Wicked Becomes You by Meredith Duran

was addictive. How did one ever stop once one formed the habit? One might go on ogling for days, there were so many points of interest. His lips, for instance! What a long, well-formed mouth he had. She had noted that before, of course. Thomas’s lips were quite thin.
    His lips spoke. “Several reasons,” they said. “Surely you can deduce them. First and foremost, you have no idea what he’d do with this note.”
    Alex would know how to kiss properly. Bohemian women would not endure slobbering. Only ladies determined to marry would tolerate such indignities.
    Not that she would kiss him, of course. The very idea made her feel itchy. He seemed so old, although in fact he was only four years her senior, and—why, two years younger than Thomas! Thomas seemed so young, in comparison. He had not traveled so widely, though. He’d never done nothing awful or extraordinary (until today, of course). He had not made piles of money (although his family required it more than the Ramseys did), or visited Argentina, or courted suffragettes who had no intention of marrying. Such wide and varied experiences probably made the prospect of kissing a respectable girl only a fraction more interesting than staring at a wall.
    Besides, what of her view on kissing Alex ? He’d been so close with her brother that it would be like kissing her brother!
    Well, not really. But probably Alex would think kissing her was like kissing one of his sisters.
    She felt nervous, suddenly. Which was silly. It was only Alex—rude, amused, and condescending as usual.
    “Gwen,” he drawled. “Do try to attend. Shall I speak more slowly?”
    “I heard you,” she said. “You asked what he would do with the note. I expect he’d read it.”
    “And share it with friends,” he said dryly, “and then sell it to the papers, no doubt. God knows he needs the money, and the sale of private correspondence is nothing so shocking as dirtying one’s hands through actual work.” He paused to smirk. “Indeed, I expect it would fetch a pretty penny. Certain of the details you included, such as the—” He cleared his throat. “The—” His smirk now twisted into a grimace. He averted his face, and his shoulders jerked.
    She had the panicked thought that he was having some sort of attack—his lungs, the old boyhood ailment—and she leapt forward to take his arm. “Are you all—”
    “Oh, good God,” he said rapidly, and burst into laughter.
    Her hand fell away. A fit might have astonished her less. He had laughed at her before, certainly, but this was true laughter, low and husky and unrestrained. She backed up a pace, beginning to smile, too; his hilarity was somehow infectious.
    He put a fist to his mouth, and after evident struggle, seemed to grow calmer. “The—” He cleared his throat. “The terrier,” he managed, but when she nodded, this prompted him to snort, which turned into another peal.
    She surrendered to laughter as well. Gratification spread in a warm, heady rush. Finally, he acknowledged it: the terrier bit had been brilliant!
    After a ragged breath, and another, he finally calmed. Clearing his throat, he met her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said hoarsely, and wiped the corner of his eye with a knuckle. “You really do have quite a way with—” The corner of his mouth kicked up; he pressed his lips together and drew an audible breath through his nose. “Quite a way with words. I confess, I didn’t suspect it.”
    “Thank you! But you see, for that very reason, Thomas would never let the letter become public. It’s clever and rude. And he’s very vain.” She paused, eyeing him. “Although I can’t understand why.”
    He grinned. “Ah, from the mouths of babes,” he said. As if he were so much older! “And perhaps you’re right, but it’s a calculation, you see. And in this case, the risk wouldn’t be worth the possible profit.”
    She frowned. “What risk?”
    He pushed a hand through his hair. All the Ramseys had such