Read Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] for Free Online

would be fleeting she permitted herself to enjoy the sight and smell of him. She drew a deep breath and set her palms against his. Desire flared instantly. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in her blood. She retreated with a sigh of relief.
    As the music for the dance concluded, Elizabeth rose from her low curtsy. She couldn’t resist smiling. It had been so long since she’d danced, she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed it.
    George returned her smile and deftly moved them into position for the next dance in the set.
    Someone stepped in front of them, blocking their way. Before she looked up, she knew who it was. Her heart rate quickened.
    Obviously, she’d miscalculated the lengths Marcus would go to to achieve his ends.
    He nodded curtly in greeting. “Mr. Stanton.”
    “Lord Westfield.” George looked to Elizabeth with a frown.
    “Lady Clara, may I present to you Mr. George Stanton?” Marcus asked. “Stanton, the lovely Lady Clara.”
    George collected Clara’s hand and bowed. “A pleasure.”
    Before Elizabeth could guess his intent, Marcus had reached for her. “An excellent pairing,” Marcus said. “Lady Hawthorne and I, being de trop , shall leave you two to finish the set.”
    Tucking her hand firmly around his arm, he pulled her toward the open doors that led to the garden.
    Elizabeth offered an apologetic smile over her shoulder, while inside, her heart leapt at the primitive display. “What are you about?”
    “I thought that would be obvious. I’m causing a scene. You goaded me into this course of action by avoiding me the last sennight.”
    “I have not been avoiding you,” she protested. “I’ve yet to receive another demand for the journal, therefore there was no reason to see you.”
    Exiting to the balcony, they found several guests enjoying the cool night air. Held so closely to his side, the sheer force of Marcus’s presence once again surprised her.
    “Your behavior is atrocious,” she muttered.
    “You may insult me at your leisure when we are alone.”
    Alone . A ripple of awareness brushed across her skin.
    His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. His own narrowed and though she tried to discern his thoughts his handsome features were set in stone. As they took the stairs into the garden, his pace quickened. She followed breathlessly, wondering what he meant to do, what he meant to say, startled to discover an unknown remnant of girlish romanticism thrilling at his determination.
    Tucking her into a small alcove off the bottom of the staircase, Marcus eyed their surroundings carefully. Seeing they were alone, he moved swiftly. With gentle fingertips, he lifted her chin.
    A kiss , she thought too late as his mouth covered hers. Then she couldn’t think at all.
    His lips were unbelievably gentle as they melded with hers but the sensations they elicited were brutal in their intensity. Elizabeth could not move, arrested by the powerful response of her body to his. Only their lips touched. A simple step backward would have broken the contact but she could not manage even that. She stood frozen, her senses reeling from the taste and scent of him, every nerve firing to life at his bold advance.
    “Kiss me back,” he growled, his fingers circling her wrists.
    “No . . .” She tried to turn her head away.
    Cursing, he took her mouth again. He did not kiss her sweetly as he had a moment before. This was an assault driven by bitterness so sharp she could taste it. His head tilted slightly, deepening the kiss, and then his tongue thrust forcefully between her parted lips. The depth of his ardor frightened her, and then fear flared into something far more powerful.
    Hawthorne had never kissed her like this. This was more than just the joining of lips. It was a declaration of possession, of unquenchable need, a need Marcus built within her until she could no longer deny it. With a whimper, Elizabeth surrendered, tentatively touching her tongue to his, desperate for the