Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  It seemed he was growing impatient for the game to end. Chadbourne had only four tokens left. He might win the chips in the center of the table, but it wouldn’t be because he’d beaten her. She laid down her cards. “I fold.”

  Danny looked at the earl. “Lord Chadbourne, do you wish to see my cards?”

  “You’re bloody right I do.” He gathered up his four remaining chips because to see an opponent’s cards, he had to pay double what the individual players had been betting. One by one he dropped them on top of the pile.

  Danny turned over his cards. Three jacks. Hearts, clubs, diamonds.

  People walking outside the club no doubt heard Chadbourne’s deep groans of dismay. He had the option of showing his cards, but his reaction made it unnecessary. He couldn’t best the dealer’s hand.

  Danny scooped up the wooden disks. “It’s been a pleasure. Hope you’ll join us another evening.”

  “Not Lord Chadbourne,” a deep voice stated with authority. “He won’t be returning.”

  Althea glanced to her left to see Aiden standing there with his arms crossed over his chest in a familiar stance, and she wondered if it was a habit shared by all the Trewlove men. She also wondered how long he’d been there. As he’d wanted to be entertained, he’d no doubt been around for a good bit of what had transpired, although he’d been discreet about it. Another thing the brothers seemed to share: they preferred the shadows.

  “My lord, you’re no longer welcome at the Cerberus Club. My brother has always been more tolerant of those who disparage bastards than I. And lest you think otherwise, I can assure you that within these walls, you will never again win. Not so much as a farthing.”

  Chadbourne squeezed his eyes shut and, with his thumb and forefinger, pinched the bridge of his nose. She’d forgotten how he always did that when he was disappointed or frustrated. Once she’d found it to be a charming little quirk. Now she found it somewhat irritating.

  He opened his eyes, and she suspected he’d been using that time to try to soften his glare. “Congratulations, Althea. Not only have you seen me lose all the money I allotted for the evening as you claimed I would, but you have seen to it that I have lost access to my favorite club. I suppose now we are even.”

  “You are an arse, Chadbourne, to think for one single second that the loss of access to a gaming hell can even begin to compare to the loss of everything, to the extent that I no longer even knew who I was.”

  Chapter 17

  Until she’d spoken the words, she hadn’t recognized the truth of them. When her father had been arrested, she’d become unmoored, had difficulty thinking of herself as his daughter. But she’d had Chadbourne, was betrothed, would become a wife and mother. When he’d turned his back on her, another thread that had comprised the fabric of her being had unraveled, and she’d stood on those stairs no longer certain of who she was. Then the Crown had taken everything, and she was no longer a lady, had no home. She had known and understood every aspect of Lady Althea Stanwick. But who the devil was Althea Stanwick?

  It was half two when she and Benedict walked out of the Cerberus Club to find the carriage waiting for them.

  “I know it’s frightfully cold and the air is scented with fresh rain, but could we just drive around for a while?”

  “Anywhere in particular?” Benedict asked as though her request at this time of night wasn’t absurd, inconvenient, and an imposition.

  “No, I just want the darkness and the absence of anyone about save you.”

  Even when she was alone in her bedchamber, she could sense the presence of the residents and the strangers who called upon them, could often hear the odd little bumps scrapes, and cries that accompanied their actions.

  Now the curtains at the windows were drawn, the fur blanket was tucked about her, the foot warmer had been reheated, her toes were cozy, and Benedict sat opposite her, his long legs stretched out, his booted feet on either side of hers. When he’d positioned them like that, she’d lifted the blanket and draped it over his calves so he could enjoy the warmth with her.

  “I don’t know what I ever saw in him.” When silence was his answer, she added, “Lord Chadbourne. I don’t know why I thought I loved him.”

  “Thought? You didn’t know you loved him?”

  “At the time I was convinced I did. I’ve reminisced about him often, longed for him on occasion, but my memories of him were far too kind. I didn’t much like the man I beat tonight. Did I cheat to do so?”

  “A little.”

  She’d known he’d answer honestly, even if his response cast him in the role of villain. But she couldn’t envision that he’d ever been the villain, not even when he was a lad of eight and nicked a timepiece.

  As much as she craved the darkness, she wished a lantern was burning so she could see his features clearly, judge his expressions, and gaze into his eyes. She was rather certain she’d see a tiny smile of satisfaction. “Whenever you indicated I should fold, the winning hand always would have beaten what I was holding. You’re able to keep track of the cards that are played.”

  “To an extent. The ones that are shown, at least. Then I can make other assumptions based upon how quickly hands are folded. It’s not an infallible method, but it does increase the chances of winning more often than losing.”

  “What makes Danny a special dealer?”

  “His ability to keep track of the cards and his mastery of sleight of hand. He doesn’t always deal the top card, but rather the one below it. Although when I gave him a few quid for his assistance tonight, he claimed only to have dealt from the top.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “He had no reason to lie. Aiden told him to do what needed to be done to ensure the outcome we wanted. However, I suspect he was manipulating the order in which he added the cards to the bottom of the deck. Does it make you feel less victorious to know you might have had some assistance?”

  “No.” She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I was just glad to see the earl lose. I didn’t care how it happened. Which I suppose says more about me than him.” She grew silent, thought about how the night had gone. “The other three gents at the table. Do you know them? I’d like to see their losses returned to them from my winnings.” After Aiden had taken back his stake—as he referred to the chips he’d originally given her—she walked away with a little over twelve hundred pounds. A rather astonishing amount for a couple of hours’ entertainment. She could hardly countenance that people allotted so much money to wagering.

  “Aiden can sort it and let you know how much he’ll need to cover it. He won’t let them know any possible cheating was involved. He’ll probably tell them it has to do with the lady’s remarkable generosity.”

  “I suppose any rumors of cheating in his establishment wouldn’t go over well.”

  “It would not. For the most part, he runs an honest establishment. But on rare occasions when a certain outcome is needed, he’s not averse to doing what must be done to attain it. You don’t have to give any of your take back to the other gents. As I mentioned earlier, anyone who spends any time at a card table eventually loses. It’s understood, expected, accepted.”

  “I’ll feel better about it. Their clothing indicated they were laborers of some sort. I suspect Chadbourne’s boots cost more than they earn collectively in a year.” A time existed when she wouldn’t have known that, hadn’t known how hard people worked for so little pay. She’d cared only about gowns, new dance steps, and the latest gossip. She’d cared about her appearance: her hair, the glow of her skin, her frocks, her hats, her shoes, her gloves. She most certainly never would have gone out in public in a frock with little worn spots here and there or a glove with a tiny hole on the palm side slightly below the spot where her middle finger was attached.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked softly. “Why have them send you a message? Why go there to confront him?”

  The silence stretched out between them, growing thick and heavy.

  Fin
ally, he spoke, his voice a tender caress in the night. “Because you deserved better of the man you were going to honor by becoming his wife.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes. Benedict deserved better than the scorn he’d no doubt received for most of his life. “I’m sorry for the unkind words he said to you. About your birth.”

  “My skin is thick. I’ve had worse said about me.”

  “But you shouldn’t have had. I don’t know if I’ve ever known anyone who cares about the welfare of others as much as you.” In spite of the cold, she removed her gloves and set them beside her on the bench. With her winnings, she could purchase a new pair but would never rid herself of the ones she’d worn tonight. She would put them away in a box so she could more easily hold on to the memory of him taking them off her hands. For the short time it had required for him to do so, no one else had existed in that smoke-filled room that had carried the din of winners’ cheers and losers’ grumbles.

  It was the most effective lesson in seduction he’d given her thus far, although she suspected he’d argue he’d not intended it to be a lesson.

  Very slowly, she swept aside the fur blanket and fought to keep her balance as she swung inelegantly over to his side of the carriage. Because his outstretched legs had caged her in, she’d had very little choice except to land on his lap, which would have caused a proper lady—sitting on his thigh, so close to his crotch, her feet dangling between his legs—to blush profusely in mortification.

  Other than his arm coming around her back to brace her so she didn’t tumble to the floor, she detected no other movement on his part, wasn’t even certain he continued breathing. With her hand, she cupped the left side of his face, so his strong jaw rested against the edge of her palm, the thick stubble coating his chin prickling her skin, sending delicious spikes of pleasure through her. With her thumb, she lightly stroked his full bottom lip. It was soft, smooth, and warm. He was comprised of so many different textures, and she wanted to explore every one of them.

  “Earlier, when you were removing my gloves, I was wondering if you took off all of a woman’s clothing so slowly.” Her voice was a hushed, intimate whisper.

  “Not always.”

  His voice was a rasp that for some reason caused her nipples to pucker and ache. His hot breath wafting over the curve of her thumb made her stomach tighten.

  “I know you claimed it was a mistake, but have you thought at all today about the kiss we shared?”

  “Not a single second has passed that I haven’t thought of it.”

  Heat pooled between her thighs, coursed through her veins.

  In spite of the darkness that made them little more than shadowy outlines and silhouettes, she unerringly pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth that always quirked up when he wasn’t quite ready to give her a full grin. “Do you want to kiss me now?”

  Some sort of jerky movement occurred behind her back, and when his free hand came up and cradled her cheek, the glove that had been keeping it warm was gone. With his long, thick fingers threaded through her hair, he guided her nearer. “More than I want to draw breath.”

  Then he took possession of her mouth as though he intended to own it for all eternity.

  The kiss in no way resembled his removal of her gloves. It wasn’t slow, disciplined, or civilized. It was frenzied, accompanied by his guttural groans as he licked the raised bow of her upper lip before journeying into the interior where their tongues clashed with fervor. It wasn’t only a kiss. It was a feast as each lick created a heated sensation that traveled all the way through her. How was it possible that his occupation with a portion of her could cause the rest of her to feel as though little bolts of lightning were dancing over every inch of her skin? Why did each aspect of her coil and twist into a weave that created a tapestry of sensations?

  In an attempt to steady herself, she clasped his shoulder with the free hand, dug her fingers into him, resenting the thickness of his coat. She lifted her hand to cup his head. He grabbed her wrist, turned his mouth from hers to plant a kiss in the center of her palm, and then carried her hand inside his greatcoat, inside his jacket, and slipped it beneath his waistcoat.

  “Relish the warmth I can offer you,” he rasped, placing her hand at his shoulder over his linen shirt where her fingers clamped hard as he reclaimed her mouth.

  She couldn’t imagine any other man devouring her thusly or her allowing any other man to do so. Not even Chadbourne when she had fancied herself in love with him. She couldn’t envision his arms enveloping her, his mouth engaged in such wickedly wonderful deeds, coaxing her tongue to pass through his parted lips where he suckled it with an enthusiasm that she suspected Chadbourne had never exhibited about anything in his life. Certainly not her. Their relationship had always been a quiet, cool, calm sort of thing. It had never created a storm of desire. Had never made her think, “Without this, I would wither away.”

  It was a revelation at that moment to realize she was incredibly grateful she’d not married him, had not been denied the opportunity to know such wild abandonment.

  Benedict bracketed her hips with his large hands, tearing his mouth from hers, his breaths coming in rushed, greedy gasps for air. “Straddle me.”

  He could have commanded anything of her, and she would have obeyed. Such was his power over her at that moment. A power held because of the vow for more pleasure he offered and the promises of delivering exquisite sensations that he now kept, promises he’d made with smoldering stares and earnest conversations and alluring smiles. He knew what he was about. He’d made sure she knew it as well.

  With his assistance, in spite of the rocking of the carriage, she easily scrambled onto the seat, resting on one knee while she swung her other leg over his and settled the slender cavern between her thighs against the hard ridge between his. They both groaned as though nothing had ever felt as sublime, then released a quick huff of laughter that they should be so attuned to each other. Then each reclaimed the other’s mouth.

  This was better, so much better, facing him squarely. She slipped her hands inside his jacket, clutched both his shoulders, dropped her head back as he trailed that heated mouth along the column of her throat even as his fingers went to work loosening the buttons that ran along the front of her frock. When he reached the last one, he pulled back, and she felt his gaze homed in on her. For a second she resented the shadows that prevented her from seeing the obsidian depth of his eyes and what she might discover revealed in them.

  More slowly than he’d removed her gloves, he glided the edges of his hands along the parted cloth, up the front of her corset, his fingers taking the time to outline each of the steel hooks. The absence of a lady’s maid had made it necessary for her to acquire a corset that fastened in the front so she could more easily dress herself. She couldn’t help but believe that it was on the verge of becoming handier than she’d ever anticipated.

  When he reached the top, his thumbs came together and traveled up to her collarbone and then across it to the edge of her chemise, back to the hollow at her throat. His breath stuttered as he once more neared her corset. Just as she had so easily flicked a wooden token onto a pile, he flicked a hook free of its post.

  “Stop me if you object.” Another flick.

  “I was actually considering offering to assist so the task is completed faster.”

  “Ah, Christ.” His arms came swiftly around her, pressing her forward so where the upper swells of her breasts met landed against his open mouth, his heated breath forming dew at the tight hollow between them.

  His hands returned to their earlier endeavor. Flick. Flick. Flick.

  Her corset fell open, and if she wasn’t still wearing her frock, it would have fallen to the floor instead of merely against the cloth.

  “I can’t imagine how many lovers you’ve had in order to be accomplished enough to do this so unerringly in the dark.” She squeezed her eyes shut, bit her bottom lip. Why the deuce had she said that? Even worse, why had she said
it in such a waspish tone? She didn’t want him to answer, didn’t want to know the number of women with whom he’d lain.

  “I can remember the sequence of the cards placed in an ever-changing order within the deck. I need see something only once to recall how it goes.”

  She didn’t believe for a single second that he’d only ever been with one woman, but deeply appreciated his attempt to reassure her. How many men would have boasted, would have exaggerated the number, in order to demonstrate their virility or to prove how irresistible they were? But Benedict Trewlove never felt a need to prove anything to anyone. He made no excuses for who he was, was content with who he was.

  Leaning in, she took possession of the mouth that so often seemed to utter the words she dearly needed to hear. She didn’t linger, but soon straightened, took his hands, and placed them against her chemise.

  He loosened the ribbon at the top and set the buttons free of their moorings. Which in turn freed her breasts of all constraints.

  His hands replaced the cloth, felt so much lovelier than the cotton and muslin that her reduced circumstances had necessitated. In spite of the shadows, she saw the flash of his teeth as he grinned.

  “I knew they would fill my hands. Perfectly. Your skin feels as though silk, satin, and velvet were all woven together to create a texture that would drive men mad.”

  Men. A courtesan would have a parade of men in her life. Was that what she truly wanted? Lovers constantly changing? The habits of one so very different from those of another? Suddenly, it seemed it would be enough to drive only one man mad. This one.

  Lowering his head, he peppered each breast with kisses, a dozen, two. She didn’t want him to stop. But when he did, it was to circle his tongue around her nipple, and the heat that sluiced through her threatened to scald her. When he drew it into his mouth and suckled, every part of her body wanted to stretch and contract at the same time. Her fingers dug into his shoulders in an attempt to keep her tethered when she felt as though she could float. While his mouth gave attention to one breast, his thumb and forefinger were devoted to the other, rubbing the hardened pearl between them. She was the one being driven mad. Or if not mad, then wild.