One Night with a Rake (Regency Rakes) by Connie Mason, Mia Marlowe Page B

silent invitation. He slipped in his tongue for a leisurely exploration of her mouth.
    The little minx sucked it.
    Then she made a soft, needy noise that went straight to his groin. He ached to hear her make that sound again, to make her beg before he gave her ease.
    When he pressed himself against her, she rocked against him a little.
    Sweet Jezebel!
    How could she rail against sin and then indulge in it with so little encouragement? This was one virgin who would take to his decadent bed games with enthusiasm.
    She nipped his bottom lip and the shock of it made his rock-hard cock pulse once. He drew back in surprise.
    “Where did you learn that?”
    Her eyes flared wide. “Did I do it wrong?”
    “No, you did it very right.” He kissed his way along her jawline and she tipped up her chin to give him easier access to her neck. He narrowly resisted giving her a love bite on that tender skin. “But where did you learn how to do it?”
    “I read about it.”
    “Really. Where?”
    “Well, I told you I was teaching Mercy to read and…” She seemed distracted by his mouth and stopped speaking long enough to kiss him again, long and deeply, as if she couldn’t help herself. When she came up for air, she continued as if her sentence had only suffered an elongated comma. “And she was bored by Mother’s books on horticulture and couldn’t concentrate, so I asked my friend, Lady Constance Shipley, for something that might be more to Mercy’s tastes.”
    “What books would those be?”
    Georgette’s cheeks pinked to the color of cherry blossoms. “Just one book, actually. It’s not a book so much as a journal, you see. It’s the memoirs of a courtesan. I thought Mme. Charpentier was exaggerating when she explained that a kiss serves the same function as an appetizer.”
    Nate laughed. “In the feast of love, that’s exactly what it is.” Georgette’s kisses had certainly made him hungry for more. “What else does this Mme. Charpentier have to say?”
    She swallowed hard. “I…I don’t want to talk about it.”
    Suddenly Georgette ducked under his arm and escaped from the corner. She put a hand to her hair and smoothed back a light brown lock that had escaped the loose bun at her nape, studiously avoiding looking at him.
    “So.” She cleared her throat noisily. “What do you intend to do with the brothel you’ve acquired?”
    Just like that, she’d turned from a delightful wanton back into the crusading prig. Before he could answer, the library door swung open and the Yorkingham steward, Mr. Humphrey, stood framed in the opening. With his sagging jowls and perpetually sad eyes, Humphrey reminded Nate of a blooded hound who’d run his quarry to ground.
    “Lady Georgette, Lord Winthrop has come calling again and is awaiting your pleasure in the parlor,” Mr. Humphrey said. “Your lady mother is there already and is expecting you forthwith. Shall I send for tea?”
    “Yes, do,” Georgette said. Then she turned to Nate. “Forgive me, Lord Nathaniel, but I’m certain you understand. One doesn’t make the royal duke’s emissary wait.”
    Without a pause for his reply, she scurried from the room, a becoming cherry pink flush on her cheeks and the scent of violets in her wake.
    “Will you be wanting tea here in the library as well, my lord?” Humphrey said, a pointed reminder that Nate was not invited to take his refreshments in the parlor with Lord Winthrop, Lady Yorkingham, and the daughter of the house.
    “No, Humphrey, no tea. But I wouldn’t say no to whatever sort of whisky you might have.”
    The steward raised his brows but refrained from comment as he went to do Nate’s bidding.
    Let Humphrey think what he will.
    Georgette had just kissed him with all the flair and thoroughness of an accomplished courtesan. Then she skittered away like a green girl. It would take more than a couple fingers of spirits to untangle the puzzle of this unexpectedly complicated miss.
    ***
    “Thank you, dear