“They have been known to be quite useful.”
“You admit that you have done this sort of thing before?”
She tried to shrug, but his hand held her still while he continued to unweave her hair from its confines. “I admit only that I believe that a woman should know how to protect herself. There is no legitimate reason why we must be dependent on men. We are quite capable on our own.”
“I agree with that, but I don’t believe that is the only reason you have acquired such skills.” He moved in close, so that his mouth was but a breath away from her ear. “Iris, tell me your secrets.”
She sighed almost imperceptibly, but he was observant, especially when it came to her. She wanted to tell him. “I cannot say anything more on the matter.”
He kissed her ear, then her neck. “Very well.” The pulse just beneath her ear drummed against his tongue, and he nibbled at it. He trailed hot kisses down the length of her throat. “I can think of other ways to occupy our remaining time.”
“Indeed?” Her voice trailed off in a light wisp of a moan. She tilted her head to give him better access to her throat.
He turned her face and looked into her eyes, warm pools of green like a country lake on a summer morning. “You are a most fascinating woman, Iris Bennington.” Then, he kissed her. He cradled her face and slanted his mouth over hers, allowing himself complete access to her mouth. She parted for him. Tentatively she met his tongue with her own, and the bold move stoked the fire burning in his gut.
He shifted her onto his lap and found she could easily straddle him with her trousers on. There was far less material between them. It was a heady realization. He wanted her and she’d know it. There was no mistaking the hardness now positioned right between her clothed legs. He should be thankful she wore those wool pants.
She settled on to him and must have immediately noticed because she stiffened. But as they kissed, she relaxed into him and he pushed against her. She writhed against him. His hand went up to cup her breast, but he felt the ridge of the binding beneath his hand. Damn the thing. He wanted to free them, kiss every inch until the punishment of them being bound tight to her chest was nothing but a faint memory. He kissed her neck again, trailing hot bites along her collarbone and eliciting small moans of pleasure from her.
He kissed her lips, plunging his tongue deep inside and pulling her tight against him. She moved against his erection, moaned deeply, and did it again. Over and over and rode him with the friction of their clothing the only barrier between them.
And then it happened. During one passionate kiss she froze, tossed her head back and shuddered as a climax rocked through her. It was the most beautiful and seductive thing he’d ever seen. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night pulling that same reaction from her.
Thankfully, though, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of her townhouse and he could remove her from his lap, lest she move again and he spill himself in his own trousers.
“We are here,” was all he managed to say. He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to bring her straight back to his home and into his bed.
She blinked at him before awareness lit her eyes. “Yes, well, good evening.” Then she practically ran from the carriage to her front door.
He watched her enter her home before he finally knocked on the carriage roof to leave. Then he swore. What the devil had he been thinking?
He had resorted to paying people for their story before, but he’d never crossed the line to seducing information out of someone.
Still, he was a journalist at heart, and she had known this about him when they’d first met. Hell, it had been the very reason she’d wanted an introduction. This was a story he simply couldn’t ignore. He couldn’t not investigate because Iris was somehow involved. He’d discover her secrets and he’d write a story himself, leaving out any details that could be traced back to Iris or her friends. An anonymous story, of course.
It wouldn’t be the first time. And no one ever figured out whom those stories were truly about. They gossiped, but it never went further than that.
He’d make certain there was no incriminating information, and no one would ever link it back to her. Her reputation would remain above reproach.
He’d momentarily considered seducing the information out of her. After all, that was his job. But she’d been closemouthed about all of it.
Looking back now, he wondered if he’d tried to seduce her strictly for the information, or because she was simply irresistible. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her, and tonight had only intensified that desire.
He needed to remember what they had between them—a business agreement and nothing more, which meant he had an obligation to his readers to report on the gem he’d uncovered tonight. All he knew at this point was that she had been trained to brandish hatpins as weapons.
He would uncover the full story, and when he did, it would be the scandal of the year.
Chapter Eight
Iris had stayed by Lucy’s side the entire night, save a handful of dances, choosing to only dance when her charge also had a partner. This was a big enough ball that leaving the girl to her own devices could result in a disaster.
Lucy had certainly come a long way since they’d begun working together; she was a quick and eager student. She was no longer so nervous and jittery. Still, Iris could tell that Lucy did not yet feel as though she belonged in Society. Perhaps she never would. Iris had lived in this world, among these people, her entire life, and sometimes even she did not feel as though she fit in.
She’d tried to explain as much to Lucy, but the fact that Iris had been born into the aristocracy meant that she didn’t truly understand where Lucy was coming from. She hadn’t been borne into this life; she’d simply been dropped into it by way of her brother. All things considered, she was doing a remarkable job. After all, things could be much worse. She could be as bad as Lady Dearborn, the American heiress that Lord Dearborn had married to salvage his family’s coffers. The woman was crude, to say the very least. Her family had made their money in tobacco, and the poor woman had never quite shaken off the dirt.
Iris had even gone so far as to point out the woman to Lucy so she could watch her and recognize that she was, in fact, doing better. At least Lucy was English and didn’t have that crass American accent.
A gentleman approached, and the four of them—Iris, Harriet, Agnes, and Lucy—all curtseyed when he arrived. There was no hint as to why he’d stopped by their group or which lady had caught his eye. Iris had never met him, but it seemed that Agnes knew him because the man and her brother Christopher were acquaintances.
“Lord Vesper,” Agnes said.
“Lady Agnes, I was hoping you would introduce me to your charming friends,” he said, his eyes locked onto Lucy.
This was potentially a good thing. Thus far, all the gentlemen who had approached Lucy for a dance or an introduction had been much older than her, or had any number of other faults that Iris had seen—too rotund, too poor, too bald. Still, a dance was a dance, and it was good practice for Lucy. And the girl seemed to enjoy dancing, regardless of what her partner looked like.
Agnes went about introducing each of them to Lord Vesper, and he nodded appropriately, but his gaze lingered longest on Lucy. A good thing indeed. He then requested a dance, and it just so happened that the girl had an opening at the very next quadrille, so he led her gracefully to the ballroom floor. There was not too much touching in the quadrille, a perfect dance for a potential suitor.
It was on Iris’s tongue to ask Agnes about Lord Vesper, but at that moment Lord Wakefield came by to collect Agnes for their dance, the first of two he’d requested for the evening. Agnes had never been overly fond of dancing, but she seemed willing, perhaps even eager—if Agnes could ever be said to be eager about anything—to dance with him. Interesting. Then again, it could simply be that he was the man that Agnes had selected for her own redemption project. The Merritt to her Fletcher.
Harriet, too, had been pulled away for something, and Iris was left alone to watch the couples on the dance floor. From her right, though, she felt eyes on her. She tilted her head to look and found Merritt’s steel-blue gaze. He lifted a glass in her direction in a silent toast. It was a small movement, and one that most would miss, but she had caught it.
He was watching her.
Warmth spread through her, and she knew she likely blushed, but there was naught she could do about it. If anyone were to ask, she’d have to feign a headache or the like, but dear heavens, he was handsome. She could scarcely pull her eyes from him, and then they’d dart back of their own will like a moth to the proverbial flame.
He cut a striking figure in the ballroom. He stood taller than most. His raven-black hair fell in subtle waves as if they minded no one, and perhaps on another man it would have appeared untidy, but on him, it was perfect—and rather seductive as it beckoned for her to run her fingers through the soft curls. But she couldn’t very well do that here.
Good heavens, what was the matter with her? It was all those kisses he’d stolen from her. And the sensations he’d managed to pull from her body, as if she were an instrument and he the finest of musicians. He’d turned her into a wanton. And the other night in the carriage… Now her cheeks truly flamed. She turned her body away from him so that even if she wanted to, she could not see him, lest she turn around again. Thankfully, the set ended, and her companions had returned to her side.
Lord Vesper had no sooner deposited Lucy next to Iris than he backed into a footman carrying a tray of champagne glasses. They shattered on the floor around them and splashed onto Lord Vesper’s trousers and shoes.
“You daft fool!” he barked. “What the devil do you think you’re doing? Don’t simply stand there, clean me off!”
The footman nodded, and Iris cringed. The servant couldn’t have been more than ten and seven, ten and eight at the very most. His ruddy cheeks darkened, and his lip quivered ever so slightly. He fell to his knees and began wiping at Lord Vesper’s feet and legs.
Lord Vesper kicked out and nearly toppled the boy over. “You’re spreading it around.”
“Here, let me help,” Lucy said, then knelt by the footman and began gathering shards of the crystal glasses and setting them back on the tray.
Lord Vesper’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” Lucy said, a frown furrowing her brow.
“Get up,” Lord Vesper said. “People are watching.”
Lucy looked affronted. “I care not if people watch. The man needs assistance, and I am able bodied enough to do so.”
“It is true what they say, then. You are lowly born and merely performing a duty true to your social standing,” Lord Vesper spat.
Lucy balked.
Iris stepped over to the man and told herself to be careful. She squared her shoulders. “You have insulted my friend.”
“She is the daughter of a merchant.”
“She is the sister of an earl,” Iris said.
Lord Vesper snorted. “An earl by accident, by the demise of a very distant relation.”
“Perhaps, but she has more nobility in her right arm than you have in your entire body. And furthermore, she does not need to abuse a servant to explain away her clumsiness.” Then she turned away from him, knelt, and began to assist Lucy and the footman. Harriet and Agnes joined in as well.
She was breathing so heavily from anger and exhilaration she nearly felt faint. And then he was at her side.
Merritt.
…
He’d frozen when it had first happened. A stupid and foolish thing, but he hadn’t expected that sort of reaction from a gentleman. One of the old matrons, yes, he’d expected them to be vile and rude to Lucy. But he hadn’t thought the men would be. She was a beautiful girl and had a fat dowry. She would make a good match for any of the men in this room.
But that bastard had been cruel. Merritt hadn’t even fully heard the words, but he’d seen the man’s expression and then Lucy’s. And then Merritt had watched Iris speak to the man and whatever she had said to him had firmly put him in his place. He’d balked then turned on his heel and stormed off. And then all those women, bless them, had knelt with his baby sister and helped her do servant work, here in the midst of the ballroom.
When he finally reached them, two other servants had arrived with a broom and mop in tow. Merritt helped each of the ladies to their feet, and he nodded to all of them.
He leaned close to Iris’s ear. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”
“I hadn’t realized you’d heard.”
“I didn’t exactly hear, but I saw. I can gather what he said and your response.” He glanced at his sister and saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “I want to dance with you, want desperately to be close to you right now, but I need to take her home.”
“Go. I understand,” Iris said.
She was beautiful and kind and bold and brave and a million other amazing things all tied into one woman unlike any he’d ever met. He bowed, then took Lucy by the arm and led her out.
In the carriage, he expected Lucy to cry, but she didn’t. She’d swiped at her cheeks once and then squared her shoulders, much as he’d seen Iris do in the ballroom.
“She’s remarkable, isn’t she, Merritt?” Lucy asked.
“Lady Iris? Yes, she is.” What happened tonight may have highlighted how remarkable a woman Iris was, but it had revealed something else as well: how vile many members of Society truly were. After all, four women had knelt to help his sister, but an entire ballroom full had stared in shock and whispered about her behind their fans. Yes, there were far more Lord Vespers in Society.
“You should marry her.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am serious. You do need a wife.”
He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t had that very thought himself, but he’d shoved it aside. Iris was a true lady. He was a newspaperman. Yes, he now bore the title of earl, but in truth, that wasn’t him. He was a merchant’s son, and marrying her would fully entrench him into the aristocracy in a way that he’d been able to avoid thus far.
“She would be the perfect partner for you.”
Something that felt remarkably like guilt gnawed at him. But he hadn’t done anything wrong. The story he was writing would be anonymous. He’d seen Iris move through Society with grace; no one would ever suspect she had skills that no proper lady ought to. He knew there had to be other women out there, else who would have trained her. The story itself was so sensational, he doubted anyone would believe it was true. He shoved that guilt aside.
“Yes, it is rather astounding that she isn’t married already,” he said.
“You know why, though, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t believe I do.”
“Oh, it’s quite tragic. She never had a proper introduction into Society. Never had a coming out ball as young ladies generally do.”
“How so?” Merritt asked, unable to hide his curiosity. “She is the daughter of an earl.”
“Indeed, but only three months before her debut, her father died, and the entire family went into mourning.” Lucy shook her head.
“That is rather tragic,” Merritt said.
“That is not all,” Lucy said. “After a year, she was set to debut again, a bit older, but still young and beautiful, and then her mother died.”
How had he not heard any of this part of Iris’s past? He’d only inquired into her reputation, he hadn’t looked beyond the last couple of years. He’d merely wanted to ensure that Lucy would be in capable hands.
“So back into mourning?” he asked.
“Yes, but also a move directly here to London to live with their aunt and uncle. I believe Iris’s brother was only nine or ten at the time, and though he normally would have been sent off to school, Iris kept him home with her for three additional years. At that point, Iris decided she d
idn’t want a proper debut and asked that her aunt do a small introduction. But Iris never got to be a debutante the way most ladies of good breeding do.”
“Does this have any effect on whether I host a proper ball for you?” he asked.
“I have not decided on that yet,” Lucy said, her voice filled with caution. “You were right, though. They can be cruel. But many of them are delightful.”
Iris was unmarried because she hadn’t had a ball. Certainly that couldn’t be the only reason. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman who stood out in any crowd. Perhaps she’d had a string of suitors, even proposals, and she’d declined for whatever reason. And at what point had she left her aunt and uncle and gone to live in her family’s townhouse in London with her brother? He’d been a young heir, and she’d been his surrogate mother. No wonder she was so protective of him.
Again, guilt pressed into him, this time more sharply, as if he’d stepped on a shard of glass. He shoved it away. He hadn’t gotten where he was today without making enemies. Not that he saw Iris as an enemy. True, he’d questioned his decision to run the story about Iris and her unique skills, especially after what she’d done for Lucy tonight. He had already contacted his usual sources to look for anyone who might know about such training for proper ladies. So far, he’d received no additional details, but he knew that these things take time. It was best that Iris didn’t read his paper because she would likely see the upcoming story as an act of betrayal.
At this point, though, Merritt had lost sight of why he had made this bargain with her in the first place. Yes, he wanted her help with Lucy, and she’d more than accommodated him. He should reward her by pulling those foolish articles from his paper. Perhaps what he truly needed to do, though, was pull her brother aside and have a conversation with him.
The Earl of Nickerson shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Merritt could invite him to the newspaper’s offices. Since he was such a fan, perhaps he’d see that as a compliment and be more receptive to Merritt’s comments. Surely, the boy didn’t torment his sister on purpose, after all that she’d endured losing her parents the way she had. And now she lived primarily to assist others, taking care with her brother’s reputation and taking care of crime on the streets of London.
The Scoundrel and the Lady (Lords of Vice) Page 10