One Night of Scandal by Nicola Cornick Page A

time you wish!’
    Deb recovered herself. ‘No, thank you, my lord,’ she said. ‘I suspect that that is an invitation on a par with inspecting your art collection—or your set of etchings!’ She glanced at the clock. ‘I must go back to the musicale. With good fortune there may only be a few minutes of the concert left.’
    ‘I will escort you back,’ Richard said easily. He swallowed the remains of his brandy and got to his feet, holding the door open for her.
    The hall was deserted and in shadow. A line of light showed beneath the music-room door and from behind its panels rose the squeaky arpeggios of Miss La Salle torturing a Bach cantata. Both Deb and Richard winced.
    Richard put his hand on her arm. ‘A moment,’ he said. ‘I do not think that we wish to go back in there.’
    ‘Well, we cannot continue our conversation out here,’ Deb pointed out.
    ‘It was not conversation that I intended to pursue,’ Richard said. He turned her gently, inexorably to face him. Deb’s breath caught in her throat.
    ‘You said—’ Her voice failed her.
    ‘That you were safe from seduction? So you are—for the time being.’ Richard’s hand came up to brush the line of her jaw with a gentle touch. His face was dark and severe in the shadowed dimness of the hall and she could not read his expression. Her nerves skittered in anticipation, but she did not draw away.
    She did not know why she could not resist him. Perhaps it was because of that moment when he had been speaking of his lost naval career and she had looked into his eyes and seen a depth of feeling far more intense than she would everhave expected—and a loneliness that had undermined her defences. It was not that she felt sorry for him, but more that she had been taken off guard. She had glimpsed the private demons of isolation and lack of purpose that tormented Richard Kestrel, and it had given her an entirely new perspective. Oddly, it made her feel vulnerable to him.
    She felt his arms go about her, felt his lips on hers. The kiss was brief and fierce and spellbinding. The candlelight seemed to swoop dizzily about her. She felt dazed and star struck, as though she had taken too much wine. A cool shiver ran along her nerves as his tongue touched hers, a featherlight touch. The kiss deepened then and became hungry and demanding, stripping her of her ability to think. This was not like the embrace in the beech wood. That had been sweet and had made her quite light-headed, but it had felt strangely unfinished. This time he held her close and his lips claimed hers with a mastery and a need that she felt powerless to resist. It shook her to the core. It threatened to steal her soul.
    With a gasp she pulled herself out of his embrace and put several hasty steps between them. Richard made no move to pull her back into his arms and his face was expressionless, though she saw a muscle move in his cheek. He did not apologise and merely gave her back look for very straight look. In the faint light she saw the blaze in his eyes, hot and hard, and drew her breath in with a short, nervous gasp.
    Deb fought for self-control. Her heart was beating wildly but it was not a fear of Richard Kestrel that terrified her, but the need to confront her own feelings. She had never, ever felt the depth of emotion that Richard’s touch had stirred in her. She was not sure she liked it. She certainly could not answer the questions that the kiss had posed.
    The door of the music room opened and a pool of lightspilled out into the hall. Olivia, Ross and a number of their visitors came streaming through the doors.
    ‘I must find some brandy for our guests,’ Deb heard Ross murmur to his wife. ‘After such torment they require sustenance as quickly as possible.’
    Olivia caught sight of her sister and hurried across the floor.
    ‘There you are!’ she said, coming over to Deb’s side. ‘Whatever happened to you? I thought that you had gone to find Ross and then you disappear for a