A Man Of Many Talents by Deborah Simmons Page A

damp as a lad’s and his breeches tighter than they had been in years. But the object of his attentions held her lamp before her like a weapon, and Christian wouldn’t put it past her to clout him with it.
    “There. You have seen me to the steps. I assure you that I can find my way to my room,” she said in her severest voice. Given his perverse bent since his arrival here, her tone only titillated him further.
    “I have no doubt of it,” Christian answered, enjoying the flicker of relief in her eyes, especially considering what he planned to say next. “But I will accompany you nonetheless.”
    She looked nonplussed, opening her mouth as if to speak, and Christian decided that her li ps were very tempting when they weren’t pursed tightly in disapproval. He would have liked to keep them open, and at that moment fate stepped in and gave him the opportunity. Before she could protest, thunder crashed loudly outside, followed by a great lashing of rain and a gust of wind that rattled the windows and sent a draft swirling around the lantern, fortuitously extinguishing it. As Christian’s own lamp was shuttered, they were plunged into complete and utter darkness.
    For once, Miss Parkinson seemed to lose her aplomb. She made a sound rather like a squeak, so Christian set down his lantern and reached for her, his hands closing about her shoulders. They were soft and supple beneath his fingers, the material of her robe worn and smooth. Lilacs, faint yet poignant, invaded his senses, and he pulled her closer. A bolt of light ning illuminated her face, wide- eyed and gasping as he gazed down at her.
    And then he kissed her.
    It was certainly not his usual encounter, staged in the black bleakness at the bottom of Sibel Hall’s main stair, nor his usual partner, for Miss Parkinson was no experienced widow or mistress. And yet, for some reason, perhaps his heightened senses, energy surged through him as though diverted from the lightning outside. He felt a certain power in his own attraction to her, to be sure, but that was not all of it. In truth, he couldn’t explain it, and couldn’t be bothered to. He was too busy enjoying it.
    Her lips were lush and sweet, the swift intake of her breath an invitation to explore the richness of her mouth. Heady. Exciting. They fit together perfectly, as if he had been searching for her all of his life, and want flowed through him like life’s blood, urging him to press her tightly to him, to carr y her up to his bed, to claim her as his own. This night. Every night. Always.
    Unfortunately his partner didn’t seem to feel the same way. Christian gradually realized that she was pushing at him, not in a manner designed to get them closer but to move them apart. He was so startled that it took a while for his brain to process that astonishing development: he was kissing a woman who didn’t want to be kissed, at least not by him.
    Since such a thing had never happened to him in his lifetime (hell, he was accounted quite a catch and a good lover as well), again he hesitated. Rather desperately, he suspected that if he just kept kissing her, she would come around. Eventually. It was only after she practically unmanned him that he realized his actions could be construed as forcing himself upon her. In the meantime, her knee came into contact with his groin, causing him to groan aloud and release her.
    In the darkness he could hear her rapid breaths above his own ragged grunts, and for a long moment they remained thus, only a hairbreadth apart yet as distant as the moon. As Christian grappled for some thought beyond his uncommonly fierce desire, some explanation for such unfathomable behavior, the Governess finally spoke.
    “I realize that professional seducers of your ilk feel the need to practice their wiles on any female in the vicinity, but I thought we had an agreement to avoid this … type of thing. In fact, I believe that you were the one who made it quite clear upon our acquaintance