One Night with an Earl by Jennifer Haymore

knitted together over his mask. “I’m not going to allow Madam Lussier or anyone to coerce you into doing something you don’t wish to. If you wish to remain anonymous, then you will.”
    The possessive, protective way he said that made her shudder with desire.
    â€œThat is…very kind,” she managed.
    â€œIt’s not kindness.” John was silent for a moment as he stared at her, his eyes full of heat and promise; then he said in a low voice, “It’s taking all my control not to stop here, in the middle of Hyde Park, and kiss you senseless.”
    Beatrice felt breathless. He spoke of her becoming senseless, but it seemed to have already happened, the way her wits had scattered to the four winds. She did her best to grasp on to a few of those wits and hold them close.
    They were walking in a path that skirted along the edge of Hyde Park, along Park Lane. The gas lamps here were spaced far apart, and the areas between the lights were dark in the moonless night.
    â€œI am only Persephone on the outside,” she said in an attempt to be sensible. “What is underneath may not be so appealing to you.”
    He made a low scoffing noise. “I’ve no doubt that whatever is beneath the mask is even more appealing than Persephone.”
    â€œCome now, sir,” she teased. “More appealing than a Greek goddess? That is unreasonable.”
    â€œNot at all. I’ve never been particularly attracted to goddesses. I much prefer women. Women who…” He stopped, frowning.
    â€œWomen who what?” she asked.
    He shook his head slightly. “It’s simply that I have very particular criteria in the women I admire. And you meet them. And the way you meet them—it has nothing to do with Persephone.”
    â€œWhat, then?”
    A smile played at the edges of his lips. “You require examples?”
    â€œI do,” she said quietly. She was feeling very brash, but she was no longer certain it had much to do with the mask she wore. Perhaps it had more to do with the man standing beside her.
    â€œVery well, then. It has to do with the way you hold yourself. There’s an innocence to it that I find very appealing.”
    She made a low noise of disbelief. “That is the second time you’ve referred to my innocence. I must tell you, I’m no innocent.”
    â€œI am not speaking of innocence in the way you’re probably thinking. It’s a quietness in your bearing. A gentleness that is seldom seen among females of the ton . I felt it as soon as…as soon as I found you on the terrace.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I am part of the ton ?”
    He waved that away. “Of course you are.”
    How could he possibly know…?
    He continued. “Your appeal has to do with the tone and cadence of your voice. It is not shrill and high, but soft and comfortable. It wraps around me, sensitizes my skin, makes me feel alive .”
    â€œMy voice does that to you?” she whispered, almost too afraid to speak aloud.
    â€œIt does,” he said. “But there’s more to it than tone and cadence. I feel myself bewitched by everything you have to say. You are fascinating, intriguing, captivating.”
    She couldn’t hold his gaze. “I am not.” She felt oddly as if he were speaking of someone else, like she couldn’t possibly hear anyone using such words in describing her.
    He stopped again, reaching up to cup her cheeks beneath the mask in both his hands. “You are, my lady. You are .”
    She would have shaken her head in denial, but he held her cheeks firmly in place. He rubbed his thumb over one cheek.
    â€œAnd your skin. It is so soft. Your lips are soft, too. Sweet and plump. You have the perfect woman’s body, with curves in all the right places. You are feminine and lovely.” His voice had grown husky. “And I’m going to kiss you right now.”
    As she sucked in a