hands were on her hips again; she tossed back her hair defiantly. ‘Why shouldn’t I know about art? Anyway, I’m not the only one in trouble—what did you do, to make those men attack you?’
‘I rather think,’ he said, ‘that I offended someone here tonight.’
‘If you go around speaking to people as you did to that man you called Stephen, then I’m not in the least surprised!’ she said tartly. ‘Why were you so rude to him?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t like him very much,’ he said. ‘And judging by the way you threw his money back in his face, you didn’t take to him either.’
Rosalie caught her breath. Something she’d never experienced before surged warmly through her. She, normally so resistant to men and their various wiles, could not even look this one in the eyes—those dark, glinting eyes—without her stomach turning peculiarly upside down.
Alone in a whore’s boudoir. With him.
Outside beyond this room the mayhem continued, with the sounds of men brawling and furniture breaking, followed by the crashing jangle of Mrs Barnard’s piano as it went over on its side. Rosalie forced herself to meet his dark eyes. ‘Do you have this effect wherever you go?’
‘Not my fault. I told you, someone paid those louts to attack me. Though it’s true that I attract attention,’ he said. His sleepy eyes gazed, unblinking, into hers. ‘Yours, for example, Athena. Earlier I saw you watching me. From the stage.’
Her heart juddered. ‘Watching you! Ridiculous! I’m short-sighted, I couldn’t possibly see that far!’
‘Strange, I gained the distinct impression you were watching me quite carefully.’
His hand, unbelievably, was curling round her slender waist. Drawing her close. Even more unbelievably, she was letting him do it. His fingertips were warm and firm through the filmy fabric of this stupid gown … She jerked herself away, the blood racing through her veins. ‘Oh, no! You can stop this, right now!’
‘Stop? But isn’t this why you’re here?’ His expression was innocent, but there was a hint of dark irony in his voice. ‘To—make yourself available?’
Damn the man. ‘Yes,’ she lied, her heart racing, ‘yes, of course, but at a time like this—it’s absurd—it’s like …’
‘Fiddling while Rome burns?’ he murmured, eyes glinting. ‘Deuce—I forgot—we’re supposed to be in Grecian mythology tonight, aren’t we? Athena, I appeal to your sense of justice. My God, I’ve had to pay a lot for tonight’s entertainment!’
She let her eyes rove scornfully over his shabby coat, which had certainly seen better days. ‘Too expensive for you?’ she said sweetly.
‘It’s a matter of principle.’ He smiled pleasantly back. ‘You see, I normally never have to pay for female company.’
Unbelievable arrogance! She gasped and tried to slap him; a mistake, because he caught hold of her raised wrist, and of course once more she was in his power. She fought hard to free herself. ‘Let me go. You know that I’m in danger here and need to get out!’
Just then a couple of men tangled in drunken combat blundered through the doorway, grunting and swearing. Releasing her, he moved swiftly to push them back into the hall and kicked the door shut again, hard, before locking it.
And he came slowly back towards her. Dear Lord, this man was dangerous. Hadn’t she registered it from the moment she saw him? That velvet couch seemed to fill the blasted room. Even the single candle flickered as if in warning. A coil of something dark, something forbidden, snaked down to her stomach even as she clamped down desperately on the effect this man was having on her pulse rate. Her breathing. Her existence.
‘A bargain, Athena,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll get you safely out of here, if you’ll tell me why that man Stephen claimed to have business with you.’
She shrugged and moistened her dry lips. ‘How should I know? He just said—he was eager to get to know me better. As they all do,’ she supposed.
His dark eyes flashed with incredulity. ‘Yet you threw away his money?’
Rosalie glanced towards the locked door. ‘Let me go now. Please.’
Still his lithe figure blocked her way. His strong hands were warm on her shoulders again. ‘Not before you promise me that you won’t throw yourself away, in a place like this. To a brute like Lord Stephen Maybury.’
She breathed in sharply. The touch of his fingers was nothing less than a caress. Gathering her wits to protest, she couldn’t help but notice that on one of his hard cheekbones a livid bruise was appearing. And there must be other injuries, all over that lithe and supple body …
‘Perhaps you should stay away from here yourself,’ she said, tossing her head. ‘Those men were trying very hard to kill you.’
He arched one eyebrow. ‘And that’s why you launched yourself into the fray—on my side? Surely you’re not telling me that you actually care?’
‘No! I mean, you’re just another client of Dr Barnard’s, your private affairs are no business of mine whatsoever!’
‘A true professional,’ he was murmuring, in that husky voice that made her blood pound. ‘How much does it cost for a kiss, Athena? And don’t try telling me again that you’re not for sale.’
He was drawing her closer. She could feel the heat of his body now. See the texture of his skin, his lightly stubbled jaw that her fingers ached to touch …
‘Let me tell you,’ he was saying softly, ‘that on closer inspection I’d have paid twice the usual rate—for this.’ His eyes never leaving hers, he lowered his head and brushed her lips with his.
It was a fleeting caress, but even so Rosalie had never experienced anything like it. A sweet, melting sensation was pouring through her nerve ends. A moment later his strong arms were cradling her even more securely and he was kissing her properly, his mouth possessing hers, his tongue stroking her soft inner moistness in a sensual dance that stirred the blood in her veins to white heat.
He was masterful. Dangerous. Exquisitely provocative. The worst of it was that she wanted more and he knew it. She felt one of his strong hands slide up to cup the back of her head so his tongue could continue its rhythmic thrust, the slight roughness of his stubbled jaw providing a sensuous counterpoint to the silken sweetness of his mouth. His other hand slid tighter round her waist, pulling her closer against the hardness of his powerful body, his chest, his thighs. The urge to succumb to this dark magic and open herself to his potent masculinity was irresistible. Her hands crept upwards of their own volition to cling to his shoulders, feeling and savouring the vital force of his body.
This should not be happening. She’d sworn to let no man touch her again, yet her body was melting to his every caress.
He let out some sort of sigh and pulled her still closer. Now his right hand was sliding over the thin muslin that covered her breasts and, as her nipples peaked beneath his touch, she shuddered. The liquid warmth in her lower abdomen was like a burning ache of need; her mouth opened wider to his relentless plundering, and for Rosalie, for that space of time, nothing
