“No, it most certainly is not better.”
His smile held a wicked awareness of the delicious sensations assaulting her. Deliberately, he trailed his hands up the curve of her back, his smile widening as she trembled in response.
“How is your head?” He startled her by inquiring, an edge of genuine concern in his voice. “Does it still pain you?”
Brianna licked her dry lips, sensing it would be dangerous to admit that the pain from the night before had dulled to the point that she had to concentrate to actually feel the vague throb.
“At the moment, what pains me is the fact that the entire household knows you are in here,” she murmured. “You must let me go.”
“Must I?” His hands smoothed down her back, splaying over her hips. “Why?”
Her breath was wrenched from her lungs as his fingers seared through the thin silk of her chemise.
“Because this is wrong.”
“Wrong? The hell it is. This is…perfect.” His voice thickened, surprisingly holding a hint of a Russian accent, as if his growing desire stirred the more intense emotions of his mother’s ancestors.
Brianna stilled, her hands flat against his chest and her back arched so she could meet his smoldering gaze. Beneath her, his body deliberately shifted to press his swelling erection against her lower stomach.
Her every instinct urged her to part her legs and allow him to teach her the ultimate bliss to be found between a man and woman.
“You will ruin me,” she husked, more in an attempt to remind herself of the danger of allowing herself to be overwhelmed by the avalanche of sensations than to halt the caress of his hands as they explored the curve of her backside and ran down the back of her thighs.
With a savage curse, Edmond lifted his head and buried his face against her neck. His lips trailed a searing path down to the pulse pounding at the base of her throat, giving it a sharp nip before soothing it with the tip of his tongue.
“Does this feel like ruin?” he demanded, his fingers pulling the chemise upward until his hands could slip beneath the fabric and stroke her bare skin. Then, without warning, his hands slid between her legs and he was tugging them apart so they fell on either side of his hips. She whimpered as his hard arousal was pressed directly to her moist, nearly painfully sensitive cleft. “Does this?”
It felt like paradise. A wicked paradise that had her heart pounding and her breath coming in small pants.
“What do you want from me, Edmond?”
“You,” he rasped, his voice raw. “I want you.”
As if he couldn’t help himself, he rolled over, trapping her beneath his trembling body. With the late morning sunlight slanting over their entangled forms, his lips explored her face, closing her stunned eyes before they sought her mouth in a kiss that claimed her very soul.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind warned Brianna not to respond. There was still a part of her that understood the danger of giving herself to this man. Not so much the loss of her innocence, although that should no doubt be her greatest concern, but the knowledge that Edmond Summerville could steal far more than her virginity.
The voice, however, was easily drowned beneath the sensual flood of pleasure that raced through her body. Instead of pushing him away, her arms lifted to encircle his neck, her lips parting softly under his.
She felt as if she had been waging a war against fate since the day her father had died. First in her futile attempts to halt her mother’s slow, inevitable plunge into disaster, and then her terrified determination to prevent her stepfather’s mounting advances.
In this moment, she did not want to fight against destiny. She wanted to lower the ruthless barriers she had erected around herself and for a few hours, just be a carefree young woman who desired a man.
Easily sensing her capitulation, Edmond pulled back to regard her with a restless craving.
“I am not Stefan, ma souris. I am not noble or decent or selfless.” Holding her passion-darkened gaze, he grasped the bodice of her chemise and, with a fierce jerk, ripped it in two. His breath caught at the sight of her exposed breasts, his fingers moving to gently brush over one rosy nipple. “I want you and I intend to take you. Damn the consequences.”
Damn the consequences.
Tangling her fingers into his thick curls, she tugged his head down, groaning as he rewarded her boldness by branding her lips with a fierce kiss. He tasted of fire and sin and wicked temptation as his tongue dipped into her mouth.
Lost in delight, Brianna arched her back, savoring the feel of his hands as they molded and teased her breasts, his lips as they devoured her mouth.
“Please,” she whispered as he nibbled his way down the line of her jaw and then the curve of her throat.
“Please, what?” His mouth covered the tip of her breast, suckling her with a growing insistence. “Tell me what you desire.”
“I…” She gave a choked cry as his other hand slipped between them to stroke the damp heat between her legs. “I’m not…certain.”
Lifting his head, he smiled deep into her bemused gaze with an expression of such tenderness that it made her heart ache in the strangest manner.
“Then we shall discover together, ma souris, what it is that pleases you.”
Lowering his dark head, he returned to tormenting her aching breasts, those clever fingers finding that tiny pleasure point that sent electric jolts through her body. Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging the curls as her hips arched off the bed in a silent plea for fulfillment.
She needed…something more.
Almost as if sensing her sudden confusion, Edmond tugged apart her legs so he could settle between them, the tip of his heavy erection pressing at her opening.
Brianna’s eyes jerked open in a sudden flare of unease, encountering the brilliant blue gaze.
“Hold on to me, Brianna,” he muttered, his dark features flushed and a feverish glow in his eyes. “Hold on to me tight.”
She barely had time to absorb his warning when his hips lifted and he entered her with one smooth thrust. She cried out at the sharp stab of pain, her nails biting into his shoulders as her body struggled to accept the raw invasion.
Edmond held himself perfectly still, whispering soft Russian words in her ear as he waited for her tension to slowly ease. Only then did he begin to slowly, carefully withdraw nearly to the tip before pushing back into her.
It was a peculiar sensation at first. A mixture of pain and pleasure. But as the tightness lessened, Brianna found the fullness of his thrusting cock a delectable friction.
“Mon dieu,” Edmond groaned in pleasure, his hands framing Brianna’s face as he claimed her lips in a kiss of pure possession.
Brianna’s own hands slid down the muscles of his back to clutch at his surging hips, her heels digging into the mattress as her entire body bowed with tension. Deeper and deeper he penetrated, her harsh pants the only sound to break the silence.
And then, with a force that she could never have anticipated, Brianna’s entire body exploded with a pleasure that ripped a scream from her lips.
It was a moment of pure ecstasy.
Trembling from the force of her release, Brianna wrapped herself tightly around Edmond, relishing the feel of his swift, jerky thrusts and the startled moans that seemed to be wrenched from the very depths of his soul.
Not at all what one would expect of a practiced seducer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS LATE THE NEXT afternoon when the message from La Russa arrived, informing Edmond that he could call upon her at his convenience.
Under normal circumstances, Edmond would have been infuriated by the ridiculous charade that Chesterfield insisted upon. After sending the requisite red rose, he had expected Chesterfield to arrive at Huntley House in a dignified manner. Instead, he had been forced to wait hours before receiving a reply that he was expected to travel several blocks to La Russa’s town house.
Considering the small fortune he was paying Chesterfield, the least
the bloody man could do was rearrange his schedule when Edmond had need of him.
Fury, however, was not what Edmond felt as he joined Boris in his elegant carriage that would carry them the short distance to the recently completed square.
Instead, he futilely attempted to rid his mind of the lingering memory of Brianna spread beneath him.
Mon dieu. He had spent hours in her bed, and still he could think of nothing but how soon he could return to the town house and her lavender-scented temptation.
His potent fascination with the woman only seemed to deepen the more he was in her presence.
Belatedly realizing that Boris was studying him with a smug expression, Edmond gave a lift of his brows.
“May I inquire why you are regarding me with that vaguely annoying smile?” he demanded.
That annoying smile only widened. “I was considering whether to offer you my congratulations or my sympathies.”
“And why is that?”
“Miss Quinn is, without a doubt, a beautiful female.”
“Without a doubt.”
“And extraordinarily spirited.”
“Oh, yes, she is indeed spirited. Do you have a point?”
“The point is that she is hardly your usual sort.”
“I did not realize that I had a usual sort.”
Boris folded his arms over the considerable width of his chest. “You know very well that you have always preferred those sophisticated, some might even claim jaded, ladies who no longer believe in romance. Women who understand your rules of seduction.” He deliberately considered his words. “You have never encouraged a dewy-eyed innocent who is foolish enough to presume a few kisses are nothing less than a declaration of love.”
“Brianna is not a dewy-eyed innocent.”
“Perhaps no longer,” Boris muttered.
“Take care, Boris,” Edmond warned. “No one is allowed to speak of Brianna, not even you.”
“I am speaking of you, Summerville. Innocent or not, Miss Quinn is a well-bred young lady who has not yet learned to protect her heart.”
Edmond gave a startled laugh. “Are you attempting to lecture me on seducing a beautiful young lady?”
Boris shrugged. “It is one thing to seduce a chit, and another to make her fall in love with you.”
A strange, wholly unexpected heat flared through Edmond at the thought of Miss Brianna Quinn gazing at him with a besotted smile, her arms opened wide to welcome him into his bed or merely seated opposite him at the dining room table, listening to him with rapt adoration.
It was the sort of image that should have made him break out in a horrified sweat, not smile with pleasure.
What the hell could be worse than having some female trailing after him, fluttering her lashes and constantly underfoot as she sought to attract his attention?
Of course, if the woman doing the trailing and fluttering were Brianna, it might be worth the annoyance.
More than worth the annoyance, a soft voice whispered in the back of his mind.
“What if she does believe herself in love with me?” he murmured, an unwitting smile tugging at his lips. “For the moment, we are forced into one another’s company. It is far more pleasant to have her as my lover than as my enemy.”
“You are willing to break her heart?”
Edmond shrugged. “All young women must endure one broken heart, do they not?”
Boris shook his head, his expression tight with annoyed bafflement. “You detest women who attempt to cling to you.”
“Do I?”
“Very well.” Boris threw up his hands in disgust. “If you want to play with fire then so be it. It’s none of my concern.”
Smoothing the cuff of his pale blue coat, Edmond sent his friend a wry glance.
“I would say that you are enjoying your own share of dallying with the flames, Boris. Or do you expect me to believe that you hauled the pretty young maid off to her chambers last eve and left her without so much as a kiss?”
A startling hint of color touched the warrior countenance. “Janet is no innocent.”
“No, quite the opposite,” Edmond drawled, silently wondering just what the hell was going on between his companion and the maid. “She is a woman who would readily geld a man she felt had done her wrong. And if she did not, then her family would. I would say it is equal odds as to whether you shall have your throat cut by the dangerous maid or by her ruffian of a father.”
Boris appeared remarkably indifferent to the undoubted danger he was courting, leaning to peer out the window as the carriage slowed.
“I suppose this must be the place.”
Edmond lifted his brows at the sight of the terraced town house that was surrounded by a recently enlarged garden complete with Grecian statues and marble fountains. Although unable to compare with the Huntley mansion, it was a lovely neoclassical design that was set back from the road and framed by towering marble columns.
“Rather elegant for an opera singer,” he murmured, before slanting Boris a somber glance. “Remain here and keep an eye upon the house. I want to know if anyone takes an interest in my presence while I’m here.”
Boris frowned. “You intend to go in there alone?”
Edmond patted his jacket where he had a pistol and two daggers stashed. “Never alone, my friend.”
LA RUSSA’S TOWN HOUSE PROVED to be just as tastefully elegant on the inside as it promised on the outside.
Allowing a uniformed butler to lead him up the curved, double staircase to the upper landing, Edmond took close note of the rare Grecian vases that were set in the tiny alcoves along with the collection of Dutch masterpieces that lined the walls. Although he did not claim his late father’s love for art, he fully appreciated the value of such a collection.
Shown into a long drawing room that offered a stunning view of the tiny park built in the center of the square, Edmond was once again greeted by the pleasing combination of classical furnishings and breathtaking works of art. Glancing about the ivory and gold chamber, he realized that there was at least one Rembrandt and two Rubens on the damask walls and a Van Dyke carefully hung above the black marble chimneypiece.
He smiled wryly, accepting that it was not at all what he was expecting. Nor was the woman who rose gracefully to her feet at his entrance.
Tall and slender, she was a traditional English rose beauty. Of course, her glorious blond hair was beginning to show a few strands of silver and there was a network of lines about the blue eyes, but that haunting fragility that had bewitched theatre audiences for the past two decades remained as compelling as ever.
Moving forward, Edmond took the slender hand that she offered and raised it to his lips. “Ah, the exquisite La Russa. As beautiful as the rumors claim.” He ran an appreciative gaze over the pale mauve satin gown that was cut low enough to reveal the tempting swell of her breasts and trimmed with a sophisticated silver foil. She wore no jewels, but the purity of her creamy skin needed no ornamentation. “I understand why they refuse to serve dinner at my club until a toast has been offered in your honor.”
“Please, call me Elizabeth,” she said, her voice a low, husky invitation. “I try to leave La Russa at the theatre.”
“Understandable.” Edmond straightened, careful to hide his impatience that Chesterfield was nowhere to be seen. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
The rosebud lips curved into a knowing smile. “Nonsense. My humble household is honored to be graced by the presence of such a renowned peer of the realm.”
“Not so humble.” Edmond glanced toward the Van Dyke hanging above the mantle. “You possess exquisite taste.”
“There are some women who enjoy fashionable clothes or flashy bits of jewelry. I am rather more dull in my desires.”
Edmond was not fooled for a moment by her ingenuous manner. “You are extremely wise, I should say. This collection is worth a fortune and will only increase in value over the years.”
“A lady in my position must
always think of the future.” As if realizing that Edmond was too perceptive to be deceived by her well-practiced act, Elizabeth offered a genuine smile and moved toward a door nearly hidden behind a large potted palm. “This way, your Grace.”
Edmond readily followed in her wake. “You know, I cannot help but be curious as to how you and Chesterfield became acquainted.”
She gave a low, throaty laugh. “I was not always La Russa, your Grace. When I first arrived in London I was Lizzy Gilford, the poor daughter of a blacksmith with empty pockets and a head filled with foolish notions of the great destiny that awaited me.”
“One that obviously has arrived,” he said dryly.
“Greatness is not singing on a stage or dangling upon the arm of some wealthy gentleman. It is not even acquiring these wondrous works of art, as I have learned from Mr. Chesterfield.” She cast a brief glance over her shoulder. “Greatness is never turning a blind eye to the suffering of others.”
“Ah.” Edmond recognized the wounds that shadowed her eyes. Wounds that might be ancient, but had never entirely healed. “He rescued you.”
“Yes.” She pushed open the door to reveal a paneled antechamber that led to yet another door. “I had barely stepped off the stage from Liverpool when I was approached by a very elegant, very sophisticated gentleman who promised to launch my career on the stage. A lot of rubbish, of course. After he had thoroughly debauched me, he sold me to a brothel and laughed as I pleaded with him to return me to my father.” She briefly paused, as if fighting to keep command of her composure. “He said that the only place for a worthless tart was the gutter.”
Edmond grimaced. It was no surprise that a supposed gentleman would pad his pockets by seducing an innocent wench and then selling her to the local brothel. Hell, he’d known gentlemen who would sell their own sister for a few quid.
“I suppose it is too much to hope that he was properly gelded?”
She halted at the closed door, turning to reveal a cold, ruthless expression that was never seen upon the stage.
“He was not gelded, but he was most certainly punished.”
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