press, and the trunk after trunk we uncovered in the attic. All of them filled with gowns that are in perfectly good shape and ready to be made over. Enough so all three girls can make respectable debuts."
Mason sat back in stunned silence. He was starting to believe there wasn't a financial hurdle he couldn't
leap with Riley at his side.Meanwhile, Riley was chewing her bottom lip. "You don't mind, do you? I know I should have asked,but then again, it was your idea, so I-"
"-Mind? Hardly. I don't know how to begin to thank you.""So you'll give your approval for the girls to have their Season?"He grinned at her. "You can tell them. First thing in the morning."Riley got up, hands on her hips, and turned an ecstatic little jig.
Mason felt like joining her.When she whirled to a stop, she studied him for a moment, her eyes full of warmth and something else.Something not unlike what Del had said.Love. Riley in love with him? It was too preposterous to believe. Wasn't it?She must have been remembering the Viscount's words as well, for she suddenly blushed and then looked away. "Oh, dear. I've made a mess of your library again," she said, and went to work picking up her littered pages.
Mason stooped down to help her, gathering up a script that looked like it had been annotated to death.
"How goes The Envious Moon? Have you determined whether it is to be a comedy or a tragedy?" he asked, starting to leaf through the pages.
"I can't decide," she said, sighing. "I'm having a terrible time with it.""Maybe I can help," he offered."You?" she said, shaking her head at the idea."Yes, me." He pulled off his coat and set it over the back of a chair. "'Tis the least I can do for you.""I thought you had your own bride to seek, Geoffroi," she teased, nodding at his discarded coat."Not tonight," he said, quite relieved to find himself out of the Marriage Mart-at least, for the rest of the night.
"I think you should eliminate that line," Mason suggested, pointing to a piece of Geoffroi's dialogue. "It
sounds rather sappy."
They sat, as they had for several hours, side by side at the library table, the candles burning low in front of them, the scattered pages of the script before them.
"No!" she snapped. "Can't you see that line is critical to the next scene?"
"He sounds like Cousin Felicity."
She picked up the page and studied the line in question. "He does not," she protested, though only
half-heartedly. She almost regretted having allowed Mason to help her.
Especially when she suspected he had the right of it. Still, she offered one more feeble protest. "I think the line is fine."
"Gracious me?" Mason said, imitating Cousin Felicity's tone and pitch.
She pursed her lips. "Oh, perhaps you are right." She scratched out the line and bit her lip as she
considered another phrase. "What would you say?"
"My wish is to have your love," he said.
"Your wish or your command?" she said back, improvising a new line for Aveline. She nodded to him,
challenging him to answer back.
He rose to his feet, taking a wide stance, his hand on the hilt of an imaginary sword. "If I must, I command it. But I would rather that you gave it to me freely."
"Now you sound like Geoffroi," she teased. She rose from the table. Taking a step back, she made a
low curtsey. "If my lord commands it, then I, the mere daughter of a woodcutter, must humbly comply."
He bowed and accepted her tribute by taking her hand and drawing it to his lips. As he placed a gentle kiss on her fingers, their gazes met.
The easiness that had sprung up between them suddenly grew tense with awareness. For a moment she
stilled, and then the clock on the mantel struck three. Instantly she freed her hand.
"I didn't realize it had gotten so late," she said, gathering up her pages and notes. "I shouldn't have kept you. You have your own matters of business to attend to, rather than worrying about lines in my poor comedy." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You should consider a career as a playwright. You have an able hand for writing."
"Is there any money to be made?" he joked.
She shook her head. "Novelists and diarists do sometimes, but playwrights are a rather sad lot."
She started to leave, but he caught her by the arm. "Don't leave, Riley. Not yet."
His touch melted her heart. She dared not look into his eyes, for she knew she would say something
foolish.
Like confirming everything Lord Delander had said.
I do love you, Mason St. Clair. I love your ponderous, stuffy Oxford ways. I love every ordered,
honorable, respectable thing about you.
But mostly I love your kiss. I want to spend the rest of my days awaiting the nights so I can while away the dark hours warmed by your embrace.
Somehow Mason must have heard her silent wish, for he did just that, wrapping her into his arms and
putting his lips to hers.
His mouth claimed her, commanding her with his very dishonorable intentions.
Suddenly he was every bit the Ashlin rake she'd feared he was when first she'd come to his house. And
she was so very glad for that. Oh, he hid it well, what with those spectacles and all, but the man kissing her held her with a masterful skill that she doubted even the most practiced scoundrel could boast.
He pulled back, his hands cradling her face, his gaze heated and devouring. "Riley, I-"
"-Sshh," she told him, raising herself up on her tiptoes and kissing him again.His hands began to roam over her shoulders, her arms, her hips. His touch held promises she'd neverimagined. Promises of passion. Promises that this would not be the last time he took her into his arms.
She moaned, his touch enflaming her need for him just that much more.
Mason must have understood, for he pushed her gown down over her shoulder, his lips trailing kisses
from behind her ear, down her neck, and all the way to the top of her breast.
She arched her back, willing to be at his command, his every wish. This time she wouldn't run away from her passions, her need for him.
"Please, Mason-" she whispered in a heady rush.
He granted her plea by taking one of the peaks in his mouth and starting to suckle it with his tongue.
The sensation sent ramparts of pleasure shooting through her limbs, leaving her taut and breathless.
His other hand began gathering up her skirt, roaming up her leg, as if it were searching, frantically seeking
its own fantasy. And apparently he found it, as his fingers lovingly explored the garter holding up her
stocking.
For once, Riley was glad not to have removed her garters and stockings.
With a deft movement, he untied the red satin and began slowly rolling the garter and stocking down her leg, his fingers stroking a reverent path down her thigh and calf.
He retrieved the other one in the same manner, slowly and deliberately.
But the heat in her body wasn't in her legs, it was higher, and she found that just kissing and being kissed
was no longer enough. She wanted him to touch her-there, at her very heart, where her yearning and desire met.
"I have never wanted anyone as I have wanted you," he whispered, as his hands began a renewed ascent
up her thigh. "You are so beautiful."
"Tolerable," she whispered back. "I'm tolerable."
His eyes gazed down her with something that hardly resembled toleration. They burned into her with his