I am no better than those arses who cozied up to you for a prank. Someone told you that I am a Lord of Vice.”
Emily clutched the high back of the chair. Her gaze shifted from him to the doorway. “A Lord of—what? Did you say vice ?”
He bit his tongue off before he apologized for a nickname he was not responsible for creating. “Yes. It is silly name I and my six friends have been stuck with since we were—”
“Uh, damn puppies?” Her lips pursed as she fought back a smile. “It is hardly a comforting recommendation to your good character.”
Was she teasing him? The realization gave him hope that he had not frightened her off. He slowly approached the chair she was using as a shield until they were face-to-face.
“What if I told you that we deserved it?”
“Then I would assume you and your rebellious cohorts were very bad boys,” she said breathlessly.
“Men,” he corrected. He pressed his right knee into the thick cushion of the chair so he could close the distance between them. “And yes, we have garnered a certain reputation with the ton . However, a few of us have become respectable. They have married and sired heirs.”
Emily had courage. Nor did she back away when his mouth was mere inches from hers. “But not you,” she said.
Frost shrugged. “Not much point. Someone has to maintain our notoriety. It might as well be me.”
His lips twitched in anticipation. He longed to pull her closer and silence her with a thorough, satisfying kiss. When he was finished, everyone would know what mischief the naughty wench had been up to.
“So this business about kissing me. Is this about securing your reputation?”
“Not precisely.”
“So how does this work? Do you spend your evening chasing after ladies? Is there a particular number? How many allow you to catch them?”
“No one is letting me do anything,” he muttered, unhappy with the direction of her questions.
Emily gasped. “Then you force yourself upon them.” She leaned closer. “There is a dreadful name for that sort of gentleman, you know. I am amazed Lord and Lady Fiddick granted you entry into their respectable town house.”
“You are cleverly twisting my words, Emily. No one is being forced, damn you!” he snapped, his desire waning into an urge to throttle her. “This is not about the ton or the nickname they gave us. Here and now, this is about me and you. Is it wrong of me to want to kiss you?”
Her cheeks warmed to a rosy pink at his declaration. “Yes,” she said, drawing away from him. “Because I am not my sister.”
Frost did not know how to respond to the nonsensical comment. He had never met her younger sister. “What the devil are you prattling on about?”
“Gentlemen filled the drawing room with flowers, wrote her poetry, and fought duels over her. She was a raving beauty every man longed to kiss. Not I.”
“I disagree. If you would stand still, I’ll prove it.”
“Ah, I see,” she said, nodding. “I am the first lady to spurn you.”
“No,” he said gruffly. “There have been others.”
“Hmm … too few, in my opinion. You have my sympathies, Lord Chillingsworth.” Emily patted him on the cheek and walked away.
The chit was leaving. Frost scrubbed his face. How had she turned the tables on him? Any other woman would have melted in his embrace and begged for him to kiss her again.
She set her empty wineglass down on one of the tables and headed toward the door.
“Wait. A moment, Miss Cavell,” he said through clenched teeth since it came close to begging.
Frost charged after her when she refused to halt. He caught up to her just as she stepped out of the parlor. He spun her about; she had to grasp his shoulders to keep her balance.
“We are not finished with our discussion.”
Emily glared at him. “Do you know the difference between you and the young lords that you threatened earlier?”
“No. Nor do I care.” Snarling at her would not soften her disposition toward
Emily clutched the high back of the chair. Her gaze shifted from him to the doorway. “A Lord of—what? Did you say vice ?”
He bit his tongue off before he apologized for a nickname he was not responsible for creating. “Yes. It is silly name I and my six friends have been stuck with since we were—”
“Uh, damn puppies?” Her lips pursed as she fought back a smile. “It is hardly a comforting recommendation to your good character.”
Was she teasing him? The realization gave him hope that he had not frightened her off. He slowly approached the chair she was using as a shield until they were face-to-face.
“What if I told you that we deserved it?”
“Then I would assume you and your rebellious cohorts were very bad boys,” she said breathlessly.
“Men,” he corrected. He pressed his right knee into the thick cushion of the chair so he could close the distance between them. “And yes, we have garnered a certain reputation with the ton . However, a few of us have become respectable. They have married and sired heirs.”
Emily had courage. Nor did she back away when his mouth was mere inches from hers. “But not you,” she said.
Frost shrugged. “Not much point. Someone has to maintain our notoriety. It might as well be me.”
His lips twitched in anticipation. He longed to pull her closer and silence her with a thorough, satisfying kiss. When he was finished, everyone would know what mischief the naughty wench had been up to.
“So this business about kissing me. Is this about securing your reputation?”
“Not precisely.”
“So how does this work? Do you spend your evening chasing after ladies? Is there a particular number? How many allow you to catch them?”
“No one is letting me do anything,” he muttered, unhappy with the direction of her questions.
Emily gasped. “Then you force yourself upon them.” She leaned closer. “There is a dreadful name for that sort of gentleman, you know. I am amazed Lord and Lady Fiddick granted you entry into their respectable town house.”
“You are cleverly twisting my words, Emily. No one is being forced, damn you!” he snapped, his desire waning into an urge to throttle her. “This is not about the ton or the nickname they gave us. Here and now, this is about me and you. Is it wrong of me to want to kiss you?”
Her cheeks warmed to a rosy pink at his declaration. “Yes,” she said, drawing away from him. “Because I am not my sister.”
Frost did not know how to respond to the nonsensical comment. He had never met her younger sister. “What the devil are you prattling on about?”
“Gentlemen filled the drawing room with flowers, wrote her poetry, and fought duels over her. She was a raving beauty every man longed to kiss. Not I.”
“I disagree. If you would stand still, I’ll prove it.”
“Ah, I see,” she said, nodding. “I am the first lady to spurn you.”
“No,” he said gruffly. “There have been others.”
“Hmm … too few, in my opinion. You have my sympathies, Lord Chillingsworth.” Emily patted him on the cheek and walked away.
The chit was leaving. Frost scrubbed his face. How had she turned the tables on him? Any other woman would have melted in his embrace and begged for him to kiss her again.
She set her empty wineglass down on one of the tables and headed toward the door.
“Wait. A moment, Miss Cavell,” he said through clenched teeth since it came close to begging.
Frost charged after her when she refused to halt. He caught up to her just as she stepped out of the parlor. He spun her about; she had to grasp his shoulders to keep her balance.
“We are not finished with our discussion.”
Emily glared at him. “Do you know the difference between you and the young lords that you threatened earlier?”
“No. Nor do I care.” Snarling at her would not soften her disposition toward
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