She shrugged up her pretty shoulders. “Oh, sister doesn’t approve of your dreadful wicked ways, my lord.”
He suffered from a moment’s surprise. Nothing in Sophia, or her mamma and cousins had led him to suspect that her sister was likely to be strait-laced. Mrs. Challoner he wrote down as an elderly harpy; the Matchams were frankly vulgar. He laid his right hand on Sophia’s, lying on his arm. “Strait-laced, is she? Are you so, too?”
She raised her eyes to his, and saw them gleaming with some light that both frightened and excited her. Her colour fluctuated deliriously. The Marquis shot a quick look up and down the deserted corridor, and caught Sophia hard against his breast. “One kiss!” he said in a voice made suddenly husky with passion, and took it.
She made a half-hearted struggle to break free. “Oh, my lord!” she protested. “Oh, no, you must not!”
He had her fast round the waist, and with his free hand he cupped her chin, holding her head up so that he might look into her face. “You can’t keep me at arm’s length for ever, you little beauty. I want you. Will you come to me?”
The direct attack flustered her. She began to say: “I don’t know what you mean,” but he interrupted her: “Everything of the most dishonourable. Remember that, my pretty dear, for I don’t cheat, at love or cards.”
Her lips formed a soundless “oh” of astonishment. He kissed them, and partly from nervousness (for he had shaken her) and partly from coquetry, she giggled. He had no further doubts, but laughed back at her. She had an odd fancy, unusual in one so matter-of-fact, that little devils danced in his eyes. “I see we understand each other,” he said. “Listen to me now. I take it you’ve heard of last night’s affair? I may have to leave the country for a spell in consequence.”
She broke in with a little cry of dismay. “Leave the country? Oh, no, my lord!”
“I won’t leave you, my pretty, I promise. I’ve a mind to take you to Paris with me. Will you come?”
The colour flooded her cheeks. “Paris!” she gasped. “Oh, Vidal! Oh, my lord! Paris!” To her it spelled gaiety, fine dresses, trinkets, all that she craved of life.