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whispered in her ear, “Tell me, Miss Welby, do you like what you see?”
    She placed her hands on his chest to push him away. A jolt of energy sparked between them, and she jerked in response. Her hands were bare, and the feel of her soft skin pressed against him heated his blood, made his cock swell. He wanted her. Here. Now .
    How easy it would be to press her up against the wall and push into her soft, inviting heat. She’d be wet for him—desire flickered in her eyes, drawing him in like a lure. He would watch her face as she came, as he came inside her, and as she came again and again.
    Placing one hand over hers, he guided it across his chest, to his flat nipples, then down, over the ridges of his abdomen. She licked her bottom lip but made no move to pull her hand away. Curiosity burned in her eyes, and he smiled. He was more than willing to teach her everything she needed to know.
    He guided her hand lower, then lower still, her fingers dipping beneath the sheet and brushing the tip of his erection. She sucked in a sharp breath, and he drew his free hand into a fist. He wanted her like he’d wanted no other woman in his damned life. He wanted to sink into her and lose himself to the oblivion she would offer.
    He growled, deep in his throat, leaning in to take possession of her mouth.
    Abruptly, she ducked under his arm and put several paces between them, each breath coming in short, erratic bursts. She curled her hand around the bedpost, her other hand clutching her midsection as though she’d just run the length of Hyde Park. Uphill. Twice.  
    “I’m engaged,” she said, the words emerging rushed, panicked.
    He paused. Every muscle hummed with tension. “Yes. To me.”
    Still turned away, not looking at him, she shook her head. “No, to a um…friend. We had an understanding before you printed that preposterous invitation in the papers.”
    It was a game, another plot to thwart him. He narrowed his eyes at her back—she stood tall, her chin raised, but she trembled, the only sign of vulnerability.
    “Neither you nor your father ever mentioned a previous engagement.”
    “It’s a secret. We haven’t told anyone.”
    “Who is he?”
    She swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
    Lucas sifted through the list of possible gentlemen in his head and could think of only one likely candidate. Charles Hurst. He was her childhood friend, and an alliance between them would benefit them both—combined, they had wealth and property in spades.
    A stab of something shot through him at the thought of Miss Welby with Hurst. Lucas clenched his hands into fists, every muscle drawn tight as a bowstring. No way was she marrying Hurst. 
    He advanced, moving across the room so quickly, she didn’t have time to dart away.
    Reaching out, he took her chin in his hand and smoothed his thumb along the curve of her jaw. There was something about her, something in the way she stared up at him, brave and unflinching, that made his heart clench.
    He dipped his head, his lips bushing lightly against hers. Her breath hitched in response, then eased out slowly. He drew her breath into his lungs, savoring her sweet, sultry essence.
    “Can your mystery man give you this?”
    In one fluid motion, he captured her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, her arms twining around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was hard, rough, untamed. He poured everything into it—his anger, frustration, the urgent, desperate need to claim her as his own.   
    He should end this right now—toss her onto the bed and fuck her until she was dripping with his seed, begging for more.
    But he couldn’t. Not now.
    He had Mr. Vaughn waiting in his parlor and a scandal to prevent. 
    Pulling back, he gripped her shoulders and set her away from him. Her eyes were still closed, her lips still parted, as though she expected him to return to her. Finally, her eyes opened, and what he saw reflected in those