Blaze (69 page)

"You have to go," she breathed.

"I will," he said.

"Now."

"Right now," he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers. And it seemed suddenly as if she'd waited aching eons for the warmth of his lips.

He brushed a butterfly kiss over her mouth, a kiss of tantalizing promise and gentle persuasion, like a stolen kiss behind a choir stall in a church full of parishioners. She sighed—an intoxicating small sound of pleasure that did disastrous things to his sense of constraint. But he controlled his rash impulses for the delectable Countess Angel was still uncertain, her mood wavering and capricious. Exerting the minutest pressure, he advanced another cautious degree, slowly parting the softness of her lips. With her chin held captive in his hand, his tongue invaded her mouth, twined with hers, then penetrated more deeply, demanding more, promising more. And Angela purred as a tremulous pulsing fluttered deep in the pit of her stomach—a schoolgirl re-sponse she hadn't felt in years. She hadn't expected such sensitivity from a man who walked in uninvited; she hadn't thought him capable of such acutely impressionable tenderness. It pleased her to be wrong.

The muted sound registered in Kit's consciousness as though she'd spoken to him and welcomed him in. His arousal swelled, a sharp-set lust overshadowed reason and he impetuously considered taking her away and keeping her for himself alone. But even as the unprecedented impulse filled his brain, he shook away the unaccountable sensation. He had no need for ownership. On the contrary, he more sensibly noted as the momentary craving passed, he preferred his singularly unattached life. Reverting to more familiar gound, his talent at seduction well-honed, he raised his free hand, slid his fingers through Angela's gilded hair until his palm rested on her temple. Lifting his mouth the merest hairsbreadth, he whispered, "Kiss me back, mon ange."

"I shouldn't." Equivocation trembled on her lips.

"But I want you to." As he wanted to bury himself deep inside her.

' 'And if I don't?" A touch of sulkiness colored her voice.

"Then I'll just have to wait here 'til you do," he said, wolfish and teasing.

He was an extraordinary man, she thought, gratified at his genial indulgence. She'd always reacted poorly to masculine authority. Touching his hands, she eased herself away and leaning back sufficiently to see his face, she playfully murmured, "How long will you wait?"

"Humm…" His eyes shone with amusement. "Since I'm not racing tomorrow…"

"No, no… you'll cause a scandal if you stay that long." But her luscious smile mitigated her reproach.

"I'll hide under your bed," he said, roguish and quietly intent.

The thought of having Kit Braddock so… accessible sent a disturbing thrill flaring through her senses. But less reckless than he, she promptly acceded, "I'll kiss you once and then you must go."

"Good," he said, his answer carefully neutral. And releasing her he stood waiting, his smile benevolent.

"Just one kiss now," she said, her lush undertone almost causing him to lose his practiced calm.

"Just one," he agreed, his deep voice velvet soft.

"I can't reach you." A hint of teasing gleamed in her sky blue eyes, like a young girl trembling on the brink.

"Give me your hands." It pleased him that she'd forgotten enough of her qualms to find amusement in the game. And as she placed her small hands in his, he drew them to his shoulders, and gently said, "Now if you stand on your tip toes, you can give me a kiss."

His strength was conspicuous beneath her hands, his muscles prominent, steel-hard. He was strikingly large.

The final word spiked through her brain, triggering lascivious images. He would be large, a heated voice whispered, so very large and for a shivering lurid moment of unreason she wanted to feel him inside her.

He saw the instant flush color her cheeks and throat and slid down the niched neckline of her robe. He could feel her breasts against his chest and he wondered if they were blush pink too and waiting for his touch.

But he didn't move.

Because he knew better.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. It's only a kiss, she reminded herself. An innocuous, single kiss. Rising on her toes, she slid her hands over his shoulders, twined her arms around his neck and said in carefully modulated tones, "Bend your head down, Mr. Braddock."

"Kit," he murmured.

"Kit," she softly said for the very first time. "I can't reach you."

You could reach me on a bed, he licentiously considered, but prudently repressed his thoughts. One step at a time for the extremely wary lady.

It was a lopsided game even between two experienced people for Thomas Kitredge Braddock had a distinct advantage. With his unconventional living arrangements he knew to the minutest degree the various stages of female arousal.

He was looking forward to the kiss.

Gripping her waist to steady her as she balanced on her toes, he felt the froth of dimity slide on her skin. No corset or chemise or nightgown limited access to her voluptuous body, he heatedly realized. Only the elaborate boudoir confection, only lace and ribbons and gossamer silk.

When she kissed him, her mouth only touched his lightly at first and breathless he waited to see if there would be more. And when he felt her hands tighten at the nape of his neck, he smiled.

Her second kiss was more lengthy. An enticing introduction, sensuous, lingering, fragrant with promise… and he was pleased to accommodate the tantalizing Countess Angel on her terms—or any terms.

"You're very polite," she murmured, as her mouth lifted again, her gaze startlingly direct under her half-raised lashes.

"You're surprised."

She hesitated for the briefest moment and then softly said, "Yes."

He grinned. "I'm on my best behavior."

"And you're usually not?"

"I'm often not."

"Do your ladies mind?"

"Are you really interested?"

"A harem has a certain cachet; I'm intrigued."

"It's not a harem, but if it were, I'd be tempted to add you to it."

"Unfortunately, I'm too selfish to share."

"But then no one asks you in a harem," he gently re-minded her,' 'whether you care or not." He'd also heard the stories of Joe Manton returning from his honeymoon in Paris to see Angela, and Kit wondered briefly who exactly was sharing with whom.

"Are you an authority on harem protocol?"

"No, but one of my friends is."

She knew he didn't mean a male friend; she knew it was one of his ladies. "Does she like you better?"

"Should we talk of Joe Manton or Bertie or Lew Archer? Tell me, do they like you best?"

"How well-informed you are, Mr. Braddock."

"Kit," he murmured.

"Kit," she whispered as his mouth covered hers. And he didn't wait this time to be kissed, suddenly past all the mannered limits. She was lushly beautiful, she was half-naked in his arms, they were alone.

And he wanted more than a kiss.

Single-minded and intent, consummation a hot-spur craving, he slid his hands down her back, slipped his palms under her bottom and pulling her close, he held her hard against the rigid length of his arousal.

She moaned against his mouth as a combustible heat exploded deep inside her. He was sensationally large. A delicious shock flared through her body and she whimpered, a delicate sensual sound of expectation and need.

' 'Don't let me interrupt such a charming scene." The sarcasm was indolently put, the Earl de Grae's soft drawl precise as a stiletto. One gloved hand still remained on the door latch, his flint grey eyes dispassionately surveying the heated scene.

Angela's hands instantly dropped from Kit's shoulders and she pushed away from his embrace. Standing very still, watching her husband with a scrutiny Kit had previously seen only in lethal skirmishes, she coolly said, "What brings you to Cowes?"

"I came over with Tarlington. He needed some fishing gear and I wanted my gun that was left behind last year. Violet said you had a headache. This must be your doctor," her husband sardonically murmured, the hunting gun he held cradled in one arm menacing adjunct to his mockery.

Imminently familiar with her husband's malevolence, she ignored his derision and calmly said, "I know how anxious you must be to leave for grouse hunting, but thank you for stopping by. Good night."

"No introductions, Angela?"

"No."

"Does he need your protection?"

"Everyone needs protection from you, Brook."

"I don't." Kit spoke very softly.

"He's very brave," the Earl de Grae gibed, readjusting the gun in the crook of his arm.

"Please, Kit, no," Angela softly said, placing a restraining hand on Kit's arm.

"He's a big man, but then you like them that way, don't you," the earl insolently murmured, his gaze flicking over Kit's tall, athletic frame.

"I generally don't like small men," Angela smoothly agreed, "but of course there are women who do."

The earl, of middle height and slender, curled one well-bred lip. "How fortunate."

"Yes, I'm sure it is." Everyone knew of her husband's preferences for young girls.

"I see the Blue Monkey is still keeping you company. Don't you tire of SouveraFs toadyism?"

"If I cared to converse with you about my friends, Brook, or about anything at all, I wouldn't live at Easton. So please kindly leave. This is my house as well."

"I should see sweet Baby May before I go," the earl unctuously proposed.

"She's sleeping," Angela snapped. "I don't want her disturbed."

"Such defensiveness, my dear. Can't I see my daughter?"

"Not at this hour, Brook." Angela's voice was brusque with temper, her eyes suddenly sheened with tears.

"My, what a tigress we have, protecting her cub. Did I tell you," he said with casual malice, "the Loftons called on me again?"

"We have a written agreement," she softly said. Angela had made certain her solicitor accompanied her on her trip to de Grae castle to finalize the settlement protecting her son from an arranged marriage. She knew Brook couldn't be trusted.

"It seems the Loftons' daughter is distraught." Her husband smiled, all sly cunning and deceit. "She's an only child," he murmured. "They've made a new offer."

"The document you signed is binding."

"Perhaps," he said, twisting slightly so the muzzle of the shotgun was pointing directly at her.

Kit stepped in front of Angela.

"You have your valiant Lancelot," Brook sardonically drawled.

Kit turned to Angela. "Do you want him to leave?" His voice was low, gentle.

She shook her head, the movement barely visible. The last thing she wanted was an excuse for Brook to pull the trigger. "I'm sorry you had to witness this," she softly murmured. She disliked so publicly airing her marital problems and Brook armed was a distinct menace. "If you'll excuse me," she quietly said to Kit, hoping to diffuse the encounter. "I suddenly do have a headache." And without a glance at her husband, she walked from the sitting room, closing the door into her bedchamber with an indelicate thud.