“Well, I must get my mind off last night—and the duke. Sibylla has promised to find out where the next séance shall be, and I am determined to finish off a dress that I’m making.”
“I think I shall write, then. Maybe this afternoon the weather will clear enough so that we might take some fresh air.”
“Oh,” Lucy moaned as she fell back onto the bed and covered her eyes with her arm. “I just realized something dreadful.”
“And that is?”
“Do you think the duke will be at Black’s tonight? I don’t think I could face him again.”
“Black’s? Tonight?” She had all but forgotten.
Lucy lifted her arm and glanced at her. “You don’t know? Black sent an invitation around this morning, and Papa accepted. It’s all settled, we’re dining with Black this evening.”
“Oh.” She had planned on never seeing him again. After last night, and her irresponsible behavior, she knew it was the only way. Any more time spent with the earl would be a hazard to her sanity—and her body. She’d had it all planned—avoid the earl and be free of temptation. How difficult would it be? He was a recluse after all.
“What are you going to wear?” Lucy asked. “I think I’ll wear my purple silk. Purple tends to tone down my red hair. Sometimes when I wear purple I can even make myself believe my hair color is brown.” Picking up a handful of red hair, Lucy groaned. “I loathe that I was cursed with red hair.”
“You have gorgeous hair, Lucy,” Isabella mumbled, trying to figure out how she was going to extricate herself from tonight’s dinner. “And I don’t see what it matters. Won’t any of my gowns do?”
With an impish grin, Lucy jumped from the bed and reached for Isabella’s hand. “Come with me, I have just the perfect thing.”
“Lucy, really, I’m sure any one of the dozens of gowns my uncle has purchased for me will do to dine with the earl.”
“Oh, Issy, just indulge me for once.”
“Why am I suddenly worried by that very wicked twinkle in your eye?”
“Because you have no taste for adventure. Now, come along,” Lucy said with a laugh as she dragged Isabella behind her.
CHAPTER TEN
She was beautiful reposed like this—sleeping innocently on a black velvet chaise longue. Her hair was unbound, the loose blond curls spilling over the velvet, a stark and arousing contrast.
He had come to her, to claim her, to feel her warm, pale flesh heat against his skin. His gaze tracked her pulse, the slow beating that gently pulsated in her neck. She smelled so good there, and her skin was always so soft—alive.
What was he waiting for? he wondered. She was there, in his library. This was his domain. His hour—midnight. His powers were at their greatest potency. How was it, this beautiful woman, a being of light and warmth, would walk alongside him, a creature of dark coldness?
He didn’t know how, only knew that she intoxicated him. He was drunk with the ecstasy of desire. She wore a red dress, such a vibrant, deeply sensual color. It made her skin translucent, mesmerizing like moonlight on white flowers. He had watched her all night, mentally undressing her, imagining the pleasures to be discovered beneath that tight bodice.
He knew her body would be perfect, her breasts full and soft, the mound of her belly slightly raised, ideal for raining kisses upon. Her hips rounded—wide, perfect for his hands to mold and grasp. She would be lush beneath him, the softest, most decadent pillow he had ever laid his head upon.
Reaching out, he finally allowed himself to touch her, his hand smoothing along her shoulder, then sweeping across the swell of her breasts. She stirred, moved—and his fingers curled around the satin sleeve and tugged, lowering her bodice, exposing more of her.
Leaning forward, he nuzzled the valley of her breasts, inhaled the fragrance of her skin, licked the flesh that tasted faintly of perfume and salt—the taste of woman.
He had spared her once. He had tried to stay away, but fate always drove him to her. He could no longer resist. He had come to claim her—tonight.
Looming over her, he watched as her lashes fluttered and slowly rose. She was as beautiful now as she was that first night, when he had been poised above her, the color of her skin bluish, her body cold—lifeless in its portrait of death. Tonight, her skin was porcelain, her cheeks and the apex of her breasts crested with pink. She was warm—alive.
She was awake now, yet her eyes were still glistening with the remnants of sleep. With a dreamy smile she reached up and touched him, her fingertips skimming across his cheek.
“I was dreaming of you.”
“Were you?”
She nodded and snaked her hands around his neck, her fingers raking through his hair. “Have you come to claim me finally?”
With his palm on her throat, he felt the flutter of her pulse in the center of his hand—he smelled her growing arousal, and he pressed forward, brushed his mouth against hers and said, “Yes. Finally. You will become Death’s Bride.”
“My lord, will you wear the blue waistcoat this evening?”
Standing before the full-length looking glass, Black glanced at the silk waistcoat Billings held out to him. He saw in the reflection of the mirror that his color was high, and he wondered how long his butler had been standing there waiting for him to reply.
Poor old Billings, putting up with a master such as he. The man had to fulfill not only the duties of a butler, but a valet, and all while the master stood before the mirror reliving a highly erotic dream from the night before.
“Thank you, Billings, but I believe I’ll take the gray with the silver shot through it.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Reaching for his cravat, Black tied the strip of white cloth in a simple knot. He did not care for the current style in neckware; he much preferred the old-fashioned cravat. It had a flair of bygone elegance, and besides, it aided his air of enigmatic reclusiveness.
“I assume you will be going to the lodge after dinner, milord, so you will want your Masonic cuff links?”
“Indeed.”
There were very few people he trusted, Sussex, of course, and the Marquis of Alynwick, who made the third in the Brethren Guardians. The only other person in the world who had his complete trust was Billings. The old retainer had been with his family since Black’s birth. Each male of Billings’s line had served Black’s family, almost from the time his ancestor had come home from Jerusalem, carrying the sacred pendant.
Billings knew of his family’s duty, and he kept Black’s secrets—all of them. Even the unsavory accusations that Miss Fox had hurled at him last night. All of them unfortunately being true.
“Your waistcoat, milord.”
Black took the silk and pulled his arms through as he watched in the mirror Billings taking the black velvet jacket from the hanger.
Shrugging into the jacket, he studied himself. He looked subdued in these colors, but they were what he liked best. He preferred not to stand out in a crowd. Black and gray suited him.
“Shall I trim a bit of this?” Billing inquired politely as he pointed to the ends of his hair. “It lies on your shoulders now.”
“No, I like it this way.”
He found himself wondering if Isabella liked it. Did she find him handsome? Some women did, but others found his dark intensity frightening. In his dream, Isabella had not been frightened of him. In his dream, he had ravished her quite thoroughly and she had welcomed him without fear. He’d awakened hard and throbbing and, unable to forget the vividness of the dream, he’d been forced to take care of his needs.
Things were progressing rather well, he thought as he glanced once more at his reflection. Soon, he would not have to dream of Isabella in his bed, for she would be there, beneath him, atop him and he could live out every wicked, indecent fantasy he had ever had about her.
Black knew without a doubt that Isabella could be a person he trusted with his secrets. She was loyal and he felt, bone deep, that she would never betray him. It was
n’t in her.
There had been few women in his life because of this. He was a man possessed of a heavy sexual appetite, but he fed that appetite by not taking mistresses, but women who preferred to work in trade. He had never visited the squalid brothels of the East End. Mayfair had enough exclusive men’s clubs for that sort of thing. The women were lovely, conversed with ease and did not ask questions. His transactions had always been satisfactory and he had been well contented with the arrangements until Isabella had haphazardly come into his life. Then, sex had been a frustrating exercise. Always left physically replete, he found himself more and more emotion-hungry.
He no longer wanted anonymous sex. He wanted a connection. An intimacy based on love. He wanted to pleasure not out of duty or money, but because he was desired by another. He wanted to give a piece of himself to a woman as he never had before. He wanted to make love. Not fuck.
He’d never thought to have that, not even with Abigail, to whom he had been betrothed since the age of sixteen. Even then, he knew he would never love her. Knew that what would happen in their marital chamber would be born of necessity.
But Isabella…he could love her. He likely already did. And he wanted her. Good God, how he wanted her. He hadn’t been with a woman in months, and his body ached for it, the feel of sliding inside female flesh—Isabella’s tight, virginal flesh.
“If we are done here, milord, I shall go downstairs to check on dinner.”
“Cook should have it well in hand by now,” he murmured as he tried not to think of sex, and how his body ached to show Isabella pleasure. He’d asked her to come to him last night in her uncle’s salon. Would she? he wondered.
“Then the dining room. Polly, the new maid, still requires watching. And I’m certain your lordship is desirous to make a good impression this evening.”
“How well you know me, Billings.”
With a polite bow, the butler backed out of the room. “I thought perhaps, my lord, that an article in the Evening Standard might be of interest to you. I’ve left it on the bureau.”
“Thank you, Billings.”
The door closed behind the butler and Black moved to the window, parting the heavy black drapes so that he could stand at the glass and look out upon the world. There was no reason for him to read the paper. He already knew what he would see in the headlines. The death of one Miss Alice Fox.
Across the street, Black could very clearly see Stonebrook’s town house. The light was on in Isabella’s room and he studied it, waiting to see a glimpse of her. He imagined her standing before the mirror, her maid putting the finishing touches on her gown.
He smiled, closed his eyes and imagined himself coming up to stand behind her. He would wrap his arm around her waist, flatten his palm over her belly and let it slowly glide up to rest between her breasts as he kissed her neck. He would watch her in the mirror, then turn her in his arms and capture her lips with his.
Fingers rapping on the window, he stood until the light went out, and he turned away from the window, preparing to welcome Isabella into his home.
“OH, ISABELLA.”
The sound of awe in Lucy’s voice made Isabella blush to her roots.
“How absolutely breathtaking you look.”
Isabella stared at her reflection in the mirror, unable to believe it was truly her staring back. “It is only because of the dress, Lucy. How gorgeous it is. Your talent…it’s really rather amazing.”
Lucy smiled as she walked around Isabella, admiring her creation. “I just knew that crimson silk would be fantastic for you.”
Oh, it was gorgeous. She had thought the gowns her uncle had purchased for her were stunning, but this…this was a piece of art. She never could have imagined owning something this spectacular. “Really, Lucy, I cannot accept—”
“Oh, hush. Yes, you can. It was to be your Christmas present anyway. What is a few months early, hmm? Besides, you’ll be absolutely stunning sitting at Black’s table beneath the chandeliers wearing crimson.”
“Lucy,” she warned, but her cousin waved away the comment.
“I only meant that because Mr. Knighton will be in attendance, of course you want to be at your most stunning then.”
Arching a brow, Isabella severely doubted that her cousin had meant what she said. Wendell was joining them tonight, a fact she was both relieved and worried about.
“Your hair looks lovely, too. Annie did a wonderful job, and I adore how she’s pulled it all up and secured it with the string of black jet. Makes you look very womanly, Issy.”
Isabella smoothed her hands down the formfitting gown. The bodice was cut low, adorned with crimson rosettes around the sleeves and neckline. The bodice fit like a glove, molding to her breasts, indenting sharply at her waist and draping in ruched layers over her hips, which only enhanced their curves. The train behind was swept up in a ruffled bustle, with the same rosettes sprinkled in amongst the heavy layers.
The color was magnificent. It was a deep, rich crimson with a hint of shimmer when the gaslight hit it from the right angle. The shade reminded Isabella of the first drop of blood that pooled when a finger was pricked by a needle while sewing.
“Issy,” Lucy said as she stood behind her, “you’re just a picture, and that bosom of yours, I’d give my dowry for one just like it.”
“There is quite a bit of it showing, isn’t there?”
“Nonsense. It’s very elegant. How can you help it? You’re amply endowed. Take heart, you could be like me and have two apples for breasts.”
“You’re very slight, Lucy. Delicate,” Issy confirmed. Just like a mischievous pixie.
“I’m shaped like a pear. If only God had seen fit to take some of what he has given my bottom, and dispersed it up top.”
Isabella gazed at her cousin, resplendent in a very becoming shade of aubergine. Lucy may be short, but she had a much bigger personality, one that virtually palpitated with vitality. There was an ethereal air about her that Isabella had long envied.
A knock on the door interrupted them and they both turned to see Stonebrook, with his stark white muttonchops, peering into the room. “You both look very nice. Now, let us be off.”
The door closed and Lucy grinned. “Papa is a man of few words, that is as close to a compliment of utter adoration as you are likely to receive. Now, then,” Lucy murmured as she walked to the wardrobe. “I have one last gift, and before you say no, you must realize that this dress is just not complete without it.”
Lucy pulled out a black velvet cape with a deep hood trimmed in thick fur. When she wrapped it around Isabella’s shoulders and Isabella sunk into the sinfully luxurious lining, she made a loud groan of pleasure, which caused Lucy to laugh.
“What is it that is so warm and soft,” she asked as she ran her fingers through the thick black fur.
“Black bear. I ordered it all the way from the Hudson’s Bay Company. Isn’t it decadent?”
“Oh, Lucy, it’s beyond decadent.”
“I’m glad you like it. Now, we shouldn’t keep Papa waiting or we will have to endure a lecture on punctuality.”
“We’re already fashionably late.”
Lucy snorted. “Have you not met your uncle, Issy? There is nothing fashionable about him, and he has never subscribed to the notion of females making a man wait. ‘Balderdash,’” Lucy mocked in her father’s superfluous accents. “‘Utter rubbish, making men wait about all day as if we have nothing better to do than stand by with bated breath till the lady makes her appearance.’”
“Luce, it’s uncanny your ability to sound just like Stone brook.”
“Well, I might have heard that lecture a time or two,” she said with an impish grin. “Papa may not say much, and when he does it is usually all bluster, but I suppose it’s his way of showing some measure of affection for the daughter he’s been saddled with.”
Linking arms, they left Isabella’s room and headed down the stairs. She was nervous, the emotion a mixture of excitement and fear.
It would be all right, Isabella kept repeating to herself. They were just having dinner and it wasn’t as though she would find herself alone with Black. She could forget the kisses they had shared. She would forget, she confirmed. Not only his kisses, but the man himself.
BLACK WATCHED from the shadows as Billings slipped the black cloak from Isabella’s shoulders. For a moment he was struck dumb as his gaze hungrily drank in the sight of her pale shoulders and neck as the black velvet slid away, revealing Isabella in a stunning crimson gown.
By God, she was the most gorgeous, voluptuous creature he had ever laid eyes upon. That gown…it ought to be outlawed for what it did to her body. It framed her figure perfectly, he could see every indent and curve, as though she were wearing nothing but a thin lawn nightrail and standing before a candle flame.
And her bosom… Black swallowed hard as his lascivious eyes raked over her breasts. What a sight it was. She had not worn any jewelry, nothing to mar the flesh that lay between her breasts and her gown. He had a sudden urge to see her in the family pendant—a four-carat black diamond surrounded by glimmering white diamonds. The black diamond would rest nicely in the cleft of her breasts.
He could not wait to get her alone tonight and kiss her lips, which appeared cherry colored and succulent; to press his cheek to that soft, swelling expanse of bosom that was going to tempt his gaze to stray for the remainder of the night.
“Take a breath, old boy,” muttered a voice beside him. “You’re wheezing away like a pair of ancient bellows.”
Black glared at the man who stood beside him. Iain Sinclair, the Marquis of Alynwick and laird to the Sinclair clan, was a renowned rake—known for his sexual proclivities, not to mention his exceptional taste in women.
“She is stunning,” Alynwick murmured as he took a sip of whiskey and continued his appraisal of Isabella. “Amply curved, just how I prefer them. Nothing compares to the feel of a soft, warm woman beneath you. And that smile, so sweet it makes you want to kiss it off her face. And all that innocent milk-white skin pressed against that sinful crimson gown. Makes a man wish to skip dinner and move straight to dessert.”
Seduction & Scandal Page 15