by Meara Platt
But she supposed she only had herself to blame.
It had all started when she’d been determined to escape an arranged marriage. She’d begged and pleaded with her parents to release her from the betrothal to Lord Dornville to no avail. She didn’t feel she deserved to be destined to be the wife of some lecherous lord who was old enough to be her father, just for the sake of a “good match.”
She sighed as she recalled the afternoon she’d devised the perfect plan.
Her dearest friend, Miss Ivy Sinclair, had paid a call and they were taking tea in the drawing room. Another English rose, she resembled Damaris with her honey-blond hair, blue eyes, and delicate features. Both first season debutantes, they had become fast friends.
After Damaris had confided her reservations, Ivy had instantly been sympathetic to her plight. “I daresay I would be just as aggrieved as you are.”
Damaris had groaned. “But the question is, how can I get out of it?”
“Well, that’s a rather simple solution.” Ivy shrugged. “But I’m not sure even I would go so far as to risk such a torrid scandal.”
Damaris stared at her friend. “Lord Dornville is odious in the extreme. He actually told me that I should be able to grant him many sons with my ample birthing hips!” She had shuddered. “Anything would be preferable to sharing his bed.”
Ivy bit her bottom lip uncertainly. “Of course, you’re right. In that case—” She’d leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if what she was about to impart was of the most clandestine nature. “I overheard my brother talking about a Cyprian’s Masquerade Ball that was being held Friday next. If there is even a whisper about your attendance, your reputation will be ruined beyond repair.”
Damaris tapped a finger against her bottom lip. “That’s very good. It just might work…” She paused. “But I must ensure that my virtue is no longer in question.” She’d nodded firmly. “I shall have to take a lover.”
Ivy’s blue eyes had widened. “You can’t be serious! What if you should become with child?”
Damaris had only scoffed. “After one interlude? I should think that to be impossible.”
Damaris had claimed to have a megrim the night of the ball, thus she was excused from attending the musicale that her parents were attending. With her maid’s reluctant help, a hackney was waiting for her in the mews behind the townhouse. Damaris then made her way down the servant’s staircase in the red dress Ivy had loaned her, something that Lady Sinclair had purchased for herself on a whim and hadn’t dared to wear in public. Damaris pulled her fur-lined cloak around her, not only for added warmth but to hide the silk gown, for she didn’t wish to reveal such a scandalous costume until she was safely inside the ballroom where her quest would begin.
After she gave the driver direction to deposit her at the corner of King Street and Little Argyll, he lifted his brows but said nothing as he set the carriage into motion. Her heart was pounding as they finally came to a halt. Courage temporarily faltered as Damaris considered what she was about to do. There was no turning back once the deed was done.
Not until an image of her affianced popped into her mind, did she take a deep breath and step down to the ground.
She tied the red satin half-mask over her face, and with a slight tilt of her chin, she strode forward.
As she walked inside and handed her cloak over to a waiting footman, she had to admire the magnificent appearance of the famed, Argyll Rooms. Standing among the Corinthian pillars, the gold and marble décor illuminated by the soft lamplight, and the three-stories of private boxes surrounded by heavy, colorful drapes, she realized it would be rather easy to slip away unheeded. She noted a raised platform in the midst of the crowd, where a modest orchestra was set up and playing some rather sensual music with greenery all around the ensemble to make it a bit more festive for the upcoming holidays. Combined with the raucous laughter and the scents of brandy and cigar smoke that was nearly overwhelming, a smile tugged at Damaris’s lips.
This was the naughty sibling to Almack’s, a place known for its propriety.
It was the perfect atmosphere to lose one’s virtue.
Now, all she had to do was find a willing companion.
Damaris began her search by meandering through the numerous guests. Some voices she recognized, so she was careful to steer clear of them. She didn’t wish to get tied up with someone who could make things even more difficult for her.
After about an hour of strolling amongst the assembled, Damaris was starting to lose confidence in her quest. While several appreciative glances had been sent her way, no one had actually approached her with a torrid proposition.
In the end, she found the man who would change her life forever quite by accident.
She had been heading for the ladies’ retiring room to rethink her strategy when a man ran past her, knocking her off balance. With a cry of alarm, she started to fall, but was caught up in a pair of strong, muscular arms. She glanced up and gasped — for she had finally found him. This was the man to whom she would surrender all.
He was the exact epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Everything from his eyes, to his hair, to his half-mask, and the stubble on his chiseled jawline was black. He might have been intimidating and fearsome, but something told her that he wasn’t any of those things. “Are ye hurt, Sassenach?”
Her eyes widened. Oh, dear God. He was Scottish. How deliciously perfect!
“You can call me Lady…Chemistry.” Damaris could have kicked herself. She was trying to think of something sultry, but instead, she chose her father’s favorite subject. Although, were she being honest, there was something decidedly…fascinating about this stranger that inspired a bit of a synthetic reaction. In truth, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him as he steadied her on her feet.
“That cur,” he growled, staring in the direction of the man who had caused their unlikely interaction. “He tried t’ fleece me a’ the gaming table. When I called him on it, he ran like the coward he was.”
Damaris swallowed, but dared to reach out and run a finger down his broad chest, covered with a crisp, white shirt, cravat, and black jacket like any other Englishman, but it was the black and red plaid kilt and sporran he wore that marked him as considerably different than anyone else of her acquaintance. “Perhaps I can find a way to make you forget your losses?”
His expression changed, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his mask as he focused on her. He slowly raked his gaze up and down her form and her face instantly warmed. “I dinna ken, lassie,” he murmured, his deep voice slightly huskier than before. “I dinna usually partake o’ such fine pleasures when I’m in town o’ business.”
“Do you come to London often?” Please say no...
“Only if I canna help it,” he returned directly. “My name is Callum. I’m the laird o’ my clan in the Highlands. I’m only here a’ the behest o’ the Regent.”
Damaris knew a little bit about Scottish history. They had always been a rather rebellious people, but after the Jacobite uprising, where the English defeated Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army in 1746 at the Battle of Culloden, many of the clans were disbanded by the Crown. It was only with the publication of Waverley by Walter Scott three years ago, that the Scots had regained a sort of romantic reputation. With Prinny’s approval and admiration, the interest over the Highland way of life had begun to grow rapidly.
Why, just knowing that this would be a temporary encounter definitely had her attention. “It sounds fascinating. Might we discuss it somewhere a bit more…private?”
Damaris bit her lip, thinking that he was about to decline her rather bold proposition, when he surprised her by offering a charming bow. Crooking his arm to her, he winked. “I couldna ever pass up such a lovely plea from a bonnie lass.”
Damaris had given him her best smile, the one that had sent dozens of flowers to her parents’ house, and tried not to think about what would soon follow.
For the second time that night, Callum S
olomon Murray, Laird of the Clan O’Donough, wondered if he was being swindled. Granted, he had never been without female companionship in Scotland, but the timid English lasses tended to give him a wider berth. However, this Sassenach with her honey-blond hair was different from the rest. She was obviously a rather experienced lady in that scandalous red dress, even if some of her actions might suggest otherwise.
He’d been fully prepared to decline her rather forward suggestion, but something had stopped him from refusing her a second time. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, whether it was those expressive, blue eyes, or maybe just her softly curved form, but he decided that he would break the rules, just this once.
They made their way to one of the private boxes, but as he held back the red velvet curtain to allow her to proceed him, she hesitated. “Are ye having second thoughts, Lady Chemistry?” he asked.
She took a breath and shook her head. “Of course not.” She walked inside and he let the curtain fall. Now it was time for the real performance to begin.
The area around them was perfectly made with seduction in mind, from the velvet cushions of the settee, to the soft flickering candlelight in the glass sconces. He removed his jacket, cravat, waistcoat, and mask, all while she watched him in silence. He walked toward her and lifted his hand to her cheek, wondering if he’d just imagined her sharp intake of breath. When he would have removed her mask, she halted his movements. “Leave it on. I like the…air of mystery.”
“Very well.” He touched her bottom lip with his finger. “Is there anything else ye like, my lady?” he murmured.
She lifted her eyes to his and said softly, “Kiss me.”
His lips curved at the corners. She was playing the innocent role to perfection. But perhaps that was how she enjoyed her lovers. Some women liked it fast and rough, but others liked to play the coquette. In that case, he would be more than willing to play along.
He looked down at her full lips and the generous shadow between her breasts.
It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship to savor her and take his time.
He bent his head and took her mouth. She seemed almost shy at first, so he gentled the pressure and eased her into the embrace. Eventually, she began to relax in his arms, and when he parted her lips with his tongue, she moaned when he swept inside her mouth.
After a long, drugging kiss, his cock already fully erect, Callum lowered his mouth to her collarbone. Her skin was creamy and soft as silk, and as he trailed a path to the top of her bodice, he tugged down a portion of her gown and freed one of her breasts. When he began to lave her pert nipple, she clutched his shoulders and arched her back. He grinned, for her responses were just as passionate as he’d hoped they would be. “Do ye like that, Lady Chemistry?” he purred.
“Y…yes,” she nearly panted.
“Do ye want more?”
This time, she nodded, so he returned his attentions to her breasts, sucking and kneading them until her legs were trembling. In one smooth motion, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the settee and laid her down. He quickly divested himself of his shirt, as he began to lift her skirts.
Her eyes widened slightly, the brilliant blue of her gaze mesmerizing. “Are you going to…take me now?” she asked.
“No, my sweet angel.” His hand began to trail up her leg. “Not until I taste ye first.”
With that, he bent his head and placed his mouth on the center between her legs.
Her hips instantly bucked upward, but when he inserted a finger into her wet passage, she melted into his touch. It wasn’t long until he felt the quivers of her orgasm take hold.
He lifted his head and looked up into her face and saw that her exposed skin was damp and flushed, her eyes closed in delirious abandon. Hair made of spun gold was starting to escape from its pins and curl around her exposed breasts.
Callum’s breath caught, for she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
It was going to be a true pleasure to bed this mysterious Lady Chemistry. Unfortunately, it would likely be quite some time before she faded from his memory.
Without another word, he lifted his kilt and freed his aching manhood. He positioned himself at her entrance and started to push forward. Perspiration began to line his forehead, for she was so tight, almost as if she was untried...
But then he quickly shook that image from his thoughts. If she was inexperienced, she wouldn’t be some place like this, would she?
Convincing himself that he was only imagining things, he thrust forward and ripped through the barrier of her maidenhead, where he immediately stopped, his eyes widening. “What the—”
When he would have pulled away from her, she halted him with a hand on his arm. “Please, don’t stop.”
Callum was fighting a battle between lust and honor, but in the end, his urges won, for she moved her hips just so… “Damn, lassie, but ye’ll be the death o’ me.”
He clenched his jaw, but started a gentle rhythm. When he could tell she had acclimated to the feel of him inside of her he sped up the pace. It wasn’t long until she clutched at his arms and threw her head back in rapture, her breasts quivering as a second orgasm took hold of her.
Callum, unable to fight the pleasure growing inside, finally burst forth with a harsh cry and spilled himself in her slick passage.
In the aftermath, as their breathing returned to normal and the surroundings began to pierce Callum’s lust-induced brain, he pulled away from her and allowed his kilt to fall back into place.
He crossed his arms and stared at her firmly. “I think we need t’ talk.”
Damaris closed her eyes when it was over. She had done it. She had taken the power of her good reputation away and utterly ruined herself.
However, instead of any guilt or misapprehension, a sense of…wholeness washed over her. It hadn’t been nearly as bad to lose her virginity as she might have imagined. But then, that likely had to do with the man standing before her and his rather wicked lovemaking. Who would have ever imagined that such pleasure could be found by—
Her face instantly warmed at the recollection. It was strange to think that this unknown Scotsman had just been inside of her body. She didn’t even know his name, and yet, they had shared something so intimate. Needless to say, she couldn’t comprehend ever doing the same with Lord Dornville. The very thought made her shudder in disgust.
Her new lover must have thought her upset had something to do with what they had just done, for his particularly aggrieved expression instantly turned to one of contrition. “Are ye well, lassie? I dinna…hurt ye?”
She had to smile at his concern, but it was time to go. No good would come of too many questions. She waved a hand and began to right herself. “I’m perfectly fine.” Once she was satisfied that her appearance was as good as it was going to get, she stood and did her best not to look directly at that muscular chest that was still magnificently bared. “Well, as you can ascertain by now, I’m not really certain how these things work, but…thank you?” She nodded her head and started to brush past him.
“Not so fast.” He moved to block her retreat. “I think we need t’ discuss what just happened here.”
She tried to give him her most placating look. “I think you should be able to figure that out without my assistance.”
“But…” he nearly sputtered. “Ye were a maiden!”
“I was,” she admitted. “But no longer.”
If he wasn’t so handsome, standing there half-clothed, Damaris might have laughed at the pure disbelief on his face. “Ye canna just mean t’ go aboot yer life as if nothing untoward happened. Ye’re ruined, and I’m honor bound to marry ye.”
She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “As…romantic as your proposal is, sir, I’m afraid that I can’t accept it.”
Without another word, she moved past him, flipped the drapes to the side and rushed out of the box.
Damaris removed her mask on the carriage ride home and couldn’t help but sm
ile, not only because she had completely confounded the poor Scotsman by rebuffing his offer of marriage, but because she was still glowing in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Even the chill from outside couldn’t diminish the warmth blossoming inside of her. As innocent as she was — or rather, had been — even she realized that they had shared something special, something memorable.
But she had to get such thoughts out of her head. She would never see him again. He had been a means to an end. She had accomplished what she’d set out to do, and now it was over.
However, the moment the hackney rolled to a stop behind her parents’ townhouse and she saw that lights were blazing in every window; she knew her time of reckoning had arrived. She groaned, for she would have liked to wait until the morning for this confrontation, to live out the fantasy of her Scottish lover a bit longer, but it appeared that wouldn’t be the case.
The moment Damaris stepped down to the ground, her ladies’ maid came running outside from the kitchens. “Oh, miss! Your father is in quite a state, he is! He’s threatened to lock you in your room, and your mother—”
“Can speak for herself,” came a firm reprimand. Her maid instantly fell silent and lowered her head. “Go upstairs and wait for your mistress, Prudence”
With a sympathetic glance at Damaris, the maid bobbed a quick curtsy and did as she was told.
Damaris, on the other hand, had to remain to suffer her mother’s wrath. “Let’s discuss this in your father’s study,” Lady Matheson said stiffly, and she turned, not even looking over her shoulder to see if her daughter had followed.
With a heavy sigh, Damaris did.
Her father was pacing the length of his study when Damaris entered, and she was thankful she was still wearing her cloak. Her mother had taken a seat near his desk. But when the viscount looked up and saw her, he growled impatiently, “Shut the door behind you, Damaris.” Once they were closeted inside the room, he allowed the tension to build to a crescendo before he said, “I’ve heard some rather distressing rumors this evening and I hope to hear them contradicted.”