A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle by Catherine Gayle

His
hands slid over her legs, lower, pulling at her gown until he
reached the hem and his fingers slipped beneath to roam across her
bare thighs. She’d never experienced anything so scandalous
before—and that was saying something, considering recent
events.
    Even with the chill of the library air
breezing across her naked flesh, she felt like she could catch fire
at any moment. Everywhere his fingers or lips trailed, a blaze
burned in their wake.
    Lord Quinton suddenly sat up and
pushed her back. Somehow she ended up with her gown and shift
cinched around her waist and her bare legs straddling his hips as
he loomed above her. “Marry me, Miss Hyatt. You must.” He hooked an
arm beneath her knee and pulled her leg up high in the air, licking
the sensitive flesh at the back of her knee and sending shivers
from her fingers to her toes.
    Oh, dear good Lord. She had
to answer him, somehow. Regardless of what answer she gave, she had
to say something .
“Oh,” was all that came out, however, on a rather long and ragged
sigh.
    Lord Quinton let her leg go and leaned
further over her. He slid a finger beneath her bodice, sliding it
along the edge of her breast. “So lovely,” he said, just before
following the same path with his tongue.
    Aurora nearly came off the sofa from
the shock of sensations flooding through her.
    “ Marry me,” he commanded,
blowing on the moistened and overheated skin his tongue had just
left. Before she could answer, he pulled on her gown and chemise
until one breast popped free. He took it into his mouth and rolled
his tongue over her sensitive, tight nipple. Something hard pulsed
against her womanhood, which was throbbing with its own unknown
need. She instinctively moved her hips to rub against him and
nearly cried out in shock from the pleasure it gave her.
    And then, just as suddenly as it had
all started, Lord Quinton lifted himself away from her and
resituated her on the sofa. What had she done wrong? “Cover
yourself,” he said, his words terse and gruff. He left her and
stood beside the hearth, staring into the dying embers.
    After she straightened her gown about
her legs and pulled her bodice up to cover her bared breast, she
felt colder, somehow more naked than before.
    He did not turn to face her. With one
Hessian, he kicked against the grate. “You will marry me.
Tomorrow.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think there was fear in
his voice.
    But Lord Quinton could not possibly be
afraid. That would mean he cared.
    Ludicrous. Laughable, even.
    He couldn’t have done what he’d just
done with her, and then tossed her aside on the sofa as he did if
he cared. She was just another of his conquests.
    Yet she was afraid. There was only one
answer she could give him.
    “ Yes,” she whispered to the
stoic expanse of his back.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    Griffin looked up at the massive manor
house before him, then double-checked the direction. Number Twelve,
Berkeley Square. That’s what his father had told him. And with
those huge colonnades and beveled windows, it had to be Mansfield
House.
    Thankfully, his father had
not been interested in why he needed to visit with Lord Rotheby. Griffin saw
no reason to bring more people into the matter than necessary, even
though Quinton’s actions were likely to have an effect on
Phoebe.
    He knew his sister well. She had tried
to convince everyone at the ball that she merely felt a touch under
the weather, using that as an excuse for her early departure. But
Griffin saw the pain in her eyes that she had attempted to mask as
illness.
    Obviously, Lord Quinton had been at
the same ball as his sister.
    Which meant that Aurora Hyatt was
likely also at that ball.
    He could be too late. Quinton might
have already set his devious plan into motion. Another young lady
might already be ruined.
    Griffin should have immediately come
to Rotheby after Miss Hyatt had refused to see him. If he could not
stop her from her own folly, perhaps he could have stopped