Never Tempt a Rogue: A Rogues' Rulebook Novella by Christy Carlyle Page A
Authors: Christy Carlyle
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I’m a rotter?” Lord Lindsay whispered as he stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek.
“I think you might be the devil himself.” Stepping away from him was difficult. Not physically. She retreated, and he released her immediately. But leaving his embrace meant losing his heat, and giving up the pleasure of his nearness. “I have to get back to my cousin.”
She’d almost made a clean escape, getting so far as grasping the handle of the French doors, before he spoke.
“Are we to go back to pretending?”
“Pretending?” Felicity dared not look back at him. If she gazed into his eyes, all the regret-induced good sense that had nearly taken her into the ballroom would be swept away.
“That I have an interest in any other woman in that room, and that you have no desires in life beyond serving as chaperone to your cousin.”
“Yes.” Felicity pressed a hand to her middle where her corset pushed, where her chest felt empty and hollow. She’d been pretending for four years. Feigning propriety, guarding the secret of her heartbreak.
He stepped toward her, standing just at her back. Close, far too close. She feared he’d touch her. Almost as much as she wanted him to.
“And our kiss, Felicity? Should we pretend that never happened too?”
“Yes.” One look back and she wished for nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms again. To allow him to do more than kiss her. But, like him, she no longer put much faith in wishes. After all, she wasn’t one of those glowing debutantes in the ballroom, with blue blood in her veins and her whole life ahead of her.
And he wasn’t a man who kept his promises.
“Let’s keep our distance from each other for the remainder of the party, Lord Lindsay.” She nodded to seal her declaration and one of the little rosebuds she’d pinned in her hair tumbled onto the terrace before she could catch it.
Somehow, Felicity forced her legs into motion and reentered the ballroom. In time, she’d force herself to forget their kiss too.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. Perhaps she’d keep this memory tucked away, secret and precious. If she finally accepted her fate as an old maid, Alexander’s might be the last passionate kiss she ever received.
CHAPTER SIX
Apparently when Felicity requested that they keep their distance from one another, what she truly meant was that she intended to avoid him for the remainder of the house party.
What Alex expected by distance was that she’d sit at the opposite end of the table from him at dinner or on the far edge of the blanket at one of his aunt’s interminable picnic luncheons. But Miss Beckett was absent when he was dragged into a game of croquet with several gentlemen and young ladies, including Miss Huntingdon. So too did she manage to avoid a deadly boring game of charades. Over the course of two days, she’d either skipped her morning meal or been able to enter and exit the breakfast room without him catching sight of her. And she’d begged off dinner too, preferring to take a tray in her room.
His aunt seemed more than happy to take over the duty of chaperoning Miss Huntingdon. She was forever whispering in the girl’s ear. After which Amelia would either straighten her back or fuss with her hair or hold her chin at an odd angle. Aunt Georgianna helped the girl fill her dance card too, reserving the best partners for her own daughter, and always managing to find a spot for Alex on the young lady’s list.
He suspected Miss Huntingdon missed Felicity’s presence as much as he did.
And he did miss her. Noted her absence with an intense hollow ache in his chest, as if some piece of him was missing. Odd that, to so keenly feel the absence of a woman he’d known for only a few days, had spoken to for perhaps an hour in the space of a week, if one assembled all the minutes. Yet those minutes mattered more to him than the thousands of others he’d wasted each week of his life. For two days, he’d been turning
“I think you might be the devil himself.” Stepping away from him was difficult. Not physically. She retreated, and he released her immediately. But leaving his embrace meant losing his heat, and giving up the pleasure of his nearness. “I have to get back to my cousin.”
She’d almost made a clean escape, getting so far as grasping the handle of the French doors, before he spoke.
“Are we to go back to pretending?”
“Pretending?” Felicity dared not look back at him. If she gazed into his eyes, all the regret-induced good sense that had nearly taken her into the ballroom would be swept away.
“That I have an interest in any other woman in that room, and that you have no desires in life beyond serving as chaperone to your cousin.”
“Yes.” Felicity pressed a hand to her middle where her corset pushed, where her chest felt empty and hollow. She’d been pretending for four years. Feigning propriety, guarding the secret of her heartbreak.
He stepped toward her, standing just at her back. Close, far too close. She feared he’d touch her. Almost as much as she wanted him to.
“And our kiss, Felicity? Should we pretend that never happened too?”
“Yes.” One look back and she wished for nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms again. To allow him to do more than kiss her. But, like him, she no longer put much faith in wishes. After all, she wasn’t one of those glowing debutantes in the ballroom, with blue blood in her veins and her whole life ahead of her.
And he wasn’t a man who kept his promises.
“Let’s keep our distance from each other for the remainder of the party, Lord Lindsay.” She nodded to seal her declaration and one of the little rosebuds she’d pinned in her hair tumbled onto the terrace before she could catch it.
Somehow, Felicity forced her legs into motion and reentered the ballroom. In time, she’d force herself to forget their kiss too.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t. Perhaps she’d keep this memory tucked away, secret and precious. If she finally accepted her fate as an old maid, Alexander’s might be the last passionate kiss she ever received.
CHAPTER SIX
Apparently when Felicity requested that they keep their distance from one another, what she truly meant was that she intended to avoid him for the remainder of the house party.
What Alex expected by distance was that she’d sit at the opposite end of the table from him at dinner or on the far edge of the blanket at one of his aunt’s interminable picnic luncheons. But Miss Beckett was absent when he was dragged into a game of croquet with several gentlemen and young ladies, including Miss Huntingdon. So too did she manage to avoid a deadly boring game of charades. Over the course of two days, she’d either skipped her morning meal or been able to enter and exit the breakfast room without him catching sight of her. And she’d begged off dinner too, preferring to take a tray in her room.
His aunt seemed more than happy to take over the duty of chaperoning Miss Huntingdon. She was forever whispering in the girl’s ear. After which Amelia would either straighten her back or fuss with her hair or hold her chin at an odd angle. Aunt Georgianna helped the girl fill her dance card too, reserving the best partners for her own daughter, and always managing to find a spot for Alex on the young lady’s list.
He suspected Miss Huntingdon missed Felicity’s presence as much as he did.
And he did miss her. Noted her absence with an intense hollow ache in his chest, as if some piece of him was missing. Odd that, to so keenly feel the absence of a woman he’d known for only a few days, had spoken to for perhaps an hour in the space of a week, if one assembled all the minutes. Yet those minutes mattered more to him than the thousands of others he’d wasted each week of his life. For two days, he’d been turning
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