Free Lord Lightning by Jenny Brown Page B

over to the sofa and seized the lace antimacassar that lay on top of its cushions. She draped it around her like a shawl, letting the ends flutter down across her bosom, imagining it to be the fringe of the silken dressing gown Violet had worn. She spent a moment getting into the role, then with a delicate wiggle, she let her lashes drop seductively, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.
    Lord Hartwood favored her with a moment of intense regard. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. But before she had time to react, he made his way over to her, swept her into his arms, pressed her against the hard length of his body, and planted a long and soulful kiss on her lips, while his other hand curved over her buttocks.
    It took all Eliza’s self-discipline to keep from tearing herself out of his embrace. Instead she focusedon his kiss. His lips were as warm as they’d been the night before, and when he parted them slightly to suck gently on her upper lip, she tasted the faint flavor of coffee. She opened her lips as well. Immediately she felt his tongue touch hers as he deepened the kiss. Her knees felt weak and she thought she might swoon from the sensation. But she knew that if she gave him any sign that she was disturbed by his simulated lovemaking, he would dismiss her instantly. So she tried as hard as possible to display the same kind of cool disregard with which she imagined a woman of the world like Violet would have responded to such a caress. She moved her lips against his, following his lead, and pressed her hips harder against his body. She hoped he couldn’t feel the frantic beating of her heart.
    After what felt like a very long time, he let her go, and she stepped back, her heart still pounding.
    “You did that surprisingly well,” he said. His lips quirked in something akin to amusement, though his eyes blazed with the same fire as the night before. “You did not scream or faint but kissed me in a most mistress-like manner. That bodes well for the scheme.”
    Eliza nodded dumbly. Her heart was still racing, and she still felt the strange tingling somewhere deep in her belly, that his roving hands had awakened. It struck her that acting the role of his mistress might be as challenging as being a real one, and given the strength of her response to him, fora moment she questioned her own motives in continuing. But then she shook off her doubts. Her motive was only to help him get through a tricky period as his true character emerged. He would not really make her his mistress. She would not wish him to. This was only theater.
    As if sensing her discomfort, Lord Hartwood announced mischievously, “I believe we must try that again, just to be sure,” and he moved toward her again, his dark eyes sparkling.
    This time he drew her into a delicate Sheraton side chair upholstered in stripes of pale green and pink and, when she was seated, dropped his pale head onto her lap. Arching his back luxuriantly like the lion from which his sign got its name, he raised his head, letting it rest against her breasts and nuzzling her gently with his cheek. She could feel her nipples harden as he did so.
    It was infuriating! She appeared to have no control at all over her reactions. She prepared herself for the inevitable letdown she must feel when he became aware of her inability to carry off the role, but to her relief her body’s involuntary response did not seem overly to disturb him.
    “Ah,” he said with a tone of contentment, letting his hand explore the underside of her breast. “I believe I could pursue this line of inquiry quite profitably for some time.” He exhaled gently. “Should you like me to continue?”
    “I should not,” Eliza said as quellingly as possible. She struggled to compose herself. “I believeI have shown you that I can handle whatever is required.”
    “Perhaps. Though I should hate to make such an important decision on so little information. If you were to go with me as my mistress,