James climbed the stairs to his chamber in the early hours of the morning after the last of the guests had clambered into their cold carriages spent and weary. He saw no sign of Missy. The relief that washed over him was both humbling and maddening.The kiss had had him tied up in knots for the remainder of the evening. It was bad enough he had given in to her juvenile game, not only had he failed, but he’d relived those heated moments repeatedly in his mind while watching as she became the success equivalent of Wellington at Waterloo. To Armstrong’s satisfaction, Granville had led the way as gentlemen of every age and rank had vied for a dance, conversation, whatever little attention she had deigned fit to scatter their way. The whole thing had been quite discomfiting to watch. Painful, even. Disturbing.He lit the candle by the bed once he entered the darkened chamber. The dim lighting was all he required. Quickly he began divesting himself of his formal attire: jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were tossed wearily over a newly upholstered brocade chair. Despite the fire still burning on the grate, the air in the chamber held the distinct chill of winter’s indifference. As he reached to release the clasp of his trousers, an acute awareness prickled the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. The sensation of being watched was tangible. His head snapped and he scoured the dimly lit room.Then he saw her standing ever so still and quiet in the shadowed corner.

He watched in dazed bewilderment as she stepped forward, her chestnut mane streaming loose and unpinned to the middle of her back. James swallowed. She could have been an angel dressed in the flimsy white nightdress, but he knew better. To him, she was a temptress in disguise.

His desire rose swiftly and violently, clamoring inside him like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Despite the coolness of the air, he was suddenly hot, his nerves protesting the unforgiving confines of his skin.

“Get out,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, deceptively low. The air around him had grown so dense he could cleave it with a knife.

Instead of heeding his demand, Missy took several steps forward. The glow from the solitary tallow candle suffused her in a warm light. James swallowed again, his breathing an audible rasp in the quiet of the night.

“I know you felt something when you kissed me tonight,” she said softly.

James nearly groaned aloud, convinced his worst enemy had sent her to test him, torture him.

“Yes, and I believe you felt it too,” he replied, his voice harsh.

She displayed no shock or surprise at his crude reference to just how hard he’d been pressed up against her down in the study. In fact her eyes, appearing more gray than blue at present, grew smoky, her lids weighed down by desire. Her gaze dropped to his chest and then to the unmistakable distention in the front of his trousers.

James had nowhere to go. He stood exposed and trapped, caged like a hungry lion with a voracious appetite who’d just come upon his next meal.

“You’re very beautiful and I’m a normal male. It’s lust, plain and simple. Don’t make more of it than that. As I’ve told you before, any desirable female would elicit the same response.”

Again, she said nothing but took another step forward, the light now illuminating the full glorious length of her slim figure, her nipples jutting out impudently from the soft cloth of her nightdress.

He throbbed. His whole body throbbed.

“Go back to your chamber,” he said, his voice strained and barely recognizable.

She took another step closer, bringing her within inches of his tightly wound form.

“It’s more than lust.”