Two Frustrating Days Later
Sebastian frowned, unable to concentrate on the opera. Even the opening night performance of The Magic Flute couldn’t hold his attention.
Tonight, his distraction was decidedly female. He’d been fortunate enough to secure a private box for the season, located right at the heart of the opera house and only two down from the Earl of Bentham’s box on the right, where Lady Jane sat in the front row. While to his immediate left sat Miranda Hodgkins.
Both women wore the low-cut, tight-bodice gowns that were all the rage for evenings at the opera, but there all similarities ended. Lady Jane looked coolly regal in her sapphire-blue satin that accentuated the paleness of her skin and the dark chestnut of her hair, while Miranda in her emerald-green velvet and loosely pinned strawberry-blond tresses looked utterly soft and warm.
He frowned. Tonight, she was simply lovely.
Yet she was oblivious to the whispers and stares she drew from the crowd around them, who had come to the opera less for the Mozart and more for the gossip…all of them wondering who she was, what she was like, if she was as lovely in person as she looked from a distance. Certainly a good deal of the on-dit flowing through the house tonight concerned him as well, curious if he were more to her than the man who sponsored her introduction. Of course, the whole situation was made worse by the enraptured way she watched the singers on the stage, each emotionally expressive aria mirrored on her face, when no one who was part of the quality actually came to the opera to watch the opera. Just another distinction between her and the other ladies in attendance. And as far as he was concerned, one in her favor.
Since she’d arrived in London, Miranda had blossomed. Sebastian couldn’t deny that. And thankfully, with much relief, she also hadn’t done anything to cause undue gossip, despite how her exuberance continued to draw attention, especially from the staid and dull matrons of the ton who wrongly saw her as competition for their own female relatives. But he could have easily laid to rest any assumptions that he wanted her for himself. Oh, she was lovely in her new city finery, and surprisingly clever and witty. Yet beneath the fancy gowns and intelligence still lurked the country gel who had set fire to the mercantile.
Which was why he’d put her right next to him, front and center in the box, so he could keep an eye on her, while simultaneously keeping an eye on Lady Jane.
Behind them sat Josie and his mother, who was thrilled by all the marriage-focused activity surrounding the family this season. Although he wasn’t certain she believed his intent to wed by August, he couldn’t be more resolved to the matter. During the past few weeks, he had continued to narrow down his list of potential wives, and still Lady Jane seemed the most promising. And clearly receptive to the idea, based on what Miranda had told him she’d overhead at various soirees. He wasn’t officially courting her yet, but he’d been focusing his attention on her, making certain to speak with her privately whenever they met. But he’d yet to formally call on her, holding back from officially declaring himself. After all, there was no hurry to make a decision, and he wanted to be certain that no one else would prove a better choice for his duchess.
Less resolved to imminent marriage but openly courting Miss Morgan, Robert continued to insist to his brothers that he had no intention of offering for her anytime soon. His mother, though, certainly hoped differently.
Then there was Miranda.
Despite her protests that she wasn’t seeking suitors, she’d been pursued since her arrival in London by several young gentlemen who had met her at one of her various outings and become smitten, deeply enough that they’d begun to call on her at Audley House. A few brave ones had actually possessed the spine to speak with him at Park Place about courting her, until he chased them away. Good riddance. None of them were right for her. And Miranda certainly wouldn’t have given them any consideration anyway, if only because they weren’t Robert.
His mother thought differently, however. It seemed that every time he turned around his mother was calling a man’s attention to Miranda. Mother had gone so far in encouraging her to be courted, in fact, that she’d asked Sebastian to give Miranda a dowry should any young man decide to offer and should Miranda surprise all of them by accepting.
But Robert still had no idea that she loved him.
And then, there was Charles Downing, who sat at Miranda’s left. The young man had met her at an art exhibition, and when Downing came to Park Place to ask permission to escort her to the opera, Sebastian had no good reason to refuse. A respected bank officer from a solidly middle-class family, Downing was conservative and staid, pleasant, and intelligent enough, with high moral values and a steady temperament—overall, perfectly harmless.
Yet something about the man irritated Sebastian, especially after Miranda agreed to allow Downing to escort her for the evening. Certainly, she’d agreed in order to please his mother, who was now encouraging her to change her mind about her season and accept suitors. But Sebastian also wondered if her feelings for Robert were softening, because she’d been trying less hard to capture his brother’s attention since the ball.
So he decided that a night at the opera would be a fine idea for Miranda and Downing…and that the entire family would go en masse with them.
A burst of exuberant applause from beside him drew his attention back to her, just in time to see her wondrous expression at the Queen of the Night’s first aria. Miranda Hodgkins may have been trouble personified, but he was grateful that he was here to experience her first opera with her. Seeing it through her eyes…magical.
She turned toward him with joy dancing on her face. His gut pinched at the sight. Dear God…she was beautiful. How had he never noticed before this season how truly alluring she was?
“Are you enjoying the music?” He leaned casually toward her to be heard above the applause, and because he wanted to be close to her tonight.
“It’s wonderful,” she answered with that beaming smile he’d come to know so well. That she liked Mozart as much as he did pleased him a great deal.
“Sadly, though,” he teased as he lowered his mouth close to her ear, “no pirate scenes.”
She slapped him gently on the shoulder with her fan. “Never underestimate the advantages of a good pirate scene,” she chided.
He fought to keep from laughing, his lips twitching as he agreed with mock solemnity, “Certainly not.”
“Hamlet would have been so much better with a pirate scene.” She gave a long-suffering sigh. “It would have saved the entire play.”
Then he did laugh, unable to hold back any longer. Glancing sideways at him, she gave him a smile that tugged mischievously at the corners of her pink lips. Imp. Only Miranda could make him laugh in the middle of Mozart.
But the laughter choked in his throat when he glanced past her and caught Charles Downing watching them both curiously. Then the man frowned at him.
Sebastian felt damnably uncomfortable. Clearing his throat and shifting away from Miranda, he glanced away in the opposite direction—
And directly at Lady Jane as she stared at him thoughtfully from her family’s private box. Stiffly, he nodded a greeting to her, and she returned his acknowledgment with a demure flit of her fan.
Good Lord. Was no one but Miranda actually watching the opera tonight?
Unaware that they were under the attention of at least two sets of eyes, Miranda leaned closer to him and whispered, “Are all operas as much fun as this one?”
In the dim light, he drank in the way she looked with the soft shadows falling gently across her delicate face, the dark green velvet of her gown accentuating her softness and warmth, the single emerald pendant drawing attention to the graceful length of her throat. The low lamplight burnished red highlights in her hair that had been lifted into a soft pile on her crown with loose tendrils tickling at the sides of her face. But most of all, there was her enraptured expression as she hung on each note, entranced by the spectacle onstage.
“No,” he answered quietly. Only because you’re here…“But this is one of the very best. My favorite, in fact.”
She sighed. “Mine, too.”
“It’s your only opera,” he corrected, unable to help the amused smile playing at his lips.
“That’s what makes it my favorite,” she confided.
He chuckled softly as he continued to watch her watch the opera, entertained as much by the show of emotions playing across her face as by the show onstage. Coming from any other woman, he would have taken the comment as some offhanded remark from an uneducated gel who didn’t possess the maturity to hold the attention of a man like him. Or a hollow attempt at blatant flattery. But from Miranda, the earnest comment was seductive in its simplicity.
Shakespeare. Milton. Now Mozart. He was beginning to see all the many, complicated facets of her even if he couldn’t yet completely fathom the woman beneath. But he knew now that she wasn’t the flighty chit he’d always assumed her to be. Miranda wasn’t capricious or immature. She simply loved life and all the new experiences it offered, which the rest of them had grown too jaded to appreciate.
And he, more than anyone, knew exactly how mature she was.
When she leaned over to whisper to him, the side of her breast accidentally brushed his arm. He stiffened, feeling that innocent touch rush through him with the force of an electric jolt.
“Why isn’t anyone else paying attention?” Her voice was little more than a breath, yet it made him tremble. She had no idea of the way she tied him into knots with only the soft tickle of her warm whispers in his ear. “Don’t they realize how wonderful the opera is?”
“They don’t have the same refined tastes as stodgy, old dukes and orphanage manageresses,” he replied wryly with an exaggerated shake of his head. “No appreciation of the finer arts. Or of pirates.”
She gave a throaty laugh at his teasing, one that fell through him like warm rain.
His gut tightened with quick arousal. She hadn’t meant the laugh as a flirtation, but that was exactly how it had come out. And he liked it. Immensely.
Recklessly, he sought more. He leaned toward her, close enough to catch the delicious scent of roses lingering on her skin, and whispered, “Some of the people here haven’t come to hear the music.”
She puzzled. “Then why are they here?”
“To be seen in their finery and to see others in theirs, to gossip and catch up on the latest rumors…” He watched her expression as he added, unable to help himself, “For secret trysts.”
“Secret trysts?” she repeated, her breath hitching.
He smiled at her innocence, a trait he’d so rarely found in the women who pursued him this season in their hopes to catch a duke. “Haven’t you wondered why so many of the private boxes now have their curtains drawn?”
With a bewildered frown, she glanced at the opera house around her. “No. Why would they…” Her words trailed off into a soft, comprehending gasp.
Her eyes widened as if seeing for the first time the building that had surrounded them for the past two hours, realizing exactly what must have been going on at that very moment in the darkness behind those pulled curtains. Her pink lips formed a round O, although no sound came beyond a soft breath.
A devilishly wicked urge to smile gripped him. As he watched her with amusement, he wondered if the dim shadows of their box hid from him a hot blush on her soft cheeks. And grateful that they did, because he found himself enjoying this inappropriate conversation far more than he should. If he had proof that she found it arousing as well, he might be tempted to give her yet another lesson on flirting. One far more erotic and scandalous than before.
“But the king’s box is also…Oh.”
He bit his inner cheek to keep from laughing.
She didn’t dare look at him then, her eyes focused straight ahead. But the corners of her mouth curled into the start of a bewitching, wanton smile. Her eyes shining knowingly, she whispered, “Who knew opera could be so…inspiring?”
Then he did laugh and drew scowls from the people seated around them. But he didn’t care. Talking with her like this was too liberating to stop. For a few moments here in the shadows, exchanging whispers with her, he could again be the mischievous rogue he’d once been, and he’d missed being that man. Greatly. Tonight with Miranda made him realize exactly how much.
“I don’t understand these people,” she whispered, a touch of bewilderment lacing her voice. “I mean, they can be inspired anywhere, but they’re behind curtains, missing the most wonderful music.”
He bit back the urge to tell her that many of the couples being inspired by each other tonight were not otherwise together except behind those closed curtains, because the curious woman would then want to know how he knew that. And Sebastian wasn’t prepared to share with her how many nights he’d spent behind those very same drawn curtains himself, missing the opera.
“It’s because of the singers,” he pressed on, although he knew he should stop. This conversation was for courtesans and demimondaines, not for innocents like Miranda. But he simply couldn’t help himself. The reaction she created inside him was too titillating to eschew. “Hearing all those high notes,” he boldly whispered into her ear, “stirs a man’s blood.”
She froze for a moment, not visibly reacting to that blatant and wholly improper flirtation. For a heartbeat, he wondered if he’d gone too far and pushed the limits of their newfound friendship too hard—
Then she breathed out, “It’s all that passion, isn’t it?” She spoke so softly he barely heard her, but each word seeped into him like liquid heat. “Watching it onstage, hearing it swirl around you, becoming swept up in it until you’re part of it…”
“Exactly,” he murmured, then thrilled when she exhaled a shaky sigh in the first signs of quiet arousal.
“And if you’re hidden in the shadows, in the darkness, where no one can see nor ever know…I suppose it would be tempting for a woman, too.”
Shamelessly wanting to see more of how his words affected her, he asked, “Tempting how?”
“For a woman to be able to ask for what she wants.” Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. “If she wants the man she’s with to kiss her, or touch her…or something else.”
The scent of rosewater filled his senses. “Would you, Miranda?” Intoxicated by her nearness, he pressed wickedly, “Ask for that?”
Even the shadows couldn’t hide the blush that now darkened her cheeks or the way she trembled. “I—I might.”
His heart skipped. Inexplicably, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to be alone with her in one of those boxes with its curtains pulled, hearing her ask for what she wanted from him, with nothing else in the world to worry about but pleasing her.
But that was what he wanted as a man. As a duke, he could never have it. His days of finding physical pleasures in theater boxes were over. They’d died right along with his father. Knowing that only sharpened his frustration.
“And you?” she asked in a breathy whisper, completely unaware of the turmoil she churned inside him. She didn’t dare to turn her head to look at him. “Does the opera stir your blood?”
He stared at her profile in the shadows, his gut tightening at the raw pull of her, and confessed, “You stir my blood, Miranda.”
She froze, except for her lips, which parted with a silent gasp of surprise. Then she slowly turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes wide. Her breath came in soft, shallow little pants. “Sebastian—”
Suddenly, the audience burst into applause, destroying the illusion of privacy created by the shadows around them. He snapped his attention back to the stage as the curtain dropped for intermission and an army of attendants swarmed through the opera house to raise all the lamps. The theater became a flurry of activity as everyone rose from their seats to seek out refreshments in the lobby, gain a closer look at the other operagoers, and trade bits of gossip.
So did all the people inside his box. Except Miranda, who continued to stare at him in stunned confusion. He didn’t blame her. He was damned confused himself at his own behavior, certain the Mozart had driven him mad.
He glanced past her at Downing, who rose to his feet with a puppy-dog smile for her. The man was completely oblivious to the scandalous whispers Sebastian had shared with Miranda only a few feet away. He should have felt guilty, he supposed, given both the man’s close proximity and that Downing was here to capture Miranda’s attention for himself, not to have it snatched away.
But guilt was the last thing he felt. He’d enjoyed that conversation too much to regret it.
“Do you like the opera, dear?” Elizabeth Carlisle stepped to her side and affectionately squeezed her hand.
“It’s amazing,” she confided, beaming. The improper conversation from just moments ago was now forgotten by her, even if he would be thinking about it for the rest of the night. “I want to go backstage and see all the costumes, the musicians, the stage sets…Do you think they’d mind if—”
“No,” Sebastian refused firmly. “Proper ladies don’t associate with opera singers and actors.” Nor did dukes, he reminded himself with a pang of contrition. “They enjoy the performance from their seats.”
But the determined look on her face raised the hairs on the back of his neck in warning. Oh, he knew that look. It was the same one he’d seen in the green eyes behind the masquerade mask the night she’d sneaked into his bedchamber.
When his mother and Josie moved toward the door to head into the hall with the rest of the crowd, Miranda slid away after them.
Oh no. That little force of nature was going nowhere.
Sebastian slipped between her and the door, just as his mother and Josie stepped out into the hall. They disappeared into the crush of bodies shuffling toward the retiring rooms and lobby.
“I think you would enjoy remaining in the box during intermission,” Sebastian told her, his polite words belying the firm order in the tone of his voice. He knew perfectly well that the curious woman would find her way backstage and straight into trouble if he let her out of his sight for one moment. He slid a sideways glance to her right and smiled coldly at the banker, who hadn’t left her side since he arrived at Audley House to escort her. “With Mr. Downing to keep you company.”
Oblivious to the true meaning of the exchange between them, Downing’s smile widened. “What a grand idea.”
“But I want a glass of punch,” Miranda insisted, irritation sounding in her voice at having her backstage plans thwarted.
Downing eagerly offered, “I’ll fetch one for you.”
“What a fine idea.” Sebastian grinned at her. He might come to like the man after all.
Her eyes narrowed, her hands drawing into clenched fists at her sides as she glared at him. “And leave me alone in an opera box with a man, unchaperoned?” She arched a brow in challenge. “What if the music inspires us?”
Sebastian forced back the laugh rising inside him, both at her consternation and at her insinuation about Downing. The man was perfectly harmless.
He arched a brow. “Then that would be a magic flute, indeed.”
A strangled sound of half fury, half mortification tore from her. And heavens, that was a neat trick! How her face turned so scarlet so quickly.
“Besides,” he reminded her as he moved toward the door, “if you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”
As he stepped into the hall, the last glimpse Sebastian caught over his shoulder was of Downing smiling fondly at her while she stared daggers after him. He smothered down his laughter but not the smile that he couldn’t prevent. After all, he felt freer to be himself tonight than he had in years. Who would have ever believed it would be because of Miranda Hodgkins?
Astonishing.
* * *
The second act began, but Miranda couldn’t concentrate on what was happening onstage.
They had all shifted seats inside the box, thanks to Josie’s suggestion that they rotate two chairs to give everyone a different view of the stage. That put Miranda in back next to Charles Downing and put Sebastian at the end of the front row farthest away from her.
Charles tried to lean closer and engage her in conversation, but while he was a sweet man and very attentive, he simply wasn’t able to hold her attention the way the opera did as it unfolded on the stage below them. Or the way Sebastian had with that sordid conversation he’d lured her into, the one that made her pulse race with all the scandalous images he’d put into her head of what went on in private boxes behind pulled curtains.
And especially when he’d said that she stirred his blood.
She frowned as she stared at the back of his head, his attention focused on the stage below. Of all men to pull her into such an improper conversation…Sebastian. And she’d gone willingly, titillated by the brush of his hot lips at her ear and the faint ache his warm breath tingled between her thighs. The same way he’d made her feel the night of the masquerade with his talk of dancing when what he’d truly meant was ravishment. More, in fact—because it wasn’t only a physical allure that drew her to him tonight, but also an intellectual connection. One she was beginning to suspect she’d never have with Robert.
Confusion swirled through her. She wanted to laugh at fate’s cruel sense of humor, that the brother she wanted had yet to notice her as an alluring woman while the other engaged her in flirtations that made her head spin. But none of that mattered in the end. Because Robert wanted Diana Morgan, and Sebastian wanted a duchess. And the only person who seemed to want her…
She turned her head and caught Mr. Downing smiling at her.
Forcing a demure smile back at him, she turned away. Heavens. Nothing about courting and love was as easy as it appeared from the outside.
She needed air and a few minutes reprieve to collect herself before the opera finished and she’d have to plaster on a smiling face for the carriage ride back to Audley House, when she would have to pretend that nothing was wrong and confusion wasn’t bubbling inside her. So she leaned forward and tapped Josie on the shoulder.
“I’m going to the retiring room,” she whispered.
With sisterly concern, Josie nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
“Stay and enjoy the opera,” she insisted, not wanting Josie to miss any of the production. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”
With an apologetic smile for the others, she rose from her chair and slipped from the box.
Except for attendants positioned outside the doors and one couple moving tardily back to their box, the hall was empty, and she hurried away, making her way quickly through the theater to the retiring room. She took a few minutes’ privacy there to splash cool water on her face and calm her bewildered heart. Alone in the room, sitting at the dressing table in front of the mirror, she stared grimly at herself. To think that she’d promised to inform Sebastian of all the retiring room gossip in return for his help with Robert—what a sad state their pact was now in.
By the time her breathing had returned to normal, she’d convinced herself that Sebastian hadn’t meant what he’d said about stirring her blood. That he’d only been caught up in the passion of the opera, exactly as she had been. Certainly it couldn’t have been anything else.
But when she emerged from the retiring room, the last place she wanted to go was back to the box. Not when the only thing waiting for her there was more confusion. And Mr. Downing. So she asked directions to the back of the stage from an attendant in the lobby, then hurried away.
The opera house was like a maze, but she was determined to see backstage, to watch the singers up close and marvel over the sets and costumes. Most definitely not the province of respectable ladies, but oh, she simply didn’t care! This was most likely her only chance to be backstage at an opera, and she refused to let the opportunity pass her by.
She was only fleetingly surprised that no one guarded the stage door nor tried to stop her when she slipped into the dark shadows of the wing. But then, who else would be sneaking back here but her? Taking hesitant steps, her pulse pounding like a drum in her ears, she carefully approached along the rear wall, creeping up as close to the lighted stage as she dared. The dark shadows and heavy set pieces from the first act that had been pushed aside into the wing hid her from all view. Not even the musicians playing in the pit nor the backstage hands busy with the technical elements of running the production could see her there.
It was simply amazing! In the darkness, she was free to watch the singers from only a few feet away, their voices so strong and vibrant that her chest reverberated with each note they sang. The effect was mesmerizing, and even though she knew she had only a precious few minutes’ escape from the box, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. The lamplight dazzled and the shadows thrilled, and her chest rose and fell with each musical phrase that poured from the two women on the stage. She barely remembered to breathe.
A hand touched her elbow from behind. She jumped, turning in surprise and ready to scream—
“Shh,” Sebastian warned as he stepped up behind her, touching his fingers to her lips to keep her quiet. Then he nodded toward the stage, silently giving his permission to keep watching.
With a smile of gratitude, she turned back toward the stage. Excited happiness surged through her that he’d granted her this small concession and didn’t demand she return immediately to the box. But neither did he move away, remaining close behind her. So close that she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her back.
Then he shifted even closer, and her heart pounded furiously. When he lowered his mouth to her ear as his hands lightly held her upper arms, the silly thing leapt right into her throat!
“I knew I’d find you here.” The warmth of his breath tickled across her cheek and sent tingles coursing through her.
“I couldn’t resist,” she returned in the same soft murmur. He stood so close…could he feel the way he made her heart race with just a whisper, or know how the masculine scent of him made her ache? “Haven’t you ever wanted something so much that you were helpless to resist?”
His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her arms. But Miranda noticed. At that moment, with her senses heightened by the music swirling around them and the interplay of the lamplight and dark shadows, she noticed everything about him, every subtle shift of his body, every deep breath he drew. His nearness confused her…yet also pleased her more than she wanted to admit.
“Yes,” he murmured against her ear. That single word sent heat cascading through her and spun the confusion inside her until it churned into a tight knot in her belly.
Yet she kept her gaze locked on the singers, not daring to turn her head to look at him. If she did, he would see the unbidden effect he had on her, and she would never be able to live down the embarrassment. Especially when he’d most likely only followed her here to summon her back to the box like a chaperone. “Then you understand why I had to come backstage.”
His lips curled against her ear in a teasing smile. “And abandon poor Downing?”
Oh, that smile! It twined around her spine and made her long to feel those lips against hers. “He seems capable of withstanding my abandonment,” she countered in a breathless whisper.
His hands drifted slowly down her bare arms, fanning goose bumps in their wake. “You don’t enjoy his company?”
“I couldn’t—” Her breath hitched when his hands reached her wrists, and instead of letting her go, they slipped beneath her arms to rest on her hips. Well, that was definitely not the touch of a chaperone. Swallowing hard to clear the nervous tightening of her throat, she began again, confessing with a twinge of embarrassment, “I couldn’t have the same kind of conversation with him that I had with you.”
“I certainly hope not.” He slipped one hand around to her front and splayed his fingers wide across her belly. “You’d have had the poor man in a lather.”
She trembled, not knowing what to do or say. Sebastian was holding her in his arms, his hard chest brushing against her back, and his hand…Heavens, his hand! Good Lord, did he realize how scandalously he was holding her? Even if he meant only to keep her still so no one would see her move in the darkness and catch them watching from the wings, where he held her—
Suddenly very nervous, she gave a soft laugh, one that emerged far more sultry than she’d intended. Blast it! Even her laughs were against her. “Charles Downing? I think not.”
“You don’t like him?” he pressed, his lips brushing tantalizingly against her ear.
She squeezed her eyes closed against the shiver his hot mouth sent racing through her. “He’s nice, but…”
“But he isn’t Robert,” he finished, a strange timbre dulling his voice.
Her heart skipped. That couldn’t be jealousy she heard. Impossible! Certainly not from Sebastian. Still, though, she liked the sound of it, and she knew that now was not the time to admit to suspecting that Robert might never be hers, not if she wanted to hear it again. Which she did. Very much.
“No,” she whispered, softly baiting him, “he’s not.”
He shocked her by nuzzling his mouth against her ear, and she gasped. That, oh, that was clearly not an accidental brush of whispering lips! He’d meant to caress her, and the warm longing it sent spiraling through her for another touch like that nearly undid her. Drawing a deep breath as she threw all caution and sense to the wind, she tilted her head to give him access to her neck and shoulder, unable to deny the temptation of having his mouth on her.
With a pleased smile against her ear, he took her silent invitation and nibbled at her earlobe. “What is it about my brother,” he murmured, “that draws you so?”
Before she could answer, the tip of his tongue traced the outer curl of her ear, swirled down, and plunged inside. She shuddered at the delicious sensation, and his hand pressed tighter against her belly to keep her still in his arms.
The confusion inside her gave way to a tingling warmth that ached low in her belly. With one little lick, Sebastian had set her blood humming, making her body shiver and her thighs clench the way he had that night in his bedroom when she thought he was Robert. She knew who was kissing her this time, yet knowing he was the wrong Carlisle brother made no difference to the heat rising through her traitorous body. She should step away—this was Sebastian, for heaven’s sake, and the most wrong man in the world for her, save for the king himself—but she simply couldn’t make herself leave the circle of his strong arms.
“Robert is masculine,” she breathed, her words barely audible above the aria swirling around them and fanning the longing inside her to be touched, in all the most wicked places.
“Most men are,” he answered, dancing heated kisses down the side of her neck.
When he placed his mouth against that patch of bare skin where her neck curved into her shoulder, a hot throbbing sprang up between her thighs. She bit her lip to keep back a soft whimper. She shouldn’t like having his hands on her this much, shouldn’t let them wander over her so freely like this…certainly she shouldn’t want to be touched even more intimately. But she did, and she could barely stand still in his arms.
“He’s handsome,” she forced out, hoping he couldn’t hear the nervous trembling that crept into her voice or sense the confusion still simmering inside her.
“Hmm.” His hand on her hip drifted upward along the side of her body, lightly tracing across her ribs. She trembled achingly when his fingers grazed the side swell of her breast, and she instinctively arched her back into his chest. “We’re brothers. We look alike.”
Oh, that was definitely jealousy! But her kiss-fogged brain couldn’t sort through the confusion he sent swirling inside her to discern why he’d be jealous of Robert. Especially when his teeth nipped gently at her bare shoulder and his hand caressed once more along the side of her breast.
“Not so much alike,” she countered, although she’d always thought Sebastian would be more handsome if he wasn’t always so serious and brooding, with that perpetual frown of disapproval hanging over his brow. If he did more spontaneous and unexpected things…like licking a woman on her nape at an opera. Oh my. She shivered at the audacity of his mouth and at the heat it sent slithering down her spine.
“Very nearly identical,” he mumbled, his mouth returning to her shoulder as his hand roamed up to trace his fingers along the neckline of her gown. Completely unexpected yet wantonly thrilling, the caress sent her heart somersaulting just inches from his fingertips.
“He’s exciting…a risk-taker…” Her voice was a breathless hum despite knowing that in his rivalry with his brother he didn’t want to touch her as much as he wanted to touch her before Robert did. At that moment, though, with his fingertips lightly brushing over the top swells of her breasts, she simply didn’t care. At least not enough to make him stop. “He’s thrilling.”
He slipped his fingers into the valley between her breasts. When his fingertips traced slow circles against the inner curves of her breasts, she was powerless against the soft whimper that fell from her lips.
“Lots of men are thrilling.” He smiled wickedly against her neck at the reaction his seeking fingers elicited from her. “I’m thrilling.”
“You?” She gave a throaty laugh of surprise. “Sebastian, you’re the most reserved, restrained man I—”
In one fluid motion, he turned her in his arms and pushed her back against the set wall, his mouth swooping down to capture hers and swallow her words as he kissed her into silence. Her hands clenched into the hard muscles of his shoulders as his body pressed against hers, and she stiffened beneath the startling onslaught of his lips, of his hips pushing into hers, all of him demanding possession of the kiss. And of her.
Aching heat flashed through her, shooting out through the tips of her fingers and toes. With a moan of need, she melted into the embrace. Her hands no longer clenched at him to hold him away but to pull him closer.
Stroking up and down her sides to encourage her to eagerly return the kiss, he mumbled something against her lips she couldn’t quite make out…
“Open,” he cajoled against her kiss. “Open for me.”
Then he pulled back. A soft whimper of protest fell from her at the loss of him, until she felt his thumb caress over her chin, pull down with a gentle tug, and part her lips.
His mouth returned to hers, and this time when he kissed her, his tongue slipped gently between her parted lips to plunder the moist depths of her mouth and coax her into returning the new intimacy between them. One that left her trembling, hot, and bewilderingly wanting more.
Tentatively, she touched the tip of her tongue to his, and he groaned in response. Her pulse raced at the masculine sound. He liked it…Good heavens, he liked what she was doing to him! Seized by a wanton urge brought on by the scandalous way they were behaving and by the electric pulse of the opera unfolding next to them, she boldly caressed her tongue over his as she slid her hands across his broad shoulders to run her fingers through the silky hair at his nape.
Her body shivered and flamed in turns, craving his kiss and his touch even as she knew she should run away. This was Sebastian. The duke. The man who had never paid her any mind before this season except to chastise her for causing trouble. An old friend she’d known practically all her life. She shouldn’t be feeling these kinds of sensations with him, these kinds of wicked pleasures…and oh, such pleasures! When his hand swept up to cup her breast, his fingers teasing at her nipple through her dress, she stopped thinking and simply let herself feel.
“Sebastian,” she whispered as the aria’s high notes vibrated into her. She arched her back to bring his hand tighter against her and increase the devilish pressure on that aching, hard point he squeezed between his thumb and forefinger.
“I told you that you stirred my blood, Miranda,” he murmured heatedly as his lips once more found hers, this time to alternate between nipping sharply at her bottom lip with his teeth and soothingly stroking over it with his tongue. “Did you think I was lying?”
“Yes,” she whispered honestly.
He laughed, and the deep sound tickled at her lips. “There’s something about you that draws me…the way you pulse full of life, the way you make me laugh—”
“The way I keep letting you kiss me,” she said with a stab of self-recrimination.
He grinned appreciatively at her. “That, too.” He kissed her again, long and deep and possessive, to demonstrate to her exactly how much he liked it. “You are very inspiring, Rose, in every way.”
She shivered at the loss of his heat as his hand left her breast and wandered down her body. “Am I?”
“Surprisingly so.” His hand caressed languid circles across her belly, with each turn stroking achingly lower. “So much so”—he moved his mouth away from hers to kiss along her jaw and back to that sensitive spot just behind her ear that made her tremble—“that if we had a box all to ourselves”—his hand slid down her belly, as if seeking out the heat aching at her core—“I would be sorely tempted to show you exactly how much.”
She moaned at his wicked words. The heat of his hand soaked through the thin velvet of her gown as if it wasn’t there at all and seeped into her lower belly, blossoming the ache between her thighs just beyond the ends of his fingertips. Her existence became nothing more than his hard, strong body holding her against the wall, the masculine scents of brandy and tobacco filling her senses with each breath of him she inhaled, and the heat of his fingers caressing tender tracings of silent promises against her belly.
She buried her face helplessly against his shoulder as she trembled, all the blood inside her seeming to pool and pulse right there between her legs. Right where she ached for his hand to touch, to caress just a few inches lower—
“Rose,” he whispered huskily, his body now shaking as hard as hers. His lips teased into a smile against her temple as he alluded to her words from their earlier conversation, “Let yourself be tempted…Tell me what you want from me.”
“I—I don’t…” Fresh confusion swirled through her, mixing with the sweet arousal he flamed inside her. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes,” she sighed out. Oh, very much.
His mouth captured hers again in an intense kiss that so thoroughly plundered her mouth that her toes curled inside her slippers. She clung to him, breathless and weak-kneed.
He murmured against her lips. “Do you want me to touch you?”
“Oh yes,” she answered in a breathy whisper that turned into a moan when he did just that, when his hand slid lower and pressed into the valley between her legs as she’d longed for him to do.
He cupped her through her skirt, but the velvet might not have been there at all given the heat that seeped into her. For a moment, neither of them moved, and there was only the sound of their breathing and the rush of blood through her ears with each pounding beat of her heart. Then he gently rubbed against her, slowly increasing the pressure until he ground the heel of his hand hard against her. A wonderful and wicked shudder swept through her, and she gave over to the urge to step her legs apart, to give him greater access to that aching place between her thighs. A pleased growl sounded from the back of his throat.
“Tell me what else you want, Rose, how else I can please you.” Not ceasing in his caresses, which were somehow both a torment and a pleasure, he trailed his mouth back to her ear and whispered hotly, “Do you want…something else?”
The words crashed over her with the final notes of the aria, and she snapped out of the fogged reverie he had cast over her.
Something else…She knew exactly what he meant, what temptation he was dangling in front of her now. Just as she knew that tonight he’d been caught up in the passion of the opera and his jealousy, that he wasn’t thinking as a duke who had set himself on finding the perfect duchess but as a man who wanted to flee himself, if only for the evening. The irony was biting. Unlike Robert, Sebastian now saw her as a physically desirable woman rather than as the pesky girl in braids who had grown up next door. But he still wasn’t seeing her.
What he saw when he gazed at her was escape.
Applause filled the opera house and reverberated inside her. She stepped back from the circle of his arms as disappointment swept over her. “No, I don’t want that.”
He stared down at her, his expression a mix of heady arousal and utter bewilderment, as if he simply couldn’t fathom her. An expression that ripped through her chest.
The softness of his voice couldn’t hide the bitterness lacing through his words as he latched on to the only explanation he could find. “Because of Robert?”
“No,” she breathed, and his handsome face blurred behind the hot tears welling in her eyes. “Because of you.”