A Little Bit Sinful (17 page)

After assuring herself that Bianca was contentedly occupied on the dance floor, Eleanor made her way out of the ballroom. She roamed aimlessly down a corridor, turned, then followed the next one to the end. Her mind was so preoccupied it took her a few moments to realize she had wandered far from the
party. The sounds of the ballroom were barely audible as she turned another corner and paused, trying to get her bearings.

Knowing she needed to retrace her steps, Eleanor whirled around. She took a single step, then heard a noise from inside the room in front of her. The door was ajar. Curious, she leaned forward and peered into the room. The interior was all shadows, the only light a fire burning in the hearth.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. As she scanned the room, she saw the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves crammed with leather matched spines. Impressed by the sheer number of volumes in the library, Eleanor stepped through the doorway to further investigate and suddenly realized the room was occupied. Standing near the long windows was the lone figure of a gentleman.

“Lady Eleanor, is that you?”

Dear God, it was Benton!
“Good evening, my lord.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You look positively shocked to see me. I can assure you that I am not a gate-crasher. I was invited to the ball.”

Of course she was surprised to see him! She had been eagerly searching ever since she arrived, expecting him to be in the middle of all the festivities, not hiding out by himself. But she certainly couldn’t admit that to him.

Eleanor’s heart started fluttering. “‘Tis a relief knowing I won’t have to report you to our hosts as an unwelcome guest. But you must own I am owed a bit of shock at finding you here. This is, after all, a
library.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I am illiterate?”

“Not at all, though I would hardly classify you as bookish. Truthfully, it boggles my mind to consider the sort of reading material you prefer.”

“Ah, yes, wicked, scandalous tomes dominated by bawdy language and, uhm, mature situations.” A lighthearted expression sketched over his face. “Though I do draw the line at pictures.”

“Pictures?” she asked, strolling farther into the room. “Such as those put forth in a children’s story?”

He leaned indolently against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest, a knowing smile upon his lips. “There is nothing at all childish about the illustrations to which I refer.”

Eleanor’s brow furrowed as she pondered what could be so risqué about an illustration. “I’ve never seen such a book.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Eleanor frowned, instinctively knowing he was referring to something scandalous, yet having no idea what he meant. Deliberately keeping her gaze from straying to him, she cast her eyes along the shelves.

“‘Tis a most eclectic collection,” she commented. “Everything from agriculture to classic tomes in numerous languages along with recent, popular novels. Very impressive.”

He strode slowly toward her, tilting his head as he scanned the same shelf. “French, Latin, Greek. Are you saying you can read all three?”

She nodded. “Along with a smattering of Italian. I suppose in your eyes that qualifies me as a bluestocking,” she said, referencing that derogatory term.

“I never liked that label. It’s demeaning.” He considered her, his stare assessing. “I have always
found intelligent women far more interesting. And entertaining.”

“Yet society tells us they must strive to hide the quickness of their minds.”

“Oh, hang society.” He stopped before her, only inches away. “An
intelligent
woman’s point of view is always valuable. Not always agreed with, yet valuable nonetheless. ‘Tis the mark of a dim-witted, insecure man who refuses to admit it.”

She fell silent, marveling at his comment. “‘Tis good to know that I need not censure my opinion with you.”

“Egad, I hadn’t realized you had been holding your tongue.” His lips curled. “I fairly tremble wondering what you will say to me now that we have established such open communication.”

Eleanor tried to hold back her blush. She had been brutally frank with him at times, especially regarding her sister. “I shall endeavor to be circumspect, my lord.”

“Sebastian.” He reached out and twirled a wisp of hair slowly around his finger. “I’d very much like for you to call me Sebastian. And I shall call you Eleanor.”

He stood improperly close. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint scent of his pleasant cologne. “There is something quite indescribable about you, Eleanor. I find myself thinking of you at odd times of the day. Why is that, do you suppose?”

She lowered her head, warmed by the idea that she had also been on his mind. Warmed, yet not entirely convinced. Handsome rogues like him did not seek out plain, older spinsters like her. And yet, his breathing seemed as unsteady as hers.

Sebastian leaned toward her, placing one hand on her waist and drawing her against his chest. His other hand cradled the back of her head, forcing her chin up. Gazing into his eyes, she realized he was going to kiss her.

All her insides turned to mush.

She was not a young, inexperienced girl. She had shared many a passionate kiss with John Tanner. But this was different. This man did not have a deep affection for her. Yet there was no denying the spell he had woven over her, the pull of sensual delight she felt whenever he was near.

A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through Eleanor. Being in Sebastian’s arms made her feel like someone she wasn’t—daring, almost wicked.

And she liked it.

A half smile played on his full, sensual lips. “I am going to kiss you now, Eleanor.”

Despite her curiosity, her first instinct was to pull away. The library was secluded, yet not impossible to find. Anyone could wander in, just as she had done. The repercussions of being caught bordered on scandal, yet more important, it would be a bad example to Bianca if she were discovered in such a compromising situation.

He must have sensed her reluctance. His fingers tightened in her hair to keep her in place at the same time his hand slid from her waist to the small of her back. Eleanor shivered with anticipation. It had been a very long time since she had felt the press of a man’s lips against her own.

She felt her body tighten, her gaze roving over his face. His expression told her the truth—he was indeed about to kiss her. She went so still she briefly
forgot to breathe. But then she allowed her proper, priggish objections to vanish, gave herself permission to enjoy whatever was to come. Her heart skipped in anticipation, certain that his kiss would be as possessive and hungry as the intense gleam darkening his eyes.

Yet when it finally came, the initial touch of his lips upon hers was sweet and tender. No grasping, no crushing, no plundering. She parted her lips at that sweetness, at the promise of something more than passion.

Feather light, he ran his tongue across the seam of her lips and teeth, then slipped it farther into her mouth. The heat of it radiated through her, taking her breath away, jolting her to her very core. Though they were indoors, the stars spun over her head as she clung to his warmth, savoring every taste, every touch.

“Eleanor.” Her name fell from his lips in a liquid caress. He trailed his mouth across her cheek to the curve of her throat. The tender, whisper-soft kisses set her skin ablaze. Senses reeling, all thoughts of propriety disappeared like a wisp of smoke. She was aware of nothing but him and a need inside herself that was growing more intense by the minute.

His hand swept down to the swell of her hip and she instinctively pushed herself forward, giving her hunger free rein. His mouth tasted divine. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she felt the lower half of his body, large and stiff, pressing against her stomach.

Because of me?
she thought in amazement.
I have the power to incite such a passionate reaction in a man so sophisticated, so worldly?

She kissed him deeply one more time, then forced herself to break away, lift her head, and meet his gaze. There was molten fire in his eyes and she shuddered at the evidence of his desire for her.
Remarkable.

The silence between them was charged with emotion and unspoken needs. Eleanor felt a flush of embarrassment. Not about the kiss, which had indeed been glorious, but because they now seemed unable to manage any conversation.

“That was highly improper,” she whispered.

“‘Twas only a kiss, Eleanor. And not, I believe, your first.”

She blushed. He casually touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, sending another shudder of desire through her still heated body. “True, it was not my first kiss, but unless you declare yourself to have honorable intentions, it should be the last one we share.”

He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. She could feel the steady thump of his heart. “Why do you assume my intentions are not honorable?”

“I have heard far too many comments on your opinion of marriage,” she answered.

His brow quirked. “That does not mean I shall never marry.”

“True, yet the facts cannot be denied. Forty is the age I believe you have set for yourself to take a wife. Unless you have one secreted away at your country estate?”

He laughed. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, liked the way his face appeared more boyish and carefree.
Goodness, he was a handsome devil.

“No, there is no wife,” he said, his gaze sweeping pointedly over her. “Not yet, at least. Though it could certainly happen well before I reach forty, if I find the right woman.”

A swift current of excitement raced through her, but Eleanor tamped down her delight. He could not possibly mean what he was implying.

“Ha! I vow the betting book at White’s is filled with wagers as to the length of your bachelorhood.”

“It is indeed. I confess to placing a few of them myself. Just to keep the lads guessing.” Amusement danced in his eyes. “While it is true that I have not yet discovered a compelling reason to marry, that does not mean I never will.”

“For your title and property?” she asked, citing the usual reasons. Reasons that inexplicably made her feel a sad stab of regret.

“I hardly find those reasons compelling. Really, Eleanor, shouldn’t there be more to marriage?”

“Well, there are kisses,” she said airily.

His eyes sensually moved down the length of her body. “Kisses are merely the beginning.”

Eleanor felt her cheeks flush as a shudder of pure desire shot through her body. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is that what you want?” His tone was light and teasing, yet she clearly heard the thread of determination beneath it. Why was he so interested in her? Was she merely a challenge to him? Or was there more involved?

“That is preposterous,” she lied, knowing she should pull herself free from his arms and return to the ball, retreating as quickly as her feet could go.

He took her hands in his and the yearning in his
eyes made her catch her breath. “I promise you that knowing someone in the biblical sense is an extraordinary occurrence, yet a real relationship between a man and a woman encompasses far more.”

“A rake who values a female for something more than her body?” Oh, how she wanted to believe him! She considered him closely. He gazed back at her, almost as if he knew she doubted his sincerity. “You are either a fraud or a very good liar,” she declared.

“Or a sensual, experienced lover who wants more from a woman than physical pleasure. Are you bold enough to guess the truth?”

“I don’t really have to guess, do I, Sebastian? Your actions speak of a man who understands the game of dalliance and seduction, yet I suspect you refuse to commit yourself fully. You refuse to risk your heart.”

“I willingly admit that I don’t know the first thing about love. Real love. Proper love, between a man and a woman. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn.” He smoothed back a stray wisp of her hair and softly kissed her temple.

The tenderness of his gesture brought forth a sigh. Eleanor marveled that his affectionate petting was almost as stimulating as his passion. “You are a closet romantic,” she accused.

“A fact I shall deny to the bitter end.” There was an irony to his tone that tugged at her, that told her this was his true essence. In that instant she felt as if she had caught a glimpse into his soul, into the yearning he kept hidden from the world. And then, a most bizarre truth struck her.

The viscount was lonely.

A ragged sigh escaped Eleanor’s lips. He was watching her with something guarded, almost vulnerable resting in his eyes. And in that moment her heart began to soften.

Sebastian’s corruption of the earl’s daughter was not going precisely as he had planned. The romantic light flickering from the library’s fireplace cast a golden glow over her entire body, from the top of her head to the tip of her dancing slippers. He knew logically that it was the shimmering silk threads of her gold gown that caused this illusion, yet he still found it enchanting.

It was not supposed to be happening this way. He had intended the seduction to be calculated and methodical, with revenge and lust being the only emotions driving him forward.

Sebastian knew seducing a female of Eleanor’s intelligence would be no small feat. Simple compliments and insincere flattery would not be enough. She required more depth, more introspection. To be successful he would have to entice her mind as well as her body.

She had lived too long in the shadow of her sister’s beauty to realize her own value, to believe she could easily entice a man. And therein lay perhaps the greatest irony of all. Bianca might be a diamond of the first water, but Sebastian felt no sexual pull toward her.

Eleanor, on the other hand, could bring his body swiftly to aching hardness. Her kisses had been stirring, dazzling almost, igniting a craving deep inside. When they had separated he felt bereft, awash in
unfulfilled longing. Sebastian was an experienced enough lover to know this was not only due to the lack of sexual release.