Page 19 of Tempting the Marquess

“Good evening, Jensen,” she replied, attempting to smile as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Do come in, you are most welcome. Lord Ardmore, Lord and Lady Westleigh, and Lord and Lady Trentham are enjoying a pre-dinner drink in the formal dining room. May I take your pelisse?”

“No!” she blurted.

The butler blinked. “Ah…of course, my lady. It is a little, ah, chilly this evening…”

“Lady Samantha! Welcome to myhome.”

Her heart sank. Of course, the marquess looked utterly perfect in black jacket, gray trousers, and a muted gold waistcoat. And there was that dimple again. Why did he have to be so blasted handsome? “Lord Standish.”

He tilted his head. “I have all the fireplaces lit. No need for the extra layer, I promise.”

“Yes. Thereis.”

“Is something wrong?” he murmured. “You seem onedge.”

Samantha sighed. How did she even reply to that? In the end, she threw caution to the wind, and settled on the truth. “My lord, I went shopping with my mother, and am presently wearing the worst gown in history.”

His dimple deepened. “I see. A few extra ruffles, perhaps? Please do not worry. We are all aware of Lady Claremont’s fashion preferences. Now, your pelisse?”

She shook her head, her cheeks burning. “The problem isn’t just ruffles.”

“Feathers?”

“Worse.”

Lord Standish’s brow furrowed. “My dear Lady Samantha, I am starting to worry your gown has a set of dueling pistols or perhaps an assortment of dead insects attached. It cannot be thatbad.”

Sighing again, Samantha unclipped her pelisse and shrugged it off. “Here.”

“Christ,” he choked out, taking a stepaway.

Confusion swirled. Was the marquess having a heart episode? Except…he wasn’t looking at her ruffled gown, but directly at her bodice. And his expression could only be described as hungry.

He liked her too-full breasts? The charged silence stretched, and as though drawn to his molten sapphire gaze, her nipples hardened painfully and rubbed against the fabric. She wanted to touch them. No, she wanted him to touch them. Even more alarming, an odd pulsing had begun in that forbidden place between her legs. “Um…”

Lord Standish snapped to attention. “Forgive me. Perhaps…would you object if I, er, fetched one of my mother’s shawls to wear over yourgown?”

“That would be wonderful. I’ll wait here…” she replied, but she was already talking to hisback.

The marquess had practically run fromher.

OhGod.

* * *

He’d madetwo significant mistakes.

The first, inviting Lady Samantha to dinner. The second, prolonging the pelisse conversation.

Leaning against the wall outside his mother’s old dressing room, William breathed deeply and willed his pulse—and his cock—to calm the helldown.

Damn the Countess of Claremont. Yes, the gown color and style was atrocious, but the inappropriate bodice couldn’t have accentuated her daughter’s curves more. To see their plump perfection so utterly on display had made him hard in an instant. But when Lady Samantha had blushed with the awkwardness of fledgling desire, and her nipples had visibly peaked against the fabric, straining to be free, to be pinched and sucked to ease theache…

He’d wanted to oblige. More than anything in the world. Right there in the foyer.

Rubbing a hand across his jaw, he turned and entered the dressing room. In one corner was a heavy rosewood trunk, and he knelt in front of it and opened thelid.