a twist of the wrist the door was open and Laura was inside, as breathless as if she had run. She closed the door and leaned against it while she caught her breath.
Avery, in his shirtsleeves, was standing with his back to her, head bent over the sheaf of papers in his hand. ‘Yes, Darke?’ he said without turning.
‘It is not Darke,’ Laura said.
He went very still. As the moment dragged on Laura saw the broad shoulders, the silk of his waistcoat drawn tight across his back, the point where the ties drew it in at his slim waist, the tight buttocks and the long line of his thighs, all exposed without the tails of his coat. He was a magnificent male animal and, much as she hated him, she knew she wanted him, too. And that made her even more vulnerable.
Avery laid the papers down on the dresser with care, knocked the edges together and then, only then, turned to face her. Laura realised with a flash of insight that he had needed the time to get control of himself, but whether he was controlling anger or lust, she was not sure. Both, perhaps.
‘This is a surprise,’ he drawled. ‘Would you care to explain yourself or would you prefer to lock the door and undress first?’
‘Is it necessary to be so crude?’ she snapped. ‘Or so arrogant? Your bed is the last place I want to be. I had no idea you would be at this house party, so I came to explain before you saw me and did something rash.’
‘I do not do rash things, my dear.’
‘Oh, yes, you do. You steal other people’s children, you kiss women you hardly know, you abduct people in parks...’
‘I’ll give you the kisses,’ he said, a smile curving his mouth. It was not a reassuring sight. ‘Those were rash, I concede.’
‘Stop pretending to flirt, or threaten or whatever it is you are doing.’ With an effort Laura stopped twisting her hands together. ‘Lady Birtwell invited me here and I accepted because I wanted to get away from London. And from you. I should have asked her who else she had invited, but I did not.’
‘So how did you know I was here?’ Avery pulled the emerald pin out of his neckcloth, put it down on top of the papers and began to untie the elaborate knot.
‘I met Alice in the hallway just now.’ She seemed unable to stop herself watching the neckcloth slide through his fingers as he pulled it free.
‘The devil you did!’ He threw the crumpled muslin onto the bed. ‘What happened?’
‘I told her that Caroline Jordan was not my real name. I told her that I was hiding from a bad man.’ His brows drew together in a frown and she added, ‘She thought it was exciting, an adventure. She is going to pretend not to know me—you can make a game of it.’
‘Can I, indeed? Or you can go right back to London. Now.’ The waistcoat followed the neckcloth.
‘Why should I? If I leave as soon as I arrive it will cause talk. I have already met several guests. In any case, I was only doing what you asked me to do, attempting to keep away from Alice. You go.’
‘I am afraid I cannot do that, not without being extremely rude to Lady Birtwell.’ He raised an eyebrow and began to unbutton his shirt cuffs. ‘You did not know she was my godmother? She has put this house party together to help me find a bride.’
Laura sat down on the edge of the bed, the nearest flat surface. ‘A bride? For you? Oh my goodness, she was hinting the other night at Mrs Fairweather’s reception, but I thought she was just teasing me.’
‘Suggesting you would make me a good wife, was she? She has a strange sense of humour, although she does not know the truth about you, of course.’ Avery pulled his shirt free of his breeches and gathered the hem in his hands.
What he was doing finally penetrated Laura’s jangling thoughts. ‘Will you kindly stop undressing while I am in the room!’
‘I have a bath cooling in the dressing room and I have no intention of getting into it clothed. Do I need to remind you that you are here uninvited?’ The last word was muffled as he drew the shirt over his head.
Laura was confronted by a naked, muscled torso and drew a sharp breath. Tailoring could make a man look a lot fitter and slimmer than he was, she assumed, but Avery Falconer needed no help from either his tailor or his valet. The intake of breath had been a mistake. He had been riding, obviously, and his skin exuded the tantalising musk of fresh sweat over the faint traces of Castile soap and a tang of spicy cologne.
She found herself staring at the silky trail of hair that led down below the waistband of his breeches and, as if to indulge her curiosity, Avery’s hands went to the fastenings of his falls.
‘Stop it!’ She closed her eyes, then slapped her hands over them for good measure. ‘Go and check there is no one in the corridor so I can leave.’
He gave a faint snort of laughter and the bed beside her dipped as he sat down. ‘In exchange for one kiss.’
‘That is blackmail.’ She opened her eyes and found he was removing his stockings. His breeches, thank heavens, were still fastened.
‘Call it a forfeit.’ He looked thoroughly amused now. No doubt this was highly gratifying, to see her embarrassed and at a complete disadvantage.
‘If I let you take one kiss you will say nothing, you’ll allow me to stay here?’
‘I will speak to Alice. If she is not disturbed by having you here and I think she can treat your secret as a game, then, yes, you may stay. If she is upset or frightened by the thoughts of your bad man, that is another matter. I hardly feel you are going to enjoy this house party very much.’
‘It will be amusing to watch you being pursued by a bevy of young ladies,’ Laura said tartly. ‘How will you decide—or will Godmama make that choice for you, as well?’
‘I make my own choices.’ The amusement had vanished, leaving his eyes hard, but not cold. There was heat there; he wanted her. ‘And right now I choose to kiss you.’
Laura presented her right cheek, face tipped to the side. To her surprise he kissed it. Was she going to escape so easily? Then his lips moved, trailed to her ear and he caught the lobe lightly between his teeth. His breath was warm, fanning fires under her skin, teasing goosebumps along her arms. She gave a little gasp and he caught her in his arms, released her ear as he turned her and kissed her full on the mouth.
She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him, despite everything that had passed between them, and she suspected he knew it perfectly well. Whatever else she could accuse Avery Falconer of, an assault on an unwilling woman was not one of them. But that did not mean she had to make it easy for him, or sacrifice her own self-esteem by simply melting into the kiss.
He growled as she put her hands on his bare shoulders and dug in her fingernails and paid her back by sliding his tongue between her lips so she was filled with his familiar taste. He shifted so that he fell back onto the bed, taking her with him to sprawl in wanton abandon over his half-naked body, her stomach pressed against his groin. She wriggled and he growled again and rolled over to pin her beneath him in a parody of mastery and surrender.
His weight and the slide of muscle under smooth skin beneath her palms was overwhelming. She wanted to yield and at the same time she knew she must not, did not dare. If she let him, he would burn her up, like tinder, leave her shattered. Leave her his.
Laura took hold of a double handful of hair and pulled. For a moment he resisted, his mouth still ravaging hers, then he let her pull his head up. ‘Enough,’ she gasped. ‘Enough.’
Avery braced his arms on the rumpled coverlet and then levered himself from her body. ‘Enough,’ he agreed. ‘And now I have a cold bath waiting. How convenient.’
Laura got up, stalked past him to the mirror and began to push pins back into her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth looked as if...as if she had been ruthlessly kissed. Unable to meet her own eyes, she brushed