Dangerous in Diamonds by Madeline Hunter Page B

tell which emotion accounts for your blush.”
    Jealous! “Neither. If there is color, it only comes from struggling to swallow another well-deserved scold.”
    “You must hold it in. Summon all your strength. In fact, allow me to help you conquer the impulse.” He pulled her to him so quickly that she gasped. Suddenly his hand was pressing her nape and his mouth was pressing her lips.
    She could not find the presence of mind to react at first. During that brief lull—she was very sure it was extremely brief—while she was taken aback, that kiss deepened to something other than a joke. First tender, then wicked, the kiss began to claim her, as if the notion to do so dawned on him even as pleasure dawned in her.
    The mood changed quickly. He loosed his sensual power, and she felt it like a tangible wind. He began to embrace her. She placed her hand on his chest—to resist him, she was sure—and the clear feel of the naked body beneath that blue morning coat jolted her out of her shock.
    Aghast at herself, she broke free, jumped out of reach, and glared at him.
    “Come back here now,” he said in a quiet, soothing, alluring voice. His gaze, sardonic, amused, and knowing, insisted she not look away. “You know that you want to.”
    She gaped at his outrageous conceit. “I certainly do not!”
    His eyes darkened. “Perhaps that is true. Perhaps you do not know yet.”
    He strolled to the table and poured himself more coffee.
    “What a stroke of inspiration that was,” he said, raising the cup. “I think that whenever you subject me to a scold or get that look in your eyes that says one is coming, I will have to subject you to a ravishing kiss. You get the better half of the bargain to my mind, but at least I will know some compensation.”
    Disgracefully pleased with himself, he called for a servant to see her out.
    She was already at the door by the time one of the footmen pushed it open.

Chapter Eight
     
    C astleford wondered about Daphne Joyes while he rode his horse east through London. He was doing too much such wondering these days. That would surely end once he seduced her.
    But in the meantime, he was wondering what she really thought of him. From her astonishment at learning he was writing a book, he suspected she might have concluded he was not very smart.
    People did that sometimes. His good nature was to blame. The world considered scowling, brooding fellows intelligent, and pleasant, contented ones dim. Since he was only the former on Tuesdays, he was often underestimated. The misunderstanding put those in error at a disadvantage, so he normally did not care.
    She also thought him a drunkard. She had made that clear enough. There was no point in trying to disabuse her of the notion either.
    Then, of course, there was his reputation regarding women. She had heard about that. The whole world had heard about that. And if Hawkeswell and Summerhays had been indiscreet with their wives about his whores, Daphne Joyes undoubtedly knew he did not indulge himself thus only for the purposes of research.
    Not that he had indulged recently, he noted with annoyance. He never did when his eye settled on one specific woman. He had learned long ago that, for him at least, desire for one woman made pleasure with other women no fun. A relief still, much like farting out a bad gas, but joyless.
    Abstinence, unfortunately, only made the desire increase. It could be a hellish cycle, and reason enough to avoid allowing his eye to settle at all.
    Dwelling on his current sexual situation made him surly, so he returned to wondering about Daphne. She probably did not think the duels spoke well of him either, now that he considered the matter. Women never liked duels. So that was one more likely objection she might have to his character.
    The list of those objections became quite long by the time he swung off his horse in front of the collection of old, attached buildings that made up the War Office. So long that he wondered why