Page 79 of The Duelist for the Ton
“Stephen, I must tell you—”
“Hush, my love,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers. “The time for speaking is done.”
With a low whimper, she tilted her head up, offering her lips, and he claimed them, tasting, at first, the salt of her tears, before he slipped his tongue between her lips to relish the sweetness within.
A low growl resonated in his chest as his body surged with desire. She shifted against him, and he caught his breath as his manhood strained against his breeches. He shook with the urge to be buried inside her, and closed his eyes, drawing forth the image of her reclining on that mahogany desk, legs parted, skirts around her waist while she welcomed him into her warm, wet—
The door opened with a crash.
“I knew it!” a voice roared. “I bloodyknewit!”
Stephen broke the kiss and whirled around.
Two men stood in the doorway. The first, Whitcombe, folded his arms and tilted his head to one side. The second stepped into the room, his face twisted with fury.
“Reid, you blackguard! You’ve ruined my sister! I insist on satisfaction. You will marry her.”
“Brother, I—” Portia began.
“Silence!” Foxton roared. “You’ve done enough. Let another take responsibility for your behavior, for I’ve failed at every turn to bring you to heel.”
“I’m not some dog you can train, Adam.”
“Nevertheless, sister, it’s time you were put on a leash.”
“I’ve…we’vedone nothing!” Portia said. “I merely came here because I craved solitude, and the colonel followed me. I—Oh!”
She let out a shriek and leaped back as the shadow in the corner moved.
“What the devil…” Stephen trailed off as the shadow morphed into the shape of a man. “You there! What are you doing? Come forward.”
The man stepped into the light, revealing a sharply handsome face framed by a thick head of shoulder-length hair. A shiver threaded through Stephen at the soulless expression in the man’s deep-set, dark eyes.
“Ah, Devereaux,thereyou are,” Whitcombe said. “My butler said you were in the library. Charles must have brought you here instead.”
The man inclined his head.
“What the devil were you doing hiding in the shadows?” Stephen said. “Why did you not speak or reveal yourself when Lady Portia and I entered?”
Foxton let out a laugh. “Is that a serious question?” He gestured toward the silent man. “Devereaux hasn’t said a word in all the years I’ve known him.”
“Had we not agreed to meettomorrowevening, Devereaux?” Whitcombe said.
The man inclined his head almost imperceptibly.
“Well, you’re here now. Why don’t you stay the night? I can introduce you to my wife and the rest of our guests. You know Foxton, of course.”
Devereaux flinched, then shook his head.
“Ah, Devereaux, old chap,” Foxton said, “the women of our acquaintance could learn a thing or two from you—I’m a great advocate for the rule that women should be seen and not heard.”
“So you value Mrs. Scarlet for her taciturnity, do you, brother?” Portia said. “I thought you placed great worth on what she can do with her tongue.”
Foxton turned to Stephen. “I wish you luck,” he said. “You’ll not want for fortune, of course—she comes with forty thousand, which should be compensation enough.”
“I’m not some commodity you can sell,” Portia said. She turned to Devereaux. “Sir, if you possess any honor, I beg you tell my brother what you saw. The colonel and I were not behaving improperly, and I’ll not have Eleanor upset by any rumors of scandal in her home.”
Devereaux’s dark gaze shifted toward her, but he remained silent.
