around a corner. “I really thought even you would have more decorum than to fornicate with the door wide open for all the world to watch—”
“Listen to me,” he commanded, stopping short and squeezing her arm. “I was not fornicating with that woman, and don’t you dare go telling people I was.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured, lowering her eyes demurely. “That would be wrong. I could only, in good conscience, repeat what I saw with my own eyes.” She gave him an outrageously saucy look through her eyelashes. “I daresay Lady Elliot wouldn’t mind.”
Tristan tried not to curse out loud. How did this woman always manage to get him on the defensive? “I was waiting for you,” he said to throw her off.
Her head came up sharply. “For me? You, sir, are completely barmy if you expect me to lie down on the chaise and show you my—”
“Hardly,” said Tristan, trying not to think about it. He didn’t want to see under the Fury’s skirts, nor imagine her gleaming eyes gone soft with desire, and he really didn’t want to wonder how her penchant for unpredictability would show itself in bed. “I have something of yours and wanted to return it.”
She gave him a look arch with disbelief. “Indeed. What is it?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“I can’t think of anything you might have that I would want.”
He leaned closer, relishing how her coffee-colored eyes widened, the golden striations seeming to glow. “Nothing? Are you certain, Miss Bennet?”
Some of her condescension faded. “Yes, quite certain,” she said, not sounding very certain at all.
“Interesting,” he murmured. Her blush was a dusky rose, not bright pink at all.
Suddenly she flinched, and the blush faded. “You must excuse me, sir,” she said quickly. “I must go.”
Oh, no. He wasn’t letting her go that easily. “Why the hurry?” He’d only come to this damn ball to see her. “Don’t you want it?”
“Not now,” she whispered, looking nervous. “You may keep it.” She tried to duck around him and back into the corridor that led to the ballroom.
He put his hand on the wall, blocking her escape without thinking. “Not so quickly. I have a few things to say to you—”
“My mother is coming!” she hissed. “Let me pass!”
Indeed. The only thing Tristan clearly remembered about Lady Bennet was the frigid glare she had given him ever since the one school holiday he’d been invited home with Bennet. He’d been only twelve, but clever enough to see that he wouldn’t be invited back. It had struck him as a bit unfair; most of the escapades that earned her enmity had been her own son’s idea, but he doubted a mother would turn her son out when there was a much easier focus of blame. More than once in the years since, Bennet had remarked in passing conversation that his mother still didn’t approve of Tristan. He hardly cared, but now . . .
“Are you afraid?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement as Miss Bennet tried to shove past his arm.
“Yes!” And she did look it.
He ought to let her go, just raise his arm and allow her to slip past him. Instead he turned the knob of the door beside him and pushed her through it, following hard on her heels and easing the door closed behind him just as a pair of older ladies went past the broader corridor. “Then you should hide.”
He could barely see the pale shape of her arm before she slapped his shoulder. “Why did you do that?” Her whisper seethed with shock. “Are you a complete idiot?”
“I see. You are completely unafraid of defying propriety by invading your brother’s bedchamber, or by slipping off to a slightly disreputable bookseller, but the approach of your own blessed mother strikes fear in your heart.”
“And it would in yours as well, if you had any brains in your head,” she snapped. “What do you want, Lord Burke? Your charm has only grown smaller since our last encounter.”
“No doubt. But I have something of
“Listen to me,” he commanded, stopping short and squeezing her arm. “I was not fornicating with that woman, and don’t you dare go telling people I was.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured, lowering her eyes demurely. “That would be wrong. I could only, in good conscience, repeat what I saw with my own eyes.” She gave him an outrageously saucy look through her eyelashes. “I daresay Lady Elliot wouldn’t mind.”
Tristan tried not to curse out loud. How did this woman always manage to get him on the defensive? “I was waiting for you,” he said to throw her off.
Her head came up sharply. “For me? You, sir, are completely barmy if you expect me to lie down on the chaise and show you my—”
“Hardly,” said Tristan, trying not to think about it. He didn’t want to see under the Fury’s skirts, nor imagine her gleaming eyes gone soft with desire, and he really didn’t want to wonder how her penchant for unpredictability would show itself in bed. “I have something of yours and wanted to return it.”
She gave him a look arch with disbelief. “Indeed. What is it?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“I can’t think of anything you might have that I would want.”
He leaned closer, relishing how her coffee-colored eyes widened, the golden striations seeming to glow. “Nothing? Are you certain, Miss Bennet?”
Some of her condescension faded. “Yes, quite certain,” she said, not sounding very certain at all.
“Interesting,” he murmured. Her blush was a dusky rose, not bright pink at all.
Suddenly she flinched, and the blush faded. “You must excuse me, sir,” she said quickly. “I must go.”
Oh, no. He wasn’t letting her go that easily. “Why the hurry?” He’d only come to this damn ball to see her. “Don’t you want it?”
“Not now,” she whispered, looking nervous. “You may keep it.” She tried to duck around him and back into the corridor that led to the ballroom.
He put his hand on the wall, blocking her escape without thinking. “Not so quickly. I have a few things to say to you—”
“My mother is coming!” she hissed. “Let me pass!”
Indeed. The only thing Tristan clearly remembered about Lady Bennet was the frigid glare she had given him ever since the one school holiday he’d been invited home with Bennet. He’d been only twelve, but clever enough to see that he wouldn’t be invited back. It had struck him as a bit unfair; most of the escapades that earned her enmity had been her own son’s idea, but he doubted a mother would turn her son out when there was a much easier focus of blame. More than once in the years since, Bennet had remarked in passing conversation that his mother still didn’t approve of Tristan. He hardly cared, but now . . .
“Are you afraid?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement as Miss Bennet tried to shove past his arm.
“Yes!” And she did look it.
He ought to let her go, just raise his arm and allow her to slip past him. Instead he turned the knob of the door beside him and pushed her through it, following hard on her heels and easing the door closed behind him just as a pair of older ladies went past the broader corridor. “Then you should hide.”
He could barely see the pale shape of her arm before she slapped his shoulder. “Why did you do that?” Her whisper seethed with shock. “Are you a complete idiot?”
“I see. You are completely unafraid of defying propriety by invading your brother’s bedchamber, or by slipping off to a slightly disreputable bookseller, but the approach of your own blessed mother strikes fear in your heart.”
“And it would in yours as well, if you had any brains in your head,” she snapped. “What do you want, Lord Burke? Your charm has only grown smaller since our last encounter.”
“No doubt. But I have something of
Similar Books
