comfort, seeking companionship. They had a job to do.
Damn it all, Sebastian had known what he was saying: it was dangerous, very dangerous, to lose control. Need like that was overwhelming, and its satisfaction intoxicating. It was powerful enough to pull her out of herself, pull her apart.
And that was something she absolutely could not afford right now.
Certainly not with this man. This damnable, difficult, extraordinary man .
Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth to try to quell them. She didn’t know how she was going to manage it, but she was going to have to be more on guard against him than ever.
Chapter Five
Sebastian was increasingly sure he was losing his mind.
Aside from a little blushing the next morning when she first sat down to breakfast, Rachel seemed to have taken the encounter in the coach in stride. She hadn’t said a word to him about it, and hadn’t shown the least sign that it had softened her feelings for him. As far as he could tell, she regarded what happened between them as a sort of successful scientific experiment, and him of as little interest as a discarded flask on a laboratory workbench.
Not at all the sort of reaction women usually had to his lovemaking.
He was supposed to be the heartless one, damn it. The jaded rake, the cavalier rogue.
And here he was, scarcely able to take his eyes off of her as she leaned against the balustrade above the ballroom at the Countess of Leeds’ soirée, watching the glamorous crowd circulate below, far more interested in the orchestra than in him.
The soirée was somewhat disreputable—Salomé Mirabeau could not have attended otherwise—but still she wore one of Sal’s more modest dresses, a watered blue silk with a white sash and sheer cap sleeves, and he found himself thinking foolish thoughts about how prettily she filled it out, and how well the color set off the alabaster of her skin.
Worse still, he kept feeling the temptation to ask her to dance.
What on earth was wrong with him?
This was the price of being noble. Damn it all, he should have done what his body wanted in the coach and taken his full pleasure of her. Then maybe he’d be thinking straight right now.
He wasn’t here to admire Miss Covington’s lovely backside. He was here to keep an eye on Lord Henry Walters, who was attending his second social event in as many days.
And surely up to no good.
Sebastian and Rachel had done a brief circuit of the ballroom when they first arrived, diligently spreading the news that Salomé had accepted Sebastian’s protection. The duc du Bourge had been left absolutement desolé , skulking at the edges of the dancing ever since, sharing his devastation with other hopefuls.
Now Rachel and Sebastian stood on a little balcony, out of sight of the crowds, waiting for Lord Henry Walters to do something more interesting than converse with minor members of the House of Commons and dance graciously with a string of young matrons.
Perhaps Lord Henry never did anything more objectionable than that. But Sebastian would bet his eyeteeth the man was up to his elbows in something unsavory, and instinct said that once they caught scent of the trail, it would lead them in the direction of the French. And Victoire de Laurent.
Damn and blast Lord Henry. Hurry up and do something, old man .
Tomorrow at dawn Rachel and Sebastian would embark for Spain, and between now and then, Sebastian really needed something to focus on besides the fantasy of lifting those blue skirts and getting his hands on her lovely arse again.
Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, Rachel suddenly jerked upright, taking her elbows off the balustrade. “It can’t be!” she gasped.
“What can’t be?” he asked.
She pointed to the main room below them. “Down there.”
A new gentleman was moving towards Lord Henry through the mill of revelers, his back currently towards the balcony. Not
Damn it all, Sebastian had known what he was saying: it was dangerous, very dangerous, to lose control. Need like that was overwhelming, and its satisfaction intoxicating. It was powerful enough to pull her out of herself, pull her apart.
And that was something she absolutely could not afford right now.
Certainly not with this man. This damnable, difficult, extraordinary man .
Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth to try to quell them. She didn’t know how she was going to manage it, but she was going to have to be more on guard against him than ever.
Chapter Five
Sebastian was increasingly sure he was losing his mind.
Aside from a little blushing the next morning when she first sat down to breakfast, Rachel seemed to have taken the encounter in the coach in stride. She hadn’t said a word to him about it, and hadn’t shown the least sign that it had softened her feelings for him. As far as he could tell, she regarded what happened between them as a sort of successful scientific experiment, and him of as little interest as a discarded flask on a laboratory workbench.
Not at all the sort of reaction women usually had to his lovemaking.
He was supposed to be the heartless one, damn it. The jaded rake, the cavalier rogue.
And here he was, scarcely able to take his eyes off of her as she leaned against the balustrade above the ballroom at the Countess of Leeds’ soirée, watching the glamorous crowd circulate below, far more interested in the orchestra than in him.
The soirée was somewhat disreputable—Salomé Mirabeau could not have attended otherwise—but still she wore one of Sal’s more modest dresses, a watered blue silk with a white sash and sheer cap sleeves, and he found himself thinking foolish thoughts about how prettily she filled it out, and how well the color set off the alabaster of her skin.
Worse still, he kept feeling the temptation to ask her to dance.
What on earth was wrong with him?
This was the price of being noble. Damn it all, he should have done what his body wanted in the coach and taken his full pleasure of her. Then maybe he’d be thinking straight right now.
He wasn’t here to admire Miss Covington’s lovely backside. He was here to keep an eye on Lord Henry Walters, who was attending his second social event in as many days.
And surely up to no good.
Sebastian and Rachel had done a brief circuit of the ballroom when they first arrived, diligently spreading the news that Salomé had accepted Sebastian’s protection. The duc du Bourge had been left absolutement desolé , skulking at the edges of the dancing ever since, sharing his devastation with other hopefuls.
Now Rachel and Sebastian stood on a little balcony, out of sight of the crowds, waiting for Lord Henry Walters to do something more interesting than converse with minor members of the House of Commons and dance graciously with a string of young matrons.
Perhaps Lord Henry never did anything more objectionable than that. But Sebastian would bet his eyeteeth the man was up to his elbows in something unsavory, and instinct said that once they caught scent of the trail, it would lead them in the direction of the French. And Victoire de Laurent.
Damn and blast Lord Henry. Hurry up and do something, old man .
Tomorrow at dawn Rachel and Sebastian would embark for Spain, and between now and then, Sebastian really needed something to focus on besides the fantasy of lifting those blue skirts and getting his hands on her lovely arse again.
Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, Rachel suddenly jerked upright, taking her elbows off the balustrade. “It can’t be!” she gasped.
“What can’t be?” he asked.
She pointed to the main room below them. “Down there.”
A new gentleman was moving towards Lord Henry through the mill of revelers, his back currently towards the balcony. Not
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