Revenge In Regency Society. Gail Whitiker

      As he deepened the kiss, Anna raised her arms, twining them around his neck, wanting to be close and then closer still. His tongue teased her lips apart and heat poured through her body, flowing like molten fire through her veins. She moaned, feeling desire rise and want settle low in her belly. Ah, the sweet, sweet pleasure …

      But the pleasure was bittersweet. Even as his arms tightened around her, Anna knew it could come to nothing. Barrington had no intention of marrying. He’d just told her as much. And if he wasn’t willing to offer marriage, what they were doing now was not only wrong, it was self-destructive. She wanted more from him. Much more than he was willing to give. And in the end, she would be the one who walked away with her heart in ruins. And therein lay the true sadness of the situation. The one man with whom she could have foreseen a future was the one man with whom it would never be.

      ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ she whispered, breaking free of his arms.

      ‘Anna, what’s wrong?’ he asked huskily.

      ‘What’s wrong? I’m wrong,’ she whispered. ‘This is wrong. Because right now, I’m no better than the foolish young women whose reputations I fight to protect.’

      ‘That’s ridiculous!’

      ‘Is it? You just told me you have no intention of marrying, yet I allowed myself to be held in your arms and kissed like any cheap whore. What is that if not the height of stupidity?’

      Anna flung at him. ‘At least Mercy Banks was hopeful of a marriage resulting from her liaison with Lieutenant Blokker! You’ve made it clear there is no such happy ending in sight.’

      His face darkened, his breathing heavy and uneven. ‘I said that because I don’t want you harbouring false hope. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.’

      ‘And is that supposed to make me feel better? Am I supposed to be comforted by the knowledge that you desire me, yet have no intention of offering marriage?’ Anna shook her head. ‘There is a word for that kind of relationship, Sir Barrington, and it is not flattering.’

      ‘It was never my intention to compromise you, Anna,’ he said quietly. ‘I care too much for you.’

      ‘My name is Lady Annabelle. And if you care so much for me, leave me alone!’

      Without waiting for his answer, Anna picked up her skirts and fled. Angry tears blurred her vision as she ran down the length of the balcony. Idiot! She’d made a fool of herself again, allowing herself to be held and kissed as though she were a naïve young schoolgirl. She, who prided herself on knowing all the games and all the excuses, had let herself be taken in. And by doing so, Barrington had undermined everything she believed in. When she had allowed him to kiss her, she had wanted to believe that it meant something. But it was obvious to anyone with an iota of sense that it meant absolutely nothing. Sophisticated Barrington might be, but he was still a man, and when it came right down to it, he wanted the same thing as every other man. Pleasure without commitment. Love without obligation. The very things she kept warning her young ladies to avoid.

      The breeze came up and, once again, Anna felt chilled. She hadn’t stopped to fetch her wrap before venturing outside, but neither was she about to run back into the drawing room now.

      Observant eyes would see the evidence of her tears, recognise the flush in her cheeks and put their own interpretation on the events—and nothing on earth was going to persuade her to tell anyone what had really happened.

      She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if Barrington had followed her. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she saw that he hadn’t. All right, so she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so, but at least this time she was old enough to recognise it for herself. Barrington had made his feelings for her clear. The episode would not be repeated. From now on, she would treat him exactly the same way he treated everyone else. Coolly. Professionally. Without emotion. He would never make her cry again.

      It was a good ten minutes before Anna felt calm enough to venture back into the house. Not by the drawing room through which she’d left. That would be far too embarrassing, especially knowing that Barrington had gone back in only a short time ago. Instead, she walked to the end of the balcony and, finding another set of glass doors, tried the handle. Thankfully, it was unlocked and pushing it open, she walked into a small study—only to stop and gasp in shock.

      Her brother and Julia’s maid were standing by the door, locked together in a passionate embrace. ‘Edward!’

      At once, the pair sprang apart, but it was too late to disguise what they had been doing. The maid’s dark hair had come down around her shoulders, her gown was in disarray and her lips were red and swollen.

      Embarrassed, Anna looked away. Obviously, her brother wasn’t above seducing pretty housemaids, whether they be his own or someone else’s. Refusing to meet his eyes, she murmured, ‘Excuse me’, and then immediately made her way to the door. Edward said nothing, but she heard his mocking laughter following her through the door. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her brother had once again proven himself the immoral creature she believed him to be.

       And what about you? the little voice nagged. Are you so much better? So much more virtuous?

      Anna felt her face burn with humiliation. No, perhaps she wasn’t. She kept remembering the passionate encounter she’d just shared with Barrington, the shameless manner in which she had allowed him to kiss her. Oh, yes, she’d let him kiss her. She wasn’t about to lay the blame for what had happened entirely at his door. He was gentleman enough that if she had asked him to stop, he would have—but she hadn’t done that. She’d wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him. To watch his head bend slowly towards her, and to feel his mouth close intimately over hers.

      It had been everything she’d expected—and more.

      But Barrington was no more likely to become her husband than Julia’s maid was to become Edward’s wife. They had both been indulging in impossible fantasies.

       ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone …’

      A sobering thought. As Anna made her way back to the drawing room, she realised that the proverbial stone would never find its way to her hand.