Free A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season by Nicola Cornick, Elizabeth Rolls, JOANNA MAITLAND Page A

‘What a ridiculous question!’ she said. ‘You are here to woo me, Lord Quinlan, not to dally with someone else. Such behaviour is quite unacceptable.’
    ‘So you feel possessive towards me,’ Peter pursued.
    Cassie frowned. ‘Not in the least. It is merely goodmanners to restrict yourself to one lady when you have not yet secured her hand in marriage.’
    ‘Hmm.’ Peter moved in closer still. ‘You would not say, then, that you were prey to a certain jealousy?’
    Cassie jumped. ‘Of course not!’
    ‘Miss Ward, you are a liar.’ Peter turned her face up towards his. ‘I can read it in your eyes,’ he said.
    ‘You are certainly close enough to read anything you choose there,’ Cassie snapped. She tried to wriggle away from him. The silky material of the peignoir slid across his chest to devastatingly arousing effect.
    ‘So I am,’ Peter said. ‘What else can my proximity to you tell me?’
    His hand slid down her silken sleeve and came to rest on the curve of her waist. Cassie could feel the warmth of his touch. It was a shocking reminder of how sheer were her nightdress and peignoir and that she was naked beneath the flimsy layers.
    Peter’s hand spanned her waist, his fingers spread against her ribcage. He leaned forward until his breath stirred Cassie’s curls.
    ‘I can feel the beat of your heart,’ he murmured. ‘You seem a little agitated, Miss Ward.’
    Cassie pushed half-heartedly and pointlessly against his chest. ‘Of course I am agitated,’ she said. ‘You are standing a deal too close to me for comfort, Lord Quinlan.’
    ‘Is it comfort that you want from me?’ Peter asked. His breath feathered across her cheek. ‘Admit the truth, Cassie. Admit that you were jealous. Admit that you want me. Not for comfort, but for something quite different…’
    His lips were tracing the curve of her throat now, pausing above the line of her collarbone, brushing asidethe soft material of her peignoir so that he could touch his tongue to the slope of her shoulder. Cassie’s insides dissolved. Her legs trembled. She felt her nipples harden still further against the gossamer lightness of the nightdress. Then Peter’s hand came up to cup her breast and she slumped against the door in utter weakness.
    ‘I admit it,’ she whispered. ‘I admit anything that you like…’
    She felt Peter smile against her skin as he bent his head to kiss her bare shoulder. ‘You are, as always, very honest, Miss Ward,’ he said. He moved away from her a little, keeping one arm about her to support her. ‘A pity you could not have waited a while longer before you capitulated,’ he said, a smile in his voice, ‘but there will be time enough for that.’
    He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the palm. ‘Goodnight, Miss Ward.’
    Cassie shot out of the bedroom door with a mixture of relief and deep disappointment, and dashed up the stairs to regain the peace of her own bedchamber. Her body was humming. She rained down curses on her own head for the impetuosity that had delivered her to Peter Quinlan’s door and on Peter’s head for being able to arouse her with the slightest touch. Once again, sleep eluded her. As the clock struck one, and two and three, Cassie thumped her pillows and vowed that tomorrow she would sort the matter out for good. In that moment she promised herself that she would make Peter Quinlan ache for her as she ached for him. She would bring him to his knees.
     
    By the time that morning arrived, Cassie’s resolution was strong, but she had not yet devised a plan to put it into action. Peter remained—not aloof, precisely, butmaddeningly imperturbable. It seemed that he considered himself quite in control of their courtship. Cassie resolved to throw him off his stride.
    The morning was fine and it had become their practice to go riding together immediately after breakfast before joining the other guests for whatever activity was the order of the day. This morning they rode