Chapter Six

Good heavens, I'm being kissed.

It wasn’t the most coherent thought Ophelia had ever had, but then her mind was occupied elsewhere.

Namely, by the sudden invasion of his tongue and the wicked excitement it awoke in her. [JS7]

She should push him away. She would push him away.

Only...

That feeling. The excitement, the odd ache for something more – it was terribly seductive. And the longer he kissed her, the more she wanted it.

So, when her arms reached up to snake around his neck, she didn’t stop them.

When he pressed her body against the hardness of his own and growled his approval, she didn’t pull away.

And when he coaxed her tongue to tentatively dance with his own, she didn’t resist.

Ophelia knew in some small, still-functioning part of her brain that she was being thoroughly seduced by a man who wrote the book on it. Knew that this staggering, life-altering experience would mean nothing to him.

But even knowing that wasn’t enough to stop her wanting, nay, needing him to continue doing what he was doing.

When his hands plunged into her hair, sending the locks tumbling down her back, she found she didn’t care.

And when they roamed down her back, cupping her buttocks and pulling her closer still, she couldn’t stem the moan that felt as though it had been pulled from the depths of her.

Never had she experienced such visceral want. Never had she felt like she was a slave to her body’s desires. The feelings, sensations were at once unfamiliar and yet completely instinctive.

She forgot all the reasons she despised men like him. All the ways in which a proper, decorous lady should behave simply flew from her mind.

And when his hand moved again, leaving explosions of sensation in its wake, she practically forgot her own name.

The hand that had been slowly driving her mad now boldly and shockingly moved to her waist and then upwards, edging torturously closer to her breast.

Ophelia had never before experienced the tingling sensations now coursing through her, the fire licking at her veins.

She'd never wanted anything so desperately before. Yet now, despite reason, she wanted his hands on her, his skin touching hers.

It was wild and wanton and everything she warned her girls against.

Was this why so many fallen women existed in the world? Was this why her mother had made the choices she had?

The thought of her mother crashed through her mind and slowly dragged her senses back from wherever they’d disappeared to.

With a gasp of dismay, Ophelia wrenched her mouth from the marquess’s, glaring at him as she tried to get her laborious breathing under control.

She was only slightly mollified to see that he looked as shocked by the instantaneous attraction between them as she felt.

He, however, recovered a lot quicker than she.

A wicked smile suddenly made an appearance, a matching wicked fire lighting the dark depths of his eyes.

“Well, that was as good a way to pass the time as any.” He grinned.

Ophelia felt her jaw drop at his audacity even as her body reacted involuntarily to the desire still evident in his tone.

“I don’t – we shouldn’t –” She scrambled helplessly for something to say before taking a deep, somewhat calming breath.

“I need to go,” she mumbled.

“But things were just getting interesting. Come – have a drink.”

Lord, but he was good at this.

Ophelia could now understand quite clearly how women practically prostrated themselves at the cad’s feet.

He wasn’t only devilishly handsome but devilishly charming, too. A combination that was absolutely dangerous. And something that must be avoided at all costs, if one were to keep one’s wits intact.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, as primly as she could.

“Really? I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he countered. “Though if you’d rather –“

He reached for her, and she slapped his hand away and stumbled back.

His laugh grated on her nerves, but it also sent a spike of lust lancing through her, and that simply would not do!

“How long does it take your servants to find one single girl?” she snapped, annoyed with him and herself and terrified she’d give in to him again if she stayed much longer.

“These parties can be quite popular. Lots of bodies. It might take a while.”

Ophelia felt it was in her best interest to ignore his mention of bodies.

“Not popular enough to entice the host to attend?” she asked out of curiosity.

In truth, she was quite proud that she was able to stand there and converse normally after what had just happened between them.

His lip curled in a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No, it didn’t entice me,” he said smoothly. “And I’m so glad now that it didn’t.”

Ophelia’s already unsteady knees took another hit at his words and the heat in his gaze.

“Who are you?” he suddenly whispered. “How have you managed to bewitch me so, when I can’t even see your face?”

Ophelia’s heart thudded alarmingly at his words.

She’d bewitched him?

She, who didn’t know the first thing about men or bewitching them?

Surely not!

Loathe as she was to admit it, even to herself, Ophelia felt a jolt of pleasure at the idea of having such an effect on a man like him.

But thankfully, a sliver of common sense reared its head before she did anything foolish like throw herself into his arms again.

He was the Marquess of Guilford. A man notorious for sin and depravity.

He no doubt said such things on a regular basis to any woman who crossed his path.

Ophelia knew better than to give credence to flowery words. In point of fact, she’d built her entire life around not believing such things.

She mustn’t let a solitary kiss affect her to such an extent.

“I am a caregiver and a woman fast losing patience, my lord.”

Once again, he laughed in the face of her ire.

“Oh, I think you’re much more than that,” he said softly, his voice sending gooseflesh breaking out all over her body.

She could only stare wide-eyed as he prowled closer, the drink he’d offered clearly forgotten.

“I think you do a very good job of giving the appearance of a no-nonsense, stern sort. But that fire I felt when I kissed you? That suggests you’re a woman full of passion.”

Ophelia felt the heat sear her cheeks at his seductive, scandalous words.

He deserved a slap for his insolence, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

Her heart pounded in her chest as he stepped closer still.

She had a feeling that she was being thoroughly seduced once again, yet she couldn’t bring herself to stop it from happening.

She couldn’t bring herself to want to stop it, which was most alarming. It flew in the face of everything she believed, everything she taught her girls over the years.

“All that’s left to discover, apart from your identity, of course, is why you keep such passion hidden away.”

He reached out and gripped her chin, lifting her face until she was trapped in his heated gaze.

“And what it will take to uncover it fully.”

Oh, Lord! He was going to kiss her again.

And she was absolutely going to let him.

All her years of warning young ladies against men such as he.

All her memories of misery and shame as she grew old enough to understand what her mother had been, and what that made her.

All the agony of knowing that she’d forever carry the stain of sins she hadn’t even committed –

Somehow, none of it seemed to matter now. And whilst that evidence of weakness sickened her, it wasn’t enough to make her break away.

His lips were hot and demanding on her own from the second they touched, and Ophelia was powerless to do anything but allow him to pull her closer, wordlessly demanding more.

After what felt like seconds and eons, he broke the kiss, moving his head back only enough to gaze down at her, his eyes shining in the candlelight.

“Spend the night with me,” he rasped, his voice heavy with promise.

The request shocked Ophelia out of her intoxicated state. As did her desire to say, yes!

She needed to get away from this man and the temptation he presented.

“N-no,” she managed to breathe out, pushing against him to loosen his grip.

And even though his arms were strong as steel bands around her, he immediately let go.

The respectful behaviour somewhat surprised her, but that wasn’t fair, and Ophelia knew it.

He hadn’t made her feel unsafe once since she’d been here.

It was her own desires, so alien to her, that were the real danger. And suddenly, she knew she needed to get out of there right now.

“I have to go,” she burst out, on the verge of hysteria. “This isn’t who I am! I’m – I don’t –“

“You don’t what? You don’t want to explore the attraction between us?”

She couldn’t answer him. She couldn’t speak a word. Could only stare wide-eyed.

“I am going to take a wild guess that I am rather more experienced in the pleasures of the flesh than you are.” He smiled. “So, you can take my word for it that this—” he motioned between the two of them “—is as rare as it is exciting. And it’s been a long time – longer than I care to admit – since I felt anything close to it. Perhaps, I never have.”

He frowned as though concerned by his own words before his expression cleared once more.

“You are so tightly wound.” His tone was all seduction, and Ophelia’s poor heart began to hammer once again. “I know a great many ways to help you relax. Each one of them more enjoyable than the last.”

Ophelia stood frozen, unable to look away, her mind a maelstrom of inappropriate possibilities and wicked temptations. She had no idea what he could do to relax her specifically, but she would stake her life on it being thoroughly enjoyable.

But she couldn’t give in to him…

Could she?

Before her own weakness sent her down a path she never would have imagined, a noise sounded in the hallway, and the door suddenly burst open as Havers marched in, a masked but very recognisable Eliza Trent scowling in his wake.

“Eliza.” Ophelia’s breath of relief was as much for herself as for her runaway charge. “Let’s go. I’ll deal with you back at school.”

So disgraced did Ophelia feel that she didn’t even notice her slip. If she’d been looking at the marquess, she would have seen his gaze sharpen as he took in the accidental snippet of information.

“Havers, arrange a carriage for the ladies.”

“No!”

Ophelia spun to glare at the marquess.

“How can you think that would be appropriate?” she hissed, aware that appropriateness had been the furthest thing from her mind when she’d found herself wantonly embraced in his arms. [JS8] Though in her defence, he’d come to her and not the other way around. That was neither here nor there however, when the result had almost been her utter ruination.

She gave her anger at herself and at him free reign.

“Tis bad enough that you choose to live this immoral, depraved existence and drag innocent young ladies into your lifestyle. But to expect us to travel in your carriage, for all the world to see that we’ve been – we’ve been –“

“Havers, bring round one of the unmarked carriages and take the ladies to a safe spot near their desired destination. See them safely to their door from a distance.”

“I don’t need an escort to my door, and I don’t want you knowing where my door is,” Ophelia countered bitterly.

“I got here without your help. I’ll get us home without your help. Good evening.”

She turned and pushed her scowling charge toward the door, hoping against hope that Eliza didn’t fight her.

Just as she got to the corridor, his voice called out once more.

“If you ever do decide to live a little, you’ll find me right here. “

She stiffened her shoulders before shooing Eliza down the corridor and away from that wretched man and the sinful temptation he was.