Free The Wickedest Lord Alive by Christina Brooke Page B

the fiction that you lost your memory and we will mention nothing of our prior marriage.”
    Steyne narrowed his eyes, as if to bring the prospect he described into focus. “In the meantime, I shall be smitten with your charms. Nothing will do for me but to propose within the week.”
    Smitten . She couldn’t imagine it. “It would almost be worth it to see you act the lovelorn fool.”
    He grimaced. “It’s not a role I’ve had cause to play before. No matter. After a week or so, we’ll announce our betrothal. After which, we shall romantically elope and leave immediately for our honeymoon. That should let the rumor mill run out of power by the time we reappear.”
    Her tone was dry. “You think I am likely to fall into your arms after one week of courting?” She didn’t see what choice she had in the matter, but he didn’t need to know that.
    For an answer, Steyne gave her that direct, piercing look that somehow lit her with cold fire. With a faint curve to his lips, he moved closer. So close that her skin warmed a little from the heat of his body.
    That warmth called to her strongly. It was so long, so very long, since anyone had held her.
    But she kept her longing in check, clung to her sense of self-preservation like a drowning woman clung to a rope.
    His hand came up. She braced for his touch, but didn’t back away. To do so would be to admit how powerfully he affected her.
    One gloved finger brushed the pearl that hung from her earlobe. Then it trailed, lightly, ever so lightly, from the sensitive, vulnerable place behind her ear down the curve of her neck until it reached the pearls at her throat.
    Tremors shivered within her, tiny fissures snaking through the armor of her defiance.
    Galling beyond belief that his slightest caress wreaked such havoc. She’d need to shore up her defenses if she wanted to beat him at his own game.
    “Admit it,” he said, fingering the pearls at her throat. “You are more than half in love with me already.”
    That broke whatever spell he’d placed her under. How could he taunt her with talk of tender emotions when all of this was so blatantly a lie?
    Suppressing her fury, Lizzie stepped back and swept him a curtsy that fairly dripped with dignity. “But my dear Lord Steyne,” she said. “ Love has nothing to do with it.”
    *   *   *
    Lizzie turned and blindly hurried up the path, back toward the assembly rooms.
    “Lizzie? Is that you?” Mr. Huntley’s deep voice floated down from the terrace above. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
    Her head jerked up and she saw him at the top of the stone staircase, silhouetted against the lighted ballroom.
    “Oh, plague it!” she muttered. Abruptly, she checked her pace and glided toward the stairs. Her mind worked furiously on an excuse for being there.
    But Huntley didn’t demand an explanation. Rather, he said archly, “Have you been out here waiting for me, my dear?”
    “For you? No, I—”
    “Don’t deny it, you sly little puss,” said Mr. Huntley in what he must have supposed was a teasing tone. “I intimated that I have something particular to say to you, did I not?”
    Not now. Not after Lord Steyne.
    It was all Lizzie could do to keep a pleasant expression on her face. “Yes, but no, I mean, truly, Mr. Huntley. I did not loiter out here hoping you would come.”
    By now, she’d reached the top of the stairs. In a lightning move, Mr. Huntley grabbed her hand and yanked her into his embrace.
    “Sir, I beg of you!” Lizzie struggled against him, but he was a large man and remarkably strong. “Release me. This is scandalous behavior!”
    “Ah, Lizzie, Lizzie, I cannot let you go,” said Mr. Huntley. “You know—how could you not?—how ardently I burn for you.” This speech was rather disjointed, interspersed as it was with his efforts to keep Lizzie imprisoned in his bearlike embrace. “If it were not for … ahem … circumstances, I should have spoken before now. But now, I must