttural sound rattled in his throat and he shifted in his seat to relieve the growing discomfort in his breeches. Damn it, just what he didn't need-another throbbing ache.
    "'Ere ye go, milord." The familiar male voice from directly beside him startled Daniel from his erotic brown study. Samuel, impeccably turned out in his footman's livery, set a tall glass on the mahogany table in front of him. "Nothin' worse than the mornin' after a night spent swillin' blue ruin."
    Daniel cast a suspicious eye toward the mud-colored concoction in the glass. "It was brandy, not gin."
    "Whichever hogwash ye drank, this'll set ye back to rights."
    Daniel frowned at the strapping young man. "Hardly hogwash. This particular brandy was over one hundred years old."
    "Still made yer head hurt," Samuel said in his matter-of-fact way that surely should have irked Daniel. He pointed a white-gloved hand at the glass. "Drink," he ordered, as if he were the lord of the house and Daniel the footman. "The sooner ye do so, the sooner ye'll feel better and pinken up. 'Tis a bit pasty yer lookin', milord." At Daniel's scowl, Samuel quickly added, "Beggin' yer pardon for sayin' so."
    Bloody hell, he absolutely needed to do something about Samuel's penchant for speaking out of turn. "You should beg my pardon," Daniel grumbled. "You're far too cheeky for your own