Sonata for a Scoundrel by Anthea Lawson

here you need to comprehend, men who will be attracted to your beauty and wish to take advantage.”
    He thought her beautiful? A rush of heat sped through her, dispelling some of the cold fear she had felt moments ago.
    “We were only—”
    “Another few paces and you’d have been out of the light altogether. Look.”
    He moved forward, still holding her, and she took two hasty steps back. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint spice of his scent.
    “We are completely out of sight,” he said. “Anything could happen to you—would have, had I not seen you slip out the door with that pair of knaves.”
    “Surely someone… I was about to scream, I assure you.”
    “That would have been easily dealt with, too.”
    Clara narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so. I am not as helpless as you seem to believe, Master Reynard.”
    “Go ahead.” He lowered his voice. “Cry out.”
    “It would not do for anyone to find us out here.”
    “ Now you consider it. Come, Miss Becker. Try me.” His fingers wrapped more firmly about her shoulders, his thumbs resting just at the edge of her bodice.
    Oh dear. The way he said the words made a curious tingle brush over her. She tried not to notice how close his hands were to her bare skin.
    “Very well.”
    She took a quick breath and opened her mouth to scream. In an instant, he pulled her smoothly against him. His warm lips descended, covering hers completely, and her cry dissipated into a gasp, a sigh exhaled into his open mouth.
    Darien Reynard was kissing her, and it was the fiercest sensation.
    His mouth moved possessively over hers, demanding and hungry, and Clara was caught up in a current of wild, passionate energy. She felt that same current when he played, but instead of his violin he had her beneath his hands. Oh, but his touch sent music vibrating through her, sweet and singing. The spaces beneath her skin rang with the notes of his kiss.
    After a long, exhilarating moment, he made to lift his head, but she wove her fingers through his hair and moved her lips beneath his, mimicking his sure caress. He made a rough sound in the back of his throat and slid one arm around her, molding her against him. His other hand drifted to her neckline, the thumb stroking along her bare collarbone, and she was lost.
    “What the devil!” Nicholas’s voice sliced through the darkness. “Bloody hell, get away from my sister!”
    Darien Reynard thrust Clara from him. Too late. The blaze inside her died instantly to ash. Their kiss had ended too soon—and far, far too late.
    “Mr. Becker.” Darien turned, keeping himself between Clara and her brother. “It’s not what it seems.”
    Clara took a halting step forward. She swallowed, her throat tight with shame and fear.
    “How could it be other than what it seems?” Nicholas’s voice was hard, fury giving it a biting edge. “Prostituting my sister was not part of our agreement, sir. We will return to London immediately.”
    He brushed roughly past the master. Taking Clara by the arm, he began towing her back toward the terrace.
    “Nicholas!” She yanked from his grasp. How could she explain? “We cannot leave the tour. Master Reynard was only demonstrating to me—”
    “I could see what he was demonstrating, and I’ll have none of it.” Nicholas glared at Darien. “I’d foolishly discounted your wicked reputation. But you will not have another chance to lay hands on my sister. I should call you out, sir.”
    “No!” Clara stepped in front of her brother and laid a hand on his chest.
    So quickly the most wonderful experience of her life had turned to disaster. The very idea of Nicholas dueling Darien Reynard made her blood turn to ice. She was not sure her brother had ever even held a pistol, let alone fired one.
    “Listen to me, Nicholas,” she said. “Think of Papa. Think of what we left back in London. We cannot return to that.”
    She would do anything to keep from slipping back into that gray,