his return to England.
He should have knocked, but bad tempered at his need, impelled by desires he'd tried to resist all day, he invaded the women's room like a man intent on plunder.
Molly said, "Hello, Dermott," her voice remarkably calm, her gaze knowing.
And the young woman who had dominated his thoughts since the night before whispered, "Oh, no!" in the merest of breaths.
"Join us in some champagne," Molly invited the earl.
He looked at her as though he'd not heard, his gaze immediately swinging back to Isabella, standing in the middle of the Aubusson carpet, her eyes wide with shock. She was dressed or, more aptly, undressed in black lace over flesh-colored silk mousseline, and he restrained himself from moving forward, picking her up, and throwing her on the bed.
"Do you like the dress?" Molly asked.
He forced himself to respond. "Yes," he said. His nostrils flared as he drew in a calming breath. "Very much."
"Isabella wasn't sure it suited her."
"It does." Like sorcery suits an enchantress, he thought, not sure he cared to stay in the same room with a woman who could make him forget everything but lust.
"There, you see?" Molly smiled at Isabella and then, turning to Dermott, who'd not advanced past the threshold, she asked, "Would you like to see another gown on Isabella?"
"No." Male and female voices, instant and soft, spoke in unison.
"Very well." Molly waved the servants out and crooked a finger at Dermott. "Come in and join us." She patted a chair beside hers. "I hadn't expected you so early. Did you have good luck at Tattersall's this morning?"
The commonness of her question set the tone, and Dermott brought his errant senses to heel. "Very good luck," he replied, moving toward her. "I found two yearlings with promise and Harkin's roan was on the block."
"So you helped ease Harkin's gambling debts?"
"I may have paid them off," the earl noted, taking the chair beside Molly and sliding into a sprawl. "That roan is a damned fine racer."
"Do join us, Isabella." Molly pushed a delicate fauteuil forward.
There was no way to refuse and not look like a child, so Isabella tamped her feverish emotions with supreme effort and walked across the pale carpet.
He watched her from under his lashes.
Skittishly aware of his gaze, Isabella approached them with a wildly beating heart and pinked cheeks.
She fairly glowed, the provocative juxtaposition of trembling innocence and flamboyant sensuality intense, her ripe body displayed in all its splendor beneath the sheer black lace, her downcast gaze chaste as a virgin's.
Which thought momentarily disconcerted him, but anyone with a body like Venus herself couldn't be completely chaste, he decided. As if reason were a requirement with the state of his erection. He shifted marginally to ease the tightness of his trousers.
His movement, however slight, drew Isabella's gaze, and her breath caught in her throat. He was blatantly aroused, the black knit fabric of his trousers tightly stretched. And for the first time in her life, she felt a heated shimmer deep within the core of her body, the feeling so exquisite, she came to a halt.
He smiled as if he understood.
She smiled back because she couldn't stop herself.
And Molly thought it best to slow the pace. She wished her young guest to acquire some of the expertise necessary to entice more than Dermott's fleeting lust. "You must tell Dermott of your cartography society," Molly declared. "Miss Leslie owns an uncommon library of rare maps," she added, turning to Dermott. "Pour us all some champagne, and you can compare your visions of the world."
His vision at the moment had to do with a finite view of the paradise between Miss Leslie's legs, but he could see that Molly was intent on putting pause to their heated encounter, and no one ever bested Molly in a confrontation. "Really?" he said, reaching for the bottle in the bucket of ice. "Not the library in Grosvenor Square?"
"You know of it?" A new concentration
He should have knocked, but bad tempered at his need, impelled by desires he'd tried to resist all day, he invaded the women's room like a man intent on plunder.
Molly said, "Hello, Dermott," her voice remarkably calm, her gaze knowing.
And the young woman who had dominated his thoughts since the night before whispered, "Oh, no!" in the merest of breaths.
"Join us in some champagne," Molly invited the earl.
He looked at her as though he'd not heard, his gaze immediately swinging back to Isabella, standing in the middle of the Aubusson carpet, her eyes wide with shock. She was dressed or, more aptly, undressed in black lace over flesh-colored silk mousseline, and he restrained himself from moving forward, picking her up, and throwing her on the bed.
"Do you like the dress?" Molly asked.
He forced himself to respond. "Yes," he said. His nostrils flared as he drew in a calming breath. "Very much."
"Isabella wasn't sure it suited her."
"It does." Like sorcery suits an enchantress, he thought, not sure he cared to stay in the same room with a woman who could make him forget everything but lust.
"There, you see?" Molly smiled at Isabella and then, turning to Dermott, who'd not advanced past the threshold, she asked, "Would you like to see another gown on Isabella?"
"No." Male and female voices, instant and soft, spoke in unison.
"Very well." Molly waved the servants out and crooked a finger at Dermott. "Come in and join us." She patted a chair beside hers. "I hadn't expected you so early. Did you have good luck at Tattersall's this morning?"
The commonness of her question set the tone, and Dermott brought his errant senses to heel. "Very good luck," he replied, moving toward her. "I found two yearlings with promise and Harkin's roan was on the block."
"So you helped ease Harkin's gambling debts?"
"I may have paid them off," the earl noted, taking the chair beside Molly and sliding into a sprawl. "That roan is a damned fine racer."
"Do join us, Isabella." Molly pushed a delicate fauteuil forward.
There was no way to refuse and not look like a child, so Isabella tamped her feverish emotions with supreme effort and walked across the pale carpet.
He watched her from under his lashes.
Skittishly aware of his gaze, Isabella approached them with a wildly beating heart and pinked cheeks.
She fairly glowed, the provocative juxtaposition of trembling innocence and flamboyant sensuality intense, her ripe body displayed in all its splendor beneath the sheer black lace, her downcast gaze chaste as a virgin's.
Which thought momentarily disconcerted him, but anyone with a body like Venus herself couldn't be completely chaste, he decided. As if reason were a requirement with the state of his erection. He shifted marginally to ease the tightness of his trousers.
His movement, however slight, drew Isabella's gaze, and her breath caught in her throat. He was blatantly aroused, the black knit fabric of his trousers tightly stretched. And for the first time in her life, she felt a heated shimmer deep within the core of her body, the feeling so exquisite, she came to a halt.
He smiled as if he understood.
She smiled back because she couldn't stop herself.
And Molly thought it best to slow the pace. She wished her young guest to acquire some of the expertise necessary to entice more than Dermott's fleeting lust. "You must tell Dermott of your cartography society," Molly declared. "Miss Leslie owns an uncommon library of rare maps," she added, turning to Dermott. "Pour us all some champagne, and you can compare your visions of the world."
His vision at the moment had to do with a finite view of the paradise between Miss Leslie's legs, but he could see that Molly was intent on putting pause to their heated encounter, and no one ever bested Molly in a confrontation. "Really?" he said, reaching for the bottle in the bucket of ice. "Not the library in Grosvenor Square?"
"You know of it?" A new concentration
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