Free Rake's Guide to Pleasure. by Victoria Dahl Page B

dignified nod.
    "Your Grace," she growled in answer.
    The laughter swelled again, though it stopped in an instant when Somerhart aimed a frown at the nearest gentlemen. Puppets, Emma thought. No wonder he was bored.
    "I'm sure these gentlemen would appreciate if I offered to escort you to the dining room. They look quite pale with impoverishment, yet none will risk disgrace by calling a retreat."
    "You flatter me," Emma said, though she made quick work of sneaking her feet back into her heeled slippers.
    "Enjoy your refreshment," one of the men said, and the rest collapsed into renewed laughter. "Yes, do," another called.
    Emma offered each man a smile as she gathered up her winnings. Somerhart circled to her chair and she was sure she could feel his body heat as he stood behind her. A flush overcame her, adding credence to everything the other guests assumed.
    Hasty with self-consciousness, she tugged her reticule onto her wrist and stood in a rush, shoulder brushing along his hip. Her hand found its natural place on his arm. A faint clink sounded as her bag hit his belly.
    "Ouch. I feel rather like I'm courting a pirate."
    Emma let him sweep her away from the table, but she refused to laugh. "I will not be your lover," she murmured as they moved toward the door.
    "I sense that only one of us is allowed to be polite at any given time. True?"
    One side of her mouth refused to obey and curled up. "Perhaps."
    "Well, it is my turn, I suppose. Would you like a glass of champagne?"
    "Yes," she answered too quickly, but her fingers were beginning to tremble against his sleeve. She'd been thinking about him incessantly since he'd kissed her. She felt written in those thoughts, every wicked fantasy revealed on her skin. Seeing him—his lips and eyes, the flash of his teeth when he smiled—reminded her of what he'd done and what she wanted him to do.
    She had to keep from snatching the glass from his hand when he finally found a servant with champagne. As it was, she couldn't bear to sip it demurely, but turned away and drank it down in three great swallows. When she turned back, Somerhart said nothing, merely removed the empty flute from her hand and handed her his own.
    "You've worked up a well-deserved thirst, Lady Denmore . You must be hungry as well."
    "Yes. No." She took a sip from his glass and put her hand to her throat instead of pressing it to his chest, his flat stomach. "I cannot do this." Her heart beat too hard, fueling the insane fight that had broken out inside her. Lust and.. .fear. She wasn't used to it, didn't know how to appease it. She was afraid of him, and so very, very afraid of herself.
    "Lady Denmore . . ." Somerhart's hand took her elbow and pulled her toward a deep-set window that looked out over blackness. "Tell me what is wrong."
    "You are what's wrong."
    "I'm merely attempting to feed you."
    "Nonsense. You are trying to seduce me, and I've explained before—"
    "Yes, you have explained." He closed the curtains and guided her down to the window seat; his shoulders seemed impossibly wide, looming above her. "You were quite impertinent, rude, and arrogant in your position. Which is why I'm surprised to find that you've turned suddenly cowardly."
    "I have. I'm afraid. Of you. Please leave me be." His hand nudged her chin up, and Emma glared at his silhouette.
    "Afraid," he huffed. "And I am the Queen. Or near enough," he added, reminding her of one of her many insults. "You don't look afraid, Lady Denmore . You look anxious and even a bit angry." His fingers lingered under her chin, stroking tiny waves of heat into her skin.
    "I am angry. You will not leave me be."
    "I am not planning to pounce upon you in a darkened hallway. You are very much in control of your own fate. So why so much upset?"
    She shook her head and took a gulp of his drink.
    "Has anyone ever told you that you drink like an alewife, Lady Denmore ?"
    "No, no one. I believe 'like a sailor' is the preferred comparison."
    "Ha! Hoyden." He