Tempted By Fire

by Thea Devine

  He wanted her utter and complete submission to him and no one else. The very thought of it made him spurt with a torrent of excitement.

  But she—she would torment him; she would withhold everything until they both couldn't bear it and then — she might capit-

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  ulate.

  God, he hated and he adored the mystery of a woman; had he not vowed never to become enslaved because of his deep-seated fear of abandonment? And would she not tromp on him the moment she was satiated and tired of him?

  Oh yes; a woman like this, full of vinegar and vengeance, full of the sense of her power of men, a woman like this would kick the dirt of her shoes in his face and think it an amusing trick just as she was turning to the next man for admiration and dalliance.

  A woman like her . . .

  Her body shifted again, her hips shimmying against the thick force of his virility, a mute demand for its pumping prowess to possess her.

  "Oh no, Diana, oh no. Only your words can unleash the power in me to pleasure you. Come down from your mountain, Diana. These feelings are as elemental as the earth. Your body knows it. Your body begs me. See how you move against me; your hips entice me, pleading with me to join your dance. How does your mouth, Diana? Can your lips shape the words?"

  She shook her head mutely, her hips jamming against his inflexible erection, imploring him to move, to begin his masterful drive to inexorable release.

  "Diana . . ." he whispered hoarsely, clamping his hot hands over her plunging hips.

  "Oh God, oh lord, oh yes," she sobbed, hating him, cursing him for pulling at her like this, for denying her; she would get him, she would. If she said the words, she would make sure he regretted them. And still, in the throes of her torrid need, she felt the arousal of finally capitulating to him.

  "Oh yes, let me feel you, I need to feel you," she begged him, the words almost clogging in her throat. Oh, but not quite. The sense of release in actually saying the thing that she wanted sent a spiraling excitement through her. And a sense of power. She felt his galvanic response to the heat of her words.

  She felt like she could use it: words made her free. "Let me feel you," she whispered enticingly, as he reared backwards to 185

  take the first long powerful thrust within her, "all of you— slowly, my lord, slowly ... oh yes, oh yes . . ."

  Just the words. Words had weight, words created potency; her words directed him now, their life in the air between them arousing her unbearably as he slowly slowly thrust his virile manhood into the source of her pleasure.

  "Yes, yes . . . oh . . . ummm ..." He swallowed her moans with his kisses, deep dark kisses, wet lush kisses that could not quell her deep moans of surrender.

  He felt ready to explode; his body took on a motion of its own, fed by her thick hot kisses and her primitive response to the feel of him driving insistently into her.

  She wrapped herself around him instinctively, her long silken legs enfolding him, her arms embracing him, her body moving in shimmering counterpoint to his long hard lunges.

  Her kisses grew frantic, heated, wet; she drove herself feverishly against his thrust, seeking the point of pleasure, the swell of the onset of the opulent sensation that would begin her molten climb to culmination.

  It was there ... it was there ...

  She felt insatiable, as if it would never come, that his lathered body would collapse before either of them scented sweet release.

  And then suddenly, like a container toppling and spilling its contents, it was there, a torrent of sensation, streaming out from her center core all over her body, a deluge that utterly carried her away on ribbons of gushing sensation.

  He felt the change in her, he felt her give, he pressed, he pushed, he rammed against her perfectly in time, and he hurtled over the edge of satiety into his own racking, wrenching release that went on endlessly, mindlessly, as if his body needed to fill hers with every last drop of his male juices so there would be room for no one else.

  There were no words after that; she could not be cruel after such shattering pleasure. Not at once. But he made no move to leave her; he lay nestled within her, still staunch and hard and strong, his weight heavy on her now, his nakedness intrusive.

  "Surely you must go," she said finally, and her tone reflected

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  none of the fulminating passion they had shared.

  Courtesan to the core, he thought violently. But what had he expected?

  "No, Diana, I must stay. I like having you on your back and begging for pleasure. It may be that you will come to the point of wanting again."

  "Never," she retorted, but in the aftermath of their passion and with his full nakedness impressed upon her, she knew her denial had no heat whatsoever.

  But neither did her body feel any heat; her body felt saturated with their comingled wetness and a total sense of repletion.

  The worst thing she could do, she thought, would be to fall asleep in his face. And she would think about the rest tomorrow.

  It would be on his head if Marie found him in her bed in the morning: he would have to explain to Lady Waynflete . . . no, maybe she would . . . she felt the lassitude of satiation creep over her.

  Nothing mattered then, as the little light in the room crumbled into embers, and the weight of his body became a cocoon of warmth surrounding her.

  Nothing . . .

  He watched her drift off to sleep, his emotions in turmoil, his sure sense of her perfidy seeded deep within his soul.

  Oh, this was a bitch from the very first word; he wasn't even sure that Dunstan wasn't right about it. Every one of his instincts had betrayed him.

  He had uplifted a gaming house strumpet and he was being well and amply repaid.

  He would take Dunstan's advice: he would use her and lose her.

  But he stayed enfolded within her until long after Lucretia returned home; and he finally left in the darkness of the dawn.

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  Chapter Ten

  The Tallinger's dinner party was supposed to have been small and select but, as Lady Tallinger said, "Town was supposed to have been so thin of company, and before we turn around, we have Jane Griswold, and Charles, the Beckwiths, Chevrington, Annesley ... I felt bound to include everyone because I would not slight anyone. It will be lovely to have everyone at table tonight. The more the better, Jarman always says. Dear Lucre-tia . . ." she greeted Lady Waynflete.

  "My protegιe," Lady Waynflete said, "Jainee Bowman."

  "Jen-ay, Jen-ay? What an odd pronunciation of Jenny. Well, no mind. Welcome my dear. I'm so glad to have you."

  "And Dunstan Carradine?" Lady Waynflete asked. "Will Dunstan be in attendance tonight?"

  Lady Tallinger shook her elegant gray head. "No, no. Of course, Dunstan—he cried off at the last moment, Lucretia. Business again, although I have yet to fathom exactly what this business of his is."

  "Nor have we all," Lady Waynflete murmured as she nodded to Jainee to precede her into the parlor.

  It was like a little homecoming. She knew everyone there: her three unabashed admirers, several others she had met in passing at the opera, and Nicholas Carradine, forbidding and formidable in his usual black formal dress, his expression as dark as his eyes as he caught sight of Jainee and her newest blatant gown.

  God, no wonder those idiot bucks were throwing themselves at her feet and just begging her to step all over them. She was

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  dressed like a trollop with only the cut of the gown as any concession to good taste. Everyone's eyes were positively pinned on her damped down underdress and on the round low bodice which seemed to be held up by a vee of two silver straps that circled her neck and cut right across the mounds of her breasts to fasten at the center of her midriff with a silver pin.

  He could see every nuance of her body beneath the clinging undergown.

  And so could everyone else, he thought wrathfully, as he watched her positively negotiate the room, leaving panting partisans in
her wake.

  There were a half dozen people she did not know, but she remedied that tack in minutes: they were all enslaved by her beauty, her body and her flirtatious silvery fan, and he felt like throttling her for her effortless ability to seduce whomever she chose.

  She made it look easy; there was something so inviting about the look of her, and the way she tilted her head just so when listening to someone. She always had either a question or a pouty little comment that did not fail to captivate her listeners.

  Because they all wanted a long loving glimpse at her shamelessly bared breasts, he was sure, and certain she had dressed so provocatively just to annoy him and command the attention of those present.

  He quelled his wrath. There were ways to make Diana of the drabs understand that public display was not good ton—if indeed she wanted to remain under Lucretia's protection.

  In the meantime, he supposed he could eke some enjoyment out of the way she played with his friends, and with the knowledge that the night before, she had wantonly played with him.

  "My lord." Her soft voice, her disarmingly correct and revealing curtsey: she was a consummate actress. He was a fool.

  "Miss Bowman. I beg your indulgence; my mind was elsewhere."

  "It is a nice change, my lord," she said tartly. Yes, he understood that reference very well. "Ah, I see Charles Griswold

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  across the room and I have not spoken to him yet."

  "Be sure you only talk with your mouth, Diana," he said in an undertone, cursing himself, even as he spoke, for demeaning himself to even caution her.

  She went off in a whirl of gauzy muslin and Lucretia took her place by his side.

  "The chit makes you crazy, Nicholas; I don't much like that," she said, putting a comforting hand on his arm. "I feel very leery about this whole entanglement. Think, Nick —for all you know, she may have some secret agenda."

  He looked down at her. Such a tiny lady for such large concerns, he thought, gently removing her hand. "But Lucretia, for all you know, so may I."

  She felt properly chastised, and she was surprised that she resented it. She had never disapproved of anything Nick had done—ever. "I just do not like the look of it. I will not renege on my promise to help you. I just hope that she will continue to behave in a way that I can support until you have done with her."

  That is all I ask," he said gently, his burning black gaze following Jainee around the room as she greeted or was introduced to the rest of the guests.

  "And Dunstan did not come," Lucretia said, somewhat mournfully, following the track of Nicholas' interest.

  "I did not know until I had arrived—" Nicholas began, but he was interrupted by Annesley, another bosom friend, a man of like age, complexion and bearing. They were of a height and coloring as well, except that Annesley's face was less sharp and angular and he was not so fit as Nicholas. His eyes were a soft melting brown and there was some gray in his hair.

  But there was definitely interest in his voice as he accosted Lady Waynflete and said buoyantly, "That beauty . . . where did you find her, Lucretia? Everyone is bowled over with desire: that dress, that body, that mouth . . . !"

  "And still," Lucretia said ironically, "she is every inch a lady."

  "Very good, Lucretia. The lady of desire. The lady desire.

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  Excellent: we have just named the new incomparable of the season. Griswold! Chevrington! Here—a toast ... to Lady Desire!" He lifted his cup toward Jainee who was deep in conversation with Lord Tallinger.

  "And best of all," he added, nudging Nicholas as if he were a conspirator, "we met her first . . ."

  ******************

  It was an interminable dinner. Jainee sat between Annesley and Lord Tallinger and across from Nicholas and Jeremy and she felt as if both of them were monitoring every smile, every movement, every time she looked into her dinner partner's eyes.

  Still, she managed very well to give equal attention to Annesley and her host, and she decided she didn't care what Nicholas Carradine thought or felt because there was nothing he could do to stop her from being a triumph tonight.

  He needed to be taken down a peg anyway, after last night, after her cowardly capitulation to him. Oh, but the sweet power of the moment lived deep within her and she was beginning to understand that she must always be prepared.

  She looked up at one point to see Annesley lift his glass at her and then toward Nicholas and mouth something across the table.

  Nicholas' eyes blazed and he sipped his port thoughtfully in the wake of whatever joke Annesley had pantomimed. But his eyes were not on his friend; his eyes were on Jainee and Annesley's close attention to her obvious charms.

  He thought he might strangle Annesley. Lady Desire ... the damned sobriquet would be all around London like wildfire by tonight and he couldn't extinguish the conflagration even if he wanted to: it would open the door to too many questions and speculation about his involvement with her.

  And wasn't the irony of it that he needed her reputation to be as pristine as possible while she culled the various society events for this phantom of a father who probably didn't exist.

  Lady Desire—they would whisper it behind her back and it

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  would arouse them to try to take untoward hberties with her. If there were a name, they would think, there must be a reason.

  Lady Desire—it would connect in sibilant whispers at every function to which she would be invited, and she would be invited to some purely because she bore the name.

  And she soon would see the folly of her flouting him. She might even beg for his protection at that point, offering anything in her power in order to escape the libertine society into which she had deliberately insinuated herself.

  "God, those eyes," Annesley muttered. "Those breasts. That body. Good God, Nick, don't you see it? She should add a bit of hot-tailed spice to the season, don't you think? Why don’t you pitch yourself at her, Nick—and get the Emerlin off your back? She will positively turn Aphrodisian when she catches sight of the Lady Desire. And that bag-witch mother of hers— she may commit mayhem—"

  "And / might if you continue in this vein, Max. I admit she's a fetching piece, but she probably doesn't have enough wit to saddle a horse with."

  "Hell, man, I would take her on myself if I could afford her."

  "Lust and money do walk hand in hand," Nicholas said drily.

  "It ain't something you have to worry about in any event," Annesley said repressively, "and she will be a fleshier mistress than the betting books at White's, and a damn sight more pleasurable. Just think about sinking your . . ."

  “A brutal picture to paint for me in public place, Max, or hadn't you thought of the repercussions?" Nicholas asked lightly as he turned away from the scene of protracted leave-taking to hide his burgeoning erection.

  "Oh hell, I feel 'em myself," Annesley muttered. "She is something. I named her right, Nick. Just thinking about her— Lady Desire—just melting for you, begging for you—she's a taker, Nick. You'd be better off with this fancy piece than the next floating faro game. I would take her on myself, I swear. Look at those breasts: she cannot be wearing anything beneath

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  that slip. I would wager you she is naked under that dress, Nick."

  "And just how would you confirm that?" Nicholas asked dangerously.

  "I would strip it right off her body. She would love it. Look at those hot eyes, Nick. No woman goes naked unless she wants that kind of attention. She's getting it too, Nick. You may have to stand in line to buy a moment of Lady Desire's time."

  "You can't pay the price," Nicholas said flatly.

  "No, I can't. That's why I want to live vicariously through you, old man. I would love to imagine you fondling that body. I would love to think of you getting the best of her and leaving her begging for more. She has got just that kind of look, Nick. I don't understand why Lucretia don't see it. It's there. Every manjack in this company sees it.
They're counting silver in their hands, trying to figure out the going coin for one cleverly fashioned Aphrodite who moves through the fair as one of their own."

  "Don't count on it, Max. Your Lady Desire has been coached to have some measure of discretion."

  "Anyone who dresses like that has no prudence whatsoever, Nick. Does she go to Ottershaws' next week?"

  "How would I know? Do you?"

  "I wouldn't miss it. No telling who will turn up: look at tonight. Till then, I will spend the week on the delightful prospect of musing on the possible state of Lady Desire's un-dress, should she be fashionable enough to be invited. Au revoir, Nick."

  "Max."

  Nicholas watched him leave with mixed emotions. Annesley was only saying what everyone else was thinking. It was one of his great charms that he could do so and get away with it in polite company, but he was so inoffensive and took such gustatory pleasure in it that no one was ever offended.

  Except, perhaps, himself, but he was supposed to be at arm's

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  length from the lady of desire. He was supposed to know nothing about it, and he didn't know how he was going to remain cool if every last one of his friends felt the same about her as Annesley.

  Annesley would die if he knew that his lady desire had been moaning with pleasure in bed with him the previous evening.

  And she looked quite ready to play coy games with him again tonight.

  By then, everyone had departed except for himself, Lucretia, Jeremy and Jainee.

  Nicholas called for their carriages, which then pulled up side by side before the Tallingers' townhouse steps.

  Jeremy helped his mother in hers, and reached out his hand for Jainee.

  "I will take Miss Bowman back to Lady Waynflete's," Nicholas said, motioning to his footman to open the door for her. "Hand over her cape, Lucretia. I promise I won't eat her."