Page 67 of His Improper Lady

“No, not all,” Tom protested. “But it seemed very much who he was. Expensive clothes and shoes, expert tailoring, but everything quite muted and understated. As if everyone knows he has wealth and power and it would be crass to flash it about.”

“I know the attitude.”

“Not haughty exactly, but very aware that he’s at the top. Very correct and rigid, as if his butler starched and ironed him every day. Didn’t fly into a temper with Con until the very end.”

“Did he say anything—does he know about us? The Malones, I mean?”

Tom hesitated, and she said, “Tell me. I don’t—I don’t expect him to like us. I just wondered if he knew we existed.”

“He didn’t seem to. He disputed it quite vehemently when Con told him Alistair had other children.”

Her eyes flew to his. “Con told him who we are?”

“No. Gregory obviously knew that his father ran off with his...with someone.”

“You can say mistress, Tom. It’s what she was.”

“Very well. He knew Alistair ran away with her. He was clearly bitter about it and the insult to his mother.”

“One would be,” Desiree said.

“But Con called your mother Stella, and Gregory didn’t seem to recognize the name. Of course, he wouldn’t have been more than a child—he looks to be my age or Brock’s, and it’s likely that no one brought it up with him later on. He was adamant that Alistair had no offspring. That was when he got mad at Con. He thinks you’re lying. Trying to swindle him.”

“Ah. The way you did.” Desiree gave him an arch look.

“Yes, the way I did.” Tom smiled. “Are you going to hold that against me the rest of our lives?”

The rest of our lives. Desiree’s heart stumbled. Was he planning to continue to see her? Did he believe they would...what? Be lifelong friends? Marry? Have an affair? Or was it just a figure of speech? She kept her breath even as she replied lightly, “Only for a decade or two. Truth is, I don’t blame you. I’d have distrusted me, too. Now that I’ve met the Morelands, I can understand why you wouldn’t like anyone who might hurt them.”

He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. “It was never that I didn’t like you. I liked you far too much. I was afraid I’d let it cloud my judgment. I didn’t want to be your mark.”

“You weren’t. Ever.” His touch sent shivers through her, melting her core. Was he about to kiss her? He was gazing at her so intently that it made her heart pound, her flesh heat. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to ignore all her earlier thoughtful decisions about men and relationships and act solely on instinct.

“Desiree...” Tom’s fingers drifted over to stroke her hair, then slid slowly down her neck, making her breath catch in her throat. “We shouldn’t be here like this. It’s too tempting.” But he made no effort to sit up or move away.

Neither did she. “I know.”

For the only time in her life that Desiree could remember, she wanted to let a man make the decision for her. It would be so easy to let Tom seduce her, to not have to face the reality that she would be breaking her own principles. Just let his touch pull her into the vortex of passion.

Tom’s hand slid farther down her arm and back up, and his eyes flamed as he looked at her body, at his hand gliding across the top of her chest, fingers tracing the line of her collarbone beneath the material of her costume. He trailed his forefinger over the hollow of her throat and down, following the bony path of her sternum until it ended.

Desiree waited, her flesh quivering, not knowing what she would do if he explored further. He laid his palm flat against her stomach and drifted upward, until it brushed against her breast. Tom leaned over, bracing himself with his arms on either side of her, and bent to touch his lips to hers. Once, twice, he brushed her mouth softly, until Desiree ached to reach up and sink her hands into his hair and pull him in for a proper kiss. But there was no need to do that, for then he kissed her.

Not a proper kiss, she thought. A most improper one that went on and on, claiming her mouth with his lips and teeth and tongue, and the whole time his hands remained against the mat, not touching her anywhere, using only his mouth to tease and inflame. Desiree dug her fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling, her body aching to feel him against her.

She felt his knee crook to cover her legs, his body beginning to roll over to cover her. And then, with a groan, he rolled away and sat up. Desiree swallowed a growl of frustration. Tom sat with his feet flat on the mat, arms braced on his upraised knees and both hands plunged deep into his hair. His back rose and fell in quick, hard breaths.

Desiree wanted to follow him, to press herself against his back and wrap her arms around him from behind. She wanted to press her lips to that spot at the nape of his neck just above his shirt. In fact, surprising herself a bit, she wanted to nip at that spot with her teeth. But all that would be unfair to him. Tom had managed to leash his hunger and do the right thing. She shouldn’t try to make him slip his leash. So she stayed where she was, drinking in the sight of him, her body humming with the desire he’d awakened in her.

“I should go,” Tom said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

Desiree wanted to protest, but she did not. He was right. They shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t have worn her costume with him around. They shouldn’t have played and sweated or clasped hands to help each other up. She knew all that.

But what she said was “We could practice again sometime. If you wanted.”

He let out a harsh little huff of air, half laugh and half groan. “Desiree, you’ll be the death of me.” He rose to his feet and rolled down his cuffs, not looking at her. “You know I want to.” He swung his head toward her. “You know exactly what I want and how much I want it.”

“I know.” Desiree’s voice was a trifle shaky. She did know. And she knew how much she wanted the same thing.