“That is not the only reason why you are here, and we both know it.” His gaze dared her to deny the truth of that, to repudiate the scandalous tension slowly but relentlessly tightening between them.
“That is true,” she said. “I also came for another glass of champagne. There is no telling when and if I will drink it again.”
He laughed quietly and picked up the bottle. He began peeling the seal. “Since you said there was little risk tonight, I find myself inclined to press my advantage on a few of the conditions.”
“You are making new conditions? That is not fair.”
“Nor is encouraging me to get so foxed that I fall asleep. You did not play fair last time. You challenged me, then made sure my powder got wet.”
Not only had he been wondering, he had been reviewing the entire evening. “I did not encourage you to drink. If you could not fire your pistol, do not blame me.”
He examined her with a skeptical gaze. She returned an indignant one. He finally viewed her less dangerously. “My apologies. It was ignoble to claim you planned that.” He returned his attention to the bottle. “I only brought one this time, to make sure I did not overindulge in the wrong pleasure.”
“No strawberries and cream?”
“Next time I promise to provide all that you desire.” He removed the cork. “Did you know there are men who can do this with a sword? I tried it when I was seventeen. I went to the cellar and used my sword again and again, and not once did the cork come out. All I had in the end were a lot of bottles oozing champagne and a good number with guillotined necks.”
“It sounds like an expensive experiment.”
“My father was furious when the steward told him of the mysterious damage. They concluded a band of Boney-hating militia had sneaked in to destroy it all. Every bottle was smuggled from France, you see.” He turned those blue eyes on her. “Aren’t you going to sit? You can use that safe, distant chair the way you did last time.”
She sat in the chair. It seemed closer to the divan this time. She considered her situation while he poured the wine.
She was green, but he was not, by far. No doubt he knew women found him attractive. He thought she had come for that, and used the shawl as an excuse. He assumed she’d bit on his lure because she wanted to.
Oh, yes, she was in trouble. It did not help at all that she found the game exciting and fun. She smoldered while she sat on that chair even though she tried not to.
He did not make her come to him for the wine. To her dismay, he brought it to her instead. Rising high as he stood and looming larger with each step, he carried her glass to the chair.
His hand grazed hers when he handed her the glass. “Only one,” he said. “I don’t want it said I took advantage of you.”
He stood there, right next to her, longer than he had to. She could see him more clearly up close like this. Lights in his eyes said she might be in even deeper trouble than she thought. She battled a shiver of delicious anticipation and took a sip. “Thank you.”
He retreated to his divan, but only physically. In unseen ways, his spirit pressed even closer.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes—no. See here, Your Grace—”
“Do not address me like that, I beg you. It is not appropriate to the situation. It reminds me that—”
“That you are a lord and a gentleman? I can see how you might want to avoid acknowledging the latter right now.”
A perceptible stiffening of his posture. A discernible small cocking of his head. “Better to insult my title than imply that, my dear woman of unknown name. It is awkward not to have one for you. I suppose I will have to name you myself, to have an address of some kind. Hmmm. For some reason, I think something with an A will do. Anna, Anne, Alice, Amanda—”
“Alice is a nice name,” she rushed to say when he paused after the last one.
He raised his glass. “Alice it is, then. What makes you say I may need a reminder I am a gentleman, Alice? I think I have displayed remarkable behavior at all of our meetings.”
“No woman who finds herself coerced into a night meeting by a strange man would trust much in his claims to be a gentleman.”
She had no trouble seeing his smile this time. “You are perfectly safe with me, Alice.”
“Do you promise that? Do you promise as a gentleman that I am perfectly safe?”
The smile disappeared. He shifted his gaze away from her. She sensed petulance, as if he were a boy getting into mischief and someone had just ruined his fun.
A sigh, barely audible. “I promise that nothing will happen here that you do not permit.”
Ah, he was a sly one. She was already halfway to permitting anything, just sitting here. “That is not good enough. Promise that you will not have your way with me. That you will not . . . will not . . .”
“Risk getting you with child? The final act?” He supplied the words for her and smiled again.
That was more selective than she liked, but she waited.
“I so promise, as a gentleman. Unless you ask me, of course.”
“No. Not even then.”
He drank some wine, as if he needed to think about that.
* * *
Damnation. Did she really expect him to resist even if she ended up begging him to take her? It would be unnatural for a man to do that.
She looked very lovely in the dim moonlight. Her red lips appeared prominent in the pale glow, and the light showed mysterious sparks in her dark eyes. The pantaloons gave indication of the shape of her legs and thighs. Despite what she thought, the linen of the shirt more than hinted at the roundness of her breasts. He pictured those breasts laid bare, and the thighs spread wide while she entreated him toward the finish they both craved.
She wasn’t stupid, but her caution derived from more than fear of him. She did not trust herself. Unless he was mistaken, she was aroused by sitting in this chamber with him. He rarely made errors on such things. A woman’s desire affected the air, turning it heavy and charged with invisible forces.
He had a choice. Either give her the damned promise, or send her away. He laughed at himself. As if he were going to do the latter. That was out of the question.
“I so promise.”
After a slight hesitation, during which time she peered through the night at him, she sat back and sipped the champagne.
“Your brother has not returned?”
“If he does before September, I will be astonished.”
“He must not like society if he leaves when it arrives, and returns when everyone leaves.”
“He does not dislike it. He can, however, do very well without it.”
“If he does not partake of society’s company, what does he do when alone?”
“Very little besides his scholarship. He is happiest in a library. He is unusual that way.”
“And you are not.” She made it a statement. A knowing one. It sounded like a criticism. Your brother is unusual and devoted to his scholarship, but you are a predictable hedonist who does nothing but indulge himself. A decadent duke.
He wasn’t being fair to her. The scold came from elsewhere. He had heard it often enough, although it rarely referenced his brother. Recently, he had heard it too frequently in his own head. That was Lady Farnsworth’s fault. Damn that journal article.
He pulled his thoughts away from the irritation. “And what do you do, if you cannot partake of society? I doubt you do nothing but sing all day.”
“I write letters. I have a very fine hand. And I sew. I keep an older woman company some days too.”
“Do you have a place with her? The one you fear losing?”
“Yes.”
She was lying, or not telling the whole truth. He could just tell.
“And no,” she added. “I do not live with her, if that is what you meant.”
“Where do you live?”
“Alice cannot answer, because I will not confide in her.” She laughed a little when she said it. “I
like having another name here. It is almost like being a different person.”
“I was not prying when I asked. However, I do not like to think of you walking here in the night from the other side of town.”
“Then you should not have lured me to do so. Do not pretend you did not.” She gestured to the chamber, then herself. “And I am here, but you have promised not to seduce me so I am at least as safe as on the streets. What a waste of effort on your part. I say what I said last time—surely you can find a woman in an easier manner than this.”
“Too easy a manner. Hence the fascination with you.”
“If you learn all about me, that will pass. Tell you everything and I will be free of you.”
“Perhaps.”
“Assuredly. Alice is far more interesting than I am.”
“I am sure you have some very interesting things about you. Secrets that you do not share. Desires that you do not admit to. Everyone does.”
She busied herself with drinking her champagne. He stood, bottle in hand. “Allow me to pour you some more.”
She all but jumped when he took a step. “Thank you, but no. Perhaps we should kiss now, so I can get that over with and leave.”
Get it over with? Get it over with?
He set the bottle down. “Then come here, shepherdess, and let us be done with it.”
* * *
He loomed there in the dim light. Part human, part shadow. All man.
She had angered him. She heard it in his tone and saw it in the tensing of his form. It had been a mistake to treat him dismissively.
Only she needed to leave. He created too much comfort in this library. The dark added intimacy. It felt like talking with a friend. Or teasing with a lover.
He did not sit.
Her heart pounded as she stood. “You must not touch me. The same conditions as last time, you said. No embraces, no—”
“Just come here so we can get it over with.”
They were six of the longest steps she had ever taken. She stopped three feet away. If they both stretched a bit, they could—
“Come closer.”
Her legs wobbled the last two steps. They brought her very close indeed. So close that she could all but feel him against her. Her body reacted as if she could.
“Don’t move away. If you do, all conditions are canceled. And look at me. I’m not interested in kissing your forehead.”
She had forgotten how tall he was and how small she felt when next to him like this. The last time, in the garden, he had overwhelmed her with his masculinity. Memories of that indiscretion rose in her, encouraging the physical stimulation that she already experienced.
She forced herself to look up. His mouth, his gaze, his face—even in this light, she was sure she saw how blue his eyes were, and how those thick curls framed his head recklessly.
“Only one quick kiss,” she said.
“I never promised it would be quick.”
She closed her eyes and steeled herself. She must not allow herself to enjoy this the way she had in the garden. For this one kiss, she must remain a combination of iron and ice.
Only, the first touch of their lips burned away the ice. Iron would not find it this hard to maintain a footing.
Not quick. Not at all. He knew how to make a kiss linger, then change, then lure her into complicity. Warmth flowed in her—first a trickle, then a stream. It aimed low and deep, making her throb. He was good to his word and did not touch her, but soon she wished he would.
How could a man’s lips be both soft and firm? How could a kiss both cajole and command? The way the kiss altered and explored without stopping intrigued her. She noted how each change affected her breath and body. She did not object when his tongue finally invaded.
He evoked shivers and low, long pangs of pleasure. The kiss brought him closer and her body kept brushing against his in a series of slight, teasing caresses. The linen shirt offered little protection and her breasts turned heavy and hard until she began hoping for more such tantalizing accidents.
How that kiss changed her. Defeated her. Enlivened her. Her reactions did not shock her. Instead, she welcomed every delicious arousal.
She grew so senseless that her legs lost their balance. She staggered and almost fell against him. He did touch her then, on the shoulders to steady her. And to move her.
Then she was on that divan beside him, still being kissed. Only one kiss, as agreed? Definitely more by now. He could not do what he did to her neck if it were only one kiss.
Sensual excitement swam and focused and tightened. His hands remained on the divan’s back cushion, but his body kept tempting hers with those small connections and grazes. She wanted more of that, much more. She wanted more of his hot kisses on her neck and chest. More of his firm command of her mouth. More of his scent surrounding her.
He kissed along the neckline of her shirt. She stroked her hand into his hair and held him there so the pleasure might not stop.
His voice came, deep and quiet. “I want to touch you too. Will you allow it?” A wonderful voice. A good voice in the dark.
It seemed only fair since she had touched him. And she wanted him to caress her. Desperately. She knew as she nodded that all of the conditions and promises would mean nothing now. . . .
He touched her breast. Oh, how she welcomed it. His fingertips played at her through the soft linen. A torrent of pleasure shivered through her body. She slipped into its current until only three things existed in her consciousness. Him, her, and pleasure.
* * *
It entered what was left of his mind that he now remembered why he had made such efforts to see her again. Her artless kisses enchanted him. Her tentative touches inspired him. Her begging passion had him gritting his teeth to maintain control of himself.
More. There had to be more. He kissed down to her breast and laved the tip through her shirt. Her hand gripped his hair and a lovely moan reached his ear.
She was past restraint or worry. Free. He caressed her breast, teasing to evoke more of those moans until their timbre turned needy and urgent.
This divan would never do. He slid to the carpet, guiding her with him, and laid her down. She embraced him there and held him close while her body arched to his hand and mouth.
“I need to see you.” He unbuttoned the shirt and cast the edges aside. She did not object. The moonlight pooled around them, showing her expression of ecstasy and her pale nakedness. Her breath shortened and her full breasts rose higher. He used his mouth, flicking and nipping at the tight tips until she could not contain her cries.
He continued driving her mad while he caressed her thighs, moving higher with each stroke until he cupped her mound. She parted her legs to permit more and pressed down against his hold. A wave of a savage urge crashed in him. He reminded himself he had made a promise. It became a damned chant in his head. A curse. He ignored it and unbuttoned the pantaloons so he could caress down her hips. She was naked beneath them. He pushed them down. She raised her hips to allow it.
Retreat became impossible. Unnecessary. This was not a woman importuned or even truly seduced. She was with him, matching his desire with her own. He reached low to pull the pantaloons off her legs so she laid free and open on the carpet. He would give pleasure and take it, and if she wanted everything—
The promise repeated again, like a boring tutor demanding attention.
Hell.
He kissed her hard and moved his hand to the moisture of her mound. When he inserted a finger, her hips rose, taking him in. She held his head to that kiss, offering her fevered response while she rode the simulacrum of completion. His head filled with images of how it should really be, and his hunger turned ferocious.
She reached for his hip, and pulled at him. “Now. Please, now.”
When he resisted, her hand went to the bulge where his phallus strained against his garments. Artless still.
She sought to improve her caress. It worked. One touch and his mind exploded.
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He clenched his jaw. Mindless now, he mounted her, fully clothed, and pressed against her for some relief. It did not come soon enough, but it did eventually. For him at least.
He rolled off her after recovering himself. She lay there, gasping, her legs bent, exposed. A tiny frown puckered her brow.
He put his hand to her again. At the first touch, she bucked and cried out. He dipped low and kissed her cheek. “Don’t stop me. You will allow this and be glad for it. I am only being fair.”
She gripped his shoulder and permitted him to explore and invade until her abandon left her moaning and begging. Then she screamed into the night while her moisture flowed.
Any annoyance with his promise faded to nothing while he watched her find perfect freedom in her release. It was a beautiful sight, as was the peace that followed. No worries. No fears. He would not have missed the way it transformed her for anything, not even his own pleasure.
* * *
“You were good to your word.” They were her first words, spoken while they lay in an embrace on the carpet. The pantaloons remained bunched near her feet, leaving her naked and beautiful.
He kissed her. “I am first and foremost a gentleman, inconvenient though that might be sometimes.” Inconvenient did not do it justice tonight. It had been all but impossible to keep his word. He had amazed himself. It had been years, a lifetime, since he’d done such a thing. He could not even remember the last time. He must have been younger than twenty.
He looked at the pale, warm woman in his arms. Her eyes remained closed and her face relaxed. Her dark lips in this light contrasted starkly with her skin.
He owed her nothing. He did not even know her name. No one would have known if he had—
Except himself, of course.
“You were very kind,” she said. “At the end. I did not realize why—”
“That was new for you?”
She nodded.
“Do not blame your former lover. Unless someone explains a woman’s potential to us, men are very stupid about such things.”
She turned in his arms and laid her head on his chest. “Who explained it to you?”
He had to search his memory. “A woman. A whore. I think I was seventeen. At that age, young men are hard and quick, and she showed me there were other ways to take care of—”
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