Touch of a Lady

by Mia Marlowe

  Tristan swallowed hard. He wouldn’t be able to stop with a chaste kiss and he knew it. Even now, the music faded in his ears. The rest of the ballroom was a mere blur of color on the edges of his vision. Her sweet lilac fragrance filled his nostrils as her slender form filled his arms. She crowded out everything else.

  If he kissed her again, he’d devour her and everyone would know how she’d bewitched him.

  “I was wondering something, Tristan,” she said, her voice soft as a breath.

  “What puzzles you, Miss Preston?” he whispered back as he led her through an underarm turn. Perhaps keeping things formal would help him regain a sense of distance.

  “Delphinia,” she corrected. “And what I’m wondering about is the subject of love at first sight. Shakespeare believed it possible. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  “Shakespeare was a sentimental hack,” Tristan said louder than he ought. They were supposed to be dancing, not making conversation. He lowered his voice. “Men may feel something at first sight, but I promise you, it is not love.”

  He certainly felt something right now. Being so near to her had him crowding his breeches something awful. Tristan had desired many women but the ache of longing had never been so nigh unbearable before.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said.

  “I am?”

  “Yes.” When she smiled, her teeth were blindingly white. “I didn’t even like you at first sight.”

  Something inside him shriveled in disappointment.

  The minuet wound down like a music box losing steam and Delphinia made a final turn into his arms, leaning her head on his chest. The sweet lilac scent from her hair nearly made his eyes roll back in his head.

  “And…do you like me now?” he heard himself asking.

  “You’re tolerable, Tristan.” She dipped in a final curtsey and then skittered away.

  Tolerable! When she was all he could think of, she found him merely tolerable?

  But before he could follow her, the candles around the room were being snuffed out one by one. The master of the dance banged his baton on the floor and announced a game of Hide and Seek.

  “Lady Florence shall count to one hundred, and then beware,” the master said. “She shall find you out. Last person to be found shall be declared the winner.”

  The party scattered in a scuffle of good natured shoving and laughter. It was too dark for Tristan to see which way Delphinia went, but he climbed the stairs to the third storey, convinced this vixen would seek high ground. When he passed the lumber room where all the guests’ traveling trunks were stored, a faint whisper of lilac caught his nose.

  Tristan stepped into the room and immediately tripped over something left in the middle of the floor. He was quick enough to catch himself on his palms and knees instead of smacking his forehead on the hardwood, but it was a near thing. Unfortunately, the noise he’d made was still a thumping racket in a house that held its breath.

  “For heaven’s sake, be quiet,” a voice hissed from the large wardrobe in the corner. “You’ll bring Lady Florence down on us.”

  “What the devil is this?” Tristan kicked the pile of wire and horsehair he’d tripped over to the corner.

  “My panniers and bumroll, if you must know,” Delphinia whispered back. “I took them off so I could fit into this wardrobe. Now be quiet or we’ll both be found.”

  A set of furtive footsteps did seem to be making their way down the long corridor, stopping at intervals. The click of a latch and the creak of hinges announced that Lady Florence was making the rounds. Tristan slipped into the wardrobe with Delphinia and pulled the door tight behind him. They heard the hook latch on the outside of the door flop down into its loop hinge.

  “Why did you do that?” Delphinia said. “Now we’re locked in.”

  He put two fingers to her lips as the door to the lumber room scraped open. The patter of a pair of footsteps entered the room. Light from a candle showed around the wardrobe door in a faint golden line.

  “There’s no one here.” Lady Florence sighed.

  “You didn’t think there would be, did you?” It was Sanders’ voice. Evidently Tristan’s friend had been caught already and was helping Lady Florence find the others.

  “Not really.”

  “Don’t suppose anyone would hide in the wardrobe,” Sanders said.

  “The door is closed.” Lady Florence’s voice was loud enough to tell Tristan she was mere feet away. “No one would be foolish enough to latch themselves in.”

  Delphinia jabbed Tristan’s ribs with her knuckles to punctuate her agreement with the lady.

  “As for the rest of the room, who’d be unimaginative enough to hide in a trunk?” Florence wondered.

  “A vampyre?”

  A swift smack greeted that remark. “Stop it, Sanders. You’re trying to give me a fright so I’ll swoon into your arms.”

  “An excellent plan. Wish I’d thought of it. However, I seriously doubt anything scares you, madame.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then the duke’s daughter said, “I’m afraid of looking foolish.”

  Tristan’s conscience flayed him. If he was caught in this wardrobe with the very comely Miss Preston, Lady Florence would look foolish since she’d been publicly encouraging him. It would be a very short walk for everyone at the house party to reach the conclusion that he was besotted with the commoner. Even so, the expectations of their families being what they were, it was entirely possible that the duke’s daughter would still accept his suit.

  Why did Society demand such falseness?

  His father had kept one mistress after another. When Tristan was grown, the earl had admonished him to follow suit, always providing he was discreet. But once, Tristan had caught his mother weeping after his father left for the evening. She claimed it was for “no reason” and that women were naturally emotional about the smallest of trifles. No matter how discreet his father thought he was being, Tristan was convinced his mother knew his father spent Thursday evenings in a snug little house in Cheapside with the woman who’d borne him at least three bastards.

  “You could never look foolish, my lady,” Sanders assured Florence. “Unless, of course, you keep refusing my suit.”

  Another smack and a light laugh was her answer. “Oh, Sanders, I shall miss you once I wed another.”

  “There’s a simple remedy for that. Marry me instead.”

  This time she didn’t swat him. She simply laughed as they made their way back into the corridor and down to the next dark room.

  “Well, that was close. Think how Lady Florence would have felt if she’d found us,” Delphinia whispered once they were out of earshot. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

  “Not particularly.” Even if he was, she didn’t need to know it. A man’s thoughts were his own. Besides, he could no more help the fact that he was stuck with Miss Preston in this wardrobe than he could have stopped himself from tripping over her panniers. It was all just unlucky chance.

  “If you intend to wed Lady Florence, why are you following me?”

  Because he couldn’t bear not to. The small space inside the wardrobe was awash in her scent. She was flush against his body because there was little room for her to do otherwise. Without her panniers, only the layers of her petticoat and his breeches separated them. Perhaps with a little clever maneuvering…

  No, he had to stop thinking like that. Delphinia Preston was a sickness in his blood. A fever. Like malaria.

  On the other hand, if he succumbed to the ailment once, perhaps he’d be cured. Or at least be granted a remission.

  “I don’t know why I followed you,” he said. “It seemed a good idea at the time. And you must admit we have the perfect hiding place now. Lady Florence won’t retrace her steps any time soon.”

  “But since you latched the door we can’t get out,” she accused. “There are no knobs on this side.”

  He shifted to free up an arm, felt around the door and
found the hinges. When he was ready to free them, he could work the pins out with no trouble. In the meantime, he decided his vicar was wrong. Some temptations were more than a man could withstand.

  “I suppose we’ll have to wait till we’re found,” he said, a smile creeping into his voice. “What shall we do to pass the time till then?”

  Chapter 4

  Delphinia rested her head on his chest because there was little room for her to otherwise. He hoped his wildly thumping heart didn’t cause her to go deaf.

  “I suppose we could conduct an experiment,” she said finally.

  “An experiment?” If she’d suggested growing another head, he couldn’t have been more surprised. He hadn’t figured her for an overly intellectual bluestocking. Clearly there was much about the beguiling Miss Preston he didn’t know, but he was game to find out.

  “Yes,” she went on. “My grandfather was a great admirer of Sir Isaac Newton and his methods for discovering the truth of a matter.”

  “Mine, too.” Except that Tristan’s grandsire wasn’t a scientist. He had followed the mathematician and natural philosopher into an ill-considered investment in the South Sea Company. They both bought in at the peak of the stock’s value and the very next week, Sir Isaac lost twenty thousand pounds when the inflated price tumbled.

  Tristan wished Devonwood’s loss had only been twenty thousand.

  “What premise do you wish to test?” he asked.

  “Whether or not love at first sight is not only possible, but whether it is true in our case.”

  He chuckled.

  “Don’t laugh. I’m serious,” she said. “Can you deny you have feelings for me?”

  He sobered in an instant. “I crave you. That’s not in dispute. But I had feelings for a strawberry treacle the first time one was presented to me, too. No one would argue I was in love with it.”

  “I’m not an item on the menu,” she said icily.

  “Maybe not.” He inhaled her clear to his toes. “But I’ll wager you’re still delicious.”

  “Then you shouldn’t mind helping me with my experiment.”

  When she shifted, the stiff busk of her bodice pressed against his chest. He wondered how women bore being trussed up like that. He’d certainly relish freeing Miss Preston’s bosom from its cage.

  “Very well,” he said. “How shall we prove or disprove your premise?”

  “I propose that you kiss me until we hear the longcase clock chime the hour,” Delphinia said.

  “I’m at your disposal, Miss Preston, but you should know that lust is a far more likely outcome than love.”

  “Ordinarily, I’d agree, Tristan—and I really think you ought to give up and call me Delphinia since you can’t seem to stay away from me—but back to our experiment. You see, I believe when two people kiss, their souls mingle.” She grasped the lapel of his coat and pulled him closer, teasing him with the sweetness of her breath. “I believe ours will recognize each other, realize we belong together and refuse to separate.”

  He shook his head at such a fanciful notion. But at least it would mean he’d be able to kiss her for the next quarter hour. If by that time he hadn’t reduced her to quivering longing and rendered her willing to surrender to his plan of making her his mistress, he would entertain serious doubts about his manhood.

  “Very well, Delphinia. Anything for science.”

  Del thought she’d be in control. She’d braced herself for what was sure to come, but Tristan’s kisses were like being swept along in a flood. She was helpless. Totally under his spell. Control was an illusion.

  He bracketed her face in his large hands and didn’t simply kiss her. He took her mouth. He ravaged it. He made love to her lips and stole her virtue with his tongue. When he plunged between her lips, longing made another part of her weep for him to steal her there, too.

  The bruising possession, the teasing invasion, she accepted it all. He whisked the breath from her lungs and replaced it with his own. Since it had been hours since his valet had scraped his jaw clean that morning, a rough bit of stubble strafed across her cheek. A frisson of something that was a cross between pleasure and pain danced over her skin.

  Right and wrong, good and evil—every line in her life blurred.

  But he was there.

  And that was as good and right and pleasurable as life could get.

  Everywhere she touched, he was hard. Hard arms, solid shoulders, ungiving chest. She didn’t dare let her caresses wander lower. The way he pressed against her belly, she already knew he was hard there, too.

  Tristan abandoned her mouth and began kissing his way down her neck.

  “I only said you could kiss me,” she said, plucking at the ribbon binding his queue so she could twine her fingers in his hair.

  “Yes, but you didn’t say where.”

  His hands dove into her bodice and he lifted her breasts above the whalebone and lace. Then he lavished kisses on her bare skin, skimming his lips over the aching tips till she whimpered. His tongue flicked her nipples with each pass, making her squirm in frustration. Finally, he took one into his mouth and suckled while he massaged the other between his thumb and forefinger.

  A secret fire sizzled from her breasts to the folds between her legs. She’d never felt so achy and swollen and moist.

  All thoughts of anything so high-minded as their souls mingling fled from her brain. All she could think was how delicious it would be to join her body to this man’s. Surely he’d still the insistent throbbing, the second heartbeat that centered itself in her womb.

  As he tugged at her breasts, he pulled the yards of fabric of her drooping skirts higher. It was a good trick in their cramped quarters, but she soon felt his hands on her bare thighs above her gartered stockings. When she’d slipped off her panniers and let her skirts brush her bum and legs, she’d thought it a sensual delight. The swish of muslin and layers of silk was nothing compared to a man’s questing fingers.

  He dallied in the curls at the apex of her thighs, while he continued to suckle her breast. There were so many sensations sparking in her it was impossible to know where to focus. Pressure built inside her like a spring being wound too tight. When he slipped two fingers between her moist folds, she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “There she is,” he murmured. “Ready to come out and play.”

  It did feel as if a small part of her had swollen up under his touch. She tilted her pelvis into his hand. “What is it?”

  “Your little pearl, my dear one.” He circled the tiny bump with his thumb, spreading her warm moisture over it. “A special part of you that will give great pleasure to us both.”

  Bliss licked over her. She was certainly awash in delight, but she wasn’t sure how this intimate touch was supposed to give him pleasure. Maybe it had something to do with how it was more blessed to give than to receive. She wasn’t about to argue with him. She was overflowing with pleasure enough for the two of them.

  “You’re breaking the rules, you know,” she finally managed to say as his hand continued to play a wicked game with her needy flesh. “That’s not a kiss.”

  He flicked her ‘pearl’ with his thumb and sparks of desire raced through her. “Want me to stop?”

  “Not for worlds.” She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and held on as if her hope of heaven depended upon it.

  “I wish it was a kiss,” he said huskily. “If there were room in this wardrobe, I’d drop to my knees and show you what well placed kisses can really do.”

  Just the thought of his mouth on that swollen achy nub made her insides spiral in on themselves. Something unraveled in an instant, like a spindle tossed high into the air, unwinding its thread in a corkscrew all the way down. Her limbs shuddered. Tristan abandoned her breasts to cover her mouth with his, so he could swallow up the cry that escaped her lips.

  She sagged against him while her insides pulsed. He held her, one arm around her waist to keep her upright, the other hand cupping the
soft lips of her sex. Finally, she stilled.

  “Oh, Tristan, I do love you.”

  “Or are you only in the throes of lust?” he whispered back.

  “Aren’t they connected? Are we not body and spirit, blood and bone? Can you love me with only your mind or do you feel the need to touch me?”

  He pressed a kiss to her crown. “You have me there.”

  “Then you do love me.” Her heart fairly sang it. He had called her his dear one, after all. While everything else had coalesced into a dizzying fog of aching desire, she remembered that quite clearly.

  He removed his hand from the snug space between her thighs and let her skirts fall to the floor of the wardrobe. “God help me, I think I do,” he said hoarsely. “But it doesn’t change a thing.”

  “How can you say that? Love changes everything.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I am not a man with no obligations. I have dependents—tenants, crofters, and a gaggle of servants, all of them beholden to me for every bite of food in their bellies and each coin in their pockets.” He straightened to his full height and seemed to press his spine against the far wall of the wardrobe, trying to put a little space between them. “Then there is my family. They’re depending on me to rebuild the family’s fortune. I cannot simply please myself in this matter.”

  “So you’re still set on wooing Lady Florence.” It wasn’t a question. Delphinia simply had to say the words aloud in order to make them real to her mind.

  “I see no other course before me.”

  “Then you’re a fool, Tristan.”

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted his weight to lift his arms over his head, reaching for something. Delphinia heard the scrape of metal on metal as he pulled the pins from the hinges on the wardrobe door. It sagged enough for Tristan to insert a finger through crack and unhook the latch. He pushed the door open.

  He slipped out of their hiding place and disappeared into the dark.

  Delphinia sank to the floor of the wardrobe, her skirts billowing around her like a collapsed sail.