Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick

sir, is to call upon your Vanza training to fortify yourself against any interest you may have in forming a romantical connection with me.”

    He framed her face with his hands. “I am sorry to tell you that even my status as a master does not seem to be proof against a desire to form a connection with you, Madeline.”
    Her eyes widened. “Truly?”
    “Truly.”
    She swallowed visibly. “How very odd.”
    “Yes, isn’t it. But as you are forever reminding me, the gentlemen of Vanza are nothing if not odd.”
    He bent his head and covered her mouth with his own before she could say another word.
    He sensed her surprise and confusion but she did not attempt to push herself away. He pulled her into his arms, folding her tightly against his chest. She was closer now, much closer than she had been when they had danced the waltz. He could feel the warmth of her body. He knew that he was growing very hard against the soft curve of her hip. Her subtle scent filled his head.
    She gave a small gasp. Then, abruptly, her mouth softened under his. The folds of her domino brushed against his boots.
    He slipped his hands inside her domino and fitted his palms around her, just below the bodice of her gown. The gentle weight of her breasts rested tantalizingly on the edge of his hands. Urgency coursed through him. He felt his blood heat swiftly.
    Perhaps there was something about a widow, he thought.
    He drank hungrily from her mouth. Her response was enthusiastic enough, but strangely awkward. He reminded himself that she had not been a wife for a year now and that her marriage had apparently been unsatisfying.
    The fierce demands of his body took him by surprise. His training had taught him control in all things, including his relations with women. In addition, he was no longer in the first flush of lustful youth.
    But at the moment he felt very lustful indeed.
    He slid his mouth to the sweet, vulnerable skin of her throat and tightened his hands around her slender body. Her fingers clenched in his hair. She shivered in his arms.
    There was definitely something about a widow, he decided. At least there was something about this widow.
    “Artemas.”
It was as though a dam had been breached somewhere inside her.
    Her response sent passion rolling through him in a great wave. It had been years since he had been at the mercy of such a driving thirst. The fact that it threatened to outstrip the control he had spent so much time and effort acquiring should have shaken him to the core. Instead he ached to surrender to its snare.
    “I was wrong,” he said against her mouth. “You are even more dangerous than the rumors would have one believe.”

    “No.”
    “Yes.”
    “Perhaps it is no more than this peculiar affliction I mentioned a moment ago,” she said breathlessly.
    “Perhaps. But I must tell you that I do not give a bloody damn.”
    He tried to think while he deepened the kiss. It was not easy. But one fact hammered at him. He could not take her here on the damp grass.
    He picked her up and started toward the steps of the Haunted Mansion. The folds of her cloak cascaded over his arms.
    “Dear God.” Madeline tore her mouth from his and simultaneously went rigid against him. In the shadows her eyes were huge, but not with passion. “The
window.”
    “What?” Jolted back to reality by the shock and fear in her voice, he set her quickly on her feet and looked up at the row of narrow, vaulted windows. “What is it?”
    “There is someone in there.” She stared up at the panes of dark glass on the second level. “I saw him move, I swear it.”
    Artemas groaned. “I believe you.”
    “What?” She whirled to face him. “But who—?”
    “My young friend Zachary or one of his Eyes and Ears, no doubt. I have warned them repeatedly to stay out of this attraction until it is finished. But the bloodthirsty little devils are very excited about it. Gave Henry all sorts of ideas for creating a proper ghostly effect.”
    He