Forbidden Read Online Free PDF Page A

must
look. It was also the sort of thing she never did. She was too serious, too
sensible, to indulge in such a frivolous activity as dancing alone on a misty
moonlit terrace.
    The music changed, slid into a waltz, and Margery spun up
against a very hard, masculine chest. Arms closed about her, steadying her. Her
palms flattened against the smooth material of a particularly expensive and
well-made evening jacket. Her legs pressed against a pair of very hard,
masculine thighs encased in particularly well-made and expensive trousers.
Margery noticed these things and told herself it was because she was a lady’s
maid and trained to assess fashion, male or female, at a glance and a touch.
    “Dance with me,” her dark gentleman said. He was smiling at her
in exactly the way he had smiled in the hall of the brothel before he kissed
her, that wicked, provocative smile. “You were meant to dance with me.”
    Margery faltered. He was holding her in the way a man held his
partner in the waltz, but suddenly she wanted to twist out of his grip and run
away. She felt breathless and trapped and excited all at once.
    “I cannot waltz,” she protested. It was a modern dance, new and
more than a little scandalous. At least, it was the way that he was holding her.
She could feel the heat of his body and smell his lime cologne. It made her head
spin, which was a curious sensation.
    Once she had drunk too much ale at the fair. This was similar,
but a great deal more pleasant and a great deal more stimulating. The brush of
his thigh against hers made her skin tingle, even through the ugly black wool of
her gown. Oddly, it also made her feel very aware of the latent power in him, a
strength and masculinity kept banked down under absolute control.
    “You waltz beautifully,” he said. They were already moving,
catching the beat of the music. “Where did you learn to dance like this?” His
breath feathered across Margery’s cheek, raising delicious shivers deep within
her.
    “I learned to dance as a child,” Margery said. She frowned,
reaching for the memories. It seemed ridiculous to think that in the
rough-and-tumble of the Mallon household she had learned something as refined as
dancing. She could not place the memory precisely. Yet she knew it had happened.
Dancing was instinctive to her.
    “This is very improper,” she said uncertainly.
    “And completely delightful,” he said.
    “You should be in the ballroom.”
    “I prefer to be here with you.”
    It was, indeed, delightful. Margery was forced to agree. His
body was pressed against hers at breast, hip and thigh. His hand rested low in
the small of her back in a gesture that felt astonishingly intimate. Heat flared
through her, the sort of heat one simply should not be feeling on a cool April
evening.
    “Good gracious,” she said involuntarily. “Is this not illegal
in public?”
    She saw amusement glint in his eyes. “On the contrary,” he
said. “It is positively encouraged.”
    He drew her closer. His cheek grazed hers. His scent filled her
senses. The warmth of his hand seared her back through the woolen gown and the
cotton chemise beneath. Another shiver chased over her skin at the thought of
his hands on her. She felt feverish, aware of every little sensation that racked
her body. She felt as voluptuous as the nudes she had seen in the paintings in
great houses, languid and heavy with wanting, her body as open and ripe as a
fruit begging to be plucked and devoured.
    It was shocking, it was delicious and it was wanton. She was
tumbling down a helter-skelter of forbidden pleasure.
    “You make me want to be—” She just managed to stop herself
before the scandalous words came tumbling out.
    You make me want to be very, very
wicked ....
    He laughed, as though he knew exactly what she had been going
to say and exactly how wicked she wanted to be. His lips touched the hollow at
the base of her throat and she felt her pulse jump. Then they dipped into the
tender skin