“Danger lurks around every corner for a beautiful woman. Especially young, wealthy, beautiful women. There is always someone eager to take advantage. For example, I can do with you whatever I please and no one will stop me.”

“After surviving the ton for the past two years, I’ve learned to deal with such despicable behavior. In this instance, I would begin by demanding Ravenswood hold you accountable and fully punished for these insults.” Celia’s voice trembled the slightest bit. “My family would see to it, have no doubt. You would face their wrath. My brother, for example, would make you sorry you even knew my name.”

“Not withstanding your brother’s ability in defending your honor.” Gabriel laughed softly, his perfect white teeth flashing in the darkness. “Do you really think they would find me if I did not wish it? Now, regardless of your threats, let us address something else arousing my curiosity.”

“What might that be, Mister Rose?”

“Why does the thought of kissing me frighten you so terribly?”

The question he asked rumbled against her chest. It was impossible not to feel Gabriel’s every breath and utterance when he had her pressed so tightly against his larger form. She was nothing more than a hapless bit of prey caught between a predator’s paws.

Sweet Jesus, the man’s arms were hard as tree trunks. His cologne, a scent of spices and evergreens mingled with the bittersweet tang of the brandy he’d sipped earlier, was making her dizzy. Tilting her head enabled her to better stare at his face. A lock of rich, russet-hued hair concealed the scar’s path on his forehead before it sliced through his eyebrow. His eyes were the color of aged whiskey, swirling with bright, gilt-edged embers. Long, thick lashes cast smudgy shadows on his skin, leaving him with an endearingly vulnerable air.

She’d always thought him striking in appearance, but now Celia realized he was more than that. He was brutally handsome.

He moved, shifting quickly until he reclined on the settee; one leg propped up on the cushion, the other braced on the floor. Celia now lay caught between his thighs, her feet curling somewhere around his knees, one hip resting in the junction of his legs, and her upper body twisted so her chest was flush with his own wide expanse. His shirt gaped open, giving her an unobstructed view of his bare chest. It was warm and bronzed, the flesh lightly dusted with a swirl of dark hair. For the oddest reason, Celia wanted to twine her fingers in that smattering of hair. To learn its texture and see how far down his body it actually traveled.

Oh, bloody hell! What the Devil is wrong with me?

Gabriel’s large hands settled in the hollow of her spine, and for a fleeting second, Celia felt his fingers flexing as if intent on reaching bare skin before they stilled.

“Well?” he prodded in a low growl.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she swore in a faint whisper.