Sins of a Virgin by Anna Randol

to quell Madeline’s chatter as the coach jolted toward her evening entertainment. He suspected she took some unholy glee in trying to provoke a response from him. And the less he looked at her in that accursedly tempting dress, the better.
    “It might shock you.”
    “So you said. What precisely will astound me so?”
    One delicate shoulder lifted, threatening the tenuous hold her sleeve had on the pale curve of her upper arm.
    He held his breath, unsure whether it was with dread or anticipation.
    “You don’t strike me as a man given to carnal pleasure.”
    Hell, how was he supposed to respond to that? Argue that he loved a good swiv as much as the next man? That if he gave in to his baser instincts, he’d pull her on top of him right now and pleasure her with all sorts of carnality?
    Gabriel exhaled. In some regards, she was right. He’d seen the vile underbelly of London far too closely to make use of the loose women he often dealt with. He’d seen what had driven them into that life, and no matter how randy he was, the idea of making love to a woman who’d been forced into that sort of profession held no appeal.
    Neither did he want to bring some bride into the ugliness that was his life. Susan was the one who wanted to marry and make a passel of little children. She’d even picked out names for her future little ones, knitted bonnets and booties, for pity’s sake.
    Not that he was a saint. He’d enjoyed the occasional relationship with a well-off widow, as long as it was purely for mutual physical satisfaction.
    The carriage drew to a halt outside Chatham House.
    Madeline placed a hand on his knee when he would have exited. “Just so we are clear, you’re not here as my chaperone. I don’t need your interference.”
    “What are my orders then?” he asked, ignoring the hand massaging his knee.
    “You are to glower occasionally and follow me about.”
    “So I’m to be your lapdog?”
    “Do you want to be in my lap?” She grinned at the dread he felt imprinted on his face. “No, unlike a dog, I will not have you on a leash. You’re free to pursue any of the lovelies you meet. Actually, I recommend it.” Her hand inched slowly up his thigh. “We don’t want anyone to mistakenly think you might want me.”
    He clamped her devilishly distracting hand in his own and removed it from his person. “Hardly likely.”
    She tugged free and climbed from the carriage, assisted by a groom. “I don’t intend to stay long.”
    “Good.”
    She tilted her head and glanced at him over her shoulder. “You might find you’ll enjoy yourself if you allow it.”
    Not bloody likely. Being crammed into a too-small space with a bunch of gentlemen with no concerns other than whom they’d next bed was not his idea of fun. But it was another chance to investigate his suspects. He jumped from the coach and followed her through the stately columned entrance.
    “Enter the ballroom a few steps behind me. I need to appear eminently attainable, yet tantalizingly out of reach.”
    “That makes no sense.” Yet as her softly rounded hips swayed as she preceded him into the ballroom, strangely it did.
    The boisterous notes of a Scottish reel pulsed around him as he entered. As at most London balls, couples cavorted around the dance floor, but here their motions were more exuberant and carefree. Fingers stayed intertwined longer than necessary and hands wandered with unconcerned abandon during promenades. Eyes rested with blatant hunger on breasts and backsides carefully displayed in dresses that had more in common with handkerchiefs than their namesakes. Emerald, violet, and sapphire advertised the bodies beneath with reckless ferocity.
    When Madeline paused, he stood next to her. A seductive smile graced her lips, but her gaze was calculating as she surveyed the crowd.
    “Find your prey?” Gabriel asked.
    She didn’t look at him, but the right side of her lips quirked higher. “No, the trick is to arrange myself so my