Page 17 of Unmasking the Earl

It lasted a mere moment, but the shock of feeling his mouth on hers lingered long after he had stepped away.

By Juno, the man had a nerve! He’d given her no warning. And there was no reason why a kiss from him would help her become more attractive to Julian.

Or did Wycherley have a different purpose in mind?

Still reeling from his boldness, she made her swift escape into the hallway—and walked directly into something tall, warm, and depressingly familiar.

Ganstridge’s hands fastened around her arms, and before she could draw breath, she was dragged into a dingy little closet filled with boots, coats, and a pungent smell of pipe smoke.

Her pulse rocketed when the door closed behind her with an ominous click.

Chapter Nine

Ned’s heart pounded like a steam hammer, instantly regretting the audacity of his impulsive action. An insane risk.

Even as he released his grip on Miss Blythe’s arms, he feared it could cost him everything he’d worked so hard for.

With unsteady hands, he struck a sulfur match and lit a horn lantern, which filled the small space with yellow light. He turned to face his captive, who was gaping at him like an outraged fish, her pretty, peach-colored lips taut with fury.

Christ, she was lovely, even in her anger.

Especially in her anger.

Not that he had any business noticing.

“Miss Blythe,” he hissed, taking her by the shoulders. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing? I warned you not to trust Wycherley. Did my words mean nothing to you?”

The bones of her shoulders were so fine, so delicate. It took an enormous effort not to explore their fascinating dips and rises, to trace his fingers along her collarbone to the slender column of her neck.

But that would make him no better than his enemy.

After a few fluttering breaths, she seemed to recover herself, and hissed back, “It is no concern of yours, sir. Let me go this instant, or I’ll scream and set the whole household about your ears!”

Her eyes were locked with his, attempting to stare him down, but he was a man not easily moved from his purpose. He said firmly, “Miss Blythe, I know who you are, and I know all about your family. Not one word of scandal has touched the Blythes down the centuries, not one blot on the escutcheon. Yet here you are, about to risk it all, regardless of my warning.”

“I don’t know why I should listen to the opinion of a servant,” she snapped, her chin hitching up a fraction.

He ground his teeth. “Because, despite appearances, I know about Society. Why should you, who have every privilege, every advantage in looks, in character, and in prospects, dally with a notorious rake? Think of the shame your actions will bring on your family. Forget Wycherley and never come here again.” He gave her a little shake to plant his words more firmly.

She wriggled in his grasp. “Unhand me! This is unforgivable. I’ll have Captain Wycherley dismiss you at once!”

“You will not,” he growled back. “Or I shall take myself straight to your house and inform your father exactly what you’ve been up to today.”

Her shoulders sagged, and her gaze dropped from his face to his chest. Could she hear the thundering of his heart? To him, it was almost deafening.

For a moment he thought he had pierced her armor, but she leaned closer and demanded accusingly, “How do you know what I’ve been up to? Have you been listening at doors again, Mr. Ganstridge? That is reprehensible, even for a servant.”

In this small space, it was impossible to ignore the sweet, rose-fragrance of her perfume and the lure of her warm femininity. But he had to try. It was for her own good.

“You criticize my behavior?” he queried sharply. “When you have behaved like the veriest light-skirt, you dare to ring a peal over me?”

The mounting fury on her face warned him he might have gone too far. Damnation, he’d never been good with words.

“Mr. Ganstridge,” she seethed. “You have no right to interfere in the affairs of your betters. My father would be appalled to be approached by a mere minion with such gossip. You would be horsewhipped from the door.”

Ned’s spine went rigid. “Horsewhipped? Me?”

“Yes, and I could do it myself, I’m so angry. Now, let go of me before I decide to make good on my threat.”