Lady Myddelton's Lover by Evangeline Holland Page A

radiance.
    His eyes then came to rest on her, and Aline touched a cut crystal bowl filled with her prize roses to steady herself beneath the warm, syrupy caramel of his regard. A thick fringe of lashes veiled his deep-set brown eyes, his nose was straight and narrow, and the shadow of a dark blond beard failed to mask his voluptuary’s mouth. She released a breath she did not know she held when he lowered his lashes to the movement of his hands as they unbuttoned his coat, and she allowed herself to drink him in, noticing, with a start, how extraordinarily vital he appeared. He seemed to radiate a sunny vigor from his tanned skin to the smooth waves of his golden hair, vigor and vitality incongruous with the careful, almost dull starched shirt, dark trousers and black coat deemed proper for gentlemen. Then he returned his remarkable eyes to her and she could not see anything else, could not feel anything else but the way her body leapt to his warmth, her skin prickling with awareness and her nipples tightening beneath her negligee.
    He almost seemed to know her response to him and h e smiled. Aline released her hold on the rose bowl and stepped towards the table, where she poured two coupes of champagne. His fingers, large and blunt, were over hers before she could turn to hand him a glass, and she drew a shaky breath before turning to face him. Their glasses clinked and champagne sloshed with their toast. Aline forced herself to meet his eyes over the rim of the coupe as they finished the first glass of champagne. She set her glass on the table and placed a hand on his arm when he opened his mouth to speak, the tiny bit of alcohol and the silence giving her a bit of Dutch courage.
    His expression turned inquisitive as she led him to the couch and she felt a small flutter of trepidation when he sat beside her, his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped frame dwarfing the couch’s elegant proportions. She was quite tall for her sex, but he was taller, and she glanced greedily at the long, sinewy length of his limbs, accustomed to the middling, comfortable height of the majority of the men of her acquaintance. He held himself stiffly beside her, and she suddenly realized he was slightly uncomfortable with his size, ignorant of her surprising attraction to the crush of his body against hers.
    Strapping, was what he was, being neither lean nor fat, but just…large, and sensual, and very masculine. Just the thought of his naked body weighing her down sent a leap of arousal through her and she squirmed uncomfortably, the silk of her negligee feeling rough and hot against her skin. His breath hitched, the breadth of his chest rising and falling against her side, the arm he placed behind her head jerking in reaction to her movements. She sank further against him, willing him to realize she was very attracted to him; he relaxed with a deep, contented sigh, and she could not help but fit her curves to his hardness.
    I want you to touch me.
    Aline gasped at her boldness, hoping desperately that she had not said that aloud, yet wanting his hands, his mouth, his general touch to ease her arousal. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes, which darkened to a rich chocolate with an unfathomable emotion, and then dropping to his sensual lips. She was struck by the sudden notion that hiring a lover should be a requirement of all new widows, locked away in a sort of English purdah as it were, for two years. She bit her lip, just imagining what the reaction to this suggestion would be, and the reaction she would receive for even mentioning it, much less thinking such a thing!
                  All thoughts of scandal and social outrage vanished when he touched her. His hand was large, his palm hot and searing against her skin as he cupped her shoulder and then slid his fingers down her arm. This barest of caress set her body aflame and she squirmed against him, hoping he would take the hint and place his hands, perhaps his mouth, on her