Thankfully, Waxman didn’t sleep anywhere near his master. The valet’s room was one floor below and at the back of the house, which meant that she wouldn’t have to worry about waking him and being discovered as she carried out her plan.
And then she was at Lord Drake’s door, the candle flame flickering slightly inside her quavering fingers. Aware she dare not delay, she turned the knob and stole inside.
The room was dark, the curtains pulled tightly against any light from the street outside. At first she didn’t see Lord Drake, his long form swathed in shadows. Then she walked forward, the candlelight pouring in a gentle wash of illumination over his recumbent form, where he lay beneath the sheets in a huge, cherrywood tester bed.
Deeply asleep, he showed no signs that he was the least bit aware of her presence. He lay on his back, one arm flung outward across the sheets, while the other rested against his chest.
His very naked chest.
It was broad and firmly muscled, a veritable work of art, with dark golden curls scattered over its taut plane and downward in a narrow line that ran over his flat stomach before disappearing enticingly beneath the sheet.
Unaware of her actions, she stepped nearer and raised the candle higher in order to get a better look. As she did, she vaguely registered the slender gold chain and brass key nestled among those tantalizing curls. But she paid it little heed, too entranced with the sight of Lord Drake to think of aught else.
Then he inhaled, his chest rising and falling on a swift breath.
She jumped, her gaze flying to his face to see if he had awakened. But he slept on, oblivious to everything but his own dreams. Studying him, she couldn’t help but notice the light stubble that shadowed his strong cheeks and jaw, nor the almost boyish quality to his features, relaxed now from their usual musings and preoccupations.
Forcing her gaze away from his handsome visage, she reminded herself why she’d come to his room—and it wasn’t to admire Lord Drake, no matter how deliciously appealing he might be. Besides, she cautioned herself, she didn’t know how long the sleeping draught would keep him in its hold, so she had no time to squander while she proceeded with her mission.
Relying on stealth and a huge measure of caution, she set down her candle on his night table, then turned to inch as close as she could to the bed. Taking care not to jostle the mattress, she pressed even closer and leaned over Lord Drake.
Her heart thundered violently in her ears, so loud she feared the pounding would bring him awake. When it didn’t, she drew a soundless breath and willed her hands not to tremble, perspiration bedewing her skin in a light, slippery sheen.
Bending closer still, she slid her fingers over the clasp on the chain around his neck—thankful the fastener had slipped forward so it wasn’t located behind his neck.
Then she unfastened it.
Ever so slowly she eased the chain and its precious cargo away from his chest, lifting both key and chain free in a single, graceful move. Clutching them to her own chest, where her heart beat like wings, she waited to see if Lord Drake would awaken.
But he slept on, mercifully oblivious, courtesy of the powerful sedative effects of the sleeping draught.
Stepping carefully back, she reached again for the candle, then crept across the room toward a small table-and-chair arrangement, where it appeared he sometimes read. Setting down the candle again, she found a flat bit of space, then dug inside her robe pocket for the leather case.
Making an imprint of both sides of the key proved far quicker and easier than she’d dreamed, the wax she’d prepared just right for the task.
Expelling a quiet breath, she patted her forehead dry with the handkerchief she also kept inside her pocket, then folded the cloth in half and wiped the key clean on the other side. The brass gleamed in the candlelight, winking as if it were in on the plot.
She suppressed a renewed wave of guilt that made her stomach as sour as a freshly squeezed lemon and returned the key to the chain. Placing the handkerchief and the leather-bound case with its precious imprint back in her pocket, she took up the candle once more. Turning, she gazed across the room at Lord Drake’s recumbent form.
Nearly done, she assured herself as she studied him sleeping in the dark. Just get this chain fastened around his neck again, make it safely back to my bedroom, and no one but me will be the wiser.
Buoyed by her success, she padded soundlessly across the carpeted floor and set about reversing the process she’d done a brief time before.
Her fingers were steady and dry, her heartbeat working at a more moderate pace as she bent over Lord Drake and slid the chain cautiously back around his neck. The key nestled lightly against his chest as if returning to its home. The fastener clicked closed, and she was just drawing away, when he moved, his hand flashing up to catch hold of her wrist.
She glanced up and stared—straight into his open, grass green eyes. A silent gasp burned inside her lungs, her pulse leaping like a rabbit trapped inside in a snare, her mouth as dry as a desert.
Bon Dieu, how long has he been awake? More importantly, how much does he know?
She waited for his accusations to begin, fearful of the questions he would ask and the answers he would force her to tell.
But he said nothing; he just stared.
Only then did she notice the odd glittery sheen to his gaze, his eyes curiously unfocused and confused. Incredible as it might seem, she began to wonder if he was truly awake at all.
Deciding to test the theory, she gave a slight tug at her wrist, hoping he would let go. But his grip tightened, not painfully, but enough that she realized it was unbreakable—for the moment at least.
He stared at her, his gaze sweeping her face as if trying to make sense of her presence. “It’s you,” he murmured, his words thick and raspy.
A shiver ran through her, an unwanted awareness mingling with her anxiety. “No, it’s not,” she said nonsensically. “So why don’t you release me and go back to sleep?” she told him in a soothing whisper, the sort she’d often used to calm her young brothers when they’d awakened from a bad dream.
His brows drew tight, clearly puzzling over what she’d said.
Her pulse knocked hard in her captured wrist, her thoughts racing. Why isn’t the sleeping draught working anymore? And what in heavens am I going to do to extract myself?
She needed to convince him this was nothing more than an illusion, she decided hurriedly, and that he needed to forget she was even there.
More than anything, he needs to forget I’m here!
“You’re dreaming, my lord,” she murmured, modulating her tone. “I am nothing but a figment of your imagination. Relax now and drift off to other worlds and other women besides me.”
But rather than closing his eyes and sinking back to sleep, a slow, devilish smile moved over his lips. Without warning, he tugged her closer so that she half lay across his warm, bare chest. “But I don’t want other women,” he said huskily. “I only want you. I’ve had this dream before, of you lying here in my arms, in my bed. So come and let us share another night of passion, my beautiful, bounteous, Anne.”
He’s dreamed of me?
Before she had time to react to that amazing revelation, he cupped a wide palm behind her head and took her lips. She gasped, trembling beneath his possession as he plundered her mouth with long, rapacious kisses that sent her senses spinning.
She couldn’t think, the pleasure he’d promised cascading over her in a deluge of delicious sensation. Odd as it might seem, it was as if they were lovers already, as though there was no touch too intimate, no need too great.
In the weeks since she’d first met him, she’d wondered what it would be like to kiss Lord Drake, to touch him with ardor rather than having to show the indifferent restraint of a servant. But never in her wildest imaginings had she expected anything like this. He’d done nothi
ng more than kiss her, yet she ached all the way to her toes. His touch was pure bliss, more tempting and powerful than any she’d ever known.
Not even Thierry, whom she’d loved to distraction, had made her feel so much. With him she’d known tenderness and delight, but never such deep, yearning need. She’d known desire beneath his sweet caresses, but never this instantaneous abandon that made her long to forget everything but the man in whose arms she lay. Lord Drake was nothing like her husband, yet she felt more in this moment with him than she had in the whole of her life.
The startling realization made her blink as some spark of caution flashed back to life inside her brain. Bonté divine, what am I doing? she thought dazedly. I have to stop now before I let this go too far.
With a gasp, she wrenched her mouth from his, viscerally aware of the damp throb of her lips and the wet heat pooling between her thighs, both sensations urging her to put aside her qualms and let matters proceed.
But she couldn’t, she told herself. She had to make herself remember the reason she’d come to his bedchamber. And it wasn’t to make love!
Drake, however, didn’t seem concerned by her withdrawal. Instead, he tugged her higher against his body while simultaneously sliding one of his large palms down her back. A shiver traced over her skin as he paused to caress the dip at the base of her spine, heat boiling like fire over her as he began gathering the thin material of her robe and nightgown between his fingers, so that both inched slowly up her legs.
She squirmed against him, then froze, abruptly realizing that her actions had simply made matters worse by settling her more firmly atop his erection. Of its impressive size she had no doubt, not with his flesh and her own separated by nothing more substantial than a thin silk sheet and the cotton lawn of her nightclothes.
“My lord, you must stop,” she said on a breathless pant.
“Why?” he drawled, his eyelids heavy with undisguised passion. Angling his head, he pressed an openmouthed kiss against the exposed side of her neck. Then, as if that weren’t devastating enough, he licked her, the tip of his tongue swirling like satin against her skin before roving onward.
She shuddered, her eyelids fluttering downward on a pleasured slide.
Yes, why? she puzzled, her mind growing misty again. It was as though she were the one who’d been drugged tonight, she thought, fighting to shake off the strange pliancy creeping through her limbs.
Remember, she ordered herself.
Remember what?
Without warning, he rolled her to her back, stringing kisses along her throat and collarbone as he lay above her. In that moment, the key swung around his neck, glinting briefly in the low amber glow of the candlelight.
Sebastianne stared at the metal.
The key. Of course, the key.
She had to get out of his bed, out of his room, immediately! But how, with Lord Drake so clearly determined to keep her in it? What she needed, she decided, was a diversion.
Reaching up, she stroked a palm across his cheek and drew his attention. “W-why don’t you give me a minute to freshen up?” she suggested in a purring tone. “I promise I’ll be right back.”
The hand gliding upward along her bare thigh stopped, his forehead wrinkling over her statement. “Freshen up?”
“Yes, to splash a bit of water, you know. I’ll just slip out, then slip back. You’ll hardly know I’ve been away.”
And once she was away and safely inside her room again, he would with any luck have grown tired enough in his waiting to forget about her and fall back to sleep.
“I’ll come with you,” he said, moving as if to climb out of the bed.
“No!” she said, curving a hand around one of his bare upper arms. “You stay right here. I’ll return in mere moments.”
He studied her with glazed green eyes for several long seconds, then leaned away to let her slip off the bed. Puffing out a quiet breath of relief, she made good her escape.
Hands trembling, she lifted the candle she’d earlier set on his night table, then walked on alarmingly unsteady feet across the large room to the door of his bathing chamber.
He was watching her as she paused with her fingers on the knob, making her aware that she had no choice except to enter. But that wouldn’t be a problem, she knew, since the room had two doors, the second one that led out into his dressing room. She would go in one door, then out through the other and disappear through his sitting room on the far side.
Inside the bathing chamber, she found herself far too distracted to truly admire the modern chamber, with its clean white tiles, shining brass fixtures and huge porcelain bathtub. After locking the door behind her, she crossed to the sink and picked up the yellow-and-white Sèvres pitcher, already filled with water. Pouring a cool, wet inch into the basin, she splashed for a few seconds so that it would sound as though she really were washing up.
Once finished, she decided that she ought to dispose of the evidence since she didn’t want to leave clues that might lead Lord Drake to wonder if her presence in his bedroom had been more than a dream. Draining the water into the bathtub, she returned the basin to the precise spot where it had been, then carefully dried her hands on a nearby towel so no marks would show. Then, convinced she’d waited long enough, she padded on hushed feet toward the dressing-room door.
A strangled gasp rose in her throat at the sight of the tall shadow waiting on the other side. With her heart beating in painful strokes, she pressed a fist to her chest, while the flame from the candle she held wavered in a crazy dance.
“All freshened up?” Lord Drake asked. He swayed slightly where he stood, one hand braced against the wall. Even in the low light it was plain that he was naked—the rest of his body every inch as magnificent as his chest.
She couldn’t help but look, her gaze roving over his narrow hips, long thighs corded with muscle, and the powerful erection rising up between them. Her mouth grew moist at the sight, even as her throat grew dry.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she said on a high-pitched squeak.
For that matter, how was he out of bed, considering the sleeping draught she’d given him? Now she wished she’d used the entire dose in his wine rather than dividing it in half. Obviously, he had the constitution of an ox. Or a bull, she thought, unable to keep from glancing again at his substantial arousal.
“The other door was locked, so I came around here,” he said in answer to her question, his tone implying a kind of irrefutable logic. “So, are you ready?”
Ready?
She swallowed convulsively, her traitorous body throbbing in her most secret places. “M-my lord, I think perhaps we—”
“—should go back to bed,” he finished. Pushing himself away from the wall, he moved close, his hands reaching for her gown. “But first, let’s get you out of these.”
“I-I think I should keep them on.” She took two steps back, eluding him.
But he followed. “I don’t. I want to see you, and this is my dream, after all.”
Dream? Did he still believe he was asleep and this interlude between them was nothing more than a fantasy? Mayhap she could still find a way out of her predicament, she mused, if she managed things right. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she wondered once again exactly how to do that.
Then he took the candle out of her hand and set it aside, the low light flickering around them in a way that cast seductive shadows against the walls. Reaching for her again, he grasped the tie at the waist of her robe and pulled it loose.
“My lord,” she said, trying to forestall him as he pushed the robe from her shoulders.
“Drake,” he told her, edging her slowly backward. “You always call me by my name in my dreams.”
“Dr-Drake, then. I still need a bit of time. Why don’t you return to bed, and I’ll follow.”
He shook his head. “But you’ll sl
ip away.”
He was right. She would.
Without warning, she bumped into a smooth panel of wood that rose upward behind her. The door—the one she’d locked when she’d first entered the room. Reaching back, she fumbled for the key, trying to turn it and reopen the door.
As she struggled to work the mechanism, Lord Drake stepped closer. Her pulse leapt wildly in her chest at having him so near.
So naked.
But instead of trying to unfasten the buttons on her thin cotton nightgown as she expected, he laid both of his wide, capable palms over her breasts and cupped them with a bold, knowing possession. Squeezing her flesh with the lightest of touches, he began caressing her with his thumbs.
And mercy on high, did he caress her, her nipples beading into tight, aching peaks that made her spine arch of its own accord. Her fingers stilled against the key, wrists growing lax as he began using slow, circling touches in a way that literally made her whole body throb. Her eyelids slid closed, a sigh of pure bliss whispering from her lips.
Before she had time to collect herself and her wayward thoughts, he was kissing her, taking her mouth with a heady intensity that undid her even more. His tongue slipped inside to play with her own, giving her the kind of openmouthed kiss good women were warned was sinful.
But how could anything so wonderful be a sin? And why did she no longer seem to care what might pass between them tonight?
Behind her, the key dropped to the floor.
She barely heard its metallic ping, pressing herself against Drake as she threaded her fingers into the thick chestnut silk of his hair. A whisper of air brushed against her body as he unfastened the buttons on her nightgown, the thin plackets parting as they hung open to her waist. Then his hands slipped inside to stroke her, flesh to heated flesh.
How much time passed, she had no idea, her judgment lost beneath a tide of desire. He surprised her again though when he broke their kiss and leaned fractionally away. Weaving ever so slightly, he gazed into her eyes. “Come,” he said, his words as much a request as a command.
The Bed and the Bachelor Page 12