Tempt the Devil

by Anna Campbell

  He wasn’t even hurting her. His mouth wasn’t brutal and the hand behind her head speared through her hair almost tenderly. For all its implacability, his grip was gentle. He didn’t use his unquestionable power to flatten her onto the desk so he could rip at her trousers and push his way into her.

  None of this mattered. What mattered was the sense of being overpowered, forced, compelled against her will. Her stubborn pride faltered, began to fracture. She was at the point of releasing the scream when abruptly the kiss changed.

  The demanding pressure eased. He brushed her lips with a torrent of little kisses, seemingly innocent. Although innocence, she already knew, was a word foreign to this man.

  No, these glancing nibbles and licks were the tactics of a hardened seducer. A man confident enough to know that if he took his time, lulled his prey into a false sense of security, he’d get what he wanted.

  Well, he didn’t know who he dealt with.

  No man turned Olivia Raines into a helpless victim. On a surge of fortifying anger, she raised her hands and with all her strength, she shoved at his broad chest. She wrenched her mouth from his. “No!”

  Her push didn’t shift him. He brushed one last kiss across her mouth and stepped back, silently indicating the decision to release her was his alone. He breathed more quickly than normal and his eyes glittered like polished silver. For once they weren’t cold at all. He was still heavily erect.

  So he wanted her. Of course he did. That was why he paid a fortune to set her up as his mistress. Men always wanted her. They’d wanted her since she was a child. But she had the power. She made the choice.

  “You had no right,” she spat.

  Her resentment didn’t dent his arrogance. “What a fuss over nothing. You must know I intend to do more than kiss, Olivia. This coyness doesn’t become you.”

  “It’s not coyness,” she said sharply. She sucked in a calming breath, although panic still frayed her composure. Deliberately, she lowered her tone so she sounded like Olivia Raines, queen of courtesans, not the frightened child she’d once been. “I don’t kiss on the mouth. My lovers have no complaints about my generosity in other areas.”

  Her seductive response didn’t fool Erith. She was paler than usual and her lush mouth, red from his kisses, settled into a strangely vulnerable line. That kiss had affected her. Although unfortunately not with overwhelming lust.

  No, something else happened.

  He just wished to hell he knew what it was.

  Would she be similarly unresponsive when he got her into bed? Surely not. Her previous keepers had waxed lyrical on the pleasures of her body.

  But she’d stood like a warm, fragrant statue under his lips. There had been no reaction, less even than he’d enticed from her this afternoon.

  He leaned close to draw in another breath redolent of her, although he didn’t touch her. He could wait. Even if his balls felt like they were on fire. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Olivia.”

  He was close enough to see fleeting uncertainty cloud her gaze. “Lord Erith…”

  She caught his arm. Even through layers of wool and cambric, he felt the burning heat of that touch. Before she could draw away, he placed his hand over hers. “Yes?”

  “I was too hasty agreeing to your proposition.”

  Almost absently, his fingers stroked hers. “I thought you made of stauncher stuff, Miss Raines. Are you to falter at the first fence?”

  The eyes she raised to his were dark and turbulent. Beneath her calm surface, wild storms raged.

  “This isn’t a hunt meeting on your estate, Lord Erith,” she said with a hint of asperity. “You think to buy me much as you’d buy a horse or a new pair of boots. But more is at stake and you know it. You and I will not suit.”

  Ah, she came back to herself, thank God. He abhorred the idea that he might have scared her. Although with such a strong woman, fear seemed a puzzling reaction. Especially to something as ephemeral as a kiss. Even if the kiss at the time had felt anything but ephemeral.

  “We’ll suit very well,” he said steadily.

  “That’s for me to say.”

  He reached out and tilted her chin to look into her eyes. He admired her courage in neither flinching away nor avoiding his gaze. “You’re really not curious about how we’d be together?”

  That ironic smile tugged at her lips. “A person in my profession loses her curiosity quickly, my lord.”

  “Then do it because you’re woman enough to tame me. It’s poor spirited to end our bout before we come to grips with one another.”

  Her smile deepened, and his glance fell again to that tiny, alluring mole near the corner of her lips. He was desperate to kiss her again. Only her frozen response to his last kiss stopped him. “This isn’t a wrestling match either.”

  He laughed softly and let her go. The ghost of her warmth lingered on his fingers. “I intend wrestling to be involved.”

  “And fencing.”

  “Definitely. My blade is at the ready.”

  “Your blade is always at the ready.”

  “When I see an opponent worthy of my sword, it is. But my preferred opponent claims she’s not up to my weight.”

  “Wrestling again?”

  “Boxing, Olivia. I want to make you see stars.”

  “You don’t waste time on false modesty, do you?”

  “I don’t waste time.” He paused. “Will you come to me tomorrow or does London’s most independent, capricious female admit she’s met a man she can’t bring to heel?”

  She arched her eyebrows in perfect disdain. “You think to coax me with childish taunts?”

  “I think to coax you. Any way I can. From what I’ve seen, you’ve terrified a bunch of milksops into bending to your will. Test your mettle on a hardier opponent. Why not bring the infamous Earl of Erith to his knees?”

  She gave a huff of dismissive amusement. “You believe I have as much chance of achieving that as of flying to the moon.”

  “But I dearly look forward to watching you try, Olivia. Aren’t you tired of easy conquests?”

  “You think you know a lot about the men who’ve shared my bed.”

  “A good sportsman assesses his competition.”

  “If you tell me you’re leaping into the saddle, I swear I’ll slap you.”

  He laughed again. With every second, his appreciation of her grew. “I’d never be so crass, Miss Raines.”

  “No, you’re a model of decorum,” she said dryly.

  “Not always. As I hope you’ll allow me to demonstrate.” He hesitated. The answer to his next question was more important than he’d have believed possible a day ago. An hour ago, even. “Tomorrow?”

  When she looked at him, her face was vivid with challenge. “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter 3

  Olivia rounded the turn in the elaborately carved staircase and looked down into the hall. It was night and Lord Erith had just arrived at the lovely little house he’d taken for her near Regent’s Park.

  The earl stood below her, his feet planted square on the black and white tiles. He certainly was a handsome devil. Lamplight gleamed across his thick dark hair as he passed hat and cane to the butler.

  He looked splendid in his evening dress. Black coat and trousers, a crisp white shirt, a high neckcloth. The scrolls of embroidery on his gray silk waistcoat shone in the soft light. When he glanced to where she hovered above him in the shadows, his eyes glittered silvery hunger.

  “Olivia.” The bass baritone rumble conveyed gloating satisfaction.

  She read ownership in his stance. Ownership of the house. Ownership of her. Resentment made her raise her chin even as her belly churned with nerves.

  Curse this uncertainty. She needed to remember who she was, who he was. Erith was only a man. Nothing would happen tonight that hadn’t happened before. Once the old, banal dance started, surely she’d find her pattern, follow the steps that were second nature. Nevertheless, her hand tightened on the banister rail until her knuc
kles shone white.

  The butler discreetly withdrew, leaving them alone. She fought to steady her voice. “My lord.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. A family crisis.”

  The apology surprised her. After all, he paid her to await his convenience. “No matter.”

  She stood poised above him like Juliet speaking to her Romeo from the balcony. The fugitive thought left a sour taste in her mouth. Neither she nor Lord Erith was young or innocent or passionate.

  Or in love.

  Real love between a man and a woman was as unreal as Perry’s randy painted gods. Years of servicing her patrons had taught her that.

  His stare remained unwavering upon her. That hot gaze licked across her skin like living flame. He vibrated with unspoken desire. She was wrong to say he lacked passion. He could claim passion, or at least its earthiest variant. She’d seen that intent look on men’s faces too often to mistake it.

  Desperately, she sought the still, calm center that bolstered her when she entertained her lovers. She was appalled that it wasn’t there. Instead, she was a roiling mass of fear and anxiety. Her palm became slick as it flattened on the polished mahogany.

  Perhaps his unwelcome kisses had made her jumpy. They’d certainly inspired bad dreams last night from which she’d woken trembling and bathed in sweat.

  Perhaps she was off-balance because she hadn’t taken a lover for months. The intervals between her liaisons had steadily lengthened. The world interpreted her fastidiousness as an attempt to push up her price, but in reality it was nothing so calculated. As the years passed, she found having a man in her bed less and less palatable.

  It might be time the great Olivia Raines relinquished her self-appointed crusade against the male sex. She had money, and Lord knew she was weary of this empty life. Weary to the bone.

  But first she had to get through tonight, keeping her reputation for cold allure intact. Then the nights that followed, until she could discard Lord Erith on her own terms.

  Retirement from this stale game might beckon, but by God, she’d end her career in triumph. She wouldn’t sneak away like a whipped dog. She’d claim one last victory over a lover then vanish in a blaze of glory. Her pride would accept nothing else.

  The silence, tinged with dark currents of craving and resistance, extended awkwardly. She made herself speak. “Would you like to come upstairs?”

  “My pleasure.”

  She tried to ignore how he drew out the word “pleasure.” He had such a deep voice. The soft but resonant sound set her heart to a frantic flutter.

  With a swish of butterscotch yellow skirts, she turned and mounted the steps to the landing. Among Lord Erith’s preparations for her arrival had been an elaborate wardrobe from her favorite modiste. He must have spent a fortune to have it ready so quickly.

  Behind her, she heard him climb the stairs. Each booted footfall heavy and deliberate. She hid a shiver as she heard every inexorable step stake a claim to her.

  She paused at the closed door and he loomed near enough for her to catch his scent, clean male and sandalwood. Cold sweat prickled her nape under her upswept hair. She kept her face averted for fear he’d see her vulnerability.

  She must be going mad. She hadn’t felt like this with a lover since she was a girl. Dear Lord, if she didn’t seize control, she’d be completely defenseless. And she knew to her cost what men did to defenseless women.

  She sucked in a ragged breath then cursed the betraying rattle of air in her lungs. Erith was too clever to miss any sign of weakness.

  He was the enemy. As all men were the enemy.

  Courage, Olivia.

  She straightened her spine and faced him with a neutral expression. “The servants have laid out a fine supper.”

  His face was intent and he didn’t smile. “Later.”

  His arrogance kindled her temper. At last, thank heaven, she sounded like the serene, worldly courtesan instead of the terrified child she once was. “We’re not animals, my lord, who rut in a field without ceremony. A liaison is a work of art.”

  “You speak a lot of damned rot, Miss Raines.”

  This time her inhalation was pure annoyance. “This is how my affairs proceed, Lord Erith. We have supper, conversation, perhaps a little music, then I retire and prepare myself and you come to take your pleasure. More pleasure than any woman has ever given you.”

  “That’s a big promise.” He sounded unimpressed.

  Curse him for a cynical devil. She deepened her voice to a seductive purr. “You’ll discover ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams if you let me conduct this affair as I wish.”

  Hoping without great optimism that her extravagant promises convinced, she pushed the door. It opened silently on a room bright with candlelight. The air was heavy with the scent of hyacinths and freesias and cherry blossom. Vases of spring flowers whose heady perfume tugged on her senses and added an aura of innocence to an encounter that held no innocence at all. On a red lacquer Chinese sideboard, a lavish cold supper waited, along with a bottle of champagne cooling in ice.

  Assuming an air of confidence, she stepped inside and waited for Lord Erith to follow. Ahead, the bedroom door stood ajar, revealing more flowers and the huge expanse of bed with sheets already turned down.

  She stopped in the center of the room and turned to face him, her spine straight, her chin up, her gaze steady. He strode through the doorway and didn’t stop. His jaw set with unmistakable determination and his eyes were alight with purpose.

  She refused to retreat. He crowded her. Only when she thought he might trample her did she finally take a short step back.

  When she recognized she made even that small concession, she stopped abruptly. Still he pressed onward. If she didn’t move, he’d mow her down. With every unwilling step, the bedroom door behind her loomed closer and closer.

  “What are you doing?” she asked sharply.

  “That’s a fool question, Olivia.” His voice held a ruthless edge that made the hairs stand up on her skin. She’d seen hints of this side of Erith before, but tonight she was alone with him, and clearly he had plans that didn’t require her consent.

  Of course he didn’t wait on her consent. He’d paid a fortune for her body and she’d accepted the bargain.

  “My lord, I told you what I want.” She strove for her usual authority. She tried to sidle from his path, but he stretched out one powerful arm to block her escape.

  “Yes, you did.”

  She gritted her teeth, trepidation and anger a foul brew in her stomach. “I won’t…” She tried to brush past him on the other side but he set his body before her like a barrier. “Blast you, my lord, I’m not a sheep! Stop herding me like one!”

  The corners of his mouth kicked up in a faint smile. “If you insist.”

  She should have known a direct challenge was the last way to achieve her ends. For a shocked moment she registered the way his mouth firmed and his eyes narrowed. Then he grabbed her with implacable hands and swung her off her feet in a tumble of yellow silk.

  Ever since she’d glimpsed him towering over the crowd in Perry’s salon, she’d understood this was a man of more than usual physicality. But only now when he held her close did she register the thick, hard bands of muscle across his chest and arms.

  And his heat. He was like a raging furnace.

  “Put me down!” she choked through a throat tight with outrage.

  “No.” He bent and nipped where her neck met her shoulder.

  “Ow,” she protested, although he hadn’t hurt her. It was galling that he remained so indisputably in charge without violence.

  “I’ve waited for this from the first time I saw you.” He marched across the floor to the bedroom’s open doorway.

  “That was only the day before yesterday,” she bit out, straining away.

  “An eternity.” He adjusted his grip and jostled her closer to the bed. “Stop your damned wriggling. You know I won’t hurt you.”

  “How can I know tha
t? You’re acting like a savage.”

  Olivia hooked her hand around his neck and tugged sharply on the dark hair that curled against the back of his high collar. She’d expected hair so thick and vital to feel coarse under her fingers. Instead it was soft, like rough silk.

  “You cat! I’ll put you down, all right.” He stopped at the edge of the bed and dropped her unceremoniously. Gasping, she bounced on the fine linen sheets.

  Furiously she tried to roll away, but Erith came down over her in a crouch, trapping her with his big body. She heard the fragile silk of her skirt rip as she made another futile attempt to escape.

  Other men had tried to use physical superiority to control her. Her indifference, her strength, her obstinacy, always cowed them to her will. If a lover asked for more than she was willing to grant, she left. Her detachment lent her a power over her patrons few courtesans matched.

  Yet here she was, seething and helpless under Lord Erith. How had he put her so completely at his mercy? And with such effortless ease?

  She’d governed every lover she ever had, after her first. By heaven, she would govern the Earl of Erith.

  “Stop this immediately,” she said in a cold voice, lying stiff as a doll. “You will not treat me like some doxy you’ve picked up in Covent Garden for a few pence.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly. “Just as you won’t treat me like one of your lapdogs.”

  Olivia didn’t bother to protest his insulting description of her previous keepers. He was right, confound him, although how he knew so much was a mystery.

  He pressed a kiss to the place he’d bitten. She jerked away, although that fleeting contact echoed in her blood like distant music.

  “Let me up, Lord Erith.” Astonished, angry, edgy, she lay panting and trembling in the shadow of his body.

  He still looked unimpressed. “Has anyone ever told you you’re rather bossy, Miss Raines?”

  “Not and survived with all their parts intact,” she shot back.

  He gave a startled bark of laughter. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh. The sound’s unabashed freedom surprised her. She didn’t know him well, she doubted she ever would. But she’d judged him as almost inhumanly contained. That sudden release of unfettered humor contradicted the conclusion.