“I do what must be done.”
He plucked at one of the curls dangling near her ear. When she looked at him, he imagined her gaze was full of passion. That damn mask! Her red lips were moistened and slightly parted. The warmth and innocence of that kiss in the garden still stirred him. That kiss was what actually would keep him awake tonight.
Carlow had not been with a woman in over a year. Not that there weren’t attractive options near the earldom’s many estates, but he would keep a good reputation amongst those in his charge. And he truly had been busy; the days and nights blurred.
Being back in London was almost a holiday.
And then there was her.
He scooted closer.
“My lord Carlow, we are alone,” she said.
“You noticed.”
He soothed his finger around the shell of her ear. The little gasp that escaped from her mouth did awful things to him. She squirmed, her breasts expanded as she held her breath and threw her head back as if it were the most erotic thing to have ever happened to her.
“May I kiss you again?” he whispered.
“We’ve had an interesting evening. I think the Weatherby Ball is fraught with instances just like this one. Dropping one’s guard at just the wrong moment…” She placed her hand on his knee, which wasn’t helpful at all and at odds with what she was saying. “And it would be best for both of us to—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Shh. There is no harm in a few kisses. You might be innocent in deed, but I don’t think you are innocent in thought. I can satisfy your curiosity. Appease some of your desire.”
“God, Carlow, you need to stop now before there is no return.”
He touched her face, ready to rip the mask free, but with a gentle touch only encouraged her to face him. He kissed her again. More of a proper kiss, urging her to join him in his fervor. He nipped at her lips, traced her mouth with his tongue before she opened to him.
He leaned into her and she sprawled back on the couch. Somehow, he resisted the urge to cup her breasts or search beneath her skirts.
For now, the sweetness of her mouth was enough to satisfy. She wrapped one arm about his neck. He started a slow press of kisses across her face and down her neck, earning him several gasping moans. She wasn’t aware she was writhing against him. Carlow felt the heat burn from the inside out.
“Nora! My God, Nora, what is the meaning of this?”
Carlow pushed away and glanced toward the door. Thankfully, the masked enchantress was still in a proper state of dress.
A few gasps, an alarming ‘oh my’ and a clearing of throat sent chills down Gabriel’s spine. He sat up and ran a hand through his air. The room was no longer empty and had grown alarmingly heated. “And who are you?” Gabriel demanded. The man was slight with thinning hair. A minister, by his somber dress and lack of costuming.
“Lord Carlow, this is unacceptable,” Lady Weatherby said, scolding. She waded into the room. She wasn’t scandalized, only prepared to do her duty as the hostess. How many times had this exact scenario played out at her balls? No, it wasn’t a scandal to her; it was the closing act of this year’s ball and would keep everyone talking for the next year. What a willing idiot he was.
“Nora, dear. Come away from him.”
“But he wants to marry me, Reverend Wright,” she said, taking off the mask.
Oh, she was beautiful all right, but she was also a rank liar and fraudster, whoever she was. So much for virtue.
* * * * *
Three more people pushed into the library while Lady Weatherby was huffing about the absolute scandal of it! Nora let her tears flow, one of those gifts given to women to use against men. Carlow had removed his person from hers, allowing her to sit up, bat her lashes and then press her hand to her brow.
Then Timothy strolled in.
Nora was just about out of tears and ready for her brother to scream holy hell about Carlow ruining—ruining—his sister.
“And who are you?” Carlow demanded.
“I am Nora’s brother, Timothy Blasington. Earl of Wargrove. And I don’t need an introduction to a scoundrel like you, Carlow. Isn’t it just like your family to take advantage of the defenseless,” he said, speaking with authority and anger. “Nora, come stand beside me and away from him.”
Oh, Gigi would be so proud of their acting skills.
“You’re Wargrove? And you’re Nora Blasington?” Carlow asked, his brows reaching the ceiling while his gaze shot daggers at her.
“This is unspeakable,” Reverend Wright sputtered. “I will see the Archbishop of Canterbury this evening and demand a special license, and you, sir, will attend with me.”
“It’s already morning,” Carlow said sarcastically. Nora glanced at the mantel clock to see it was just a little after two.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Timothy demanded. “There are agreements to be reached and until I hear it from his own lips, he’s not leaving this room.”
“And what is it you want me to say?” Carlow asked, feigning innocence.
“By God, you will apologize first. Second, you will get on your knees and beg for my sister’s hand.”
“Or what?”
Nora hurried to Carlow and wrapped her arms about him. “He’s already promised, Timothy. Don’t hurt him.”
“Hurt me?” Carlow laughed and attempted to disengage Nora. She clung tighter.
“Have you made a promise, sir? Is that what this is about?” the reverend asked. “I think there can be forgiveness for such an indiscretion if pledges have been made. And you intend to keep them.”
“He did! Several of them,” Nora said. Lady Weatherby was tutting and nodding and whatever-will-we-do-ing. As
