Banished to Brighton by Sydney Jane Baily

Prologue

London, May 1815

Despite the edge ofthe divan digging into her back, Glynnis Talbot clasped her hands behind Lord Hargrove’s neck where his brown hair rested on his collar, and she ardently returned his kiss. Finally, something was going in her favor. Thrice earlier in the Season, she’d attempted the very same plan — being compromised by a nobleman in a passionate embrace. Each time, something had gone amiss, but still, she could think of no other way to quickly secure a wealthy husband. 

Of all the men she’d kissed, she hoped this one would be forced to offer her his name. Hargrove made her skin prickle and her heart skip a beat whenever she saw him. And his first kiss, mere hours after they’d met at Wellington’s Apsley House two days earlier, had nearly dropped her to her wobbly knees.

Tonight, her body liquified once again at the touch of his firm lips against her mouth.

“Show me the library,” she had whispered a few minutes earlier in the deserted hallway. By unspoken mutual agreement — with a raised eyebrow on his part and a nod of the head on hers — they’d exited the ballroom about half a minute apart. At her suggestion, his deep blue eyes glittered and darkened with desire and a grin spread over his handsome face. She let him take her gloved hand, knowing a group of women were heading to the same room momentarily.

And in two shakes of a maid’s mop, she found herself pressed against a pink and silver tufted divan. His hands roamed her body, tracing the curves of her breasts, making her nipples pearl, before he tucked his palms under her rear end as he leaned over her.

Capturing her mouth, sucking on her lower lip, his breath was ragged and hers caught in her lungs while her core began to throb. Seeing as how she hoped to marry the man, she might let him compromise her farther than a mere kiss. Easily, her thoughts imagined him drawing up her sheer silk evening gown and petticoat, and stroking her where she was becoming desperate to be touched.

His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, and she parted her lips with a sigh of delight.

“Yes?” he asked on a husky note without halting the kiss.

“Yes,” she answered, not knowing exactly the question but hopeful it meant he would continue his sensual ministrations.

She wanted so much more. As if he knew, he drew one hand out from under her and palmed her breast, his thumb caressing her nipple through the layers of fabric.

Heat pulsed low between her hips. Dear God!

Suddenly, he rose to crouch over her, one of his jacket buttons practically stabbing her in her eye. He wrapped his arms around her head to shield her while mucking up her coiffure.

Only then did she realize the library door had opened, and her plan was reaching fruition. Their evening’s hostess must even then be standing in the doorway. However, Hargrove was hiding her from prying eyes and keeping her reputation safe.

The devil take him and his chivalry!

Before Glynnis could struggle out from under him and show her face, the footsteps receded and the door closed.

“I cannot breathe,” she mumbled against his fine wool jacket, and Hargrove climbed off of her.

His visage displayed his fury. “How did you know they were coming in here?”

The question was, how did he know she knew?

She felt her cheeks warm causing his eyes to narrow, but she remained silent.

“I heard you’d played this game before, but I didn’t believe it,” he said. “Why would a pretty viscount’s daughter need to trap a husband in such an underhanded way?”

Mortified, she denied everything, feeling a twinge of sadness because she really liked Hargrove, and her desire for him was entirely genuine.

Glynnis sighed at the collapse of her perfectly good plot for her own ruin and left the seething viscount alone in the library. He was not about to ask for her hand in marriage. Moreover, he wasn’t even going to finish the delightful compromising of her person.

Dash it all!