serious."
He shrugged. "Very well then," he said, going to a cabinet and inserting a key into its lock. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
Chapter 6
Andrew knelt, opened the door to the cabinet, and extracted the tiny, precious vial. Aware of his unfortunate tendency to misplace things, he had given most of the solution to Lucien for safekeeping, but had retained these few ounces, intending them for further study. He really did not want to waste them in a challenge with this woman.
Even if she was the only female besides his sister who'd shown an interest in his work.
Even if she was the only female who hadn't yawned her way through his laboratory-tour after going glassy-eyed with boredom.
Even if she was the only female he found he rather liked having here.
No, he didn't want to give her the potion. But on second thought, noting the aphrodisiac's effect on a human was further study in itself, was it not? The very idea aroused Andrew's scientific curiosity.
His would-be subject was still standing behind him, right where he'd left her. She did not look worried in the least. Her head was high, her eyes bright with reckless defiance. No doubt she was determined to prove him wrong. No doubt she didn't believe a word he'd said about the aphrodisiac.
No doubt they were both going to regret this.
Andrew suddenly wished he had changed into decent clothing, any clothing, and that he didn't stand before her in nothing but a blanket draped loosely around his hips. But then, maybe what had happened with the two dogs had been an accident of chance. Maybe a few days' settling had rendered the solution inert. Maybe Lady Celsiana Blake would drink the stuff and nothing would happen at all.
Maybe.
He poured some water into a glass, tapped several drops of the precious liquid into it, and handed it to her.
Her fingers closed around it. She looked up at him and for the briefest instant he saw a flicker of hesitation, maybe even nervousness, in her eyes before she quickly veiled it with a bravado he was sure she didn't feel. Then, never breaking eye contact with him, she raised the glass to him in mock toast, put it to her lips, and downed it in several quick gulps.
"There," she said, triumphantly handing the empty vessel back to him. "I've consumed it — and I feel just fine."
"I am glad to hear it."
"I feel no urge to tear that blanket from your loins. I feel no urge to ravish you. I feel —"
She paused, blinking, and put a hand to the base of her throat. Her very white, very pretty, very feminine throat. She looked up at him, her eyes widening and registering surprise; and then her hand slid slowly downward, her fingertips drifting over the hollow of her collarbone and out over the rounded swell of one snowy breast.
"— very strange," she finished, obviously unaware of where her hand had gone.
But Andrew was all too aware of where her hand had gone. He was all too aware of where her hand still remained — and what it was currently doing. He looked at her fingers skimming softly out over her breast, touching it through the lime-green silk that covered it, and now circling the nipple, which was, God help him, very aroused and clearly delineated beneath the fabric. Andrew swallowed hard. He could no more take his eyes off the slow, seductive path of her finger than he could have stopped breathing.
Though he did precisely that.
Stopped breathing.
Her lips parted. Her skin took on a rosy flush, and she gazed coyly up at him from beneath heavy lids in a way that made the back of Andrew's throat go suddenly dry. Transfixed, he watched as she licked her lips, a slow, torturous tracing of first the top, then the bottom one, leaving a glistening trail of moisture there that did funny things to his insides as her tongue did a slow circle around the perimeter of her mouth. Her fingers hooked the top of her bodice . . . slowly tugged it, and the filmy chemise
He shrugged. "Very well then," he said, going to a cabinet and inserting a key into its lock. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
Chapter 6
Andrew knelt, opened the door to the cabinet, and extracted the tiny, precious vial. Aware of his unfortunate tendency to misplace things, he had given most of the solution to Lucien for safekeeping, but had retained these few ounces, intending them for further study. He really did not want to waste them in a challenge with this woman.
Even if she was the only female besides his sister who'd shown an interest in his work.
Even if she was the only female who hadn't yawned her way through his laboratory-tour after going glassy-eyed with boredom.
Even if she was the only female he found he rather liked having here.
No, he didn't want to give her the potion. But on second thought, noting the aphrodisiac's effect on a human was further study in itself, was it not? The very idea aroused Andrew's scientific curiosity.
His would-be subject was still standing behind him, right where he'd left her. She did not look worried in the least. Her head was high, her eyes bright with reckless defiance. No doubt she was determined to prove him wrong. No doubt she didn't believe a word he'd said about the aphrodisiac.
No doubt they were both going to regret this.
Andrew suddenly wished he had changed into decent clothing, any clothing, and that he didn't stand before her in nothing but a blanket draped loosely around his hips. But then, maybe what had happened with the two dogs had been an accident of chance. Maybe a few days' settling had rendered the solution inert. Maybe Lady Celsiana Blake would drink the stuff and nothing would happen at all.
Maybe.
He poured some water into a glass, tapped several drops of the precious liquid into it, and handed it to her.
Her fingers closed around it. She looked up at him and for the briefest instant he saw a flicker of hesitation, maybe even nervousness, in her eyes before she quickly veiled it with a bravado he was sure she didn't feel. Then, never breaking eye contact with him, she raised the glass to him in mock toast, put it to her lips, and downed it in several quick gulps.
"There," she said, triumphantly handing the empty vessel back to him. "I've consumed it — and I feel just fine."
"I am glad to hear it."
"I feel no urge to tear that blanket from your loins. I feel no urge to ravish you. I feel —"
She paused, blinking, and put a hand to the base of her throat. Her very white, very pretty, very feminine throat. She looked up at him, her eyes widening and registering surprise; and then her hand slid slowly downward, her fingertips drifting over the hollow of her collarbone and out over the rounded swell of one snowy breast.
"— very strange," she finished, obviously unaware of where her hand had gone.
But Andrew was all too aware of where her hand had gone. He was all too aware of where her hand still remained — and what it was currently doing. He looked at her fingers skimming softly out over her breast, touching it through the lime-green silk that covered it, and now circling the nipple, which was, God help him, very aroused and clearly delineated beneath the fabric. Andrew swallowed hard. He could no more take his eyes off the slow, seductive path of her finger than he could have stopped breathing.
Though he did precisely that.
Stopped breathing.
Her lips parted. Her skin took on a rosy flush, and she gazed coyly up at him from beneath heavy lids in a way that made the back of Andrew's throat go suddenly dry. Transfixed, he watched as she licked her lips, a slow, torturous tracing of first the top, then the bottom one, leaving a glistening trail of moisture there that did funny things to his insides as her tongue did a slow circle around the perimeter of her mouth. Her fingers hooked the top of her bodice . . . slowly tugged it, and the filmy chemise
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