a female voice behind him. “I never thought to see you down on bended knee.”
“It’s not for the reason you wished,” he said without looking around. “What sort of lamp is this?”
“How on earth would I know?” With a tipsy hiccup she strolled into the room.
Tristan barely glanced at her. Lady Elliot had been his lover for a few impassioned weeks last fall, before she unwisely told him she wanted marriage. Since they’d been engaged in vigorous amorous activity at the time, almost at the crucial moment, he considered it a low form of coercion. You won’t get it from me, he’d told her before pulling away from her clinging limbs and walking out of her bedroom without looking back, even when she screamed at him to give her a climax at the very least.
“You’re right,” he said absently. “I was foolish to ask you, of all people.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” She walked her fingers over his collar and combed them through his hair. “I do know some things, you might remember.”
Carefully Tristan slid the glass chimney off the lamp, wincing as the hot glass seared his fingers. He blew out the flame and picked up the lamp, studying it from all sides. “I remember you thought very highly of your charms.”
“So did you,” she whispered in a playful tone. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten? I could show you again . . . tonight . . .”
“I have other plans.” There was some sort of clockwork device in the base of the lamp, with a key protruding from the back. He gave it a gentle turn, watching how it affected the mechanism. How clever; he’d have to ask Lord Malcolm what sort of lamp this was and where he could obtain some for his own house.
“Change them. I’ve missed you, Burke . . . Let me apologize for my ill-considered parting.”
He glanced up. She had leaned over, putting her very impressive bosom, in its very low-cut bodice, right at his eye level. “Jessica, it’s no good. I won’t marry you, so find another man to grace with your favors.”
She pouted, still playing with his hair. He jerked his head to one side as she plucked at the leather thong that held it back out of his face. Lord save him from women who couldn’t handle champagne, yet drank it to excess anyway. “But I want you. I miss you. So vigorous, so untamed, so thrilling! Come, let’s have a go for old time’s sake.”
“No, thank you.” He went back to studying the lamp, only to curse vividly as her lace-trimmed pantalets fell over his head a few minutes later.
She giggled. “Come, my love. I know how you like it.” Swishing her skirt above her knees, she backed up until she collapsed onto a chaise. Now laughing out loud, she lay back and pulled up her skirt in one motion, exposing her bared legs all the way to her waist. She spread her legs wide and kicked up her feet. “I am yours to invade!”
For a moment he was transfixed. Gads, she was even bolder than he remembered. But then he shook himself. He wasn’t going to avail himself of her offer, no matter how . . . adventurous it might be.
“The door is open,” he said as he set the lamp back on the table. “You’re making a fool of yourself, Jessica—”
The gasp seemed to echo through the room. Tristan whipped around to see his nemesis in the doorway, her eyes wide and her mouth open. For a moment the air seemed as thick as treacle, with only the drunken giggling of Lady Elliot—still wiggling her feet and holding her skirts over her face—to break the deafening silence.
“Oh my,” said Miss Bennet at last, her voice trembling.
Lady Elliot lifted her head, peering over the billows of her skirt. “Alas,” she cried. “We’ve been discovered in flagrante delicto , Burke!”
“Not we,” he said, tossing the pantalets at her. “You.” With three strides he crossed the room, seized Miss Bennet by the arm, and pulled the door closed behind him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in mock despair as he towed her down the corridor and
“It’s not for the reason you wished,” he said without looking around. “What sort of lamp is this?”
“How on earth would I know?” With a tipsy hiccup she strolled into the room.
Tristan barely glanced at her. Lady Elliot had been his lover for a few impassioned weeks last fall, before she unwisely told him she wanted marriage. Since they’d been engaged in vigorous amorous activity at the time, almost at the crucial moment, he considered it a low form of coercion. You won’t get it from me, he’d told her before pulling away from her clinging limbs and walking out of her bedroom without looking back, even when she screamed at him to give her a climax at the very least.
“You’re right,” he said absently. “I was foolish to ask you, of all people.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” She walked her fingers over his collar and combed them through his hair. “I do know some things, you might remember.”
Carefully Tristan slid the glass chimney off the lamp, wincing as the hot glass seared his fingers. He blew out the flame and picked up the lamp, studying it from all sides. “I remember you thought very highly of your charms.”
“So did you,” she whispered in a playful tone. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten? I could show you again . . . tonight . . .”
“I have other plans.” There was some sort of clockwork device in the base of the lamp, with a key protruding from the back. He gave it a gentle turn, watching how it affected the mechanism. How clever; he’d have to ask Lord Malcolm what sort of lamp this was and where he could obtain some for his own house.
“Change them. I’ve missed you, Burke . . . Let me apologize for my ill-considered parting.”
He glanced up. She had leaned over, putting her very impressive bosom, in its very low-cut bodice, right at his eye level. “Jessica, it’s no good. I won’t marry you, so find another man to grace with your favors.”
She pouted, still playing with his hair. He jerked his head to one side as she plucked at the leather thong that held it back out of his face. Lord save him from women who couldn’t handle champagne, yet drank it to excess anyway. “But I want you. I miss you. So vigorous, so untamed, so thrilling! Come, let’s have a go for old time’s sake.”
“No, thank you.” He went back to studying the lamp, only to curse vividly as her lace-trimmed pantalets fell over his head a few minutes later.
She giggled. “Come, my love. I know how you like it.” Swishing her skirt above her knees, she backed up until she collapsed onto a chaise. Now laughing out loud, she lay back and pulled up her skirt in one motion, exposing her bared legs all the way to her waist. She spread her legs wide and kicked up her feet. “I am yours to invade!”
For a moment he was transfixed. Gads, she was even bolder than he remembered. But then he shook himself. He wasn’t going to avail himself of her offer, no matter how . . . adventurous it might be.
“The door is open,” he said as he set the lamp back on the table. “You’re making a fool of yourself, Jessica—”
The gasp seemed to echo through the room. Tristan whipped around to see his nemesis in the doorway, her eyes wide and her mouth open. For a moment the air seemed as thick as treacle, with only the drunken giggling of Lady Elliot—still wiggling her feet and holding her skirts over her face—to break the deafening silence.
“Oh my,” said Miss Bennet at last, her voice trembling.
Lady Elliot lifted her head, peering over the billows of her skirt. “Alas,” she cried. “We’ve been discovered in flagrante delicto , Burke!”
“Not we,” he said, tossing the pantalets at her. “You.” With three strides he crossed the room, seized Miss Bennet by the arm, and pulled the door closed behind him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in mock despair as he towed her down the corridor and
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