—from Queen Ravenhair
It was stupid and irrational, but Thomas found he couldn’t stop himself from searching out Lavinia Tate. Not even the difficulty of finding her in the near dark in a maze of paths and side-paths deterred him. Three men? Had she become a sybarite? A woman controlled entirely by her physical desires? Thoughts such as these did not improve his mood, so when he did eventually run Lavinia—and her three beaus—to ground, his temper was perilously on edge.
“Dismiss them,” he barked at her. He eyed the men. Two were barely old enough to shave, but the third was a big fellow with broad shoulders.
Thomas flexed his hands. In his current mood, he was of a mind to take on all three.
“My lord,” Lavinia drawled. She was wearing another flame-colored dress that should’ve clashed horribly with her outlandishly red hair, but somehow didn’t. In fact, the amount of creamy bosom the décolletage displayed was enough to make a man drool.
Thomas scowled. “Tell them to leave, Lavinia.”
She arched an eyebrow at the use of her given name, and for a moment Thomas thought he really would have to choose between retreat and fisticuffs. Then she whispered something to the big fellow, and with a last nasty look, all three turned heel and left.
“Now, then.” She folded her arms across her chest as if bracing herself for an unpleasant confrontation with a bill collector. “What is it, Thomas?”
“Three, Lavinia?” His hands clenched by his sides. “And all merely boys.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “As it happens, my lord, two of those boys are my nephews. And I doubt Samuel would like you calling him a boy.”
So the big man was her lover. Thomas wanted to drive his fist into something. “He’s younger than you.”
“As are you,” she replied softly. “Yet it didn’t keep you from my bed.”
For a moment he merely stared at her hungrily, remembering her bed and what they’d done there.
Then she looked away. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” He advanced toward her, confused by his own need to be near her. “You’re the one following me.”
“Following you?”
He didn’t know what reaction he’d expected from his accusation—perhaps protestations or even tears—but it wasn’t this. This looked perilously close to pity, her eyebrows drawing together, her lush mouth turning down.
“Thomas, I am not following you.”
“Explain, then, how you happened to be here on the very night I attend with my fiancée?”
She shrugged—actually shrugged!—at his angry words. “Coincidence, I suppose.”
“And your Samuel?” He was close enough to touch her now, but he daren’t. “Deny, if you will, that you brought him here in a pathetic effort to make me jealous.”
He sneered his words, but she looked at him wonderingly. “Are you jealous, Thomas? I can’t think why, since you’re the one who broke it off when you decided to marry Lady Hero.”
He looked away from her too-perceptive face. “I never said we had to quit, only that we wait a decent amount of time after the wedding. A year at most. I could’ve bought you a bigger house if you wanted it. A carriage and team.”
“The money never had anything to do with it.”
“Then what did?”
She sighed. “However provincial it might seem to you, I don’t wish to carry on a liaison with a married man. It’s rather sordid, don’t you think? Besides, I’ve seen your Lady Hero and she seems a nice girl. I shouldn’t like to hurt her.”
He grit his teeth, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Are you saying you care more for my fiancée than me?”
She stared back, that wretched look of pity in her eyes again. “Are you saying you don’t?”
“What do you want of me?” he demanded. “I cannot marry you—you know that, Lavinia. Even if we were a suitable match, even if you weren’t past the age of childbearing, I simply cannot marry one such as you.”
“How chivalrous of you to point out my advanced age to me—yet again,” she drawled. “But as it happens, there is no need for such drama. I know we cannot marry, and I refuse to conduct a liaison with you when you are otherwise promised. There really isn’t anything more to say.”
He felt something very close to desperation. “I thought you cared for me.”
Overhead the fireworks began exploding.
“I did. I do.” She sighed and let her head fall back, watching the fiery trails. “But my feelings for you really have nothing to do with this discussion. Anne broke your trust long before I came along. I’m not sure you’d trust any woman again, let alone one with a past like mine. You’ve made that abundantly plain. Really, it’s a wonder you were able to propose to even a virgin like Lady Hero.”
An awful, oily blackness invaded his chest at her words, because she was right, damn her. He’d never bring himself to truly trust her.
“As you’ve already stated, the thing is impossible.” She glanced over her shoulder. “They’ll be waiting for me—we’d decided on ices while the fireworks played.”
He looked at her mutely, unable to find the words that would make this right. The words that would make her stay.
She smiled rather wearily. “Good-bye, Thomas. I hope you have a happy marriage.”
And he could do nothing but watch her walk away from him.
* * *
HERO HAD WANTED to know how Reading tasted and now she knew: He was wine and man and need.
Pure, hot need, coursing through her blood like quicksilver, lighting her bones on fire, making her muscles quake until she literally trembled in his arms. He didn’t kiss her like she was the daughter of a duke, reverent and slow. No, he kissed her like a woman. His lips were hard, demanding things from her, not waiting to see if she had the experience to keep up. His tongue pushed against her lips, insisting on entrance. She opened her mouth eagerly. He swarmed in without hesitation, taking as if she was his by right.
“Griffin,” she murmured, her hands clutching at his black domino, unsure of what to do. He pulled her close—so close she felt the muscles of his legs through her skirts. His fingers were in her hair, skimming over her throat, brushing lightly at the tops of her breasts.
She should push him away. What she wanted instead was to take his hand and press those long fingers into her bodice. To guide him until he stroked the puckered tips of her naked breasts. She thought she might very well expire from sheer ecstasy if he touched her there.
A loud bang! made her start and break the kiss. The night sky lit for a moment, as bright as day, illuminating his masked face and his mouth, wet and tempting. He pulled back from her, still holding her shoulders and stared at her as if transfixed. Lord knew what her own expression looked like.
Behind them the cheers of the spectators rose.
Hero tried to speak and found she had to swallow before her mouth could form the words. “We need to get back.”
He didn’t reply, merely caught her hand and turned, striding back up the path. She stumbled behind him, her limbs uncoordinated, her thoughts dazed. Another starburst exploded overhead, green, purple, and red flakes floating to earth. The path was widening; they were nearly to the clearing where the spectators stood.
Reading pulled her suddenly into a dark nook off the side of the path. He turned to face her and yanked her into his arms. Her entire being thrilled as he breathed a foul curse and then captured her mouth again. He devoured her as if she were a sweetmeat and he a man who had gone without bread for far too long. He licked across her lips, biting at the corner of her mouth, groaning somewhere deep in his chest. She opened her mouth eagerly this time, having learned what he—what she—wanted.
Another cheer went up.
He tore his head away from hers, muttering, “You taste like ambrosia, and I am a madman.”
For a moment they simply stared at each other, and she had the strange feeling he was as confused as she.
He bl
inked, cursed, and, taking her hand again, led her into the clearing.
The gathered crowd all had their faces tilted upward, watching the display overhead. Hero followed Reading without thought, feeling quite shattered as they wound in and out of the bodies until they found their own party.
“There you are,” Phoebe exclaimed as Hero made her side. She clapped and squealed as spinning wheels appeared over their heads. She leaned closer to Hero and shouted, “But what has happened to Lord Mandeville?”
Hero shook her head, her brain stuttering to life. She shouted back, “He went for refreshments and I lost him.”
She heard Reading grunt. His lips were grim and she hastily looked away.
“Oh, look!” Phoebe cried.
Bombs burst and turned, sparkling, into a green-and-gold-winged serpent. The fiery creature twisted and then melted into a glowing white shower of sparks.
“It’s fantastic,” Lady Margaret breathed.
It was. It was the most fantastic fireworks display she’d ever seen—and yet she felt curiously unaffected. Hero was conscious only of Reading’s bulk, on the far side of Phoebe. There seemed to be an invisible line between them now, an awareness drawn taut by sensuality and basic sin.
Dear Lord, what had she done?
She touched her mouth with shaking fingers. She’d committed an act of horrible betrayal. She knew that. She was aware of the ramifications and of regret. The possibility of far greater sin and guilt. Of the fact that her very soul was in peril.
And she did not care.
She was in a fever, wanting only to taste his mouth again, to feel his hard body against hers. To find out if his bare skin was as hot without any clothes. To discover his naked chest. To lie with him entirely nude.
She gasped, winded, unable to catch her breath. She’d never thought herself a creature of physical want. Had never experienced this longing before with any other man. It was as if she were the dormant black powder and he a flame that set her alight. Suddenly everything was vivid, clear, and burning. The very night sky rejoiced as if to celebrate her awakening.
Her facade had cracked. She realized with shock that she was as mortal as anyone else, as fallible as the most fallen woman.
And it did not matter. If he but crooked a finger, she would turn and follow him back into those dim paths. Would twine herself about him and lift her face for his kiss again.
Hero shivered and wrapped her arms about herself.
“Are you cold?” His voice was deep and much too near.
She shook her head, a bit too violently, and backed a step away from him, putting prudent space between them. He frowned and opened his mouth.
“Ah, here you are,” came Mandeville’s voice from her other side.
She turned and smiled up at him, in near-panicked relief. Mandeville was normalcy. Mandeville was sanity.
Some of what she was feeling must have shone in her eyes.
Mandeville bent closer so she could hear over the cracks and pops. “I’m sorry to have lost you. I hope it caused you no worry?”
She shook her head, still smiling like a fool, unable to speak.
“What were you thinking?” Reading growled close, and at first she thought he accused her. Then she looked up and saw the murderous expression he shot at Mandeville. “It’s not safe for a lady alone here.”
Mandeville’s head reared back. “How dare you?”
Reading made a grimace of disgust, turned on his heel, and strode to the edge of the clearing.
Mandeville looked uncertainly at Hero. “I’m sorry…”
Dear God, she could not take an apology from him now. Hero laid a hand on his sleeve. “Please, don’t worry yourself.”
“But I should,” Mandeville said slowly. “My brother is right: I should never have lost you in the maze of paths. It was not well done of me. Please forgive me, Hero.”
He hardly ever used her given name without her title. Hero felt sudden tears spring to her eyes. This man was so good, so right, and she was a fool to let bright, sparkling physical lust endanger her happiness with him.
She squeezed the arm under her hand. “It’s done now and no true harm came of it. Please. Let’s talk of it no more.”
He seemed to search her face for a moment, even as purple and red lights showered above.
“Very well,” he said at last. “It seems I am to marry a very wise lady indeed.”
Her lips trembled as she gazed up at him, knowing she did not deserve his praise. This was the man she’d chosen to marry. The decision was made, the contracts drawn up and signed. This would be a good marriage, one of respect and common goals attained between the two of them.
And yet she could not help but turn her head slightly and glance at Reading. He stood apart, his face upturned to the sky as sparkling flames reflected in his eyes.
“GET UP, M’LORD, she’s doin’ a runner.”
Griffin groaned, rolling from his stomach to his back and flinging a shielding arm over his eyes. “Go ’way.”
“Can’t do that, m’lord,” the cheerful voice of Deedle, his valet-cum-secretary-cum-jack-of-all-trades, replied. “You told me to wake you if she went out, an’ keep at it no matter ’ow you might complain until you stood up by yerself, and ’ere I am awaking you.”
Griffin sighed and cracked an eyelid. The sight that met his gaze was not a pretty one. Deedle was only a bit past five and twenty by his own reckoning, but he’d lost both upper front teeth in that time. It didn’t seem to bother him, though, judging by the wide smile that split his face. He wore a wig—one that Griffin had cast off—badly in need of curling and powdering. His muddy brown eyes were tiny and spaced too near, peering down a great angular nose that took up so much of his face that his small mouth and smaller chin seemed to have given up completely and retreated down his neck in defeat.
Deedle grinned at Griffin’s open eye and stuck his tongue through the gap in his teeth—a rather unfortunate habit of his. “Like some coffee, m’lord?”
“God, yes.” Griffin squinted at the window. True the sun seemed to be high in the sky, but they’d been out until well past midnight last night. He remembered that sweet kiss he’d shared with Lady Hero—and how she wouldn’t look him in the eye afterward. He winced. “Are you sure she’s moving?”
“The lad I got on watch came running to tell me not ten minutes ago,” Deedle replied. “The lady must like the mornings, eh?”
“But not keeping her promises.” He sat up, the sheets falling away from his nude chest, and scratched his chin as he contemplated the fair Lady Hero. She was attempting to avoid him. Had his kiss frightened her that much? “You’re certain she’s headed to St. Giles?”
“She’s got that big footman and she’s taking the carriage. Bit early for morning social calls.” Deedle squinted and shrugged. “Stands to reason that’s where she’s headed, don’t it?”
Griffin sighed. Yes, it did stand to reason.
He climbed wearily from the bed and began splashing in the basin of water. “Have we heard from Nick Barnes?”
Deedle laid out the razor, strop, and towels. “No.”
“Damn.” Griffin frowned. Nick usually sent word first thing in the morning. Griffin would have to see if Nick was sleeping in—or if something more ominous had happened. But first he must deal with the lovely Lady Hero—and the consequences of last night’s impulse.
Fifteen minutes later, Griffin ran down the steps of his rented town house. It wasn’t in the most fashionable part of the West End of London, but he’d long ago decided that lodgings separate from Thomas were essential for familial accord.
Rambler was waiting at the bottom of the steps, his head held by a young groom. Griffin patted the gelding’s glossy neck before swinging into the saddle and throwing the boy a shilling.
The day was sunny, and Rambler made good time, weaving through the London traffic. Griffin found Lady Hero’s carriage not twenty minutes later, stalled behind a herd of pigs.
Lady
Hero’s coachman merely nodded as Griffin waved at him and entered the carriage.
“Good morning,” he said as he sat.
“Go away,” she replied.
He clapped a hand over his heart. “Such cruelty from such a fair lady.”
She wouldn’t even look at him. She stared fixedly out the window, her profile remote and reserved. Only the faint spots of pink on her cheekbones gave lie to her serenity. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, yes.” He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankle, grappling with a wholly foreign surge of guilt. Outside, a chorus of squealing rose alarmingly. “I should be abed, still dreaming, but it’s not my fault you decided to rise early and sneak off to St. Giles without me.”
She pursed her lips irritably. “This isn’t wise.”
He noted that she didn’t deny her destination. “Have you told your brother or Thomas about your jaunts to St. Giles?”
“No, but—”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
She closed her eyes as if pained. “You know we can’t do this.”
Had he hurt her so much? He cleared his throat, feeling uncharacteristically diffident. “About last night…”
She held up her palm, her face averted. “Don’t.”
He opened his mouth, but she was as still as a graven image. She seemed to have retreated somewhere deep inside herself.
Damnation! His mouth snapped shut. He turned to look out the window as the carriage began rolling forward. He’d well and truly mucked this up. If he had it to do over, he’d… what? He sure as hell wouldn’t take back that kiss.
Griffin sighed and laid his head against the squabs. That kiss had been quite spectacular. He remembered her mouth soft and yielding, her breasts pressed against his chest, and the hard beat of his own heart. He’d been aroused, naturally, but oddly the part that stuck in his mind wasn’t the eroticism of their embrace, but the sweetness. It had felt… right—as wrong as that was.
Notorious Pleasures Page 10