Page 67 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Who was he? Daphne swallowed, recalling that he had been dressed all in black, a shadow against the darkness. He was taller and broader than her, and she couldn’t forget the brilliance of his eyes. She tried to turn to face him again but his grip tightened slightly.

“Haven’t you heard that curiosity killed the cat?” he murmured, his breath fanning her ear. Daphne could feel the hard heat of him close behind her and her knees weakened.

“Are you a ghost?” she managed to say and he chuckled.

“Not yet. Are you?”

She shook her head and felt his hand slide over her shoulder in a caress. She glanced down and watched his fingers. Even with his black leather glove, she could see that his hands were long and elegant, strong hands. To her astonishment, he lifted a tendril of her hair and let it slide through his gloved fingers, the blond curl gleaming against the black leather.

“Maybe you’re just a dream,” he whispered. “Sadly, there is only one way to be certain.”

Daphne didn’t know who he was or why he was there, but she didn’t care. This was the stuff of the novels she and Eurydice devoured! “How will you discover the truth?” she asked lightly.

“With a kiss, of course,” he replied without hesitation. Perhaps he read those same stories. “Every disreputable vision or ghost is dispelled by a kiss.”

“Sirens dissolve with a kiss,” Daphne agreed.

“Indeed.” His voice rumbled low, awakening a yearning within Daphne. He still held her shoulders, his thumbs caressing her through her robe. She thought of those eyes, that barest glimpse of a square jaw, and swallowed.

“A fine suggestion,” she said boldly, keeping her voice low. “For I should like to be certain that you are no apparition, sir.” She heard him catch his breath in surprise, then his lips were against her ear.

“Close your eyes, my temptress,” he murmured.

Daphne did as he requested and without delay. “Done.” She was immediately spun in place, and the weight of one gloved hand slid around her nape. His other hand was on the back of her waist, drawing her close. She felt him lean closer and her breasts collided with his hard chest. She could have run. She could have twisted out of his embrace. She could have opened her eyes. He granted her the time to be certain.

But it was far too perfect to be kissed by a handsome stranger in the dark, when no one else would ever know. It was a delicious secret, one to be held between herself and this man of mystery, and Daphne couldn’t resist the invitation to know more.

“You promised me a kiss, sir,” she dared to whisper. She rose to her toes and put her hands on his shoulders, keeping her eyes closed as she parted her lips in invitation.

She didn’t have to wait long for him to accept.

* * *

What was the delightful Miss Goodenham doing, wandering the corridors of Castle Keyvnor in the early hours of the morning? Alexander didn’t know and as soon as she collided with him, he didn’t care. She smelled seductively feminine. She wore only a chemise and a robe, and when his hands closed over her shoulders to steady her, he felt an overwhelming urge to draw her into his embrace. That she smelled so sweet, that she wore so little, that her hair was in a loose braid, that it was dark and they were alone, made the encounter enticingly intimate.

As if he had come to her in her bedchamber.

Alexander couldn’t dismiss that notion, not once he had touched her.

Had she seen his features? He couldn’t imagine that she had had time to recognize him, especially as she’d only seen him before in his disguise. It was a mercy that he had used his foolish voice at the tavern, for he had spoken in his own usual tones when he addressed her in the night, too surprised to disguise his voice.

He should have released her. He should have frightened her. He should have let her flee. He gave her the opportunity, despite his desires, because he was a gentleman—even if on this particular night, he played the role of a thief.

But she welcomed his kiss. It was a invitation he couldn’t deny.

One kiss.

Alexander knew it couldn’t be a chaste kiss, not when Miss Goodenham’s lips softened beneath his and she leaned against him. He caught her closer and deepened his kiss before he could think twice about the wisdom of that, and when she melted against him in surrender, he locked his arms around her, crushing her against his chest. She wasn’t afraid, though, but seemed to welcome his tutelage. She mimicked his movements, sliding one hand around his neck and one around his waist, just as he held her, meeting him touch for touch. The kiss heated his blood and made him yearn for more.

More than was his right to take, even if she was impulsive enough to give it.

A clock chimed the quarter hour, recalling Alexander to his senses. He broke the kiss with reluctance, gazed upon her flushed cheeks, then drew his hood over his head to shadow his features. He stepped back when her lashes fluttered, then touched his finger to the tip of her nose.

“A siren after all,” he murmured, his voice husky. He watched her smile. “But you must not see me. I was no more than a shadow in the night.”

“But...”

He dropped his finger to her lips and couldn’t resist the urge to slide it across them. She shivered, so responsive that he felt a fool for stepping away from her. “Not a word, my siren. You did not see me. We did not meet. You will return to your chamber and have sweet dreams, your reputation intact.”

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