The Devil in Disguise: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  “Alive, Will,” Carmichael’s low murmur cautioned. “He’s no good to us dead.”

  Will resisted the urge to argue the point, methodically rubbing his temples once more in an attempt to dispel vivid thoughts of just what he would do to Garenne if given half the chance. “Yes, alive. If possible.” He dropped his hand, fixing Carmichael with a hard stare. “If I have to kill him to save Lady Lucinda, I will.”

  Carmichael shrugged. “Of course.”

  A sudden burst of laughter erupted from the gaming room, the volume and intensity signaling the late hour.

  “Now come with me,” Carmichael said in a lighter tone. “I believe there’s a five pound note I’ve need to win back.”

  Will stood up from his chair and stretched. “Ever the optimist, Carmichael.”

  “Hardly. But I know a thing or two about odds, and you’re bound to hit upon a losing streak one day,” Carmichael answered, making his way to the gaming room just beyond.

  “As I said, ever the optimist.”

  Lucinda had never dreamed that he would accept her invitation. Iron Will agreeing to attend an assembly at Almack’s? Inconceivable.

  But he had. Lucinda now stood with the duke just inside the assembly’s upper rooms within the King Street building that housed Almack’s. They faced Lady Jersey, as she eyed him skeptically from head to toe. No visitors to Almack’s would be admitted tonight without Lady Jersey’s approval.

  Lucinda offered the woman a sweet smile when the patroness flicked her a sharp glance before returning her narrowed gaze to the duke. Clearly her perusal was an attempt to find fault with His Grace’s appearance. In truth, his reputation alone should have barred him from the assembly.

  But he was obviously escorting Lucinda, a fact that Lady Jersey could not overlook. Lucinda also knew Aunt Victoria had tortured the woman’s mother for years with a particularly juicy bit of gossip involving the countess and an Italian opera singer from their youth. So Lucinda was not terribly surprised that the woman was having a difficult time of it.

  Still, Lucinda had demanded that he play by the rules. Which meant he had to comply with the sartorial regulations, which had led to him donning the knee breeches that he currently wore. Trousers would never do at Almack’s and she was beginning to understand why. The cream breeches molded to his legs in a most appealing way, to say nothing of his—

  “Lady Lucinda?”

  Lucinda pulled her thoughts from such an inappropriate path and focused on Lady Jersey. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Jersey. Would you be so kind as to repeat your question?”

  “I said,” the birdlike woman began, flicking her fingers dismissively in a distinct air of irritation, “that the duke is granted a Stranger’s Ticket for the evening.”

  The duke offered Lady Jersey a dazzling smile and bowed. “Lady Jersey, always a pleasure.”

  “Hmph,” the woman replied, gesturing for the two to remove themselves.

  Lucinda curtsied with just the right mix of deference and serene confidence, then allowed the duke to escort her into the main assembly room, crowded with the cream of society.

  “Was it the breeches?” he whispered in her ear. “I’m told I look especially fetching in breeches.” His warm breath brushed her neck as he spoke and her skin prickled, her pulse racing.

  Lucinda reined in her shivering nerves, relieved to spot her aunts not far away. She seized the distraction, lifting her fan to gain their attention. “I warn you, Your Grace,” she said as she drew him with her through the throng, “you’d do well to be on your best behavior within the hallowed halls of Almack’s.”

  He flashed her a wicked grin. “Must I? Even as pertains to you, Lady Lucinda?”

  Her mouth formed an O of surprise. The shocking and, to be perfectly honest, delicious nature of his comment was outrageously pleasing. “Your Grace …” she whispered repressively, trying to restrain the rush of excited curiosity as to his meaning.

  “I do adore the way you say that,” he replied huskily, pasting a bored look on his face as they came to stand with her aunts.

  “Well, well, Lady Jersey is wiser than I believed her to be,” Victoria said in greeting, eyeing the duke with amusement. “And you, Your Grace, polish up quite well, I must say.”

  Will bowed before the aunts then flashed a charming smile. “High praise, indeed, especially from you.”

  “Do not become too used to it,” Victoria replied, slyly winking at Lucinda before turning to her sisters. “Ladies, tepid lemonade and abysmal cake first, or straight to the tables?”

  Charlotte gave Victoria a chiding look before answering. “The tables, I believe. Bessie, do you have a preference?”

  Bessie was far too engrossed in admiring the duke’s breeches to hear Charlotte’s query. The slight smile of appreciation on her face made Lucinda swallow her laughter. She knew just how her aunt felt.

  “Aunt Bessie,” Lucinda said a bit more loudly, waving her fan as unobtrusively as possible to gain her aunt’s attention. “Shall we,” she asked, holding out her arm for her aunt.

  Bessie pulled her gaze from the duke and took Lucinda’s arm, the entire group moving towards the card room with its gaming tables. “Yes, quite,” she said, then added, “I’m sorry, where are we going?”

  “To the tables,” Lucinda replied, then whispered, “Do try to keep up, Aunt.”

  “It’s hardly my fault, dear. You are the one that insisted he wear those breeches,” Bessie answered in a hushed tone, the smile returning to her lips.

  “Fair enough.”

  They were, in a word, dangerous. Will now knew what the Furies did to pass the time. No sewing or needlepoint, painting or reading for this trio. No, clearly the three habitually played cards well into the wee hours, if their current individual winning streaks were any indication. Will looked out at his fellow five-card loo players and sighed. “Poor bastards,” he said under his breath, watching the Marquess of Billingham accept his loss and Charlotte’s latest win with as much grace as he could muster.

  “Did you say something?” Lady Lucinda asked softly, her eyebrow arched in a most attractive way.

  “You knew, and yet you did not warn me,” he murmured, bending his head toward her, the intoxicating scent of her skin mingling with the heated air.

  She merely smiled in response. Will existed in a simmering state of arousal in her presence and the wicked curve of her lips badly threatened his control.

  “You brought me here for this very reason, didn’t you?” he asked, leaning in closer. He was much taller than she was, and seated this close, the sight of her breasts as they rose and fell more rapidly in time with her quickened breathing did little to ease his current state. The faster flutter of her pulse beating at the base of her throat only heightened his desire. “It wasn’t enough to watch poor Billingham fall to the Furies. You wanted to embarrass Iron Will.”

  Across the table, Billingham’s wife tapped him on the shoulder and the marquess reluctantly stood, vacating his chair to stroll off with his spouse.

  Lady Lucinda gently blew out a breath, then folded her hands in her lap. “Come now, it’s all in good fun,” she responded, her teasing tone laced with desire.

  “Is it fun you’re after, then?” Will asked softly, resting his hand on the curve of her knee beneath cover of the table. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  She turned toward him and licked her lips before speaking, the sight of her tongue urging Will on. “Are you warning me?”

  “Good evening, all.”

  Will turned abruptly to see Lady Northrop slipping into the marquess’s abandoned chair, Northrop standing just behind.

  Lady Lucinda smiled in welcome and greeted her friend. “Amelia, Lord Northrop, how lovely to see you this evening.”

  Will nodded to Northrop, rolling his eyes when his fellow Corinthian asked whether this was the duke’s first trip to Almack’s. “Surprisingly, yes,” he answered sarcastically.

  “Better late than never, I always sa
y,” came a sultry voice behind Will, the look of distaste on Lady Northrop’s face telling him what he already knew.

  “Lady Swindon,” he replied before pushing back his chair and standing. “I hardly expected to see you here this evening.”

  She adjusted a glove slowly, eyeing Will with a predatory stare. “You’re not the only one with friends in high places, Your Grace,” she answered, peering down at Lucinda with a disingenuous smile. “Lady Lucinda, you look lovely this evening. I do adore the country influence we’re seeing this year.”

  Lady Lucinda acknowledged the thinly veiled insult with a cool glance and brief smile. “You are too kind, Lady Swindon.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” She turned her attention to Will, her catlike eyes gleaming with malicious enjoyment. “Perhaps we should query the duke on such matters. We are, after all, particular friends, are we not, Your Grace?”

  “Lady Swindon,” Will’s voice was lethal. “I believe it’s time for you to go.” He took hold of her arm and turned her around. “I’ll just deliver Lady Swindon to her carriage and return directly.”

  Lady Lucinda nodded in agreement, her face devoid of emotion. “Of course. Good evening, Lady Swindon.”

  Will did not bother allowing time for the woman to respond. Arm in arm, he moved her inexorably toward the edge of the room and the exit beyond. “Just what do you think you’re up to, Sarah?” he growled.

  She pressed her shoulder against him and leaned in. “Perhaps I should be asking you the same question. Lady Lucinda Grey, really? She’s hardly a match for your particular tastes.”

  He marched her down the hall toward the exit, the gilt-edged mirrors lining the walls reflecting their forms. “I hardly think it’s any of your concern.”

  She stopped abruptly, taking him by surprise as she yanked him into an alcove, nearly toppling a potted palm in her haste. “You are wrong on that point, Clairemont. And I shall prove it.” Her lips pressed hard against his, her hands reaching beneath his coat to clutch, gripping his waistcoat.

  He heard a gasp of dismay just as he savagely wrenched his mouth from hers and pushed Lady Swindon away from him. He turned and nearly cursed aloud.

  Lady Lucinda stood in the empty hall, only feet away, her mouth covered with her hand, her eyes filled with emotion.

  “Lady Lucinda, this is not what it seems.”

  Lady Swindon’s low, satisfied chuckle sent Lady Lucinda running down the hall, toward the other end of the building.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” Will growled to Lady Swindon. “Leave. You won’t like what happens if you disobey.”

  He saw her eyes widen in sudden fear. Assured she’d not linger, he hastened to catch up with Lady Lucinda. He saw her approach the staircase leading to the upper floor and hesitated, hoping she would slow if she thought he was not in pursuit.

  Unfortunately, she only quickened her pace, lifting her narrow skirts and taking the stairs as quickly as she could. He followed, reaching the top floor in time to see her disappear through a large oak doorway. He surveyed the empty, silent hall, making sure there was no one about, then let himself into the room, closing the door and locking it quietly.

  It was a storage room of sorts, tables and chairs filling nearly the entire space. Lady Lucinda stood across the room, looking out the window at the dark night.

  “Lady Lucinda,” he began, walking slowly toward her, his movements muffled by a worn carpet.

  She turned to look at him, anger practically rising in visible waves off her body. “I do not wish to speak with you,” she said succinctly.

  Will pulled a flask from the inner pocket of his coat and took a drink. “Bloody hell,” he growled, coming to stand next to her.

  “How dare you use such words in my presence,” she began, eyeing the flask. “And you know very well that spirits are not allowed here.”

  “And you must know that Lady Swindon means nothing to me. If I wanted her back I would have taken her weeks ago.”

  Lady Lucinda pressed a hand against the cold windowpane. “She is brash. And bold. She would think nothing of doing this,” she ground out, reaching for Will’s flask and taking a long drink.

  “Lady Swindon is everything I am not,” she finished, her voice cracking, the words husky from the brandy.

  “Precisely,” Will answered, reaching unsuccessfully for the flask. “My time with Lady Swindon came to an end the moment she married. An end, Lucinda, and of my own doing.”

  She took another long drink, the burn of the alcohol reflected in her pained expression. “But you were lovers—”

  “Lady Lucinda,” he interrupted, reaching out again. “This is not who you are.”

  “Perhaps not now, but I could learn.”

  Will closed the gap between them. “Do not make such ridiculous statements—”

  “If you’ll only be patient, I am confident—”

  He reached out and cradled her face in his hands. “Lady Lucinda, do not say such things. Hell, don’t even think …” He paused, collecting his temper. “You are everything a man could ever want and more.”

  She covered his hands with her own and looked up into his eyes. “Show me.”

  * * *

  Lucinda did not know if it was the effects of the brandy or simply her heart winning out over her head, but she needed the duke in a way that she’d never felt before.

  Happening upon him with Lady Swindon in the alcove had been torture, rage and jealousy filling her entire being until she’d had to run away or risk making a fool of herself.

  “Lady Lucinda,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  She gently urged him closer. It did not matter that she knew little of what she was doing. Nor did she weigh the consequences that would surely come with such a bold move. Lucinda abandoned all that she knew of what she should do, and instead let her heart lead her astray.

  She went up on tiptoe to reach him and pressed her lips against his, pouring all of the torrent of emotion she was feeling into the embrace.

  His body tensed, muscles going hard with seemingly iron control as he hesitated, pulling his mouth from hers and looking deep into her eyes. “You do not want this,” he ground out, his breathing labored.

  “You’re wrong.” She rested her cheek on his, her lips nearly touching his ear. “I want this. But more importantly, I want you.”

  “You do not know what you ask of me,” he growled, his hold on her arms tightening.

  “Please.”

  He took her mouth with such seductive force Lucinda nearly wept. His tongue sought out hers, leaving her breathless with anticipation. She was barely aware he released her arms, but then his hands moved to her waist, rough caresses causing fresh sparks of need to ignite in her veins.

  She ran her hand through his hair, stopping at the nape to entwine a lock between her fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut, a pleasurable sense of dizziness pushing her toward something that both thrilled and terrified her.

  His mouth left hers and his lips trailed a slow assault down her neck, kisses so sweet yet so seductive Lucinda thought they would surely drive her mad. She was vaguely aware that he walked her backwards before urging her gently to the floor and onto the soft, thick pile of a Persian carpet.

  She opened her eyes and watched as his head bent toward her, sighing as his mouth moved over her throat, then lower, to the slope of her breasts above the gown. He tugged the bodice lower. He sucked at first, then licked the shape of her entire breast before moving on to the other one.

  “Yes,” she urgently whispered, every inch of exposed skin screaming for his attention. “More.”

  His hands stroked down the length of her, over the inward curve of waist and the outer curve of hip and thigh. She shivered beneath the pleasure of clever hands before he reached the hem of her pale blue evening gown and slowly pushed it up, first to her knees, and then her thighs, stopping just below her waist. He lifted away from her, just far enough to take in the sight of her, and his eyes hazed
with desire. His gaze seared her skin and her heart beat faster.

  Desperate for release, she caught his hand in hers and kissed the palm. She took one finger in her mouth, sucking lightly at first, then harder, the salty taste of his skin surely the most intoxicating flavor she’d ever encountered.

  “Bloody hell,” he growled.

  Lucinda opened her eyes at the sound, seeing the duke pull at his neckcloth and rip it from around his neck. He pulled his finger from her mouth, caressing first her top lip, then the bottom before tracing a path between her breasts and down to her belly and beyond, coming to rest just below her corset.

  He towered over her, supporting himself on his knees while one hand reached for her breasts, gently tugging at a nipple then releasing, drawing a circular pattern in and out, heightening the desire.

  The sensations pulsing through Lucinda’s body and mind surged in waves, higher and higher, the unfamiliar pleasure coursing through her veins nearly impossible to contain.

  She felt the sudden brush of cooler air between her thighs. The duke placed his finger where only moments before her chemise had been, rubbing gently, the exquisite friction coaxing Lucinda to new heights.

  Somewhere in her mind reason screamed for her to stop, but she could not. She wanted this—wanted him—more than she’d ever wanted anything before in her life.

  “Please,” she sobbed, looking into the duke’s eyes.

  His fingers quickened their pace, driving Lucinda’s tension higher, and bent to kiss her mouth, the flick of his tongue stirring the sudden explosion of Lucinda’s entire being.

  Pleasure radiated from the juncture of her thighs outward, pulsing through her body. The sensation seemed to build on itself, wave after wave of intense emotion assaulting her anew.

  She threw her arms around him pulling him down on top of her. Stars burst before her heavy lids as she kissed him with every last ounce of energy she had within her, moaning under the pulsating pleasure.

  Long moments later, he dragged his mouth from hers, dropping his head to rest below her breasts. “What have I done?” he asked, the low timbre of his voice vibrating against Lucinda’s sated body.