From How to Fall for a Scoundrel by Kate Bateman. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Chapter Seventeen
Harry closed the door, and together they hurried to the top of the stairs. A peek over the bannisters confirmed there were no guests below, so he took her hand again and drew her down the steps.
Her skirts clung to her legs, and the book bumped against her thigh with every step. Ellie was sure her face was pink with guilt, but she followed Harry’s lead as they turned the corner.
Another couple were there, clearly sneaking off for a little amour; the woman’s giggles and the man’s staggering gait indicated neither were particularly sober. They disappeared into a side room just as a larger group could be heard approaching.
Ellie panicked; she pulled on Harry’s hand and tugged him into an alcove partly hidden by an enormous flower arrangement.
His big body followed hers, and she let out a wheeze as his solid chest came into contact with her own. He ducked his head, enclosing her with his body, shielding her from view, and Ellie inhaled the magical scent of him; a heady mixture of skin and his unique cologne that made her senses swim.
She wanted to press her nose into his cravat and fill her lungs with the smell.
The excitement of the evening was clearly addling her brain.
The men grew closer, their voices loud and obnoxious, and to her dismay she recognized Willingham’s nasal tones.
“The billiard room’s this way, Larkin,” he brayed. “Ten pounds says I beat you.”
“Done,” another replied.
She shot a desperate glance up at Harry. She could barely see his face in the semi-darkness, but she could sense his amusement at her panic.
“Shhh!” His soft whisper tickled the hair by her ear, more vibration than sound. “Let them pass. Keep looking at me.”
The buttons on the front of his jacket pressed into the bare skin of her décolletage every time she sucked in a rapid breath, and the warmth of him heated her blood. His left leg was pressed between her own, and the intimate sensation, with him almost full-length against her, made her stomach somersault with more than just nerves.
“Kiss me!” she hissed. “Quickly!”
“With pleasure,” he grinned. “Si, mio caro. Baciami.” He raised his voice and groaned the words, loud enough for those approaching to hear. “Voglio scoparti contro questo muro finché non urli il mio nome.”
A cacophony of jeers and ribald comments ensued as the men caught sight of them and unanimously assumed they were interrupting a tryst.
“Looks like the Italians have a new way of waltzing,” one man chuckled. “One that involves tongues!”
“She’s an opera singer, isn’t she?” another guffawed. “Maybe he’s checking her tonsils are in good working order?”
Harry brought his arms up on either side of her head, his elbows resting against the wall to shield her face. His breath tickled her temple and his nose brushed hers as he bent lower.
“Breathe,” he commanded softly.
Ellie’s heart was pounding with a heady mix of fear and desire. Harry’s lips hovered so close to hers that his warm exhales mingled with her own shallow breaths.
There was scarcely an inch between them.
And then there wasn’t any space at all.
She wasn’t sure which one of them moved, but Harry’s lips touched hers, and she almost swooned in delight.
The first kiss was tentative, almost a question. He paused, as if to gauge her reaction, and without thought she pushed herself up on tiptoe, closer, silently encouraging him to do it again.
He muttered something under his breath, possibly in Italian, then leaned in and kissed her again, harder this time, tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue.
Ellie opened her mouth instinctively, and when she did, he took full advantage. He slanted his head and his tongue swept inside to tangle with her own, and she gave a soft, incredulous groan at the delicious sensation.
It was possession, pure and simple. A hot, lush exploration, and she closed her eyes, kissing him back, surrendering completely. She’d dreamed of this—who cared whether he was just playing a part?
The world around them dissolved, narrowed to his touch, his lips. As she slid her hands up to squeeze his shoulders, his hand came round to cradle the back of her head, tilting it back, holding her in place as if he never wanted to let her go.
Ellie whimpered. In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of Willingham and the other men passing by, but that knowledge was of little import when Harry’s breath was in her mouth and the taste of him was making her brain swim.
More. Harder. Please.
Time ceased to exist. Every wicked lick, every slow delve of his tongue, caused a corresponding tug in her belly, an ache between her legs. Her blood felt thick, like treacle.
And then it was over. With one last playful tug of her lower lip, Harry raised his head, breaking the contact.
Ellie sucked in a cool lungful of air as he moved back, and the loss of his body as a support almost made her stagger. Heat swept over her skin as embarrassment replaced desire, and the reality of their situation reasserted itself.
Harry cleared his throat and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His eyes appeared almost black, but a dimple creased his left cheek as he sent her a lopsided smile.
“Excellent distraction, Miss Law. First rate.”
Ellie took some comfort from the fact that his voice sounded far more gravelly than usual, and that his chest was rising and falling almost as rapidly as her own. She felt hot, and restless, but managed a brisk, businesslike nod, as if kissing men senseless against walls was all in the line of duty.
She reached up and wiped her finger over the corner of his mouth. His questioning gaze met hers, and she sent him a rueful smile. “You had a smudge of red. From my lip rouge.”
His lips quirked. “Time to go.”
They stepped fully apart. Harry straightened his cuffs and smoothed his still-impeccable coat, and she patted the prayer book in her pocket to make sure it was still there. A servant appeared at the far end of the hallway, and Ellie realized with a start that it was Daisy, carrying two bottles of wine.
Daisy’s delighted expression clearly indicated that she’d witnessed at least some of their interaction, and she sent Ellie a wide-eyed smile.
Ellie pointed to her pocket to indicate they’d found the book, and Daisy nodded her understanding before she turned left and disappeared into the billiard room.
Ellie gave an inward groan. She would have some explaining to do when she got back to King & Co.
From How to Fall for a Scoundrel by Kate Bateman. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Her Majesty's Rebels #2
Two unlikely allies team up to solve a case in this novel filled with Kate Bateman's signature sparkling voice, exciting adventures, and steamy chemistry.
As a founding member of King&Co., London’s most successful private investigation firm, studious Eleanor Law delights in secretly proving that women can solve crimes just as well as men. When a charming con man pretends to be her fictional boss, "Charles King," Ellie knows he’s lying, but accepting the scoundrel’s offer of help might just be the key to cracking her new case and recovering a priceless manuscript.
“Henri Bonheur”—or “Harry” as he asks to be called—claims his criminal past is behind him, but a man who steals and seduces with such consummate ease can never be trusted. As the investigation draws them deeper into danger and desire, Ellie’s infuriated to realize she’s developed feelings for her law-breaking accomplice. How can she love the scoundrel when she doesn’t even know his real name? And what will happen when Harry’s past finally catches up with him?
Romance Historical [St. Martin's Paperbacks, On Sale: August 20, 2024, Mass Market Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9781250907370 / eISBN: 9781250290205]
Kate Bateman / K.C. Bateman, is a bestselling author of Regency and Renaissance historical romances, including the Secrets & Spies series, Bow Street Bachelors series, Ruthless Rivals series, and Her Majesty’s Rebels series. Her books have received multiple Starred Reviews from Publishers Weekly and Library Journal, and feature feisty, intelligent heroines, (badasses in bodices!) wickedly inappropriate banter, and heroes you want to strangle and kiss. Her Renaissance romp The Devil To Pay was a 2019 RITA nominee.
Kate wrote her first historical romance in response to a $1 bet with her husband who rashly claimed she’d ‘never finish the thing.’ She gleefully proved him wrong. Her books have been translated into multiple languages, including French (J’ai Lu), Italian (Mondadori), Brazilian (Leabhar), Japanese, German, Romanian, Czech, and Croatian (Znanje).
When not writing, Kate leads a double life as a fine art appraiser, auctioneer, and antiques expert for several TV shows in the UK. She lives in England with her number-loving husband (who still owes her that dollar!), three inexhaustible children, and a naughty toy poodle named Monty.
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