WANTON by Cheryl Holt

sexy and completely different from the drab schoolteacher she’d been at Sidwell Manor. The changes were disturbing, were jarring, were...arousing. There! He’d admitted it. His cock was hard as stone.
    “You caught me at a bad time,” she claimed. “I was bathing.”
    She said it as if it was natural for her to discuss her ablutions with him. He gaped at her, wondering if she was a changeling, if Mrs. Middleton hadn’t cast a spell and turned her into a vixen.
    He observed—confused and somewhat aghast—as she poured her own glass of wine, then sashayed over to the fainting couch and reclined on an elbow. The lapel of her robe flopped open to expose much, much more cleavage than she could ever have meant to display.
    Through it all, he was struggling to decide what his reaction should be, what his remarks should be.
    He was a cad and libertine who rarely met a female he hadn’t tired to seduce, and he was always successful. Since he had also been regularly castigated and chastised during his life, he was never judgmental, he never lectured or condemned any conduct.
    He scarcely knew Amelia Hubbard and what he did know, he didn’t like. He had no connection to her and intended no bond. Why would he care if she flaunted herself? Why would he care if she ruined herself with impunity? His fit of pique was bewildering.
    He’d always felt that the world would be a more amusing place if women behaved more outrageously, and there was naught he hated more than a sheltered, cosseted innocent. Miss Hubbard was precisely the type who could benefit from a lessening of morals and a loosening of bodices.
    Why was he fussing and incensed? He had absolutely no idea.
    She was staring at him, appearing bored and jaded and exasperated, as if she wished he’d say what he’d come to say, then leave. She acted as if she had more important guests about to arrive and was anxious for him to depart so he wouldn’t bump into them.
    “You’ve certainly made yourself at home in a hurry,” he petulantly grouched.
    “Barbara has been incredibly accommodating.”
    “I see that.”
    “There wasn’t any reason not to take advantage of her hospitality. It’s not as if I have a betrothal in the works.”
    “You could have—in the future.”
    “I doubt it. I had previously thought I’d like to marry, but now that I’ve witnessed the freedom Barbara enjoys, I can’t imagine why I’d tie myself down.”
    The risqué comment was totally at odds with the person he deemed her to be. She sipped her wine, shifted on the fainting couch so the robe opened a bit more, so a bit of thigh was displayed.
    He studied that thigh and realized his lust was flaring too hotly. He nearly rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was an explosion of passion. Frequently, he was ruled by his phallus, and when it became engaged, there was no predicting what carnage he might perpetrate.
    He had to speak his piece, then go!
    “You seem very altered from how you were at Sidwell Manor.”
    She chuckled. “Yes, definitely.”
    “And not for the better.”
    “You liked that dull, prim mouse? Why would you have?”
    “You’ve never been exposed to the decadence that’s available in London. You’ve jumped in over your head.”
    “Have I?”
    “You don’t have any parents to counsel you.” At his severe tone, he winced. For a moment there, he’d sounded just like his father.
    “No, and I always lamented the fact, but now I’m relieved to be on my own. I can do whatever I like without some man insisting I can’t.”
    “Women guard their reputations so they don’t get into trouble.”
    “I used to agree”—she stretched like a lazy cat—“but Barbara changed my mind.”
    “You can’t stay here with her.”
    “Why ever not?”
    “Mrs. Middleton is a horrid influence.”
    “Yes, I’ve heard. She’s been telling me the most shocking stories.”
    “She has?” He was appalled.
    “Yes, and I can only hope to have half as much fun in my life as