Free Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman by Lorraine Heath Page A

them, and he deepened a kiss that she’d thought could go no further. Intense heat swarmed through her. If she didn’t know better she’d have thought she’d suddenly taken ill. Her stomach clenched, and between her legs, warmth pooled with the promise of more pleasure and eventual surcease.
    He dragged his mouth from hers, his breathing harsh and heavy. She drew in great draughts of air, as his hot, moist lips trailed to the sensitive spot below her ear and nibbled there. She wanted to tell him that his kiss had not enticed her before, but he’d left her without the strength to speak. It was a wonder she still stood. If not for the sturdiness of his arm at her back, she suspected she’d be on the floor now, a silken puddle of heated desire.
    Then he returned his mouth to hers with an urgency that matched hers. She wanted this, wanted whatever he would grant. A kiss, a touch, a caress, yes, even more. She’d come too far, taken too many chances, ruined her reputation. She had nothing else to lose and all to gain. She could tell him that she loved him, because she did. The man she’d met on distant shores was worthy of her devotion.
    She might not have stood out in his mind as memorable, but he’d never become diminished in hers.
    She heard the clatter of pins hitting the parquet floor, felt the strands of her hair falling free to brush along her shoulders. He tunneled his fingers through her hair—
    His mouth left hers with an abruptness that startled her. His brow was furrowed with confusion. His breathing was labored as though he’d just run up a hill. Hers was no better. Her pulse thrummed an unsteady beat. She wanted his mouth back on hers. She wanted to be locked in his embrace, the key tossed away.
    “Your hair. It’s . . . short.”
    It was considerably longer than it had been, but not nearly as long as it once was. What did that have to do with anything? The words made no sense, lifted her from the sensual well into which she’d fallen. “Vermin. Difficult to keep it free of vermin. With all the wounded . . . so little time. Cropping it was—”
    He released her with a suddenness that had her staggering. Why had she gone on and on about her dratted hair? Why hadn’t she simply moved forward before the spell was completely broken?
    “My God. I forgot myself,” he said, his voice rough with needs unfulfilled. “Forgive me.”
    Before she could assure him there was nothing to forgive, he snatched up his walking stick from where it had been resting against the wall. Without another word, he began trudging toward the door, his limp incredibly pronounced.
    Had she caused him pain by forcing him to hold her aloft, by pressing against him? Could he better place her now? Was he toying with her? Surely, he had to know that he’d never before kissed her. Had he finally desired her as she’d always desired him?
    She was confused, mortified. Why did he act as though he didn’t know her at all? “Stephen?”
    “I need to ride.”
    And then he was gone.
    She stood there for the longest, trying to regain her bearings, clutching the short strands of her hair, trying to determine why he would be so bothered by them. They’d been even shorter when she’d tended to him. He acted as though he had absolutely no memory of her at all. Wretched tears burned her eyes. How could she have meant nothing at all to him?
    She heard a distant door slam. She hurried in the direction of the sound.
    “Have you seen Major Lyons?” she asked the first servant with whom she crossed paths.
    “Yes, ma’am. He retrieved his greatcoat and left.”
    By the time she was standing outside the front door, he was already galloping away, his greatcoat billowing behind him. She wanted to be on the horse with him. She wanted him, pitiful creature that she was, content to receive the smallest bit of his attention. He gave it so easily and so completely to other women.
    Why not to her?

Chapter 3

    A ll he wanted was to bury himself,