by Burke, Darcy
She drank in the sight of his naked chest. A patch of dark hair sprouted in the center in a small triangle between his nipples. She reached up and splayed her palm against him, feeling his heat as she smoothed her way to his breast, then down his abdomen, where his muscles rippled beneath her touch.
“Why aren’t you a virgin?” The question seemed to fall from his mouth without thought, for he looked instantly horrified. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
She gave him a saucy stare. “Are you a virgin?”
He laughed. “A more than fair question, and no.”
“You shouldn’t have asked, but I understand why you did. I should be untouched, but alas, I fell in love.”
“Did you?” He sounded utterly enthralled.
She nodded, feeling suddenly vulnerable in ways that had nothing to do with their position or location.
“What happened?”
“My parents refused his suit. He had neither title nor money. He had nothing to recommend himself, save charm and intelligence. He left England to find his fortune—he couldn’t gain a title, so it was the best he could do to hope to win my hand.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever have a title.”
“He did not have a duke in his line,” she said wryly.
“Where is he now?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“So he never won your hand.” He reached down and covered her hand, which had stilled against his belly.
“No.”
“His loss.” He lowered his head, but she halted him with her own query.
“What about the woman who claimed your virginity?”
He laughed. “She was a washerwoman at Oxford. Ten years my senior and quite, er, skilled.”
Arabella narrowed her eyes at him as jealousy threatened to attack her once more. “Did you carry on with her for some time?”
“Not terribly long, no.” He tipped his head to the side, his eyes glimmering with heat. “Are you jealous again?”
Warmth flushed her cheeks. “I admit it grates on me to think of you with other women. Doesn’t it bother you to think of me with Miles?”
“Miles? The cad has a name? Yes, when I think of him doing things to you that I plan to do, I feel somewhat…beastly. However, he, like the washerwoman, are in the past. You are my present, and I am yours.”
She smiled softly, her heart skipping as he tried again to lower his head. This time, she said nothing before he kissed her, his lips soft against hers at first and then more demanding as he claimed her mouth with his tongue.
She completely surrendered to sensation, immersing herself in his touch, scent, and taste. But she needed more. She took her hand from his abdomen and tugged at her skirt, pulling it up her legs.
He lifted his head slightly. “Do you want to take it off?”
She shook her head. “Too complicated. And I’m too impatient.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “I can appreciate that.” He helped her with the skirt, exposing her thighs. The dress bunched at her waist, and she realized that was going to be annoying.
“Turn over.” He helped flip her to her stomach.
She felt him pluck at the laces of her gown. With each tug, her body hummed with need. Her breasts were heavy against the bed, aching to be touched. Yes, maybe she should get undressed.
He seemed to read her mind as he pulled up the back of the skirt. Cool air rushed over the backs of her knees and thighs and then her backside. He caressed her there, his hand smoothing over her curves in a tantalizing manner and then moving between her legs.
She gasped as he found her sex, his finger gliding along her folds. He let out a soft groan as he slid inside her. Rapture exploded as her muscles tightened in anticipation of release. It wasn’t going to take long…
“God, I could take you like this,” he whispered against her ear, his teeth tugging the lobe just before he licked her neck and sucked her flesh. His finger worked in and out of her, and she lifted her backside toward him, moaning with need.
In a series of quick movements, he had her off the bed and had removed her gown and petticoat, nearly tearing them in his haste. He muttered an apology, and she responded that she didn’t care. They kissed wildly as he fought the laces of her corset. Abandoning that tack, he ripped his mouth from hers and turned her around. In short order, he removed her corset, letting it fall to the floor.
She spun back to face him, where he perched on the edge of the mattress and kissed him anew, her tongue spearing into his mouth with a desperate fervor. She’d never been this aroused. If he touched her again, she would break instantly.
He whisked the chemise up and over her head as she kicked off her slippers. Then his mouth was gone from hers once more as he kissed and licked his way down to her breasts. He clasped them, softly at first, then more firmly just before his lips closed around one nipple. She cast her head back and moaned again as he squeezed the other nipple. On and on, he tortured her until she nearly came.
“Halstead. Please.”
“Graham,” he said huskily. “I’ve scarcely been Halstead.”
“Graham.” She loved the feel of it on her tongue. “Please. I can’t wait anymore.” She reached for his fall.
“My boots.” He grimaced as he moved her slightly back so he could quickly pull his boots off.
“And your breeches,” she said, eager to see him naked.
With a lazy smile, he slowly flicked the buttons of his fall one by one. With a frustrated grunt, she shoved his hand away and finished the job with alacrity. Sliding her hands into the waistband, she pushed the garment down his hips, her fingers gliding down his thighs.
His cock sprang free, and her throat went dry. He disposed of his breeches and stockings, then swept her back onto the bed. She clasped his shoulders and pulled him, spreading her legs so he could nestle himself between them.
He hesitated, looking down at her. “You’re certain?”
“Never more. Now, Graham. Please.”
He gave her a wolfish grin as he stroked her sex, his thumb giving special attention to her clitoris. It was more than she could stand. Her muscles clenched, and she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to slip inside her.
He guided his shaft into her sex, and the moment he thrust deep, she came apart. He didn’t stop moving, and with each stroke, the ecstasy intensified. She whimpered as she held him, her fingers digging into his backside as she squeezed her legs around his hips.
He was relentless, and her pleasure ignited once more, building her toward another precipice from which she was more than happy to fall. He brushed her hair from her forehead and kissed her there. Then again on her temple and her cheek, her jaw, and finally her mouth, where their lips and tongues met in a mad, feverish dance.
She felt him tense and knew he must be close. She cupped his cheek and kissed him deeply. But then he was gone—from her mouth and from her sex.
“I had to—” He finished on a groan that ended with “Arabella” before he collapsed beside her.
She knew what he had to do. Miles had done the same thing to prevent getting her with child.
Graham’s hand cupped her sex. “Please tell me you were done.”
“I was. Again.”
He opened one eye briefly and smiled. “Good.” Then he rolled to his back.
They lay together, their sides touching, as they recaptured their breath. Her heart slowed, and her body felt heavy. She thought she could simply melt into the coverlet.
A loud knock jolted them both to a sitting position. Their heads swung toward the door as it began to open.
“Anyone in here?”
Graham bounded over her with an urgent whisper. “Hide on the other side of the bed.”
She didn’t see what he did next as she scurried off the other side of the mattress and fell to the floor in fear.
“Yes, someone is in here,” Graham answered angrily.
She heard the door slam, followed by the
distinct sound of a lock. Relieved, she rested her back against the bed and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, Graham had come around the bed. And he was already wearing his breeches, which was a shame.
“I should have locked the door.” He sounded rather annoyed.
“Why? Unless you planned to bed me.”
“I certainly did not.” He offered his hand and helped her to her feet, his gaze lingering on her breasts. “I expected to meet Tibbord.”
She walked around the bed to fetch her clothing and began to dress. “Well, that’s better than expecting to meet a courtesan.”
“And why should I have done that?”
“Because that seems the point of this soirée.” She turned her back to him. “Would you mind lacing my corset?”
“It’s the least I can do.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
They finished dressing in silence, and she poked around the room for a looking glass in which to tidy her hair. Unfortunately there wasn’t one.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“I wanted to see my hair. It feels a mess, and I should repair it before venturing from the room.”
“It’s not terrible. In any case, you’re going directly home, so you needn’t worry.”
She stopped and looked at him as he pulled on his boots. “Why? Now that I’m here—and masked—I can stay and help you interview Tibbord.”
“If he shows up. It may be Osborne. It may be neither.” He scowled.
“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see,” she said, choosing to remain optimistic. She had to. “What shall we say to them? We can’t accuse them of stealing your money. Perhaps you should pretend to be someone else, someone interested in investing.”
He rose from the chair after finishing with his boots and then plucked his coat from the floor. “I was going to tell you that ‘we’ aren’t doing anything, but your plan is sound.” He pulled his coat on and straightened the garment. “No, on second thought, you do have to leave. I can pretend to be someone else without you.”
She frowned at him. “But I’m here. In disguise. When will I ever have another opportunity?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Besides, you aren’t my father. Or my husband.”
“No, I’m not,” he said softly and with a tinge of regret. “Arabella, if things were different—”
She walked toward him. “Don’t say it. Things aren’t different. We both have to do what we must.” She tidied his cravat, tucking the ends into his waistcoat. “Tonight, it was imperative that I be with you. Maybe it’s what I needed to endure the future.”
He clasped her waist. “Don’t say that. You deserve a future full of happiness and love.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “So do you. Let me help you tonight. Please?”
He stared at her a long moment before finally exhaling. “It’s against my better judgment. But that seems to be tonight’s theme.” He pulled her against him and kissed her.
She sighed and leaned into him, content to be in his embrace. After several long moments, they parted.
“Shall we go downstairs?” she asked.
“You aren’t to leave my side, is that clear?” She nodded, and he smoothed her hair, tucking strands here and there. “Better.”
Then he retrieved their masks and tied hers around her head. She returned the favor as he squatted in front of her. She giggled. “Here you are in this position again.”
“So I am.”
She heard the smile in his voice and decided that no matter what happened, she would always be grateful for their time together. It was how she felt about Miles. No regrets, just happy memories and a twinge of sadness of what could never be.
She prayed this time would only be a twinge too. However, her heart was beginning to suggest it might be a bit more than that.
Chapter 10
While it wasn’t wise or proper for Arabella to be at this party, Graham didn’t at all mind the opportunity to touch her with abandon. They walked down the stairs, her arm curled through his, their sides touching. At a Society event, they would have caused a stir, moving so closely together. Here, they fit in with everyone else. He inclined his head toward another couple on their way up who were similarly entwined.
“We’ll go back to the saloon,” Graham said, passing the first floor. “That seems the best place to encounter Tibbord or Osborne.”
“We have to assume he—whoever it is—will be wearing a mask. And if it’s Tibbord, we’ll have no idea who he is.”
“True. Thanks to you and your father, we should be able to recognize Osborne, even with a mask.” He wanted to be optimistic.
She sent him an encouraging smile. “I hope so.”
Graham escorted her into the saloon, where close to two dozen gentlemen were gambling. A handful of others stood about, most with women on their arms or draped against their sides. The women, Graham realized, were not masked. He hadn’t noticed that before. He glanced toward Arabella, thinking her mask set her apart from the other women. No matter. It wasn’t as if she could take it off. He just hoped she didn’t attract attention.
But how could she not? She was stunning even with most of her face covered. And it was more than just her form, which was spectacular—it was her carriage and demeanor. She possessed confidence and grace, exuding an aura of strength and femininity that he found utterly alluring.
“Halstead.” The Marquess of Ripley came forward and greeted him. He didn’t wear a mask. As he’d told Graham earlier, what would be the point? It was his party after all. Ripley raked his gaze over Arabella, and Graham had to fight the urge to knock him down. “Have we met?” he asked her.
“This is Mrs. Devon,” Graham said, pulling a name out of the air.
She dipped a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, my lord.”
Ripley inclined his head, then shot a questioning look toward Graham, which Graham chose to ignore. Instead, he subtly gestured for them to move to the corner.
“Has either Tibbord or Osborne arrived?” Graham asked.
“No.” Ripley frowned. “I did my best to ensure they knew of the party and that there would be substantial gaming.”
Fighting a wave of disappointment, Graham looked over the room in search of Osborne. He should be easy to find with his sharp chin, unusual height, and the likely presence of a raven-headed walking stick. He turned toward Ripley. “No walking stick?”
Ripley shook his head as Arabella said, “There.” She nodded toward the back of the room near an exterior door. A man sat in a chair observing the gaming, his face almost entirely covered with a mask. Save his mouth and a very sharp chin.
“You know what he looks like?” Ripley asked in surprise.
“His Grace described the gentleman to me,” she said smoothly.
Graham gazed at her with great admiration. “I thought it would be helpful to have another set of eyes.”
Ripley’s eyes narrowed the slightest amount and only very briefly. He looked to Graham. “What would you like to do?”
“I need to convince him to allow me to invest.”
Ripley’s brow creased with confusion. “I thought you were going to confront him.”
“I was, but I think it will be much better if I tell him I want to invest. I don’t want him—I want Tibbord.”
“Good point,” Ripley said. “Perhaps we should walk over there and talk about all the money you’ve recently lost and how you need a drastic turn of fortune.”
“Perfect.” Graham started toward the man they suspected to be Osborne. When they were near, Graham said, “If I don’t recover at least a portion of my funds, I shall be in dire straits indeed.”
“Why not play piquet?” Ripley asked benignly.
“I can’t afford to lose.” Graham kept his tone grave and pitched his brows low. “I need a guaranteed return.”
Ripley scoffed. “Nothing is guaranteed.”
The bait worked exactly as they intended. Osborne, if it was him,
stood from the chair. He had several inches on both Graham and Ripley. Graham looked about for a walking stick, but didn’t see one. Perhaps he hadn’t brought it tonight.
“Good evening, my lord,” Osborne, if it was him, said, inclining his head toward Ripley. “Thank you for the kind invitation.”
Ripley smiled in response. “I’m glad you could come. Osborne, is it?”
“Yes. I must say I was surprised to be included in your soirée.”
“Someone recommended I invite you.” Ripley rubbed a hand along his jaw, his face briefly contemplative. “I can’t recollect who, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Will you play tonight?” He gestured toward the tables. “Or I can arrange for other entertainment?”
Osborne’s gaze drifted to Graham. “Actually, I thought I might speak to your friend. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and I might have a solution for his troubles.” Beneath his mask, Osborne cast a placid smile toward Graham, who felt a sudden urge to wipe it from the man’s face. He and his employer had fleeced any number of people, carelessly ruining lives as they filled their own coffers.
“Indeed?” Graham asked, leaning slightly forward. “How can you possibly help?”
Arabella gripped his arm, and he resisted the urge to soothe her tension.
Osborne darted a guarded look toward Arabella but continued. “I facilitate investments. My employer is quite good at selecting sound investment schemes that earn a great deal of money for his clients. He’s saved many a gentleman from debtor’s prison.” His tone was smug and wholly deceptive. The urge to commit physical violence was growing stronger.
“That sounds very intriguing,” Graham said slowly, infusing his voice with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “What sort of investments?”
“A wide range. Building schemes. Shipping ventures. This is probably not the right place to discuss it further.” Again, Osborne sent a circumspect glance at Arabella, but then gave Ripley an apologetic look. “Forgive me. This is a night for entertainments, not business.”
Graham wasn’t letting him get away, not without securing a future meeting. He detached himself from Arabella and stepped closer to Osborne. “Perhaps we can arrange a time to pursue our conversation.”