How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (9 page)

He smirked. “My foolish, foolish Rose. I remember how passionately you reacted to that kiss. If I wish you in my bed, all I have to do is this . . . ” He bent to touch her cheek with his lips, feather-soft and gentle, more warm breath than else. A deep shiver wracked her and her eyes slid closed, her breath quickening. He moved his lips to her lashes where they trembled on her cheeks. Lightly, he traced them, and she swayed slightly.

The wild beat of her pulse in her throat sent his own blood thrumming through his veins, and he bent to place his lips on that crazed beat, kissing it and then rubbing the edge of his teeth across it.

“L-Lord Sinclair, that’s quite enough—”

“Oh, I haven’t even begun, my sweet Rose.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear, his breath trailing across her skin as he brushed his fingers over her lips. “Are you certain you can refuse me?”

She took a slow breath and opened her eyes, her gaze far steadier than he’d expected. “Your touch is quite intoxicating.” She pushed his hand away. “Does it feel the same for you?”

He’d be damned if he’d put that arrow in her quiver. “I’ve had more experience than you.”

“Yes. Of course.” She plastered a smile on her lips, though it trembled the tiniest bit. “Lord Sinclair, I’m no longer the child I was six years ago. My passions are more controlled now.”

He laughed softly. “You think you can resist me?”

“You think you can tempt me?” she snapped back, and then flushed at his lifted brows. “Fine, you can tempt me, but I’m a grown woman, one with age, and—and experience. I am not the weakling you seem to think me.”

Experience. So the little Balfour isn’t an innocent now—if she ever was.
He wasn’t certain why, but having that tidbit confirmed didn’t afford him the satisfaction he’d thought it would. In fact, it set his jaw on edge, and his voice was unexpectedly harsh when he said, “You will succumb; the only question is how quickly.”

He captured one of her thick, silken curls and threaded it through his fingers. It curled and clung, as stubborn as she was. As he twisted the curl about his fingers, the back of them grazed her neck and she gasped as if he’d touched her far more intimately.

He released her curl and slid his hand along the rung where her shoulder was pressed and, grasping the rung, anchored them both in place. Then, Sin captured her lips, kissing her deeply, roughly, thoroughly.

God, she tasted of sunshine and heat. Had she tasted this good six years ago? The thought was barely coherent over the thundering of his blood in his ears. He tasted and teased, and she responded instantly, tempting and tormenting him in return. It was exactly as it was all those years ago: he’d touched her and something primal and heated beyond anything
he’d ever experienced had roared through his blood.

She moaned against his mouth, sending his senses and thoughts reeling. All he truly knew in this moment was that he had her here, alone, in his arms. He gloried in her submission, in how she opened to him like a bud under a hot sun.

Rose thought she would drown in her own madness: her entire body was aflame as she responded to delicious kiss after delicious kiss.
What is it about this man? No one has ever affected me this way.

She moved against him restlessly, unwilling to stop. How could something so overwhelming, so incredibly
perfect
be wrong in any way? His touch was exactly as she remembered, passion and instant heat.

She opened her hand to grasp his lapel and as she did so, the book slipped from her fingers. Rose instinctively broke the kiss to grab for the falling book.

Thunk!

Her forehead smacked Sin squarely in the chin just as the book hit the floor.

She slapped a hand over her forehead as bright colors flashed behind her closed eyelids. “Ow, ow, ow!”

Rose cracked open her lids to see Sin pressing a hand to his chin, blood between his fingers. “Oh no!” she said. “I’m so sorry. I dropped my book and— Your chin—”

“It’s but a scrape,” he said curtly.

Stung by his tone, she frowned. “As I said, it was a bad idea to hold a conversation on a ladder.”

Sin lifted his brows. “I wouldn’t exactly call what we were having ‘a conversation.’ ”

Her face turned a lovely pink. “It started out as one,” she said, suddenly prim. “I tried to convince you to talk in the chairs by the fireplace, but nooooo, you had to talk here.” She shook her head. “What were we thinking? Here, I have a kerchief. Let me—” She twisted to reach into her pocket and as she did so, her shoulder mashed Sin’s fingers against the ladder.

He instinctively jerked his hand free. The second he let go he knew his mistake, but it was too late—he fell to the floor, landing on his shoulder. Pain lanced through him and he groaned.

“Oh no! Don’t move! I’m coming down!”

“No, stay there—” But it was too late. Teeth gritted, he hurried to move away from the bottom of the ladder before she stepped on some other vulnerable part of him.

She reached the floor and dropped to her knees beside him. Large swaths of her hair had fallen from its pins and hung about her shoulders in unruly black curls, making her pale blue eyes look far too large for her heart-shaped face. Her forehead had a faint circle of blue that he suspected ringed a good knot from where she’d hit his chin.

Sin rubbed his shoulder. What in the hell was it about this woman, that she could so easily cause
him to lose control? And lose control he did—of his thoughts. Of his circumstances. Of himself. It was infuriating.

Rose reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief. “Here, let me—” She dabbed his chin.

“Ow!”
He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away. “You’ve done quite enough, thank you.”

She dropped back on her heels, hurt in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” he returned coldly, realizing that even now, with his chin afire and his shoulder thrumming, he was achingly aware that she smelled of lavender and rose. Of the seductive curve where her neck met her shoulder, and of the delicate hollows that called for further exploration. Even pained and bruised, he wanted to kiss her again, over and over, until she begged him to do more. He, who could have any woman he wanted, yearned for this one plain, rather awkward woman with a hunger that was almost painful. It was ridiculous.

Sin frowned, suddenly realizing that this was what had fueled his anger for all these years—not that she’d embarrassed him in public, but that even after such a humiliation, he had still desired her and couldn’t stop. For weeks, months, and longer, he’d thought of nothing but her, but she’d disappeared without a trace and her aunt had refused to share her location, saying only that she lived in the Scottish countryside.

He had been left with an empty yearning, unable to forget how she’d felt when he’d kissed her, of her slender body against his, of the scent of her hair and the sound of her laugh—it had been sheer hell. She’d haunted him. He’d thought that by meeting her again, this spell she’d cast would be broken and everything would be set to rights.

But now that he was with her once again, he found himself lusting for her every bit as fervently as he had at that first meeting, an almost instant yearning that began the second they were in a room together, one that wouldn’t end until . . . until what? Until he possessed her? Until he’d quenched his thirst for her?

He gave a frustrated growl and climbed to his feet.

“Wait! I was trying to—”

“You are
very
trying, damn you.”

Her lips thinned and she stood as well, shaking her skirts into place. “Well, that didn’t last long.” When he looked confused, she added, “Your attempt to seduce me. Surely you don’t toss curse words at women you’re trying to get into your bed.”

His gaze narrowed. “You knocked me off a ladder.”

“Humph. All I can say is that if this is your idea of a seduction, then you have a lot to learn about women.”

“I kissed you on the ladder and you didn’t protest. Nor did you try to stop me. You participated, and with enthusiasm. Your seduction is well under way and, so far, has been met with nothing but success.”

Color flooded her face and she scowled.

Satisfied, he bent to retrieve her book from the floor. She stepped forward to take it, and he realized that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Somehow, his memory had made her taller.

Bloody hell, how had this tiny woman with her mob of mad curls and saucy mouth caused so much havoc in his life in only two meetings? He had no idea. All he knew was that he wanted to claim those red lips yet again and bruise them with kisses until she cried out and—

She pushed a stray curl from her cheek with a simple gesture that was somehow sensual. He watched, almost enthralled, as her slender fingers brushed her neck and he instantly wanted to follow her fingers with his lips and—

Their eyes met, locked, and clung. Heat swirled between them, as palpable as the waves that rose over a fire. He almost leaned toward her when she cleared her throat and said in a breathless tone, “Lord Sinclair, since we are to be fellow guests for the next three weeks, we should make peace.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“I’ll apologize for accidentally knocking you off the ladder and you can apologize for trapping me there.”

He looked at the bruise on her forehead and grimaced. “No. You owe no apologies for today. What happened was—” Good God, was he really going to say it? But yes. It was the truth, damn it. Besides, she was right in suggesting that this seduction was off to
a very rocky beginning. He needed to make up some ground, and why not with a truth? Nothing was more disarming, and heavens knew the woman who stood before him could stand to be disarmed. He touched his bruised and cut chin and grimaced again. “This was all my fault.”

She blinked in surprise.

“I should have let you climb down before I attempted to kiss you. I will not be so foolish again.”

“That’s . . . that’s very kind of you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Her lips quirked. “I’m sorry. What I meant to say was ‘Thank you.’ ”

“You’re welcome. But do not think this changes anything between us. I will seduce you.”

She squared her shoulders, a light in her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

“Yes, we will. But for now, I will take my leave of you.” He bowed, bringing his eyes down to hers. For a long moment, he held her gaze. “I shall see you later tonight.”

“T-tonight?”

He hid a smile at her breathless tone. “At dinner.”

“Oh. Yes. Dinner.” She managed a smile.

He bowed. “Until then.” With a faint smile, he strode into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Well, that hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. But their path was now set. All he had to do was remember his purpose: to sample just enough of her to satisfy
his seemingly insatiable craving, and then go on with his life, finally freed from that damned kiss from so long ago.

Sin walked through the foyer toward the stairwell, his senses highly alert, his entire body tense and awake. By God, he was looking forward to the coming weeks. Judging by his first attempt, it wouldn’t take much to stir her desire. This time he wouldn’t be the only one suffering pangs of unanswered passion.

As he walked past the door to the sitting room, it opened and the Roxburghe pugs came tumbling out, yapping happily at the sight of him. Lady Charlotte followed.

Her gaze widened as she noted his chin. “Oh dear,” she said. “What happened?”

“I was on the library ladder and I fell.”

“Were you dizzy? There’s an ague going about that makes one quite unsteady. I’ll send for Doctor MacCreedy and—”

“I assure you there’s no need. I’m quite healthy.”

“Oh.” She eyed him narrowly. “Too much port, was it?”

He laughed. “No.”
Too much Rose. She makes a man as giddy as a bottle of the best Scotch.
He bent to pat a pug that was mauling his boots and then straightened. “I think I’ll retire to my room until dinner. That is, unless you need something?”

“Oh no,” she answered, her gaze sharp.

“Good day, then.” Sin made his bow and climbed
the stairs, aware that she remained at the bottom, watching him. He couldn’t ignore it.
Hmm. It appears that I may be far more closely observed at my great-aunt’s than I expected. I will put a stop to that immediately; I’m not here for anyone’s amusement but my own.
That decided, he continued to his bedchamber, feeling oddly lighthearted for a man with a bruised and cut chin. The game had begun.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Charlotte saw Sin with a cut upon his chin today, which he blamed upon a fall from the ladder in the library. Even more odd, while on my way to my chambers to dress for dinner, I saw Miss Balfour sporting a definite bruise upon her brow, which she claimed came from an incident involving the same ladder.

I vow, but I’m dying to know what happened . . .

“Ow! Dunn, stop!”

Sin’s valet sighed and dropped a cloth into the washbowl. “My lord, I was merely trying to clean the cut on your chin.”

Sin sniffed the air suspiciously. “That doesn’t smell like water.”

“That’s because it’s whiskey. It will clean the cut better than water.”

“I asked you to shave around the scrape, not force whiskey into it. That stings like hell.”

“Then it’s working,” Dunn said without any visible remorse. “If you get an infection you will not need a shave, but a surgeon.”

Sin went to the mirror over his dresser. The scrape on his chin was beginning to turn bluish and was a little swollen. “Damn. I look like a prizefighter.”

“Yes, my lord. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me how you gained your injury?”

“I was helping Miss Balfour select a library book.”

Dunn waited, but when Sin said no more, the valet merely added a dry “I see.” He crossed to the wardrobe, opened it, and stood staring at the contents. “Do you anticipate a further visit to the library this evening? If so, I would suggest the claret waistcoat. It will obscure any bloodstains.”