Or in the drawing room.
“Agreed,” Regan said, staring at his bare feet. She gave a decisive nod and headed for the door. “Then I shall not keep you from your bed.”
The courage that had brought Regan to his bedchamber at this late hour had vanished at the sight of his bare feet. The intimacy of their situation had been her undoing. Bemused, Dare followed her to the door.
“You have yet to deliver your answer, my lady.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She grinned up at him. “No.”
Dare leaned against the door to prevent Regan from opening it. She made a soft exasperated sound.
“No?” he prompted.
“I will admit that I might have been a bit curious,” she said, her blue eyes twinkling as Dare frowned. “Even so, I did not desire Vane’s kiss.”
“What of mine?” he asked before he could censor his thoughts.
Regan bit her lower lip as she pondered his question. “Perhaps I will give you my reply at breakfast.”
Dare caged Regan within his arms. “Tell me now. Your brother can be rather bloodthirsty in the morning.”
Especially when he learns that I have put my hands on his sister.
“And encourage you?” She did not try to slip away when he closed the distance between them. “I think not.”
“You are standing in my bedchamber after midnight, Regan.” Dare teased her lips with his own. “I am utterly encouraged.”
Dare laved Regan’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Regan tentatively parted her lips, and he pulled her closer to deepen the kiss. Warm, wet, and eager, her tongue curled around his, making Dare’s head spin. Blindly he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
“Dare.”
He could sense her rising panic as he tenderly placed her on his bed. Now that Dare had her attention, he should give her a stern lecture on the dangers of flirting with men and send her back to her chamber.
Instead, he put one knee on the mattress and admired the way Regan’s black tresses spread out on the bedcovering. He swept one of the ringlets from her cheek and marveled at its silkiness. “Hush. I have no interest in taking your innocence.”
Dare ignored the growing arousal in his trousers that proved he was a liar. He caressed her lower lip with his fingers, and let them trail over her dainty chin to her neck. “There are other ways to pleasure you,” he murmured huskily. He splayed his hand across her slender neck, and slowly slid his hand just above the swell of her breasts. “And me.”
* * *
Regan forced herself to relax as Dare explored the contours of her breasts. With the exception of her shoes and stockings, she was fully dressed. Dare had already vowed he had no desire to bed her, and Regan believed him.
His proximity was making her feel restless. Dare lay down on the mattress beside her. Despite the layers of fabric between them, the heat of his body bled through and caressed her like an eclipsed sun.
“Perhaps I should leave.”
Dare had the audacity to laugh at her. “It is too late to be sensible, dear Regan,” he chided, delicately nibbling on her collarbone. “Not when I have barely gotten a taste of you.”
She shivered in reaction.
Her corset seemed unbearably tight as Regan reclined on Dare’s bed. She could barely breathe, and her nipples itched as the tender flesh chafed against her chemise.
Dare’s fingers found the edge of her bodice. “Should I play lady’s maid for you this evening?” He gave the front of her bodice a firm tug, causing her breast to spill out. “Lovely dairies you have, my lady.”
Before Regan could respond, Dare cupped the underside of her right breast and covered her nipple with his wet mouth. She was too shocked to even blush. The throat muscles worked as he suckled at her breast. Regan squeezed her thighs together as pleasure rippled from her breasts to the soft curls between her legs.
“A shame we don’t have some cream for such luscious berries,” he murmured, his lips leaving a wet trail as he continued his ministrations to her left breast.
Her right nipple was engorged and rosy from his mouth. Regan glanced down at the top of Dare’s head, uncertain of her part in this love play. If Dare had hoped to overwhelm her with his brazenness, he had succeeded. Regan threaded her fingers through his dark blond hair, fighting the enthrallment his skillful mouth was weaving. She moaned and guided him to her neglected breast.
“Dare,” she pleaded, uncertain what she was demanding from him.
He raised his head from her breast, revealing that he was not unmoved by his efforts. His blue-gray eyes seemed glazed with passion and his lips as red and swollen as her own.
“There is much more,” Dare murmured enigmatically, blindly groping for the bottom of her skirt.
Regan’s eyes widened as the chill of the room caressed her thighs while Dare slipped his hands through the large slit in her drawers. She pressed her knees together to conceal herself from Dare’s hungry gaze. It was a futile attempt at modesty. Regan trembled as his fingers touched her intimately.
“Your nether curls are damp,” he said, arrogantly pleased with his discovery. “Do you understand what it means?”
Unable to speak, Regan shook her head. Regan inhaled sharply as Dare traced the wetness with his thumb.
“I thought not,” he said, sounding winded. “You are too innocent to understand the temptation that you are offering or the consequences if I accept.”
Dare was wrestling with the driving need to claim her maidenhead.
An unexpected surge of panic settled on her chest like a flock of pied wagtails. Regan tried to sit up, but the boning in her corset made her clumsy. “I may be innocent; however, I am not a simpleton.”
After all, seducing Dare had been part of her plan all along.
“Pray, cease your mischief, my lord. I cannot think when you have your hand on my—my—!”
Regan could not bring herself to dwell on where Dare was stroking her. She tugged on the front of her bodice so she could stuff her breasts back into her dress. Dare was to blame for her current predicament. She was overly warm, agitated, and likely to hit her would-be lover if he laughed at her.
“Regan.”
She fell back against the bed and covered her face with her hand. “This is all wrong,” Regan said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She was not a worldly courtesan or widow who sought lovers only for pleasure. It was humbling to realize that she wanted more from Dare than a careless tumble on his bed—that she always had. She squeezed her eyelids shut, willing the stinging moisture away.
Regan pulled her hand away and glared at Dare. “You were correct. I should not have come here.”
Dare helped her sit up. Without looking at him, she pushed her skirt and petticoat over her legs, not caring if she was wrinkling the fabric. As soon as she was satisfied, she slid off the bed. She might have fallen if Dare had not caught her by the elbow.
“We should discuss this,” he said tersely.
“Nonsense.” Regan waved away his hand and strode to the door. “For years, I watched my brother and the rest of you dally with whores and mistresses, and until this moment I did not understand what was missing.”
“Do tell.”
Regan’s chin came up at his sarcastic tone. “Affection, respect … heart. It is a cold union for a lady.”
“That is because most of those women are not ladies, Regan.”
Annoyed, Dare threaded his fingers through his hair. His harsh expression softened as understanding washed away his impatience. “I have frightened you.”
Yes.
“No,” Regan said, opening the door. “It just seemed silly to continue something neither one of us truly wanted.”
Dare pounced, caging her body with his own. “Lie to yourself, but not to me. Your desire was not feigned.”
“No,” Regan said, resisting the urge to turn and bury her face against his chest. “I just want more.”
&nb
sp; She walked out of Dare’s bedchamber, acutely aware that he was not begging her to stay.
Chapter Fourteen
Dare was expecting breakfast with Regan to be a chilly affair.
However, the lady was full of surprises. Instead of sulking, Regan entered the morning room with a friendly greeting to both him and Frost. It was only when she sat down across from him at the table that Dare noted the shadows under her eyes. Her sleep had clearly been no more restful than his after her departure.
“Did you enjoy yourself at the Deightons’, Regan?”
Dare tensed at Frost’s innocent question. When they had departed from the Deightons’ town house, Regan had been content to keep certain details of the evening from her brother. Had she changed her mind? Vengeful women were, by their very nature, unpredictable creatures.
Regan did not look up as she stirred her hot chocolate. “Very much so. Vane was an admirable escort.”
Her brother frowned slightly as Regan brought her hand to her mouth and yawned. “Ah, yes, that would account for your lack of appetite and endless prattling.”
Frost was rewarded with a genuine smile from Regan.
“I am unused to the late hours the ton keeps, brother.” As proof, she put down the silver spoon and took a tentative sip of her chocolate. “Mmm … delicious.” She sighed.
Frost seemed to be satisfied with his sister’s performance. While he regaled him with a humorous anecdote of his own evening, Dare’s thoughts and gaze wandered to Regan. Although her sleepless night was visible on her face, the weariness did not detract from her beauty. This morning, she had worn a long-sleeved muslin round dress with enough lace to please the strictest matron. Her long black tresses were tucked into a Parisian mob.
Dare couldn’t help recalling how Regan’s hair had been spread out like a fan on his bed or the taste of her as he suckled at her breasts. She had taken pleasure in his bold caresses. The wetness he had discovered between her legs had proven that she had desired him.
Thank God, Regan had come to her senses and ended his sensual exploration before he had lost complete control. An innocent like Regan was seeking more than a physical release when she took a lover. Her young heart craved words of love and poetry that filled her soul.
Pretty lies.
Dare had whispered them into other women’s ears. Sweet flattery and promises that rarely survived the dawn, but none of his former lovers had cared. The women that he pursued understood that he was only seeking a temporary liaison.
Regan was not the sort of female he could bed and dismiss from his thoughts. Through her connection with Frost, their lives were intertwined. It would not be fair to let her believe that he could offer more than a few nights of passion.
“What say you, Dare?”
Dare blinked, realizing he had been caught staring at Regan. “Forgive me, Frost. The long nights have disturbed my sleep as well.”
The delicate pink hue of Regan’s cheeks darkened at his obscure reference to his bed. She said to Frost, “It is unnecessary, brother. Your friends are not at my beck and call.”
Dare cleared his throat. “How may I be of assistance?”
Regan was slow to respond, but she managed to meet his curious gaze. While her demeanor was not hostile, it lacked the warmth that he always associated with her. “Do not allow my brother to bully you into chaperone duties. I have already sent word to Lady Karmack that I will be joining her, Thea, and Nina this afternoon. Our hostess, Lady Harper, is holding some sort of literary salon, and I believe gentlemen are not invited.”
Dare hid his disappointment. If he had spent the afternoon with Regan, it would have given him the opportunity to apologize for his behavior last evening.
“Lady Harper … is she not a good friend of Lady Sinclair’s mother?” Dare asked, seeking confirmation from his friend.
“Yes.” Frost chuckled. “If Lady Duncombe has any influence, you will be playing cards rather than discussing books.”
Regan nodded to one of the footmen as he pulled her chair away from the table so she could stand. “Either way, it sounds like a pleasant afternoon. Besides, I honed my gaming skills at an early age.”
She leaned over long enough to kiss her brother on the cheek.
Frost captured her wrist before she could move away. “I thought Miss Swann did not approve of gambling.”
“Not in the slightest,” Regan assured her brother with a guileless smile. “However, her students had a more liberal view when it came to games of chance.”
* * *
It was annoying when Frost was correct.
After an hour of listening to the recitation of F. D. Hermans’s poem “Modern Greece,” Regan was beginning to nod off. Thankfully Sin’s mother-in-law, Lady Duncombe, announced at the ninety-fourth stanza that her ears had grown too weary to continue. She suggested that the card tables be brought out, and several ladies had seconded the notion. Lady Harper’s literary salon had swiftly deteriorated into a genteel version of a gaming hell.
“I have attended two literary salons this month,” the dark-haired woman standing to Regan’s right said pensively. “On both occasions, whist triumphed over literature. Perhaps my voice is too grating?”
Regan blinked at the anxiety she sensed from the other woman. She belatedly realized that the brunette had been the lady selected to read F. D. Hermans’s exceedingly long poem.
“Not at all,” Regan protested. “You have a voice worthy of the stage.”
The woman gave her a hesitant smile. “You are just being kind.”
Regan noticed that Lady Karmack had joined Lady Duncombe’s table. She respectfully inclined her head when the older woman noticed her staring. “Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am too plainspoken to be considered kind.”
Her companion peered at her with interest. “You are a remarkable woman.”
“I have always thought so,” Regan said, her eyes twinkling with arrogance and humor. “My brother, on the other hand, views outspoken females as a trial.”
“I do not believe we have been properly introduced,” the brunette said. “I am Mrs. Randall.”
“Lady Regan,” she replied, curtsying to prove that she had learned one or two things at Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies. “Are you a relative of Lady Harper’s?”
Mrs. Randall shook her head. “No, just a friend of the family. After my husband died, Lady Harper was kind enough to invite me to stay with her and her family while I coped with the grief of my loss.”
“Forgive me, I did not mean to stir up painful memories.”
“Oh, no apology is needed,” Mrs. Randall assured her. “Three years have passed since my husband’s death. And while a part of me will always love him, I am ready to move on with my life.”
Mrs. Randall might have been eight or ten years older than Regan. Beautiful and intelligent, she possessed a quiet grace that would appeal to most gentlemen.
“So you are seeking a husband this season,” Regan said shrewdly.
The brunette’s lips parted in surprise, and then she began to laugh. “Oh, my goodness. Lady Regan, you are a gem. No one has ever put it so bluntly.”
Now it was Mrs. Randall’s turn to be kind. Compared with someone like her companion, Regan felt like a chunk of coal rather than a diamond of the first water.
“Nevertheless”—the woman leaned closer so she could not be overheard—“I will admit that there is a certain gentleman this season who has captured my interest.”
“Is he handsome?”
“Very much so. On several occasions, he has hinted that he would welcome a closer friendship.”
Intrigued, Regan whispered, “Who is it?”
“Oh, I mustn’t.” Mrs. Randall blushed. “It is too soon to tell if the gentleman returns my affections. If I have exaggerated his interest, I would prefer to keep the gentleman’s name to myself.”
Regan could not help but think of Dare. Five years ago, he had changed her life with a single kiss, and s
he suspected that he was not even aware of it until she had taunted him into kissing her last evening. Her breasts tightened as she recalled the sensation of his hands caressing her body and the feel of his mouth suckling her nipples.
All of a sudden the temperature had increased in the drawing room.
She cleared her dry throat. “If you want my opinion, Mrs. Randall, I would not allow etiquette or pride to prevent you from approaching the gentleman that you desire. You are too beautiful to remain a widow. Be bold!”
Mrs. Randall gave Regan an impulsive embrace. “Excellent advice, Lady Regan. I think I shall follow it!”
Chapter Fifteen
Almost a week had passed since Regan had brazenly knocked on the door to his bedchamber. Dare still could not believe how close he had come to deflowering Frost’s sister. As he drifted off to sleep each night, his last thoughts were of Regan, and how she had gazed up at him with a sly feminine awareness that Dare’s rigid control had reached his limits. Regan’s desire had almost been his undoing.
Although their recent exchanges had been civil, Dare pretended not to notice the challenge he saw in her dark blue eyes.
See me.
Take me.
It was too much for a man to bear.
What he needed was a distraction him from his growing obsession over the lady who deserved someone better than the second son of the Duke of Rhode.
There were plenty of Madame Venna’s girls visiting Nox each night. One of those eager ladies could satisfy his needs without demanding anything more than payment for her services. Such carnal unions had been appealing when he was younger. However, Dare had come to appreciate the exclusivity, albeit temporary, of a mistress. Over the years, he had formed discreet connections that benefited both him and his lovers.
This season, he had had his eye on the elusive Mrs. Randall. If not for Regan, the lovely widow would have been the one who invaded his private thoughts each night.
It is not too late.
Frost and Regan had already departed for Lord and Lady Trussell’s ball. Dare had declined their offer to share their coach, preferring the freedom of his own equipage. He had also been acutely aware that Mrs. Randall would be attending the ball.
After Dark with a Scoundrel Page 10