Loretta Chase's Lord Dain is one of the best tortured heroes in historical romance (and while he's wonderfully moody and dangerously violent, he never even considers laying a hand on his beloved Jess, unlike half of Judith McNaught's heroes, who threaten to paddle their lovers left and right -- spanking fantasy, anyone?). 
 Also this book has a very sexy scene involving a glove that I think must have inspired the attic scene in Cassandra Clare's Clockwork Angel. Who knew undoing the buttons of a glove and rubbing a finger over an inch of bare wrist could turn so hot and heavy? 
 The glove scene here, though, is a good illustration of how Chase likes to play with and invert standard notions of female propriety. And it's worth describing in detail. 
 Here's the set-up: Jessica is willing to sell a valuable icon she owns to Lord Dain, but only on the condition that Dain (the eponymous Lord of Scoundrels) leave her witless brother alone, since under Dain's influence he is gambling away all his money. Dain wants the icon very badly, but refuses to Jess's bargain on principle. So, he tells her, she must either accept his original offer or he will ruin her reputation (they're sitting alone in a Paris coffee shop after Dain has sent her brother away on a futile mission for a particular brand of cigars). 
 "And if I do not, you will attempt to destroy my reputation," she said. 
 "It will not be an attempt," he said. 
 She sat up very straight and folded her dainty gloved hands upon the table. "I should like to see you try," she said. 
 Over the next several paragraphs Dain slowly, slowly, starts to undo the buttons of her glove one by one. His heart rate speeds up with each button. She looks on with "a frozen expression he interpreted as speechless horror." All the while he speaks to her in a tender voice in Italian. "In the tones of a lover, he described the weather, a gray gelding he was thinking of selling, and the conditions of Parisian drains." All eyes in the coffee shop are upon them now -- the notorious Lord of Scoundrels, publicly undressing a gently bred maiden. 
 He found she was still wearing the same wide-eyed expression Then she blinked and, dropping her gaze to their joined hands, she said in a small, breathless voice, "I'm *very* sorry, my lord." 
 Though still not properly in control of his own respiration, Dain managed to get the words out. "I have no doubt you are. But it's too late, you see." 
 "I do." She shook her head sadly. "I fear your reputation will never recover." 
 He felt a prickle of uneasiness. He ignored it and, with a laugh, glanced about him at their fascinated audience. "Cara mia, it is your own rep--" 
 "The Marquess of Dain has been seen in the company of a *lady*," she said. "He has been seen and heard wooing her." She looked up, her silver eyes gleaming. "It was lovely. I had no idea Italian was so...moving." 
 "I was talking about drains," he said tightly. 
 "I didn't know. Neither did anyone else, I'm sure. They all think you were making love." She smiled. "To nitwit Bertie Trent's spinster sister." 
 Then, too late, he saw the flaw in his reasoning.... 
 "Dain," she said in a low, hard voice, "if you do not release my hand this instant, I shall kiss you. In front of everybody." 
 Dain starts to panic, and just then, Jess's nitwit brother returns with cigars. He takes one look at the scene and says, 
 "Deuce take you, Jess. Can't a fellow trust you for a moment? How many times do I have to tell you to leave my friends alone?" [Bertie] gave Dain an apologetic look. "Don't pay it any mind, Dain. She does that to all the chaps. I don't know why she does it when she don't want 'em. Just like them fool cats of Aunt Louisa's. Go to all the bother of catching a mouse, and then the confounded things won't eat 'em. Just leave the corpses lying about for someone else to pick up."