Free The Perfect Mistress by Betina Krahn

to the fact that his lips seemed strangely both hard and soft against hers, and were mercifully dry . She considered the way he varied the pressure of his mouth on hers and canted his head, covering and massaging her lips with what she supposed—by comparison with the count's crude motions—must be some finesse. And at least he had the decency to keep his tongue to himself.
    After what seemed an interminable length of time, he broke it off and straightened above her with a roused look. An instant later, he purged his expression, but not before she caught the male pique in it. She gave him an apologetic smile.
    "Don't take it personally, your lordship. I just don't have any desire for that sort of thing." Slipping from his arms, she stepped back and discreetly wiped the corners of her lips. "Now, if you would be so good as to take me home… or send for a cab."
    "I shall send you home in my carriage," he growled, coming to his senses and giving the bellpull a fierce yank. By the time his driver brought the coach around, he was in control enough to insist that she wear his cloak over her damp clothes.
    "Thank you, your lordship," she said, as he settled the heavy garment on her shoulders. "I will return it to you when you come to meet my mother.
    Tomorrow at five?" Unable to think of a reason to decline, he nodded.
    "Twenty-one Eaton Square." A rap at the door indicated that the carriage was ready. She paused with her hand on the door handle and gave him a glowing smile.
    "You won't regret this, your lordship."
    He stood staring at the door after she had gone, reliving that disturbing kiss, feeling again the maddening warmth and impassivity of her mouth beneath his. No juices . The corners of his eyes crinkled as his face warmed with a devilish smile.
    "I might not regret it, Gabrielle. But you very likely will."
    4
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    T he carriage sped through the damp streets toward Eaton Square, carrying a very different Gabrielle Le Coeur back to the house she had fled a scant few hours before. This Gabrielle sat smiling on the plush seat, bundled in the earl's cloak, giddy with both release and triumph. She had not only survived her misadventures, she had actually managed to turn them to her advantage. That fact generated in her a startling new sense of power and purpose. She no longer had to suffer her mother's edicts in daughterly meekness; she had a plan now—or the start of one—and the means to carry it out. She had taken her first step toward a life of her own.
    But as her thoughts shifted from the memory of the night's events to what awaited her, she sobered. Her only hope of escaping a scene with her mother was to announce straightaway that during her adventures she had met the man of her dreams and fallen madly and passionately in love. If Rosalind had a weakness at all, it was for the wildly and recklessly romantic.
    And the coup de grace would come when Rosalind learned the identity of her daughter's grand inamorato… none other than the handsome and wealthy earl of Sandbourne. All would be instantly forgiven; she was sure of it.
    Now all she had to do was behave as if she were wildly and gloriously in love. And how, she wondered, did one do that?
    The house was ablaze with lights when the carriage rumbled to a halt and she peered out the window. While the earl's driver was dismounting, one of the massive front doors opened and Gunther appeared with a lantern in his hand, jolting into motion at the sight of a crest on the side of the carriage. He dashed down the steps as the driver was letting down the carriage steps.
    "Miss LeCoeur!" Gunther shouldered aside the coachman to assist Gabrielle himself. "Your mother has been wondering where you were."
    She had more than "wondered," Gabrielle knew the instant she stepped through the doors. The gaslights of the large center hall were on high and the drawing room and dining room doors on opposite sides of the hall had been thrown back. It was as if Rosalind had turned her