Page 51 of Guilty Pleasures

With an abruptness that startled her, he turned his face away, breaking the kiss, his breathing uneven. His arm around her relaxed and fell away. Taking her cue from him, she uncurled her leg from around his, and sank back down until her feet were flat against the floor.

Still touching her face, he bent his head to rest his forehead close to hers. “You see,” he said, his breathing ragged as he looked into her eyes, “how much power you have when you choose to wield it?”

She did see. It awed her, it excited her—that she, who had been hauled across half the globe by her wandering father, who had convinced herself she had no influence over anything in her life, who had placed herself in the position of worshiping a man who had never even noticed her—she had power, power over the very man she had once worshiped.

Suddenly, plain, ordinary, Daphne Wade felt as captivating and alluring as Cleopatra, and a joy she had never felt before blossomed inside her. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for making my first kiss one of the most extraordinary moments of my life.”

“That is high praise indeed, but I think that I should let you go while I still can.” His hand slid away from her face. He took several steps back and clasped his hands behind him. “For your very first kiss, I am honored that you chose me, Daphne,” he said quietly.

Then his serious expression changed. She saw a glint of amusement come into his eyes, and he slanted her a wicked look. “In exchange for giving you one of the most extraordinary moments of your life, may I have another month?”

Chapter 17

Kisses for time. Anthony thought it one of the most intriguing suggestions he had ever made to a woman, but Daphne seemed unimpressed. “It is just like you to think up something like that,” she said, laughing as she walked away from him. “It is one where you win both ways.”

That was so true, he could not help laughing with her, but during the three weeks that followed, he found it to be no laughing matter. For he could not prevent his thoughts from returning to that kiss a dozen times a day. The exquisite tease of her ankle caressing the back of his leg, her arms coming up around his neck in a wave of delicate gardenia scent, the soft feel of her mouth and the heat of her body. Most of all, he remembered her face afterward, the astonished, genuine pleasure in her smile, pleasure that his kiss had given her, pleasure she had not been able to hide from him.

He’d been right. All that passion was within her. It simmered just under the surface. He had been driven to unleash it, and that was coming back to taunt him now, for he wanted to unleash it again.

In the afternoons, they sorted artifacts and debated which ones were worthy of his museum and which were not. Every night he held her in his arms and danced with her. He asked her endless questions about places she had been—demanding vivid details of the pyramids, the Coliseum, and the marketplaces of Marrakesh and Tangier. He argued with her, he teased her, he flirted with her, but during all the time they spent together during the three weeks that followed that kiss, not once did he make an attempt to kiss her again.

Kissing would be the prelude to all the delicious imaginings in his mind, imaginings that would compromise his honor and her innocence. He was a gentleman, he reminded himself again and again, something that had never been this hard to remember. Over seventeen years of fulfilling the obligations and duties of his position, a lifetime of obeying the strictures of society, an upbringing of self-imposed discipline, all served him well now. No matter what his rank and title, a true gentleman did not corrupt an innocent woman, especially one in his employ. It was not quite so low as shagging one’s servant girls, but low enough that Anthony was always able to stop himself from kissing her. But he wanted to. God, how he wanted to.

The implications of his suggestion to her tantalized him unmercifully. In his mind, he came up with endless ways to pleasure her in exchange for time, ways that crept into his thoughts during the day and invaded his dreams at night.

She learned to waltz well enough that he began showing her some of the basic movements and figures of country dance. Not an easy task, since even the simplest country dance required at least four people. Explaining and demonstrating moves such as a moulinet or interchassé without other couples present was close to impossible, but he made the effort anyway. Holding hands was the greatest intimacy of country dance, and from his point of view, it was much safer than the waltz.

The presence of others would be a much more effective deterrent than his own determination, of course, and she was proficient enough now at dancing that it probably would not embarrass her to have an audience. But he did not suggest it to her, for God help him, he did not want to give up the tormenting delight of being alone with her. He was becoming addicted to it, addicted to the game of testing his desire for her against his resolve. A very dangerous game.

He knew he was playing with fire, but it was risk that made a game exciting. Resolve untested was moot, and three weeks after that kiss in the antika, he found himself pushing his resolve to the limit, for he put the cylinder for a waltz in the musical box.

“We are waltzing tonight?” Daphne asked as a now-familiar tune began to play. “We have not done that for a long time.”

Anthony lifted her hand in his. “You must practice it on occasion.” He pulled her closer and put his other hand on her waist. “Besides, I would rather waltz with you than parade about the room in the stiff, stylized moves of a quadrille.”

“Would you?”

“Yes, even though my partner is very cruel to me.”

“I am cruel?” she repeated, smiling at the teasing tone of his voice. “How can you say so?”

“You know how important my museum is to me, yet you refuse to give me any time in exchange for that kiss a few weeks ago, a kiss I know you enjoyed.” He saw a hint of blush come into her cheeks, and he wondered how he could ever have thought her plain. She was the most enticing thing he had ever seen. He raised the stakes higher. “Perhaps we should reopen our negotiations about that.”

“Oh, no, no.” She shook her head, smiling at him, for she enjoyed their game as much as he did. “You are not getting another month.”

“I would settle for two weeks.”

“How conceited of you!” she cried, laughing, pushing playfully at his shoulder with the heel of her hand. “Do be serious in your negotiations or do not bother with them at all.”

He pulled her a bit closer than was proper for a waltz. “What would you consider a serious offer?”

Daphne pretended to think it over. “That kiss was two minutes long at most. I shall be happy to give you two minutes of time in return for it.”

Anthony looked at her in mock dismay. “Two minutes? Is that all I am worth? Daphne, I am insulted. I believe my kiss should be valued more highly than that to a young lady who is soon to take her place in the fashionable world. I am a duke, after all.”

Her beautiful eyes sparkled with mischief. “It might be worth more, if I could have bragging rights. But I could hardly go about telling London society how well you kiss, could I? It would ruin my reputation.”

He grinned, liking this flirtatious side of her. “But it would do wonders for mine,” he answered. “I rather like the idea of all the women in London knowing my prowess in that regard.”

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