So much for wanting a lover.
It was not the wanting of a lover which was at fault, Thea reminded herself for what had to be the dozenth time since last night. It was the identity of that lover which had proven to be the problem.
It should have been someone like nice Lord Sheridon McKinley, whom she had danced with several times yesterday evening, and who had showed her such a marked interest. Or Sir James Dalton. He had flirted with her outrageously, and then taken the opportunity to pinch her bottom when the two of them stood up after taking supper together.
Both of those gentlemen were young, handsome, flirtatious fun, and between them reputed to have bedded half the married ladies in society. The other half being too old for their tastes, no doubt.
Julian Remington was too serious, too overpowering, too demanding. Just too Julian Rupert Sylvester Remington, the haughty and arrogant Duke of Blackmoor.
Then why had Thea been unable to stop thinking about him since last night?
Just as she had been unable to banish the memory of touching him so intimately. The excitement of holding and stroking his cock. The thrill of having that cock in her mouth, and the empowering feeling of his responses to her as he bucked and thrust, completely at her mercy. Not once but several times.
Any more than she had been able to banish the expression of cold disdain on the duke’s face when he finally came back in from the garden several minutes after her and seen her dancing with Lord McKinley.
Or her own dismay when, just minutes later, Blackmoor had made his excuses to the Harringtons, and left the ball without so much as giving another glance in her direction.
To now have her three closest friends all agog for details of that disastrous encounter seemed beyond cruel.
As for how she was ever to face Blackmoor again…
“Oh, do tell all, Thea,” Lady Rachel Shaw, an outrageous flirt, encouraged eagerly. “Blackmoor, of all men!” She gave a delicious shiver of anticipation.
“You do not have to tell us a single thing if you do not want to, Thea dear,” Mrs. Felicity Randall, the most retiring of them, assured her gently.
“Speak for yourself, Felicity,” Lady Sally Derwent, the single lady of the quartet, drawled mockingly. “Personally, I want to know of every kiss and caress. In lurid detail!”
Every kiss…
Strangely, Blackmoor had not kissed her on the lips either yesterday afternoon or last night.
Why hadn’t he?
Did he not want to kiss her? That seemed rather odd when he had discussed putting his mouth on a much more intimate part of her body.
She had thought of that a surprising amount of times too since leaving Blackmoor so abruptly last night.
“She’s blushing,” Rachel pounced. “Oh, do stop tormenting us with your silence, Thea, and tell all!”
Julian, having accepted the invitation to eat luncheon at his club with several of his friends, men with whom he had remained close since his university days, now found himself bombarded with questions concerning his uncharacteristic behavior with Lady Dorothea the previous night.
“A gentleman does not discuss a lady.” He gave the other three men a quelling glance down the length of his aristocratic nose.
“Oh ho, that means there is something to discuss!”
“Not surprising with Lady Dorothea wearing that red gown.”
“She looked almost beautiful,” Nicholas Sefton murmured speculatively.
“She is beautiful,” Julian heard himself growl, and as quickly regretted the outburst. “In an insipid sort of way,” he added with bored dismissal as three pairs of eyes gazed at him knowingly.
“Not fooling us for a moment, old chap,” Nick drawled mockingly. “Not considering the amount of time you spent outside in the garden with her.”
“While the ton gossiped and speculated as to what the two of you might possibly be doing out there alone together,” Whitney added pointedly.
Julian scowled at this knowledge. It had never been his intention to cause Thea Fitzroy any embarrassment or awkwardness by his interest in her.
Then perhaps I should not have all but dragged her outside into the garden with me for all the ton to witness.
It was the fault of that damned red gown she had almost been wearing.
And Thea’s defiance in wearing it after telling him she would be wearing a mask and gown of another color completely.
His body had been a pleasurable ache when he woke this morning, as a reminder of how he had reacted to that defiance last night. He had never before responded so strongly to having a woman’s hands and mouth on him. Not once, but several times in quick succession. No wonder every muscle in his body ached this morning.
An ache he wished to suffer again at Thea’s earliest convenience.
There is little or no chance of that happening when she left me so abruptly, and then proceeded to flirt and dance with that scoundrel McKinley the moment she returned to the ballroom.
Well, she had better not have done more than dance with him—
What the hell?
Was he jealous of McKinley, of all people?
Absolutely not.
Although, McKinley was fun, according to Amelia’s prattling over breakfast this morning. His daughter had seemed completely unaware of Julian’s scowl as she then proceeded to tell him that Lady Dorothea had been quite the belle of the ball yesterday evening, that young fox Dalton having escorted her into supper, before McKinley again claimed her for a dance.
Thea was his, damn it.
And he intended ensuring she had no further doubts on the subject.
“Uh-oh, I know what that expression means,” Brooke remarked with amusement as Julian stood abruptly.
“I have a feeling Lady Dorothea is about to learn what it means too,” Nick drawled.
“Probably won’t be able to walk for a week when Blackmoor’s finished with her.” Whitney chuckled.
“From a smacked ass, do you think, or something even more enjoyable?” Brooke speculated.
“Go to hell, the lot of you.” Julian scowled down at each of his friends in turn. “I will countenance no more of this conversation in regard to Lady Dorothea,” he warned before turning on his heel and striding purposefully towards the door of the club.
And Thea Fitzroy.
“His Grace, the Duke of Blackmoor is dem—requesting,” Cross hastily substituted, “that he see you, my lady.”
Thea, once her three friends had finally departed, had taken the opportunity to lie down on the chaise in her private parlor. A damp cloth now covered her forehead and eyes in an effort to try to alleviate the blinding headache she had been left with following the strain of fending off the other ladies’ more personal questions regarding Blackmoor.
How dare he now come here again, the second time in three days, when Thea had made it clear to him last night she hoped never to be alone with him ever again?
Because the arrogant Julian Remington dares do anything he pleases.
Thea made no effort to stir herself or remove the dampened cloth from her eyes. “Tell him I am indisposed, Cross.”
“Tell me yourself.”
Thea sat up so abruptly, it made her head spin as she turned to glare across the room that, until now, had been her own private sanctuary, but was now forever ruined by the presence of Julian Remington standing so tall and overpoweringly arrogant in the doorway.
“That will be all, Cross.” His steely gaze remained fixed on Thea as he dismissed the butler.
Thea wholeheartedly sympathized with the expression of questioning dismay on the butler’s face as to whether or not he should obey the duke or wait for Thea to give him instruction.
The elderly man had been with the Latham family since before Thea was born, and she had never before known anything to unsettle Cross’s calm demeanor. It seemed the Duke of Blackmoor had succeeded where all else had failed.
The kindest thing by far would be to take pity on the butler’s dilemma.
“You may leave us, Cross.” She gave him a reassuring smile, that smile fading as soon as she was alone with Julian Remington. “It is usually polite to wait for an invitation before invading the privacy of a person’s home, even more so a lady’s private parlor,” she informed him icily as she stood to pick up the wet cloth that had fallen to the floor when she sat up so suddenly. She also felt at far too much of a disadvantage being seated while Blackmoor stood.
Julian stepped fully into the room and quietly closed the door behind him before turning back to look at Thea Fitzroy between narrowed lids.
A woman who bore little resemblance to the siren in the red silk gown the previous evening and who had made love to him so thoroughly in the rose arbor. Her hair was unpowdered today, and she wore a modestly styled gown of sky blue. Her eyes appeared a deeper green in the pallor of her face.
Julian frowned at the latter. “Are you genuinely unwell?”
She raised an auburn brow. “Would you leave if I were to say yes?”
He gave the matter some thought before answering with the honesty he had promised her. “No.”
“As I thought.” She dropped the damp cloth onto a table beside the chaise. “What do you want, Blackmoor?” She met his gaze challengingly.
Magnificent, Julian acknowledged inwardly.
Thea Fitzroy might not be dressed as the siren today, but she still possessed that sexual allure which made him want to lay her back down on the chaise before he paid homage to her totally responsive body.
Something he had failed to do last night.
A serious and selfish oversight on his part.
And perhaps one of the reasons she had flirted with two other gentlemen after the two of them parted so badly? The idea she might have received that satisfaction from either one of those men—or both?—twisted a painful and angry knot in his gut.
His eyes narrowed. “What is wrong with you?”
She shrugged. “A headache, nothing more.”
Perhaps caused from her late night? Amelia had not arrived home until well after one o’clock this morning.
Or from the pent-up frustration from being roused to a state of desire which was not followed by the necessary release?
Julian had meant to punish Thea last night by taking his own satisfaction. For wearing the red dress for other men to look at and admire, and for pleasuring herself contrary to his instruction. But not to the point of making her feel ill.
He crossed the room to stand in front of her, not quite touching her but close enough that he could feel the heat of her body and smell that delicious scent that was so totally Thea. The wariness in her expression at his proximity caused his chest to tighten along with his gut.
His hand moved to touch the pallor of one of her cheeks. “I came to apologize to you again for my behavior last night.” His chest tightened even more as her eyes widened in surprise. “You were right. It was disrespectful of me to talk to you so crudely. I—I sincerely apologize, and if you will allow me the opportunity to make recompense, I give you my word I will endeavor to ensure it does not happen again.”
Thea would be lying if she did not admit to being thoroughly taken aback at having Blackmoor apologize to her.
Blackmoor.
A man all of society knew never apologized for or regretted any of his actions.
And yet he was now apologizing to her. Most sincerely, if she read the look of regret in his expression correctly, along with the gentleness with which he still touched the warmth of her cheek.
Both of which had the effect of dissipating the feelings of anger, and the turmoil of self-recrimination she had been suffering under since parting from Blackmoor so abruptly the night before.
The tension left the stiffness of her shoulders. “Perhaps I also overreacted…”
He gave the ghost of a smile. “We both know you did not.”
She eyed him curiously. “Why did you behave that way?”
He drew in a ragged breath. “Past experiences have long colored my words and actions, I am afraid. The thought of sharing you, with anyone, is totally abhorrent to me.”
Thea had no idea what those past experiences might be. A past mistress who had played him false, perhaps? Or something closer to home? “I have assured you that will not happen.”
“Still?” He looked at her searchingly.
It took her several seconds to realize what he meant. “I did not go straight from being with you last night to the arms of another, if that is what you are asking.”
He gave a wince. “Dalton and McKinley are…well known for their charm.”
“Unlike you?” she teased, becoming easier again in Blackmoor’s company now that she knew he regretted his words of last night.
“Charm is not something I am known for, no,” he acknowledged heavily as his hand dropped back to his side.
But he was known for being many other things. Most of all for being a man of his word. “What sort of recompense for your bad behavior did you have in mind…?”
She watched the strong column of his throat move as he swallowed before answering huskily. “You forgive me?”
“As long as you promise it will not happen again.”
“I promised I will endeavor to try not to let it happen again. I cannot make a promise I do not know if I can keep. I have…a temper,” he acknowledged, “which means that I sometimes speak before thinking. Most especially so when other…emotions are involved.”
Such as desire.
Thea knew Blackmoor would never love her, but she felt absolutely no doubt that he still desired her. He would not have come here to apologize otherwise. Would have cut his losses and forgotten their brief intimacy, and thanked the Lord for allowing him to do so.
“Then I forgive you…Remy,” she added the last deliberately as she looked up at him beneath lowered lashes.
His gaze immediately warmed in response to her use of that name, a flush appearing on his cheeks. “Do you still have the red gown?”
“Of course.” Although she very much doubted she would ever find occasion to wear it again. “It is in my bedchamber.” Thrown into a corner of the room. Exactly where she had hurled it so angrily the night before after returning from the ball.
“Then go and get it.”
Her insides melted as her body instantly responded to the command in his tone. “You wish me to wear the red gown?” She had decided last night that she should never wear that scandalous concoction ever again.
He gave an enigmatic grin. “I wish for you to go and get it and bring it back here.”
Thea had no idea why Blackmoor wanted her to do such a thing, or what he intended doing with the red gown.
No idea at all.
Nor did she care. “I will be but two minutes.” She hurried from the parlor to do as he bid her.
The heaviness which had been plaguing her since the two of them parted so badly the evening before had now lifted.
Her headache was completely gone.
So also was the despondency of mood which had caused the headache in the first place.
Because Blackmoor was here.
A man who could claim her with a mere command.
A man she could also claim, with her hands and with her mouth.
She hurried her steps towards her bedchamber and the red silk gown.
Chapter 7
Blackmoor had used the brief time of her absence to remove his jacket, waistcoat, and necktie. The top of his shirt was also unfastened, revealing a dusting of the dark curls that no doubt covered the whole of his muscular chest. Several more dark curls fell boyishly onto his brow, making him appear younger and less austere.
He crossed the room to lock the door behind her before taking the gown and proceeding to arrange it over the chaise, quirking a dark and teasing brow as he turned and saw Thea watching him intently. “It is my intention to make love to you as you lie naked on this red silk.”
Her cheeks colored almost as vibrant a red as that gown. Blackmoor—Remy
, wished her to remove all her clothes? To be naked, here, in her brother’s home?
He straightened. “As you have previously suggested, and with your agreement, I will arrange to purchase a house where the two of us can enjoy and pleasure each other as we decide. For now, out of necessity, here in your parlor is what we have.”
Blackmoor was going to purchase a house where the two of them might meet in complete privacy?
Where they might enjoy each other as they wished?
Would that then make her Blackmoor’s mistress?
A thrill of excitement rushed through Thea at thoughts of that. Just days ago, she had ached for a lover, and along had come Julian Remington, the Duke of Blackmoor, to offer to fulfill every wicked sexual need and fantasy.
Last night, after the two of them argued, Thea had convinced herself she had aimed too high with her choice of lover. That Blackmoor had realized that his choice of her, as his lover, had been a mistake.
Now, with him standing in front of her looking so—so spectacularly and rakishly male wearing just his unfastened shirt and pantaloons, Thea knew she had only been fooling herself with such remonstrations. That it was this man she had fantasized about for weeks. That she wanted Blackmoor above all other men. For however long, and for whatever purpose, he wished to have her.
These past few days, she had also discovered something about herself she would never have suspected.
Such as she enjoyed having Blackmoor command her.
She enjoyed commanding him.
She enjoyed both those things so much, the folds between her thighs were already plump and weeping in anticipation of more of his lovemaking.
“Thea?”
She roused herself from her thoughts to give him a dazzling smile. “I think a house where the two of us might meet in private sounds like an excellent idea.”
Julian had no idea he had been holding his breath as he watched the emotions flickering across Thea Fitzroy’s expressive face, until that breath now left him in a relieved sigh. He had thought perhaps he had once again gone too far with the suggestion of buying a house where the two of them might meet in private. That he had overstepped a line that might send her fleeing from him again. Thea’s smile and her answer dispelled every last one of those doubts.
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