Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  She couldn’t ignore his logic. “But you swear you will take me to one?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “I swear.”

  “And a great many of your friends will be there?”

  “My friends?” His eyes narrowed. “Why does that matter?”

  Lord, this deceiving him was hard. “I-I just meant it must be large. I assumed you wouldn’t attend any party that didn’t involve your friends.”

  He glared at her. “Fine, I’ll make sure it’s large. I’ll convince someone I trust to throw it.”

  Even if she didn’t meet Sir Humphry there, she might gain entree into the circle so she could be invited to a party he did attend. “All right, I am satisfied.”

  “How reassuring,” he said, a sarcastic bite to his voice. “I’m to risk everything so you can write a bloody pamphlet, while you risk nothing.”

  “I risk my reputation and my position by attending,” she pointed out.

  “Which doesn’t seem to concern you much.”

  Because if she got what she needed from the party, she’d be returning to Telford.

  “Besides,” he went on in that same resentful tone, “since no one knows you, you won’t be found out. As I said, little risk to you, much risk to me.”

  “I can’t help it you’re better known and have so much to lose.” She cocked up an eyebrow. “Nor is it my fault you lead a reckless life. Other gentlemen don’t generally have to prove themselves.”

  His scowl held a wealth of ire. “Yes, if I’d subscribed to the narrow rules passing for morality in society, I wouldn’t be in this position. How careless of me.”

  “I said nothing about morality.” His uncle had hidden behind the claims of morality to condemn Papa, and she hated being lumped in with his kind.

  “You didn’t have to. It lurked beneath your talk about recklessness. But because you want something from me, you fear insulting me by calling me immoral.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  His eyes glittered that unearthly blue. “You needn’t bother; by most standards of society, I am immoral. And if not for my niece, I’d still be living exactly as I please because I don’t care what society thinks.” He leaned close. “There, I’ve been honest with you. The least you can do is be honest with me.”

  “I am! I always state exactly what I think.” Which was why hiding her reasons for wanting to attend the party was so hard. “Morality has nothing to do with my opinion, I assure you.”

  “Really.” A decidedly unholy gleam shone in his eyes. “So if I were to ask you to seal our bargain with a kiss, you would have no moral objection.”

  A kiss? She squelched the peculiar jolt of excitement coursing through her at the thought.

  “After all,” he went on coldly, “I have no diseases, I can’t use it to blackmail you since no one would take my word over yours, and it would certainly not result in illegitimate children.” He glanced about the deserted ballroom. “Without witnesses, there’s no risk to your position or reputation, either.”

  The gaze he fixed on her held an unfamiliar light that made her pulse drum violently. No man had ever looked at her quite like that. The few unmarried men in Telford had avoided the peculiar physician’s daughter.

  “So if you have no moral objection,” he continued, “I see no reason for us not to kiss. Especially since you already told me I could ‘attempt to seduce you all I please’ because such things don’t ‘tempt’ you.”

  How clever of him to use her own words against her. The odd thing was she’d love to have him kiss her, if only to see why everyone made such a fuss about it. But that was unwise, for so many reasons. “Kissing me would hardly prove you’re sincere about being discreet.”

  “This is as discreet as I get, my dear.” He shot her a scathing glance. “Besides, you don’t really care if I’m sincere. You proposed those rakehell lessons only to put me in your debt, so you could ask your favor.”

  Oh, Lord, he’d seen right through her. But she was not a “conniving witch,” drat it, who would say anything to get her “favor” while secretly despising him for his morals.

  “Fine,” she said, attempting nonchalance. “Kiss me if you wish. But not here.” Whirling on her heel, she walked into a nearby card room, where they had less chance of being seen if someone wandered by.

  She turned to find him gaping at her, frozen in his tracks. Clearly, he’d expected her to protest that such behavior was immoral. Then he could smugly congratulate himself upon having unmasked her lying character.

  Hah! She’d shown him, hadn’t she? “Well? Are we going to kiss or not? I have things to do, you know. I can’t stand here all day…”

  The words died in her throat as he began to move, a large and splendid beast stalking its prey. Before she could back away from the dark intent in his gaze, he’d caught her head in his hands and was kissing her. His mouth showed her no mercy, covering hers so thoroughly she could hardly breathe, then softening to liquid silk as it molded and tasted hers.

  A strange and unfamiliar exhilaration seized her limbs, making her knees go weak and her belly tremble. If he had no diseases, what was this fever infecting her? Her brow felt hot, her cheeks felt hot…everything everywhere felt hot.

  She placed her hand on his chest to push him away, but the wild tempo of his heart gave her pause. Because her heart beat the same wild tempo.

  Although she’d read about the mating habits of animals, her sources hadn’t mentioned increased heartbeat and temperature. No wonder women spoke of swooning from a kiss. She’d thought it silly, but it grew less silly by the moment.

  Until he angled his head and slipped his tongue between her teeth.

  She jerked back. “Your tongue does not belong inside my mouth, sir.”

  For a moment, he looked stunned, as if the kiss had surprised him as much as it had her. Then he gave her lips a covetous glance that sent an odd tremor along her spine. “That’s part of kissing,” he said, his voice low and husky. “You’ve never been kissed, have you?”

  Did he consider her too unappealing to attract a man? She hated having him think her some pathetic spinster he could initiate into pleasure. Even if she was.

  She thrust out her chin. “I didn’t say that. But you know perfectly well it’s improper for you to kiss me that way.”

  “That only adds to the enjoyment.” His rakish smile stopped short of his eyes. The contrast between its amiability and his bleak gaze fascinated her.

  What was she thinking? She might not know rakehells, but she recognized a snare when she saw one. And being ensnared by the incorrigible Lord Norcourt, no matter how splendid a beast he was, could hardly serve her purpose.

  “Come now, sweetheart,” he said in a smooth voice that slid over her skin like satin, “it’s only to seal our bargain. Let me give you a real kiss. Just one.”

  Though she hesitated, curiosity about his “real kiss” won out over her good sense. “Just one,” she agreed.

  This time when he cupped her head between his hands, he brushed his lips over hers, coaxing them apart before he plunged his tongue inside. At first the sensation was peculiar. Then he withdrew his tongue, only to drive back in, over and over in a slow, seductive motion that roused the fever again.

  The play of tongues should disgust her, but it didn’t. The commanding thrusts, the heat, the slide of his lips over hers…how amazing. Quite astonishing, really. It reminded her of something, this rhythmic in and out…

  Oh, Lord.

  She tore her mouth from his. His “real kiss” resembled swiving, but with tongues. She’d witnessed enough animals in heat to recognize that. “That’s quite enough, my lord,” she said, marveling at her shaky voice. “I should think our bargain is quite thoroughly sealed.”

  He dragged in a sharp breath, then ran his thumb over her lips. “Yes, I should think it is.”

  A blush rose to her cheeks as she stepped back. She never blushed. How appalling that a rake could make her do so! She could never teach
the girls to avoid unwise liaisons if she fell so easily into the arms of an avowed ne’er-do-well. “This can’t happen again.”

  The speculative gleam in his eyes made her wary. “Afraid that you might be tempted by ‘such things’ after all, Miss Prescott?”

  “Certainly not,” she lied. “But we both want something from this association that we won’t get if we’re caught kissing.”

  Fortunately, that reminder turned him chilly.

  Needing to escape him, she glanced at her pocket watch. “Forgive me, but I have a class to teach. We’ll have to end your tour.”

  “Fine.” He watched her closely, as if to assess her character. “I’m dining with old friends from Eton tonight, so I’d best be leaving anyway.”

  “I’ll show you out.” His brooding gaze making her uneasy, she headed for the door. “Can you start the lessons tomorrow?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then I’ll see you at eight. That’s when I teach natural history to the girls.”

  “Eight?” He looked incredulous. “In the morning?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a syrupy voice. “Is that too early for your lordship?”

  His lips tightened into a thin smile. “It’s fine.”

  Clearly, it wasn’t. And she shouldn’t make this too hard for him. “But you’re meeting friends for dinner, and there will probably be drinking.” Especially considering who his friends were.

  She remembered the gossip in Telford after he and some other schoolboys at Eton had landed in trouble for having a Bacchanal, complete with wine, tavern wenches, and rides upon a goat. She waved her hand. “Never mind. Arrive when you please. I can accommodate your schedule.”

  “I’ll be here promptly at eight, Miss Prescott.” He made a curt bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I know the way out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She watched him stride off, back erect. He was a strange mix of aristocratic arrogance and barely banked fires. She had the oddest feeling that if she poked too hard at those fires, the smoldering coals would flare up to burn her.

  She must be careful. He wasn’t like the driven merchants and the self-important Cits who came here to see their sisters or enroll their daughters. Those gentlemen were perfectly willing to let society dictate their behavior.

  Not Lord Norcourt. He didn’t answer to anyone’s rules. He’d already spent his life in reckless pursuits; he would seduce a schoolteacher without compunction if he thought he could get away with it. And it would mean nothing to him.

  Yet even that realization didn’t reduce his tantalizing appeal. Because the thought of having the virile viscount initiate her into womanhood…

  Madeline groaned. Now who was reckless? With her family steeped in scandal, letting him ruin her was out of the question. It would certainly not help Papa.

  But Lord help her, this was going to be a very long two weeks.

  Chapter Four

  Dear Cousin,

  Speaking of your intelligence-gathering capabilities, do you happen to know the new Viscount Norcourt? I have heard (do not ask how) that he is intent upon living a more circumspect life for the sake of his young niece, who recently lost her parents. Do you know if that is true? Have you seen any evidence of it?

  Anxiously awaiting your reply,

  Charlotte

  Leaning across the dining table, Anthony snagged a macaroon from the dish that Oliver Sharpe, Marquess of Stoneville, was hogging. But he hardly tasted it, even though the Sablonière Hotel made delicious macaroons. He could only taste Miss Prescott.

  A groan escaped him. What had he been thinking, to kiss her after barely gaining Tessa a foothold in the school?

  He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been too bloody angry to think. How dared that impudent chit offer to help him with Tessa, then blackmail him into agreeing to that bloody party? How dared she prove to be just like everyone else—only out for what she could get from him?

  And how dared she have a mouth so soft and sweet that the taste of it, like citrus or cloves or another tangy spice, lingered with him for hours?

  He bit back a curse. That never happened to him. Not even the most alluring demi-rep ever stayed in his thoughts more than an hour after he left her. Yet Miss Prescott, with her temptress eyes and amazing mouth…

  His bad boy roused, and he squirmed in his seat. He always kept his flirtations casual, choosing only whores and widows of easy virtue, who knew how the game was played and never asked for more than he wanted to give, who didn’t unduly tax his control over his appetites.

  But Miss Prescott had caught him off guard with her tart opinions and refreshing ideas, her seeming intelligence and willingness to help him. He simply didn’t know what to make of her.

  Her bloody secretiveness about her reasons for wanting to attend a nitrous oxide party worried him. She was risking her position to champion his cause. Would a woman really do that just for science?

  He doubted it. And before he set up a party that could endanger his getting Tessa, he meant to find out what she was up to.

  The woman had suggested rake lessons for girls, of all things. Was that just the act of a practical, forward-thinking naturalist? Or a schemer who had spotted him as a means to gain her freedom from drudgery the moment he’d walked in?

  She certainly hadn’t balked much at his kiss. Nor had she behaved like a virginal schoolteacher. Yes, her kissing had seemed untutored at first, but sometimes that was a jade’s trick for enticing a man. And it had faded once their kiss turned more ardent.

  Then there was her behavior afterward. She’d shown no maidenly outrage, treating it like a necessary part of their bargain. Except for her blush.

  He sat back in his chair. So the kiss had unnerved her.

  Fine, then he would continue to do so, until he learned her real reasons for the party. He would flirt just enough to put her off-balance. He needn’t even fear she’d complain to Mrs. Harris of his advances. Miss Prescott was clever enough to realize that if he revealed how she was blackmailing him, it would end her plans as well as his. Whatever they really were.

  “What’s got you so quiet this evening, Norcourt?” asked David Masters, the Viscount Kirkwood.

  That dragged Anthony from his obsessive thoughts, thank God. “Nothing.” He wasn’t about to tell his friends what a mess he’d landed himself in.

  Especially given Kirkwood’s determined drinking this evening. No doubt his wife, a rich banker’s daughter whom Kirkwood had married for the sake of his impoverished family, was giving him trouble again. And marital strife always turned Kirkwood cynical.

  “It must be a woman,” Simon Tremaine, the Duke of Foxmoor, offered. “What else makes a man pensive?”

  Stoneville chuckled. “You should know better than to think any woman can do that to Norcourt. He discards women as a dandy discards cravats.”

  The description inexplicably irritated Anthony, even though he often said the same thing about himself. “At least I leave them with their hearts intact.” Unlike Stoneville, who regularly used his gypsy-dark looks to seduce opera dancers, then ended the affair when they fell madly in love with him.

  “Actually,” Anthony went on, “I was thinking of a new project of mine.” Perhaps his friends could help him with the rakehell lessons. “A rich acquaintance is concerned about his daughter falling prey to a fortune hunter, so I agreed to dine with his family and explain to her how to avoid being taken in. Only I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Is she pretty?” drawled Stoneville.

  “Who?”

  “The daughter, of course.” Stoneville grinned. “Because a kiss is worth a thousand words.”

  Anthony scowled. “You may be devil enough to seduce a friend’s daughter, but I’m not.” He turned to the duke, the only one of his friends with a happy marriage. “Tell them, Foxmoor.”

  “Tell them what?” Foxmoor shot Anthony a veiled glance. “I wouldn’t let you near any daughter of mine. I’m not even sure I’d let you alone w
ith my wife, and I trust her implicitly.”

  “Ah, but Norcourt is a new man, didn’t you hear?” Kirkwood remarked, a bitter gleam in his green eyes. “Gaining his brother’s title knocked the wickedness right out of him. Now he never looks at a woman except with respect.”

  Silence greeted that pronouncement, followed immediately by laughter.

  Anthony glowered at the group of friends he’d had since his days at Eton. “I should have known better than to ask you lot for advice. Your idea of a serious conversation is to debate the quality of the brandy.”

  “Who’s debating?” Kirkwood tapped the bottle. “This brandy is dandy.”

  As the others laughed, Kirkwood downed what was left in his glass, then called for another bottle, their second since dinner began.

  “Besides,” Foxmoor added with a worried glance in Kirkwood’s direction, “I have enough serious conversation at Parliament. I’d rather do without when I’m with the three of you.”

  “Especially if Norcourt means to be boring and respectable.” Stoneville gave an exaggerated shudder.

  “Don’t worry,” Anthony retorted. “The last thing I’ll ever be is respectable.”

  Responsible, yes, for he fully intended to clean up the mess his brother had left behind, both with Tessa and the estate. But respectable?

  Never. He would curb his outrageous tongue in public for Tessa’s sake. He would even be “discreet,” a word he loathed. But he refused to become a hypocrite.

  “Here, Norcourt,” Kirkwood said, as the second bottle arrived. “Have another glass. The trouble with you is you’re not yet drunk enough to appreciate our wit.”

  “What wit?” Anthony shot back.

  Lady Kirkwood must really be in the boughs this time. Kirkwood only numbed himself with liquor when his wife’s gambling debts grew too large. He’d surely suffer for his night’s indulgence in the morning.

  It isn’t good for the constitution.

  Damnation, Miss Prescott was invading his thoughts again with her odd, bluestocking opinions. And his constitution was just fine. He thrust his glass toward Kirkwood. “Give me another, then.”