…
Iris eyed the theater and did her best not to appear as damned eager as she felt. Her entire person felt alive with nerve endings. She was out in the midst of London’s most elite, and she was wearing trousers and posing as a man. The other night at the gaming club had been a trial. Tonight…tonight she took more risk. There were a greater number of people who could recognize her, including her aunt and brother, if they were in attendance, though she hadn’t seen her aunt in a few months. But also the members of the Ladies of Virtue—she knew many of them would be in attendance tonight.
She controlled her breathing and stood behind Merritt as he spoke softly to the other man he’d brought with him, his assistant, Rand. Merritt had explained that having another seemingly unrecognizable man in the theater box would assist Iris in blending in. They hadn’t loitered long in the entrance of the theater, Instead he’d quickly ushered her upstairs to his box. She’d been to the theater before, but had always sat among the masses down below. This, though, gave her a much better view of the stage, not that she would pay much attention to that tonight. She adored Shakespeare, yet she felt certain she’d be far too distracted to enjoy the play.
“Merritt,” a woman’s sultry voice purred. “I did not know you’d be coming tonight.”
Iris turned to find the owner of the voice and was met with the embodiment of femininity. The woman was, in a word, gorgeous. Unlike Iris’s brash red hair, this woman boasted warm auburn locks that accented her flawless ivory complexion. She had sultry brown eyes and a perfectly shaped, seemingly-natural red mouth. And the way she held those eyes on Merritt made Iris burn from the inside. That was possessiveness. Iris might be naive, but there was no mistaking that.
“Jessica,” Merritt said. He bent over her hand formally, but Iris was almost certain that he did not kiss the woman’s gloved hand.
“Are you not going to introduce me to your companions?” Jessica asked.
“I believe you know Mr. Lockwood,” Merritt said.
“Oh yes,” Jessica said, glancing at Rand, though she didn’t bother to inquire about his well-being. “But this young gentleman, I’m certain you’ve been hiding him.” And she turned her sultry eyes onto Iris.
For a brief moment, Iris forgot who she was and where she was and that she was pretending to be someone else entirely. But the rules still applied, and as a gentleman she could not fail to introduce herself to the woman—not that she appeared all that concerned with propriety.
“Jessica, leave the boy alone,” Merritt said. “He is new to the city.”
“He’s adorable.” She winked at Iris. “Please introduce us.”
“Very well. May I introduce John Benford. John, may I present Jessica Franklin, the widow Lady Wilkens,” Merritt said. Iris noted the tick of a muscle in his jawline. He was not pleased with their visitor.
Iris remembered to bow over the woman’s hand, and gave her a tight grin. “Pleasure to meet you,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Perfectly charming. You will do quite well in this town, I do believe,” Jessica said. She winked again. “Do feel free to call upon me if you need any guidance about town.” She moved back over to Merritt and ran her hand down his arm, a touch far too familiar for Iris’s taste. “I suppose I should get back to my seat before I’m stranded up here when the lights go down. Unless you want to invite me to join.”
“Good evening, Jessica,” Merritt said, and he positioned himself between her and Iris.
Iris watched Jessica walk away and wondered if that sort of ease of sensual behavior came from being a widow or if some women were simply born more seductive.
The lights dimmed, and they returned to their seats as the play began.
“I have never seen this particular play,” Iris said when the first act finished.
“Nor read it?” he asked.
“No, though I do enjoy the Bard.”
“I suspect you’ll enjoy the next half,” Merritt said.
Rand said something to Merritt, then disappeared out of the box to retrieve refreshments.
“That woman who was in here earlier,” Iris said tentatively. “Were you in love with her?”
“Jessica and I had a brief affair, but no, I was never in love with her,” he said.
“Then why have an affair?”
“The goings-on between a man and a woman in the bedroom have little to do with love,” he said.
His words wounded her. It was foolish, she recognized that, but still his acknowledgment that any affection he’d shared with her had meant nothing to him. She was a passing entertainment, she supposed. But certainly, if it could be such for men, it could be that way for women as well.
“Did she love you?” Iris asked.
“I do not believe Jessica has ever loved anyone other than herself,” Merritt said harshly.
So, there were women who were able to indulge in physical pleasures without losing their hearts. Part of her wished she was just Iris tonight so that she could go to this Jessica seeking the secret to protecting her heart. But that would most assuredly expose her identity. And the night was nearly complete. Only an hour or two more and she would have successfully pulled off the charade of the century. And no one save she and Merritt, and their closest friends, would know the truth.
“Have you ever been in love?” she found herself asking.
He was quiet a moment, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “I fancied myself in love once, when I was much younger.”
“And?”
“And I asked her to marry me, but she declined.”
“Whyever would she have done that?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“I was untitled at the time, and though I had quite the fortune, it was not enough for her. She was country gentry and determined to marry up. She claimed to have feelings for me, but she couldn’t lower her standards so far.”
“She said that?”
“Not in so many words, but the message was quite clear.” He glanced down at the playbill.
“Did she ever marry?”
“Indeed she did. She is Viscountess Knolls.”
Iris had never met the woman, but she knew precisely who she was. Tall and beautiful, with lush curves and luminous dark hair—aside from their height, she and the viscountess had nothing in common, save Merritt.
The lights dimmed again, and the second act began. Iris did her best to pay attention to the story unfolding on the stage, especially since the character of Portia was currently masquerading as a man. Though, she had arguably better reasons than Iris did. Yet Iris kept thinking about Merritt and Lady Knolls, and how he’d once loved her, or thought he had.
…
They’d successfully reached the carriage without having to interact with anyone else. Once they were settled and on their way, Merritt cleared his throat. “Though I still do not agree with you about my articles and their potential for damage, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that there are those who have missed that the intention was satirical, not to give legitimate advice.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“I’ve decided to discontinue the series.”
“Truly?”
He caught her glance, and her eyes glistened with tears. It felt as if she’d reached in and squeezed his heart. And in that moment, with her gratitude shining desperately in her eyes, he’d never wanted her more.
He cupped her chin and leaned in. His lips pressed against hers, and it was as if the world stopped. She was pliant and soft beneath him, had even leaned in closer. He teased at her bottom lip with his teeth and then his tongue until she parted and allowed him entrance.
He kept things slow and gentle, seductively worshiping her mouth. When he heard a sigh escape her lips, deep satisfaction and desire surged through his body, and he tightened his grasp on her.
She met his intensity, climbing atop him and straddling his lap. Her tongue slid against his, and he groaned into her mouth. Lust pulse
d through him as her hand clutched his shoulder. He could kiss her forever. Only Iris.
He wanted to press harder against her body, but he knew if he let it go on much longer, kissing wouldn’t be the only thing done. He’d already risked her reputation enough for one day.
Finally, he ended the kiss and set her back on her carriage bench. Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.
“I believe the carriage has stopped.”
Chapter Ten
Merritt awoke, and his first thoughts were of the lovely, flame-haired Iris Bennington. They had succeeded last night. She had been perfect, in the theater and in the carriage afterward. He’d had to put a stop to the kissing because he’d wanted more. Craved more. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted a woman more.
His second thoughts were that today Lady X’s story would run in his paper. He was thankful that Iris did not read his newspaper. That alone should concern him, that he’d even care if she saw it or not. That was his business, his duty to report on stories that would capture the attention of London’s elite.
He made his way down to the smaller dining room they used for breakfast. The room already smelled of eggs and butter and warm bread. His stomach rumbled in response. He idly made himself a plate and poured a cup of tea, then sat at the table.
Iris was out of his class, if you measured merely by birth. But he was an earl now, which meant that in the eyes of Society, they could be a match. Marriage? Was that what he was truly thinking about? Lucy had mentioned it, but he doubted very much that Iris would say yes to a proposal from him. But there were worst things he could think of than waking up to find Iris pressed against him every morning.
Lucy walked in and smiled brightly at him. “Good morning, brother.”
“Lucy,” he said with a nod.
She fixed her plate, and Merritt couldn’t help but notice her transformation. She was more poised, more confident, yet she was still his bright and happy sister. Iris had certainly followed through on her end of the bargain.
Granted, now that the wager had been completed, where did that leave them? She might well choose to end their alliance now that she’d gotten from him what she wanted. The thought of not seeing Iris, not spending time with her, left him feeling incomplete, as if he’d forgotten to put on all his clothes.
“How was the theater?” Lucy asked as she took her seat.
“It was as good as could be expected.” He took a sip of tea. “You went out as well, did you not?”
“Yes, I attended the Barker’s soiree with Ladies Harriet and Agnes. We had a delightful time. I danced with Lord Hendricks again.” A blush stained her cheeks at the mention of his name.
Hopefully, this Lord Hendricks would pay Merritt a visit soon, else he’d have to stop dancing with Lucy.
Merritt had barely finished his first cup of tea when a footman came in with a message. Merritt lifted the envelope off the tray and dismissed the servant. The penmanship was unfamiliar, as was the nondescript wax seal.
He lifted the blue wax and popped the envelope open, unfolding the note inside.
Lord Ashby,
It would seem you have a secret. I saw you last night at the theater with your special guest. A young man new to the city, perhaps? Some might have believed that, but I know the truth. That “young man” was none other than the proper Lady Iris Bennington in disguise. Her reputation is teetering on the edge of ruin. In order to protect your secret, you must pay me fifty pounds by midnight two nights hence. I look forward to hearing back from you. Please send all correspondence to the address below.
Yours,
Secret Keeper
Merritt swore. Someone had recognized her. But how?
“Whatever is the matter?” Lucy asked.
Merritt offered Lucy a smile. “’Tis newspaper business, my dear. Nothing you need worry about.”
Something had to be done. He couldn’t stand by and allow Iris’s reputation to be destroyed, especially with all the assistance she’d provided his sister. He needed to find out the identity of this secret keeper and put a stop to this. But that might not guarantee Iris’s reputation would remain intact. She had no father or uncles to offer her protection, and he knew her brother couldn’t accomplish anything. He could, though, protect her with his name.
He’d have to marry her. Though he’d sworn he’d never marry a woman from Society, he’d have to make an exception for Iris because he’d ruined her. Somehow, though, he knew she wouldn’t agree to marriage for such a reason.
He’d have to give her no choice in the matter. He would seduce her. Then she’d have to agree to marry him. If all went well, she might never have to know about this blackmail ordeal.
…
This entire ordeal had been pointless.
That she’d successfully proven she could pose as a gentleman only supported Merritt’s argument, not her own. Even with him putting a stop to the articles, it seemed the damage had been done, since her brother was still staying out too late and drinking too much. Merritt had told her that it had little to do with the words from the articles and everything to do with Jasper’s character, but she refused to believe that. She knew Jasper, the little boy who’d clung so tightly to her when their mother had died.
In the carriage ride home, she’d made an absolute fool of herself with Merritt. Her brazen attempt to persuade him to kiss her had been transparent and humiliating. He’d told her during the play that affection had nothing to do with physical pleasures. He’d been unwilling to give her either, as he’d quickly pushed her aside once the carriage stopped.
Had all his flirtation and kindness been nothing but an act to win the wager? He’d needed her assistance with his sister, and so he’d played a ruse to get her to help Lucy. She’d done that, and she’d been played the fool.
And the worst of it was Agnes had been right—Iris was losing her heart to Merritt. It was time for her to fiercely protect herself so that she would not be permanently broken. Which meant that now that their wager had concluded, she needed to not see him again. It shouldn’t be too challenging, as their paths hadn’t crossed until she’d forced them to.
The following afternoon, her plan to never again see Merritt came to an ignominious end when he arrived at her doorstep, refused to be turned away by her butler, swept into her sitting room, and kissed her soundly.
Naturally, it took her several—quite enjoyable—moments to recover her senses enough to push him away.
“What—” She was breathing rather hard, as was only natural under the circumstances. “What do you think you’re doing?”
…
“I want you. It is that simple,” he said.
Her eyes rounded. “Well, you cannot have me. It wouldn’t be proper.”
He closed the distance again between them. “Not one moment we’ve spent together, since we met, has been proper. You cannot cry propriety only when it serves your purpose.”
“I most certainly can!”
“You crawled into my lap in the carriage last night.”
“Shh!” She glanced at the closed door to her parlor. “Someone might hear you.”
He stepped over to the door and turned the lock. “Now then, no one will hear us. Or stumble inside.”
“But—”
“Iris.” He trailed a finger down the bare part of her arm. “Have I ever told you that I always get what I want?”
Her green eyes met his. She shook her head but said nothing.
“Oh yes, it is true.”
“And you want—”
“You.” He looked directly into her gaze. “I want you.”
She swallowed visibly. “I don’t understand. Last night when we kissed, you pushed me away.”
“That is not why I stopped. I stopped you because I want you so badly, I’m not certain I can control myself when you’re around. You drive me to near madness.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Try me,” he said.
> “I beg your pardon?”
“Kiss me again.”
She eyed him for a moment. Her tongue moistened her bottom lip, and then she leaned forward and kissed him. He pulled her the rest of the way to him, holding her tightly against his chest. And he kissed her back with all the passion he’d withheld from her in his attempt to rein in his desire. He walked her backward until her knees bumped against the settee, then he lowered them down atop it. Still, he kissed her.
She held nothing back, either; she moaned into his mouth and threaded her fingers through his hair. His hand found her breast. He was thankful that today she was dressed as a lady and her breasts were not bound and flattened against her chest. Instead he felt the delicious curve against his palm, and he wanted to explore every inch of her body.
He desperately wanted to see her, wanted to see the flush of desire spread across her lovely creamy skin, the pink at the center of her breasts, the length of her shapely legs.
“I want you now,” he groaned.
“Upstairs. My bedchamber.”
“Lead the way.”
They quickly made their way up to her room, and again Merritt locked the door behind them. He pressed her against the closed door and kissed her hard.
Her tongue darted out and rubbed against his own, and lust surged hot and wild through him. He spun her around and walked them over to her bed. He shifted their position enough so that he could work the buttons at the back of her dress. Thankfully there weren’t as many as there had been that day in his study. Soon he was able to loosen the gown and pull it off her shoulders and down the front of her body.
“I want to see you,” he said. “All of you.”
She nodded. “Draw the curtains closed.”
He did as she bade, then returned to her.
Her eyes fluttered closed, but she made no move to stop him as he removed her dress then took his time undressing the rest of her, sliding off each of her slippers then rolling down first one stocking, then the next. Her legs were long and shapely, just as he’d imagined them to be from watching her walk in the trousers. With every touch, she squirmed with pleasure, emitting small noises of bliss.
The Scoundrel and the Lady (Lords of Vice) Page 12