“Handsome devil, isn’t he?” Lady Needham asked softly. “I must say I had my eye on him, but he’s been in love with another for ever so long.”
“You know who he is?” Maggie asked, startled.
“Of course I do, my dear. But I can’t tell. It would spoil the fun.” Her hostess winked. “And what good is the world without a spot of fun?”
Her mystery man inclined his head, acknowledging her ever so slightly. A spot of fun indeed. She couldn’t look away from him. It was as if no one else in the breakfast room, none of the other glittering, tittering masked revelers, existed. Her heart gave a sudden pang. Why had he left without waking her? Would he seek her out again? She couldn’t bear to hope. The world-wise woman within her knew she ought not to hope.
“Ah, it would seem that our gallant has eyes for one lady only this morning.” Lady Needham’s voice was still quiet, but an edge of curiosity had crept into her smooth drawl. “Lucky, lucky Lady New York.”
“Sandhurst,” Maggie corrected her without thought. Drat, perhaps she should have kept her identity secret. She forced herself to look away from the man who had so easily set her world on end. “I’m Lady Sandhurst,” she admitted to her hostess, albeit sheepishly. If she’d been hoping to seem worldly, she’d just failed.
Lady Needham gaped at her. She appeared to be a woman very rarely at a loss for words. But Maggie had managed just that. She supposed she was something of a recluse in society, certainly not known for much of anything save having a husband who was desperately in love with Lady Billingsley. She’d grown accustomed to that unfortunate bit of fame.
“Sandhurst,” her hostess repeated at last, sounding utterly perplexed.
She shifted uncomfortably, her corset pinching her waist. “I’m aware my husband’s reputation precedes me.”
Lady Needham stared. “You don’t know, do you?”
Maggie frowned. “Of course I know, my lady. It is exceedingly difficult to avoid gossip in London, try as one might.”
“Just so.” A small, indecipherable smile played at Lady Needham’s red lips. “I’m pleased you’ve joined us for our naughty revelries, my dear. Welcome to the wicked.” She held up her diminutive glass of juice in a petite toast.
“Thank you,” Maggie murmured, feeling still rather confused by the exchange, and more than a bit intimidated. She supposed she ought to express gratitude, even if it would seem she’d been given her initiation to the wicked the evening before. A most thorough welcoming that had been. Trying to stifle the heated thoughts that particular thought produced, she raised her glass of freshly squeezed juice from her orangery as well.
“I’ve just had a depraved thought, my dear Lady S.”
“Call me Maggie,” she invited her newfound friend. She’d never become accustomed to her married name, especially since it was a mantle she’d never worn in truth. In her heart, she was still plain old Margaret Desmond, who’d been something of a wallflower in New York society and had remained one in London.
“Maggie, then.” A full-blown smile blossomed on Lady Needham’s face. “And you shall call me Nell. I’ve a delightful game of naughty charades planned for this afternoon, and I’d love dearly for you to join me. Will you?”
Good heavens. She’d never dabbled much in parlor games, and especially not the iniquitous sort. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to play. I’m something of a newcomer to the wicked, if you’ll recall.”
“Ah, that can be easily remedied. I’ll teach you.” Nell winked. “Besides, the stakes aren’t necessarily high. They’re only what you wish them to be.”
Maggie pondered her hostess’s mysterious reply as she turned her attention back to her plate. Somehow, she suspected there was something more to her hostess’s invitation, something she was too untried to comprehend. There was no hope for it. She supposed she would simply have to rediscover her old sense of adventure. Perhaps she had allowed it to lapse for far too long.
* * * * *
Bloody, bloody hell. Simon studied his wife in her stunning afternoon frock of violet silk. She wore twin diamond stars in her artfully piled hair. Her waist was cinched to a perfect silhouette, emphasizing her generous bosom, which was revealed by the deep cut of her bodice. She laughed at something a no-account blackleg said to her. He wished it didn’t sound so deuced inviting. He wished she wasn’t so damn beautiful. He wished he’d never known the exquisite pleasure of making her come the night before. More than anything, he wished she wasn’t his wife. Wanting her would have been so much easier if she were anyone else’s wife but his.
But she was, and for some stupid, mutton-headed reason, he’d decided to stay on at Lady Needham’s den of vice. And for some equally stupid, mutton-headed reason, he’d allowed himself to be cozened into a game of naughty charades. Of course, when his hostess had first presented the invitation, he hadn’t realized his wife would be a part of the games. If he had, he’d likely have run in the opposite direction, arse-on-fire style.
Or would he have?
He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. Why the hell couldn’t he have made love to another woman in her stead? Any other woman would have done. Every other wanton society woman was present, and he’d had to choose her. What a duffer he’d been, rendered too oblivious by his lust to see what was plainly before his nose.
She glanced at him then, and damn if her blue stare didn’t send a surge of lust straight to his traitorous cock. He thought of how lovely her breasts were, pert handfuls with luscious nipples that tightened when he sucked them. He thought of how she tasted, sweet and musky, how she had cried out and writhed beneath him in her introduction to pleasure.
He’d taken his wife’s maidenhead.
The thought was still enough to make him ill. Almost. Very likely, it would have if it hadn’t also made him so painfully hard. Desperate for distraction, he turned to his lovely hostess, Lady Needham. She was an old acquaintance, blonde and petite, ineffably lovely, old enough to know the rules of jaded love and just the sort of woman a man could dally with free of consequence. She and Lord Needham had been living separate lives for some years. She never spoke his name. He hadn’t ever thought it odd, but for some reason he did now.
“I must say I haven’t indulged in charades since your last party, Nell,” he said quietly, allowing his fingers to trail for a moment at her elbow. “I haven’t forgotten.”
She smiled, fine lines forming at the corners of her eyes. For all that she was an acclaimed beauty, even she was not goddess enough to avoid time’s unforgiving hand. “Ah yes, I believe you had Lady Billingsley as your companion then.”
He stiffened at the mentioning of Eleanor, still painful. “And you wound up dancing on the table.”
Her expression turned sly. “Did I? I daresay I don’t recall.”
“I saw your drawers,” he drawled, recalling every moment of her impromptu performance. No one could hold a candle to Nell when it came to bravado.
“Odd, that.” She winked. “I don’t ordinarily wear them.”
He grinned back at her, glad for the levity. He’d had such few opportunities for it of late. If only her revelation had some effect on his cursed lust. But though Nell remained alluring as ever, she wasn’t the woman causing his blood to race to the wrong end of his body. “Are you wearing them today, my dear?” he asked mildly, trying to divert his attention from his inconvenient attraction to his wife. “Lord knows I’m in need of a pleasant distraction.”
Most women would have swooned at such a question. Nell threw back her head and laughed. “I suppose that is for you and the rest of the company to discover.” She tapped him on his coat sleeve. “Now do come along. It’s time to start the festivities, and if it’s a diversion you need, I have just the thing for you, Simon darling.”
* * * * *
Dear sweet heavens.
Maggie twined her hands together nervously and paced the length of the chamber she’d been assigned by Lady Needham. It was a man’s chamber. Of that much
she was certain. But whose? She was beginning to fear that naughty charades was a great deal too naughty for her sensibilities.
Nell, as she was wont to be called, had blithely explained that each lady was to retire to a chamber she appointed for them and to await the partners she chose to send them. Upon the arrival of their partners, charades would ensue. They were to keep score and announce the winners at dinner. Of course, Nell had added with a wink, the naughty portion of the charades was left to the imagination of the players themselves.
Naughty indeed. She fanned her heated cheeks with her hand. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to escape. She was decidedly in the rabbit hole and most definitely over her head. Her decision made, she rushed for the door, her silk mules clipping on the carpet.
The door opened, stopping her completely. Her heart fluttered, her stomach feeling as if it were tipping like a runaway carriage. And then the nervousness quickly melted into a far more heady sensation.
Anticipation.
It was him. Her lover. He too stilled, his gaze burning into hers. His sensual mouth flattened in what she could only suppose was displeasure. Had he been hoping for someone else? Perhaps the night before was all he had sought from her. Perhaps she had disappointed him in her clumsy innocence. There was also the troubling matter of the woman he’d loved. Even Lady Needham knew of his past, and he had told Maggie himself that he had loved the woman for many years. Such strong emotion wouldn’t dissipate easily. Mayhap he harbored regrets because of her.
“You,” he said, the lone word filled with emotion.
Anger? Irritation? She couldn’t tell. “Sir,” she said lamely, dipping into a curtsy. It was likely a silly show of formality in their circumstances, but she was unbearably nervous. What was the proper protocol for greeting the man who had made passionate love to her the night before, the man whose name and face she didn’t even know?
“Damn Nell for this,” he gritted. “She thinks she’s being clever.”
Oh dear. He wasn’t pleased. In fact, he seemed wound as tightly as a watch spring. She faltered, at a loss. “Clever?” Did Lady Needham know what had transpired between them? The prospect was mortifying.
“Never mind,” he growled, snapping the door closed at his back before stalking into the chamber. “It would seem we’re at the mercy of our hostess’s whims.”
“I’m sorry you find my company so offensive,” she murmured.
He frowned, his eyes darkening to a deep, glittering emerald. He stopped a mere foot away from her, clenching his fists. “Not precisely offensive. There are things at work here that you don’t understand.”
It was her turn to frown. “You are correct in that I don’t understand the reason for your sudden discontent. But perhaps you could enlighten me.”
“I could.” He spun on his heel and gave her his back, striding in the opposite direction. “But I don’t wish to, and I find I’m too bloody old for a game of naughty charades.”
He reached for the door, preparing to leave her, and in that moment she was stricken by the oddest feeling that if she allowed him to leave, it might well be the last time she saw him. She hurried after him, her heart making her act even when her head balked at the notion. “Wait.”
He stopped but didn’t turn to face her, didn’t say a word. His head was bowed as though he were waging some sort of inner battle.
Uncertain now that she’d given him pause, she laid a tentative palm on his shoulder. Images of their wild night of passion hit her. She thought of how wonderful his tongue had felt on her most sensitive flesh, how he had filled her, brought her to the heights of pleasure. She knew his shoulders were broad and strong, smooth to the touch. Before she could rethink her actions, she stepped closer, her skirts brushing his trousers, and wrapped her arms about his lean waist. She laid her head against his back, breathing in his spicy scent, relishing his nearness, his seductive heat radiating into her.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice sounding thick.
How lowering. “Embracing you.”
“Why?”
Heavens, if he had been such a surly lout the evening before, she surely never would have invited him to her bed. But his reaction now aside, if she’d learned anything from her past, it was that she would never again follow her head rather than her heart. “Because I couldn’t let you go without touching you one more time,” she admitted, flushing even though he couldn’t see her face.
He tensed. “You don’t know what you’re playing at, my lady.”
“You’re utterly right. I don’t.” But he hadn’t extricated himself and that had to count for something. “I do know I’ve never felt more alive than when you made love to me.”
She decided in that instant that she would take the two remaining days she had at Lady Needham’s and make them worthwhile. Afterward, she would return to her solitary life in London. Perhaps this was her only chance for passion. How could she simply allow him to walk away as if he hadn’t changed everything?
Feeling very brave, she slid her hand over his flat stomach down to the placket of his trousers. He was already hard, but as her fingers tentatively traveled over the outline of his cock, he became positively rigid. He sucked in a breath. An answering heat bloomed through her. She wanted him inside her again. And novice though she may be, there was no mistaking his response. After all, he still had not fled the chamber as he’d intended to do. She began to understand that she had a great deal more power than she had ever supposed.
“Do you feel the same way?” she asked, her heart hoping.
“You’re not being fair,” he ground out. “But perhaps I deserve this torture.” He cupped her hand over his stiff cock, showing her how he preferred to be caressed.
“I hold you accountable.” She stroked him, rising to her tiptoes to press a kiss to the side of his neck. “If you hadn’t trounced my train, I never would have met you.”
“Perhaps you’ve already met me,” he said, voice low, velvet to her senses. “Did you ever think of that?”
She pondered his suggestion, for it took her aback. With their masks firmly in place, it was easy to imagine they were strangers who had never crossed paths. More romantic, certainly. Of course, she had met many men in London. None had drawn her to their side in the way this man had. None had done such sinful yet wonderful things to her body. None had made love to her.
Only him.
But why would he pose the question? “Have we met?” she asked him, curious.
“I believe we have,” he answered cryptically.
It seemed as if he knew her identity despite her mask. Had Lady Needham told him? “Do you know who I am?”
“No,” he said on a groan as she continued to tease him. “I begin to think I do not.”
She decided not to further probe him on the subject. Whether or not he knew who she was, they would both return to their ordinary existences. He was perhaps another’s husband. She was certainly another’s wife. They had no future, nothing save this depraved weekend of abandon.
“Do you still think you’re too old to play charades?” she queried, tongue in cheek. Good heavens, she was feeling beyond brave now. It was as if Lady Needham’s infectious yet incorrigible persona had worn off onto her. She didn’t even recognize herself.
“Hell.” He turned around at last, slipping his arms round her waist. “You’re going to kill me.”
She tipped back her head, meeting his gaze. “Not today, I hope.”
“Tell me what you want from me,” he said, voice gruff.
She didn’t hesitate. “I want to feel you inside me again.”
“Naughty woman.” He dipped his head close to hers, barely grazing her lips as if he couldn’t help himself. “Did you like having my cock in you?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed.
“Do you want it again?”
“Of course I do.”
“Mmm. You’ll be the end of me for certain.” He took her mouth in a ravaging kiss then, hot and hungry, open a
nd possessive.
She kissed him back, locking her wrists around his neck and pressing her body to his. Their tongues tangled as she welcomed him once more, tasting him. Her nipples hardened beneath her chemise and the stiff abrasion of her corset. Her fingers sank into his thick, soft hair. Oh good heavens, she was on fire for him. What did this man do to her? She had lived twenty-two years without ever feeling as if she were about to burst into flame. And yet now, here she was, helplessly in this stranger’s thrall.
She broke their kiss, catching her breath. “And you shall surely be the death of me as well.”
“Petite morte I hope,” he returned, grinning.
“Little death?” She raised a brow, intrigued.
“The best sort. I’ll show you.” He kissed her lingeringly. “Fuck, I want you naked.”
It seemed she had altered his mind. She knew a sweet rush of satisfaction coupled with anticipation. “I don’t have my lady’s maid to assist me.”
“You don’t require a lady’s maid for assistance when I’m about, my dear.” He dragged his lips down her neck, sucking at her sensitive skin while he undid the delicate shell buttons lining the front of her bodice.
She was instantly grateful that she’d chosen to wear her purple silk Worth gown. The bodice was separate from the skirts, allowing for easier disrobing. She hadn’t had a thought for it that morning when her maid had dressed her. But now she was incredibly glad. Being disrobed by her lover was wholly delicious, a world away from being circumspectly stripped by her servant.
This man relished each opened button, every exposed inch of her skin. She helped him by untying the elaborate bows at her elbows and shrugging her bodice from her shoulders. He whipped it away as if it were no more important than a fly, dropping it to the floor in a whisper of sound.
She was before him in her linen corset cover and her elaborate skirts. Never mind how she would redress herself. All she could think about was succumbing once more to their mutual passion.
Her Lovestruck Lord: 2 (Wicked Husbands) Page 4