Grier pressed her fingers to her mouth. She wasn’t certain what sound she was trying to suppress—a groan of mortification or outright laughter.

The broad chest in front of her shifted, lifting on an inhalation, and she stilled, biting the edge of her thumb. While she might feel a modicum of humor, that wasn’t the only sensation affecting her. Body heat emanated from the man in front of her. His nearness overwhelmed her, scraping her nerves.

She hugged herself with both arms, hoping to make herself smaller, unnoticeable—and only succeeded in brushing against him. She squeezed herself tightly, careful not to move again, determined to merely wait out Lord and Lady Kirkendale’s trysting.

The prince moved. Just the barest inch, but his chest brushed her crossed arms. As though burned, she arched away to escape the contact. Her balance wobbled and she had to take a step to brace herself. The clomp of her foot rang out in the tight space of the armoire. She cringed, her skin tightening in fear that they’d been heard.

He caught her up in his arms, holding her to his chest as though fearing she would move again and make further noise.

She gasped, gripping his arms to shove him away. Only he wouldn’t budge. She was a prisoner in his arms. Unless she wanted to struggle and alert Kirkendale of their presence . . . she was stuck.

Her fingers flexed against the superfine of his jacket, marveling at the hardness of his biceps beneath her fingers.

Trevis had not felt nearly so firm and muscled, and he was a physical man. She shook her head once as if to shake it free of such senseless thoughts. What was she doing making comparisons between the two? Neither was a viable option for her. In fact, both men had made it clear she was unacceptable .

Heat stung her cheeks, and she renewed her attempts to disengage herself with care, wiggling against him with constraint, still determined to break free of the unwanted intimacy.

He pulled her closer, his arms steel bands around her. One of his hands crept to the back of her head, pressing their faces horrifyingly close. His cheek rasped against hers. Her skin tingled where their skin touched. Her belly dipped, twisted. A ragged breath escaped between her lips.

She wanted to demand he move away, but fear of being discovered held her voice in check.

His lips brushed the sensitive whorls of her ear as he whispered, “Cease your movements lest you wish to be caught and explain what we are doing in this wardrobe together.”

Shaking from head to foot, she gave a hard nod, not trusting herself to speak in a voice that wasn’t a shrill squeak.

“Good girl,” he murmured in that low voice that pulled at her belly.

With one hand at her head, his other spanned her back. She felt the hot imprint of each finger through the silk of her gown. All else faded but this. But him. The hard length of him painted onto her.

She no longer registered any sounds outside the wardrobe. The world was gone. There was only this—them—captives in this tiny space.

His mouth remained at her ear, not moving, but still touching. Still driving her mad.

She tried to pull back once again. Surely he would see that she would be careful, that she dared not make another sound. But he fastened a hand in her hair while his broad palm at her back deepened its pressure, keeping her pinned against him.

Strength radiated from him. Unusual for a dandified prince. Unusual for any of the dandified lords she’d met about Town.

Upon arriving in London she quickly realized she could overpower most of the lily-handed prigs. As a former game master for a vast estate, she was accustomed to working and pushing her body to the limits every day. And yet the hard male body against hers did not belong to any idle blueblood.

At least he wasn’t moving against her, actively touching her. She could withstand this. She could tolerate mere closeness to him. As long as he kept still. He was only holding her to help keep her motionless, after all—

Then he moved.

Chapter Four

Air hissed between her clenched teeth.

His warm breath teased her ear as his head lowered, and lowered. Parted lips touched the flesh of her neck, skimming lightly. Another sharp breath pushed past her lips.

What are you doing?

The words formed in her mind, but she couldn’t speak them. She could not risk speech.

She wished his mouth still pressed hotly to her ear. Better that than this . Sensation zipped along her nerves, reminding her that she wasn’t immune to a handsome man. A handsome man who happened to be everything that was wrong for her. He was a prince with only disdain for her. But here she was, reacting, reveling in his sensual assault as if he hadn’t said any of those horrible things about her. Which begged the next question: Why was he even taunting her with seductive caresses?

His mouth did not move into an actual kiss. Nothing so bold as that. Yet that didn’t lessen the absolute shock of his soft lips grazing the side of her throat. Nor did it stop the shivers from racing along her skin.

When she felt the light, erotic scrape of his teeth on her neck she yanked her head away and stared up at his shadowed face. His eyes gleamed in the dark, the only thing she could discern in the gloom, and yet she couldn’t read beyond their inscrutable depths. She couldn’t determine what they said, what he thought .

She trembled in his arms like a leaf clinging to the last vine amid a storm. If he wasn’t holding her up, she would collapse. Was this what she had become? Was this what loneliness did to a female? Shattered her? Broke her? Made her cave at the first man who— No .

She gave herself a mental shake. The Crown Prince of Maldania was no ordinary man. He didn’t look ordinary. He didn’t talk ordinary with that hypnotic voice of his. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop herself from reacting to him. Sad but true. She simply couldn’t allow herself to forget that he was an arrogant snob who considered himself her better.

She felt a new touch then. His fingers brushed the side of her face. A caressing graze that sent a ripple of shock through her.

His warm, brandy-laced breath fanned her lips, alerting her that his face had changed position. She swallowed a suddenly dry throat and held herself as still as stone. Not about to move and accidentally brush against the warm press of his body. He might begin to think she deliberately wanted to touch him. That she liked this . Liked him .

Intolerable! She possessed more pride than that!

After the way he talked about her that would just be . . . pathetic. Not to mention vastly inappropriate. Not that anything about this situation was appropriate, but she wouldn’t have him think she was a breeding cat so desperate for his attentions.

She was no stranger to a man’s kisses. Indeed not. And she was not about to initiate such intimacy with such a cad as he—prince or not. No matter how he affected her, how she quivered at his touch in the small dark space they shared, no matter how he made her remember things best left forgotten. She was made of sterner stuff. She could resist the likes of him.

Still . . . if he should kiss her at this moment, she questioned her ability to resist. In their dark sanctuary, she too well recalled the longing, the exhilaration, the belief that she was valuable enough that a man could look beyond the circumstances of her birth.

She missed such feelings, even false as they had been. Desire and longing only brought pain and allowed one to believe in fairy tales. She’d find her retiring gentleman with his home in the country and she’d have safety. Peace and contentment and respectability. That would be enough. Everything she ever needed. No one would ever hurt her again.

She held herself perfectly still, a seeming statue, cold and unfeeling. A ruse, of course. She was burning up on the inside as he touched her face, a blind man feeling her every feature. The slope of her cheek, the curve of the jaw she always thought a little too square. The mouth too full, especially the bottom lip.

He moved, leaned in yet again. The barest graze at the corner of her lips told her he was there, touching her, toying with her, exploring her face. Imprisoned in the dark, it was almost hard to imagine that this prince did this. That the austere, cold-eyed boor was moved to even touch her.

Unable to resist any longer, her face lifted. A treacherous yearning filled her, betraying her. This was it. She would permit a kiss.

Only no kiss came.

“They’ve gone.” His voice fluttered over her skin, quiet and even. Unaffected. As though he were commenting on the weather.

As his words sank in, she listened. Silence carried from the other side of the door. They both held still. Moments stretched as she verified what he said was true. She took measure of herself and the wholly unsuitable embrace she shared with a man who deemed her one step above the gutter.

His voice rustled the tiny hairs that had spilled free from her chignon to frame her face. “Of course if you would prefer to stay here, I’m quite sure we could occupy ourselves.”

He spoke so calmly. As if he did not care one way or another if she accepted his offer, and perhaps that stung the most. Not the offer itself, but that he would proposition her and not care whether she agreed.

“Get away from me, you wretch!” Grier flung herself back. Twisting around, she fumbled with the door and burst from the armoire. Breath sawing from her lips, she whirled around, her burgundy skirts sweeping wide as she glared at the man emerging from the armoire.

Taking in his immense size, she marveled that the two of them had fit inside at all. She blew at a strand of auburn hair swinging before her eyes. It still dangled in the most annoying fashion, so she swiped at the offending strand furiously, never breaking her glare.

His cat-gold eyes followed her movements with mild interest, a notable change. He’d looked bored before. “Is this far enough away? I confess a woman has never asked me to remove myself from her side before.”

The arrogant jackass!

His eyes were molten, fire burning as bright as sunlight. How did one possess gold eyes? She’d never seen the like. Perhaps he was the devil?

Suddenly he looked awake. Not even when she had doused her lemon water over him had he looked quite so . . . alert. Not as he did now, circling her like some sort of jungle cat. A predator.

A tiny frisson of alarm coursed through her to realize she was the cause for that. She was the reason his eyes burned brightly.

She sucked in a breath, marveling that her stays had not felt this tight at the beginning of the night. Right now her clothing felt constrictive, her body sensitive, swollen and chafing against her garments.

Her cheeks burned with mortification. She pulled back her shoulders and regretted the move when his gaze dropped to her décolletage. The modest cut was no more daring than that of any other lady in attendance tonight, but the sweetheart neckline felt very risqué beneath his regard.

She angled her chin and clasped her hands in front of her. “Was it necessary to accost me while we were hiding?”

An indolent smile curved his sinful lips. “Forgive me,” he said without a hint of apology. “When I have a woman pressed against me, it’s only human nature to react.”

Heat fired her cheeks. “Human nature,” she bit out, “does not give you leave to touch me. I don’t care if you’re a prince or not. No one touches me,” she growled. At least not again. Not without the protection of marriage. Never again would she lose control when a handsome man put his hands on her or whispered promises in her ear.

Not that the man before her had whispered such words. Nor would he ever. On the contrary, he’d said only the most insulting things to her— about her—since they’d met.

He shrugged one broad shoulder, clearly unbothered by her outrage. And that only outraged her further. Did he think himself so above the conventions that governed the rest of Society?

“You did not seem . . . opposed.” He drew closer, staring at her in the most perplexing manner. “I thought perhaps you wanted to become friends.”

“Friends?” Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re not unattractive,” he drawled.

She blinked. “So therefore I’m worthy of dalliance?” She shook her head, marveling at his arrogance. “This may come as a shock, but I don’t care for your opinion of me.”