Reckless Viscount by Amy Sandas

stomach.
    “I’d love to find a reason to deny you, but you make a fair request.”
    His arms dropped away from her and he stepped back and to the side. With her pulse no longer thudding in her ears, she could hear the muted hum and laughter from the party that continued in their absence. Her eyes had become somewhat accustomed to the inky darkness and she was able to see the shadowed outline of his broad-shouldered form as he leaned back against the door that separated them from the ball.
    “I said I would talk to you. You don’t need to block the door.”
    “Just a little insurance,” he drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. She wished she could see his eyes, or some detail of his expression to tell her what he may be thinking.
    “For all your presentation as a devil-may-care rogue, you can be quite ruthless, can’t you?”
    “When it comes to something I want.”
    His voice was low when he answered. The tones were filled with dark hints of intimacy that curled around Abbigael’s heightened senses, making her feel as disconcerted as when he had held her against him.
    “What do you want from me?” she asked without thinking. As soon as the words were spoken she realized the danger in her question. There was only one thing that came to mind for what a man like Lord Riley might want. And she suspected he was very good at getting it.
    “I’m curious about you.”
    “Why?” Her voice grew more insistent in her growing impatience. When his only reply was a careless shrug, she continued a bit caustically. “Interesting how you are willing to risk my reputation to assuage your curiosity.”
    His voice was low and soothing. “As I said, I know well how to be discreet.”
    “Then why would Lady Blackbourne be concerned by our association? Somehow, your character has gained a wicked repute.”
    “I said I was discreet. I can’t help it if former companions choose to sing my praises.”
    “Sing praises or cry warnings?”
    His chuckle was deep and rich. “Only an innocent would differentiate between the two.”
    Abbigael had not considered her lack of social experience as such a distinct short-coming until just that moment. She wished she had had more opportunities to practice flirtation. Then maybe she could have responded to his comment with some clever quip to put him in his place, or at the very least give the impression she was not so green as he seemed to believe.
    She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as unease settled around her shoulders. This man, for all of his careless banter, was not one to be taken lightly.
    “For the moment,” he added when the silence began to stretch too long, “I am simply curious about you.”
    It was the for-the-moment part that worried her.
    “That isn’t exactly reassuring.”
    “It wasn’t meant to be.”
    The timbre of his voice had deepened yet again. The sound curled like the gentle unfurling of heat from a fireplace, causing the surface of her skin to react with delicate awareness.
    “I wonder,” he began again softly, “how long it would take for me to prove you are not the docile and tame little creature you try to be.”
    She stiffened. A flash of panic skittered across her nerves.
    As if sensing her discomfort, he clarified. “I wouldn’t expose you to the world.”
    Relief released her held breath.
    “Just to myself.”
    And panic flashed again. With just a few provocative statements, the man had her spinning. Of course, it couldn’t have been on purpose. It wasn’t possible he could know how carefully she fought to maintain a steady appearance of calm tranquility.
    “You don’t trust me, do you, Irish?”
    Abbigael looked at him in the tenebrous light, wishing again it were not so dark she couldn’t see even the barest features of his expression.
    “I don’t think I should answer that.”
    He laughed then and the sound was rich and low, causing another wave of heat when she already felt overly