Bitten by Desire Read Online Free

generous décolletage rippled as she shuddered delicately. “I would not like to cross swords with him.”
    The Countess of Innellan dropped a slice of lemon into her teacup. “Not cross swords, perhaps, Emily,” she said maliciously, “but you would like to unsheathe his, I think.”
    Scandalised titters greeted this sally, though it was generally felt that the Countess of Innellan had, as ever, gone too far. It was left to the dowager to restore some modicum of propriety to the conversation. “I heard he does not permit anyone to visit that mansion of his,” she said. “I don’t know where you got that story about the room of gold, because I haven’t heard of a single caller who has been allowed across the threshold. Nor has he any living relative that anyone has heard of. He is a most singular man.”
    â€œGood evening, ladies. How do you all do?”
    â€œImogen, my dear, how well that new gown suits you.” The elder Dowager Duchess held out her hand to the younger. “Do you wish for tea?”
    Imogen smiled her greeting to her mama-in-law’s three closest cronies, and sat down next to her. The dress had been delivered by the modiste that morning, pewter silk, the deep flounce trimmed with silver ribbons. She had been quite astonished by the transformation it made to her appearance to put off her widows weeds. The woman who looked back at her from her mirror, with her hair newly dressed à la Méduse to make the most of her natural curls, looked as if she were waking from a long sleep.
    Despite her troubled nights, her eyes seemed to have a new sparkle, her skin a new lustre. She would have liked to attribute it to an easing of the suffocating weight which she was only now realising she had been carrying in the long months leading up to Alfred’s death and had been bearing since, but was secretly certain that it was rather the awakening of her darker, twilight self. Her shadowy other half.
    â€œNo tea, thank you.” Imogen eased away from the heat of the fire. “Of whom were you talking?”
    â€œThe Earl of Kilmun, my love. Not a man I would recommend you become acquainted with.”
    â€œWhy not? Is he a rake?”
    â€œImogen!”
    â€œOh, Cornelia, don’t be such a prude,” Lady Emily said. “Imogen may look like an innocent, but she was married for nigh on five years. The Earl of Kilmun is a conundrum, Imogen, my dear, for he gambles like a rake but always wins. He is as irresistible as a rake, yet he resists, and of course, the more he resists, the more irresistible he becomes. So one could not really call him a rake, though quite what he is we cannot decide.”
    â€œYou will ignore Lady Emily, my dear. The Earl of Kilmun is most definitely not the sort of man you should be acquainted with.”
    Lady Emily smiled wickedly. “I’m afraid it looks as if she might have no choice in the matter.”
    â€œWhat on earth do you mean?” the dowager demanded angrily.
    Lady Emily gestured over Imogen’s shoulder where a striking figure, accompanied by Lady Cullen, was heading through the crowded drawing room directly towards them. Dressed in an exceedingly well-cut black tailcoat with dove-grey pantaloons and a silver waistcoat, the simplicity of his toilette served to focus the attention on the man himself. His figure alone made him stand out in the crowded salon, for he was taller than most and better built too, with wide shoulders, his coat buttoned over a broad chest tapering down to a trim waist, his legs long and muscled. The pristine white linen of his neckcloth, elegantly tied, but neither so high nor so starched as the height of fashion dictated, drew attention to the clean, austere lines of his face.
    â€œYour Grace, may I present a gentleman most eager to meet you.” Though she addressed Imogen, Lady Cullen’s eyes were on the man by her side. Her fingertips gripped his