To Love a Wicked Scoundrel by Anabelle Bryant Page B

a rough whisper against her soft skin. She turned with wary trepidation and took a small step back. He waited. His blue eyes watched with penetrating concentration. Then one side of his mouth curled deliciously, his devilish half smile more potent than the most rakish gentleman’s attempt at charm. Isabelle forced her eyes upward, away from the beguiling invitation of his mouth.
    ‘I wanted to return the button you gave to Lily. It is far too valuable to place in the care of a six-year-old.’ Isabelle wished her voice sounded steadier, but in all her twenty-six years she’d never been so close to a man, never mind a man half-clothed. She raised her hand and opened her palm to expose the button, feeling rather foolish in the process.
    ‘Indeed, but it was a gift. I want Lily to keep it.’ In one smooth movement, he curled his fingers atop hers to encapsulate the button and intertwine their fingers. His hand squeezed hers with slow inexorable pressure.
    The heated contact of his palm across her skin caused Isabelle to gasp, but it proved a mistake. As she drew the sudden breath, the bodice of her gown stroked the underside of their paired hands and a shock of delicious pleasure resonated within, beginning at the tips of her breasts and settling with unexpected heat to simmer much lower. She tore her gaze away from their laced fingers and helplessly looked to his face. Sinfully long lashes shuttered eyes that glittered with mischief in the broken candlelight, and he leaned forward and lowered his voice to a sultry murmur.
    ‘Was that all you wanted?’
    Taken aback by his seductive whisper, Isabelle’s breath caught. Her sharp inhale discovered the delicious scent of his skin and the barest hint of the unidentifiable fragrance she noted the last time he stood close. His shirt remained open although she dared not cast her eyes any lower than his chin. Perhaps he applied some type of medicinal ointment before retiring for the night. The sensible rationalisation managed to regulate her heartbeat to something close to normal. She withdrew her hand and tossed him a curt word of thanks before she escaped into the night.
    ***
    Constantine watched Isabelle scurry down the townhouse steps as he leaned against the wooden doorframe. He waited to see if she might toss her fiery tresses over her shoulder and offer him a backward glance before the darkness enveloped her, but she did not and he smiled despite himself. She liked him. She might not know it, but he did. He climbed the stairs to his studio with renewed energy; happy she’d interrupted his painting session.
    The pleasant surprise of Isabelle’s visit stayed with him into morning as he wrapped his work in brown paper and proceeded out of the back entrance towards the old Bilmont townhouse. During the wee hours of the morning, he’d chosen a still life from his completed paintings and now looked forward to presenting it to the Ladies Rossmore. He would suggest it served as a welcome gift of sorts for their arrival in London, but in truth he wished for Isabelle to enjoy his artwork even if she would never know he was the artist. The picture, a vase full of crimson red dahlias, proved to be one of his best efforts. He held the small package firmly as he took the three steps and dropped the knocker at the Rossmore residence.
    He heard animated conversation accompanied by a child’s cheerful laughter as the butler led him into the drawing room. Silence followed as the servant announced his name and he stepped inside.
    Lady Meredith welcomed him with superfluous enthusiasm and Lily appeared as if she might burst with excitement before introductions were completed. Isabelle allowed her glare to speak to him from across the room. She coloured an attractive shade of pink and busied herself with straightening books on a nearby shelf.
    ‘What a splendid surprise, Lord Highborough. We were just discussing what we wished to do with our fine day.’ Meredith smiled at him unabashedly.