by Gaelen Foley
Dolph turned around just as she came barreling to the edge of the water amid the clacking ducks. She skidded to a halt beside him.
“Oh, no!” she cried, clapping her hands to her cheeks like Sarah Siddons on stage at Covent Garden.
Dolph nearly fell half in love with her for that.
“Miss,” he said with a humble bow, biting back laughter, “allow me.”
“Oh, good sir, I couldn’t possibly impose upon your kindness—”
But Dolph stripped off his coat with a gallant half smile and began wading out into the pond to retrieve her bit of expensive frippery. Up to his muscular thighs in cold water, he reached the thing and grasped it, masking his irritation at having ruined boots that had cost him seventy guineas. Getting back at Hawkscliffe would be worth it, he assured himself. He turned around and found his little quarry beaming and blushing, the wind running riot through her sunny curls.
“It’s a bit the worse for wear, I’m afraid,” he said as he stomped out of the mud and muck and handed it to her.
A cascade of breathless laughter spilled from her lips. “Thank you, Mister—?”
“Sir Dolph Breckinridge, at your service, mademoiselle.”
“Hello. I am Jacinda,” she whispered, peeking over her shoulder.
Her friend was standing a few feet away scowling. A schoolmarm in an apron was on her way.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “May I write to you?”
Her eyes widened, sparkling with excitement. “I’m sure that is not proper!”
“Nor’s it proper when young ladies throw their parasols in ponds,” he taunted softly. “Do you so like propriety?”
“Jacinda,” her companion hissed. “Miss Alverston is coming!”
“Stall her, Lizzie,” she shot back over her shoulder.
“Do you like driving? Come for a ride with me.”
“Sir Dolph,” she exclaimed, looking scandalized and unbearably eager at the same time.
“I’ll teach you how to drive my phaeton. Won’t that be fun? I’ll teach you everything,” he whispered, gazing at her rosy lips.
“Lady Jacinda! Stop bothering that gentleman this instant!” bellowed the monitor, arriving on the scene.
“She dropped her parasol, Miss Alverston,” the spinsterish girl tried to explain.
Jacinda heeded neither of them, staring at Dolph, her big velvety brown eyes still wide with shocked fascination at his seductive words.
The older woman marched over and grasped her wrist. “Good day, sir, this is private property. You will have to read your paper elsewhere.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware, sorry,” he said blandly, looking down his nose at the woman.
“Thank you for saving my parasol,” Jacinda called as the schoolmarm tugged her away by the wrist, then the young beauty turned and began skipping to keep up.
But her more prudent companion, whom she had called Lizzie, stopped and glared up at him, hands on hips. “I remember you,” Lizzie warned. “You’re the Nasty Man who got our favorite teacher fired. You’d best stay away from here!”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll tell on you!”
“Dear me, I might get my knuckles rapped by the headmistress.”
“That’s not who I’ll tell, you—you rude person. I’ll tell Lady Jacinda’s brothers—all five of them! You’ll be mincemeat!”
“Lizzie,” someone called.
“Coming!”
“You’d better keep your mouth shut,” Dolph growled.
“And you’d better stay away from my best friend,” she huffed, then she turned on her heel and hurried back to the school.
Dolph sneered as he watched her, realizing he was probably foiled.
As sweet as that particular vengeance might be, pursuing Jacinda Knight would be suicide. Hawkscliffe alone was enough of a foe—he didn’t even want to think about running afoul of that outlaw Jack or the war-hero Damien, who would no doubt soon return from the Peninsula.
He spit on the emerald grass and stalked back to his phaeton.
Perhaps he was biased, Hawk mused, but as the orchestra’s music vibrated through the Argyle Rooms on the night of the Cyprians’ Ball, he decided with considerable pride that his mistress was by far the most beautiful woman in the place. Her slender curves were draped in a shimmering ice blue gown, displaying so much cleavage at her plunging neckline that she positively made his mouth water. He would have liked to see her wearing nothing but the diamond-and-lapis-lazuli necklace that glittered at her creamy throat.
He had splurged for her again, surprising her with the gift just before the party. He gave a rueful sigh when he realized he was sinking fast into his folly and didn’t even seem to care. Just looking at her lifted his heart.
She was chatting with three of the Unique Four, working the party, to his amusement, and charming everyone who crossed her path. She seemed to have a golden glow around her that made people gravitate to her and come away smiling—especially if those people were men, Hawk thought, beginning to get a trifle impatient with her social rounds. He wanted her back by his side where she belonged. God help him, he was besotted.
Scowling, he tossed back his sherry and set the small glass on the bar, wondering if he would end up as obsessed with the woman as Dolph was. With his stare fixed on her, he strode through the crowd, giving perfunctory replies to the greetings of his acquaintances. He ignored the flamboyant party in progress around him, all his attention focused only on her. Lewd stories, raucous laughter, cavorting and kisses and brazen fondlings were going on all around him. The Cyprians gave the men full leave to misbehave.
Belinda saw him coming and her eyes flared, their brilliance dimming the luster of the jewels. A trace of a bewitching smile curved her lips. He was transfixed.
She held his gaze as he parted the group of men who surrounded her. His spirit caught fire the moment he touched her. Staring at her in enthralled absorption, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, deaf to the protests of the young men she had been talking to. Coaxing her with naught but a slight, private smile, he drew her into the minuet. Neither of them broke their challenging stare as they danced. Hawk drank in her every graceful movement, inhaling the scent of her perfume as she wove past him in the figures of the dance. She tipped her chin downward and sent him an alluring glance over her shoulder as she passed him. He reached out and put his hand on her waist, stilling her. She looked up at him in question.
They ceased dancing, though the minuet moved on around them. Inches apart, they gazed at each other, not moving, not even kissing, like two lovers in a porcelain statuette. The pounding of his pulse roared in his ears. And then, beneath the gay rhythmic clamor of the orchestra, he heard inside his heart another melody, free and wild and sweet as the piping of a solitary nightingale.
Belinda stared at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes glistening with wonder as though she could hear it, too.
He knew then. He held her hand, trembling inside with awed reverence. It was no use. The impossible had befallen him. He was in love with her.
Bel wasn’t sure what was wrong. Her protector was standing there staring at her and looking as though he had just been struck by some fiery celestial comet. She was about to ask him if he felt quite well, when Harriette sailed over to them and cheerfully hooked her arm through Bel’s.
“Your Grace, so sorry, I need to borrow her for just a moment. I’ll bring her back in a trice. Bel, if you’ll come with me. There’s someone who wishes to meet you—”
“No,” Robert said harshly, grasping Bel’s wrist harder.
Harriette and Bel both turned to him in surprise. He seemed to realize then that he had just uttered a most impolite syllable.
Harriette laughed and struck his arm lightly with her fan. “Oh, be a good sport, Hawkscliffe. She is here to entertain, you know.”
Robert let go of her hand and looked at Bel imploringly. “She can do what she thinks is right, I’m
sure.”
Bel furrowed her brow. “Are you quite well?”
“I’m fine,” he whispered.
“Come along, child. It’s urgent.” Harriette began tugging her away.
Bel went tripping along after her, but looked over her shoulder at Robert as Harriette pulled her away. He stood staring after her, his dark eyes blazing with intensity.
“Come, hurry! You’ll never guess who wants to meet you. I’m so jealous.”
“Who is it?”
“Czar Alexander!”
Bel gasped, stopped, and pulled her hand free. “You’re jesting.”
“Don’t look now, but he’s in the gallery with his entourage. He noticed you in the crowd,” Harriette squealed in glee.
Bel glanced up at once toward the gallery and saw movement there, but the people at the railing were drifting away. “W-what does he want?”
“What do you think, dear? You caught his eye. I hope you are prepared to be accommodating.”
“No!”
“No?” Harriette pulled her aside, turned to her, and set her hands pugnaciously on her waist. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I came here with Hawkscliffe.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing—”
“Bel, you little fool, how many times have I warned you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re in love with him.”
“No, I’m not,” she shot back, but she could feel her cheeks heating with a blush.
“Yes, you are. You’ve forfeited, lost the game.”
“I have not!”
“Really? Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because right now, the Czar of all the Russias is waiting to take you to bed. Come on. I’ll not have you offending him and embarrassing me.” Harriette grasped her by the wrist and began pulling her toward the stairs, but Bel planted her slippered feet and refused to budge another inch.
“No!”
“You can’t say no; you are a courtesan,” Harriette exclaimed.
“I choose my own lovers. I don’t want him.”
“Don’t be a fool! It is the Czar! It’s not as if he is repugnant. He’s very handsome. Haven’t you seen him?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him, but I am not going to leave Robert standing there alone all night.”
“I’ll send one of the others to entertain him—”
“Don’t you dare,” she warned.
“Belinda Hamilton, you cannot refuse the Czar of Russia. Do it for England.”
“Oh, please! If he is such a gentleman as everyone says, then he will understand.”
“I don’t believe you. You are throwing away the chance of a lifetime! Treat him well and who knows where he can take you? Bel, he is an emperor. Don’t be a fool!”
“If you’re so impressed with him, you take him to bed, Harrie!” She pulled her hand free and pivoted, striding away on legs that shook beneath her.
“You ungrateful, arrogant little wench! How dare you embarrass me like this, after all I’ve done for you?”
“I’ve paid you twenty percent for everything you’ve done for me, Harrie, so forgive me if I fail to grovel sufficiently.”
“What am I supposed to tell the Czar?”
“Tell him I am flattered, but my first loyalty must be to Hawkscliffe. I’m going home.”
“Knight House is not your home, you little fool. You’re going to learn that the hard way. You’re nothing but a servant there.”
Bel hurried through the throng with Harriette’s warning still ringing in her ears. She was desperate to see Robert. She prayed he wasn’t angry at her for allowing Harriette to drag her away. What had that stare of his meant? She burst through a knot of people talking and suddenly came face-to-face with him.
His dark eyes blazed with anger and hurt. She stepped toward him, touching his chest in silent pleading. He lifted her chin roughly between his fingers and thumb. He tilted her head back and searched her eyes.
“What’s this, changed your mind?” he growled.
Trembling, Bel clasped her arms around his neck in reply and pulled him down to her, kissing him full on the mouth. He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her with hot, lusty abandon in the middle of the ballroom, claiming her with an almost violent passion.
They were deaf to the raucous cries and whistles of the people around them. No one noticed their furious desperation, taking it all in fun, but Bel was in an agony of longing for him as she ran her fingers through his hair, opening her mouth wider to accept his angry dominating kiss. She could feel his intent—to teach her a lesson—teach her that she belonged completely to him. She wanted only to surrender.
Defiantly she hoped the Czar and his entourage and Harriette were all watching. She ended the kiss but held his face between her trembling hands and pressed her forehead against his.
“Take me home,” she breathed.
He didn’t need any urging. He swept her off her feet and carried her out of the Argyle Rooms, all the way out to his town coach.
She was barely aware of the driver and grooms whisking into their posts. When Robert and she were inside, they pulled down the shades and tumbled into each other’s arms as the well-sprung coach smoothly bore them through the dark city toward Green Park.
He eased her back onto the ivory leather seat. Tasting and touching, fumbling with clothing, they groped and stroked each other, kissing all the while as if they’d never get enough. The coach was filled with the sound of their panting and the creak of the leather seats as Robert sat up and pulled her astride him, his hands hot and trembling.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night. Give me those luscious—” He ripped the front of her bodice open, freed her breasts, and buried his face between them. “Mmmm. God, I could devour you,” he moaned as his hot, wet mouth captured her nipple.
Bel gasped then let out a low, breathless laugh of delirious pleasure.
Suckling her, he slid the torn neckline of her gown still lower, caressing her body everywhere.
She arched her head back and wove her fingers through his jet black hair as he moved to sample her other breast. Beneath her skirts, his hands crept up her thighs, spread in wanton invitation as she straddled his lap.
“Hmm, no petticoats,” he panted.
She closed her eyes and smiled drunkenly as he slid his fingers between her legs. Kissing her neck, he indulged her until she thought her nerves would snap with her need for release. But at passion’s edge, he stopped. She dragged her eyes open as he picked her up and set her down on the opposite seat. Staring at her, with a dark, sly half smile, he pressed her back gently against the luxurious leather and lowered himself to his knees.
“Robert—”
“Just enjoy,” he whispered. “I know I will.”
With a soft moan, she closed her eyes and yielded to his sensuous gift, twining her fingers through his silky black hair.
Soon her feet were braced against the edge of the opposite seat, her gown was hitched up around her hips, and she held onto the coach’s looped leather hand straps for dear life while Robert took her with his fingers and consumed her with his tongue. She lifted her hips, moving with him, all her inhibitions melting in the steamy heat of the summer night. His rhythm quickened, matching her need, soaring her to new altitudes of wicked bliss.
He stopped, his hands shaking as he reached for his falls, his clean-shaved chin glistening in the moonlit dark. “I have to have you. Now.”
Immediately a frisson of panic slid through her veins. Not that. She wasn’t ready. She planted her hand on his chest, holding him back. She winced to deny him but prayed he wouldn’t be angry. “Darling, n-not in the coach. Not for our first time together, please?”
He dropped his head back and let out a groan of agonized frustration.
“Oh, my sweet man,” she whispered, enfolding him between her legs as she ran her hand down his body and cupped the swollen, steely hardness that
strained against his snug silk breeches. “May I, Your Grace?” she asked with a coy glance at his face. At his low, lusty growl of desire, she shoved him back into his seat and took charge.
By the time the town coach rolled to a halt in front of Knight House, Robert and she climbed out, trying to reclaim a shred of dignity.
The smell of sex poured out of the coach when the footman opened the door. They had pleasured each other wildly and Robert’s climax had been explosive.
Heating with a scarlet blush and holding back nervous laughter, Bel could not bear to look at the grooms and servants as they walked to the house. She had no doubt that every groom and even the horses knew what they had been doing during the drive home.
Carrying her shoes in one hand, her reticule in the other, somehow she walked inside with her chin high, her stare fixed straight ahead, knowing full well she was in a state of complete dishevelment, a rip in the middle of her already-low neckline and a high blush in her cheeks. Her whole body felt wonderful, however, and she couldn’t wait to go straight to sleep.
Robert was somewhat worse off. Cravat undone, shirt hanging open halfway down his chest, he looked tousled and sated, a little savage and quite raw. He was silent as he walked beside her up the curving staircase. The marble steps felt cool under her stockinged feet.
At the top of the stairs, they stopped and looked at each other uncertainly.
Bel smiled at him and he returned it with a rueful chuckle, running his hand through his mussed hair. He dropped his gaze and for a moment there was a silence fraught with hunger and hesitation.
“Never been to a Cyprians’ Ball before,” he said.
“Neither have I.”
Another awkward pause.
He slid her a questioning look. “I had a good time.”
Her smile widened. “That was the idea.” She took a step toward him and went up onto her tiptoes, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Robert.”
As she drew back he searched her eyes with a smoldering gaze. “When, Belinda?” he whispered.
Her caress smoothed the black satin lapel of his tailcoat. “Soon.” Suddenly unnerved, she forced a casual smile and turned away, slinging her scarf over her shoulder, striding toward her suite as though she hadn’t a care in the world.