A Lady Dares

by Bronwyn Scott

  Elise feigned a groan. ‘I won’t fit into any of my dresses.’

  Dorian leaned across the table with a wicked smile. ‘That’s easily solved. We’ll keep you out of them.’

  Her blood boiled at such a thought—of Dorian slipping the gown from her shoulders, his hands on her bare skin as the silk slid to the floor. The wine, Dorian—perhaps both had made her a wanton. She wanted nothing more than what he described, she realised with shocking clarity.

  ‘What? Nothing to say to that, mio cuore?’ Dorian said in low tones.

  ‘No.’ She smiled. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  Despite her protests, dessert was served. Luciano brought vin santo, a sweet wine.

  ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ Elise sipped from her tiny glass.

  ‘I did promise to seduce you.’

  ‘You said you’d think about it,’ Elise teased.

  ‘And I have. I’ve been thinking about it all night.’ Dorian’s eyes had darkened. She’d seen that look before. Her stomach did a little flip. As if on cue, Luciano appeared, violin in hand, and began to play a slow adagio, one of Vivaldi’s.

  Elise shot Dorian an accusatory glance. ‘I feel immensely outgunned.’

  Dorian shrugged. ‘What can I say? The Italians are people of great passion. When they see a man with a beautiful woman, they naturally assume it is love. Will you dance with me, mio cuore? I wouldn’t want to waste the music.’

  He rose and held out his hand. She had to take it. It would be the height of insult to deny the great captain in his own territory. She could only imagine what Giovanni would do. Slowly, Elise stood, half-fearful the wine had affected her legs but there was no need for such worry. Her legs held.

  Dorian drew her to him. His hand was at her back, his other hand holding hers, her own hand resting at his shoulder, but this was to be no typical waltz. He held her far closer than she’d ever been held in any ballroom. Their thighs met, her breasts brushed the front of his jacket. Dorian began to move them. They swayed more than danced, turning in a small square instead of motions that took up an entire floor.

  ‘Is this really a dance?’ Elise murmured. But she had no complaints. It felt wonderful to be held in his arms, to be so close to another. She could smell the faint vanilla of his cologne, the cedar sachets that had protected his clothes in a chest. He was starting to smell familiar. She would forever associate these smells with Dorian Rowland. ‘It seems more like an excuse to be together.’

  Dorian’s warm chuckle was near her ear. ‘So it does. A pretty good excuse, wouldn’t you agree? I like holding you, Elise.’ There was no mistaking the low tones of want in his voice, or the hard thrust of his erection against her leg. She could have him, could have the pleasure again if she would accept the veiled invitation.

  There needn’t be any complications. Dorian wasn’t the sort to deal in complications. He lived in the moment; he was offering her the same opportunity. After months of looking beyond the moment, it seemed like heaven. She’d promised herself not to make the same foolish mistakes she’d made over Robert. She was being true to that promise. What simmered between her and Dorian wasn’t anything like it at all.

  ‘Elise?’ The sound of her name, low and seductive, sent a frisson of desire down her spine so strong she nearly trembled. ‘Do you want me?’

  She licked her lips. ‘Yes.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elise settled herself in the carriage, her body thrumming with a delicious anticipation, her eyes on Dorian. The whole night had been leading to this. Perhaps they’d been leading to this since the first day when his body had pressed against hers in the street.

  Every touch, every look, every illicit kiss, the wicked delight at Vauxhall, now served in retrospect as a prelude, arousing her curiosity until there was no other choice but to satisfy it about one question above all others: what would it be like to be with a man such as Dorian Rowland? A man who was not constrained by society or its expectations, a man who lived outside the rules? Now, miracle of all miracles, he was willing to answer that very question and she was going to let him.

  Why not? There’d been no one beyond Robert Graves who’d grabbed her attentions in the nearly six years she’d been out. her choices were limited to the staid likes of Charles Bradford and his ilk. If that were to be her lot, why not seize this chance to see what lay beyond such offerings? If there weren’t any offers from the Charles Bradfords of the world, then her logic held doubly so. And, by heaven, she was going to enjoy her one night, no matter what society said. This brash, handsome man was about to be hers. For a little while at least. Dorian Rowland would never truly belong to anyone. He was too reckless, too wild, to be tamed and claimed. Perhaps she’d start with his cravat, pulling it slowly from his neck. At Vauxhall they’d been rushed by the overwhelming energy of their passion and more than partially clothed. Tonight there would be no hurry. Tonight there’d be no clothes. She was wet already, just thinking of it.

  ‘You’re staring.’ Dorian’s voice was husky, his eyes burning.

  ‘I was thinking about undressing you,’ she confessed, her bold words only somewhat surprising her. She’d always been forthright in other aspects of her life—why not in this aspect, too? The unknown had not stopped her before from experimenting with copper fastenings below the waterline on a boat. Tonight should be no different. She was simply trading waterlines for belt lines.

  ‘Ah, very good.’ Dorian stretched his legs across the carriage and leaned back, utterly relaxed. ‘We are of the same mind, then. I had you down to your chemise. How far did you get with me?’

  ‘Your cravat.’ It hardly sounded decadent now.

  ‘We’ll have to do better than that, unless of course you planned to tie me up with it before you undressed the rest of me.’ The husky gravel of his voice acted like a friction on her body, caressing it from a distance. Her nipples hardened, her core wept. It would take the merest of touches, she was certain, and she would shatter as she had in the pleasure gardens.

  ‘Would you like that, Elise? Would you like to have me at your service, naked and bound, existing only to pleasure you? Some women, bold women like you, enjoy such games. There is no shame in it. Others like games of possession where they can be the one who is controlled. Would you like to be my captive, Elise? Shall I come to you some time as your master and bend you to my will? I like games, Elise, and I would like playing them with you.’

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Such games did appeal to the boldness within her. Her blood was hot from the images conjured by his words. Surely she would explode now. It was all she could do not to tear her clothes off in the carriage, waiting for the decency of her bedroom be damned. She didn’t want to be decent, she wanted to be ravished.

  Dorian was beside her in a fluid movement she almost missed, his hand gently cupping the curve of her jaw, a delicate kiss on her lips at odds with the rather indelicate discussion. ‘Trust me, you don’t want our first time to be a jolting carriage, no matter how fine the squabs. It won’t be much longer now, mio cuore. We’re nearly there. How shall I come to you?’

  She knew what he meant. There was still the issue of logistics. Evans would have waited up and her maid, Anna, too. There was no question of Dorian marching up the stairs to her room or even stepping foot inside the house. She might have chosen to live scandalously, but that did not mean she could choose that for her staff. ‘Use the garden gate in the back,’ she whispered, trying to clear her mind of Dorian’s decadent images long enough to formulate a plan. ‘It will give me time to send away my maid. But how to get in?’ She was having difficulty forming any rational thought.

  ‘Don’t worry, I shall be inventive.’ Dorian chuckled.

  ‘And shall I?’ Elise asked. For all her bold willingness, she wasn’t sure what her approach should be. They’d talked of undressing each other, but perhaps he’d prefer she already be naked, waiting for him.

  The carriage drew to a halt. Dorian kissed her aga
in, a private kiss full of promise. ‘Do nothing but wait for me, mio cuore.’

  The door opened and Dorian jumped out first, the gentleman once more as he handed her down. ‘Elise,’ he said quietly at her ear as she passed, a little reminder that he only looked like a gentleman. ‘Don’t worry. I know exactly what you want.’

  Dorian eased open the garden gate. He’d told the coachman he wanted to walk and, after a decent interval to give the man enough time to make it back to the mews, Dorian had begun his own approach.

  He did know what Elise wanted. She wanted the wedding night. She might be open to the more wicked games they could play, but she didn’t want them tonight simply for that reason. They were so obviously games and while they were arousing and carried their genre of lusty satisfaction, they were not romantic. The fantasy she wanted was more oblique. The lines between fiction and reality could blur. She could pretend for a while all was genuine. And it might be.

  Dorian searched the garden for something to use as an improvised ladder: trellises, vines, even a real ladder left by an errant gardener. He wasn’t set on having to use an improvised ladder. He was happy enough to climb a real one. Improvised ladders were highly overrated in Gothic romances. A light flared in a window. Good. Her room was at the back of the house and, glory of all glories, it had a small Juliet balcony that arched out with enough room to accommodate a single person looking out into the garden. She’d forgotten to mention that bit of luck.

  Such an omission of details was hardly surprising given her state when she’d left the carriage. She wasn’t alone. He’d forgotten to ask such an elementary question. This wasn’t the first woman’s house he’d stolen into. But if she’d been aroused to the point of shattering—and she was, he could see it in her eyes when the carriage lamp had caught them, her pupils had been dilated wide—then he was as hard as timber.

  Dorian’s eyes lit on the shadowy outline of a wall trellis. He could climb it and pull himself up on the balcony. He crossed the garden and gripped the lower rungs, pausing before he made the ascent, the words and it might be haunting him. Elise wanted him, that much was true. He didn’t doubt she knew her own mind on that issue. He did doubt if she understood the reasons for it. Tonight, she believed she wanted him to satisfy some physical curiosity. He could give her the night and the satisfaction, but heaven help her if she changed her mind in the morning. He understood, even if she did not, all else that had gone before had been extended foreplay, leading them to this consummation. Consummation. That, too, was a wedding-night word and one his body was all too eager to engage in. Well, he could certainly engage. He would make this good for her. Tonight he would be her bridegroom. The bottom line was, he wanted Elise Sutton and he’d deal with the morning when it came. With that in mind, Dorian began to climb.

  The trellis held, although there was a questionable moment or two when he reached the top. There was a bit of irony in that; the higher one climbed, the weaker the trellises seemed to get. But he didn’t want to contemplate such irony when he was hanging twenty feet above a rock-hard garden not completely thawed from winter. A fall would be unpleasant at this juncture, although it would undoubtedly dampen his libido.

  Dorian reached over his head and grasped the iron railings of the balcony. With a strength born of years at sea hauling cargo and nets, he levered himself up until he could hoist himself over the railing. He took a moment to catch his breath before knocking softly on the French doors. He pushed the doors open and laughed at her quickly stifled gasp. She’d been startled. ‘Who else were you expecting?’

  ‘No one, of course. I just didn’t expect…’ Her words fell off and she made a little gesture with her hand to fill in the gap. Words were useless to describe the sight of Dorian Rowland standing in her bedroom, stripping out of his coat and making himself at home.

  ‘You actually came.’ Elise gave voice to the little fear that had niggled at her in the interim since she left the carriage. Would he change his mind? ‘You climbed the trellis for me.’ She was amazed he’d done it. That trellis was old. He could have broken his neck.

  ‘How did you expect me to get up here?’ Dorian moved towards her, taking her in his arms, his touch raising delightful prickles of sensation on her skin. ‘Don’t tell me there’s an easier way. The rung at the top of the trellis is about to go.’ Not all that different from him, if the bulge in his trousers was anything to judge by. It would be unseemly to mention she’d noticed such a thing, but it was comforting to know she wasn’t in this alone.

  ‘I will tell the gardener to have it fixed immediately.’

  ‘The gardener can wait, but I can’t, not any longer,’ Dorian growled, sealing her mouth with his. In that kiss, he became the sum of her world. She could taste him, smell him, feel him. His hands were in her hair, searching for the pins that held her coiffure. He released her dark waves one by one until they cascaded over her shoulders, his fingers combing through them while he kissed her face, her throat, the place at the base of her neck where her pulse beat, a veritable drummer beating out the rhythm of her passion.

  ‘I promised to undress you, Elise,’ he murmured, moving to her back, hands swiftly undoing the tiny buttons marching down her spine. A button popped and he blew out a frustrated breath. ‘This gown would drive a bridegroom insane, Elise.’ He nipped at her ear, the last button finally free. His hands skimmed her shoulders, warm and confident as they pushed the material down until it slithered past her hips and to the floor.

  ‘Turn around, Elise, let me look at you.’ She turned and he took her hands, drawing her arms away from her body, a gesture that made her feel deliciously exposed. His breath hitched at the sight of her and she took pleasure in the effect. She was not without her own power here.

  He turned them towards the long mirror in the corner of her room and positioned her in front of him, his voice low and naughty as his hands cupped her breasts through the linen of her chemise. ‘Look at yourself, Elise. See how the lamplight outlines the curves of your breasts, see how they fill my hands, see how the dark press of your nipples strain against the fabric when I touch them?’

  And she did see. The sight of the woman in the mirror in the early throes of passion was wanton and intoxicating, made even more powerful by the presence of the man behind her, coatless, his hair loose, his hands upon her, his eyes on the shadowy silhouette of her mons. ‘You’re a veritable Venus,’ Dorian whispered huskily. ‘Let me worship.’

  He turned her and went to his knees, sculpting Her with his hands on his way down, pressing a kiss to her navel through the linen of her chemise. Her own breath hitched as he neared her mons and then she exhaled with a tiny moan of disappointment when he passed over it. ‘Later,’ he vowed.

  ‘Toes next. Now, my lady, you must sit for this next part.’ He nudged her towards the bed and she went willingly. ‘I’ll need a moment to gather my supplies.’ He rose and fetched the basin and ewer from her washstand, snatching up a small vial of lavender at the last moment.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She’d followed him with her eyes, watching every movement.

  ‘Trust me. You’ll like this and I haven’t been wrong so far.’ Dorian grinned. He knelt at her feet, taking her foot in his hand. ‘Stockings next, I think.’ He looked up at her, watching her breath catch as his hands disappeared beneath her pantalettes. He found the ribbons that held the stockings by touch, her skin warm against his hands. He rolled the silk down slowly, caressing the slim shape of her calf on first one leg, then the other until her feet were bare to him.

  He pulled the stopper from the lavender vial, letting the scent fill the room as he poured a few drops into the basin. ‘Breathe deeply, Elise.’ He mirrored the action with a deep breath of his own. He bathed her feet, massaging and tugging at her toes by turn. ‘A woman’s foot is so much more graceful than a man’s and usually much better kept. Did you know the Turkish physicians believe massaging the feet opens up our body’s channels for experiencing pleasure?’ He gave a gentle p
ull. ‘Especially the big toe. What do you think, Elise?’

  Think? He expected her to think at a time like this? She was breathless when she answered. ‘I think they were right,’ she managed. His eyes darkened. Her response pleased him. She was starting to understand; her arousal was his arousal and right now he was on fire, the slim shape of her foot sliding through his hands, slick with lavender water, was an intoxicating metaphor for what his body would do with hers shortly.

  ‘They say sucking helps, too.’ his voice was nothing more than a husky rasp. He took her toe into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue until she went rigid with her want.

  ‘Dorian, please.’

  ‘Not yet, I promised to undress you. We are not completely there. But this will help. Raise your arms.’

  Dorian pulled the chemise up over her head. Never had undressing felt so licentious, so erotic, her breasts freed at last to his full gaze. He gently pushed her back on to the bed and slid the pantalettes over her hips, his own member making its presence known where he bumped Her thigh, a reminder that she wasn’t the only one in need of undressing. His trousers had to go. Her hands went to his waistband, but he stalled them, covering them with his own. ‘Wait. Tonight, let me.’

  She turned her head to follow him as he rose, offering the simple instruction, ‘Stay just like that, Elise, I want to watch you watch me.’

  How could she not watch him? She was helpless to do anything else. He was mesmerising, stripping himself with fluid grace. His cravat, his shirt fell to the floor followed by his boots and finally, oh, finally his trousers, which had housed that most tantalising bulge all evening, were off. She’d thought him glorious at Vauxhall, but it was nothing compared to him fully revealed.

  Elise reached for him, instinctively wanting to touch, to cup. ‘Come to me, Dorian.’ And he did, levering himself over her, his mouth trailing kisses between her breasts to the wet juncture between her thighs. He kissed her there inside the private folds and she burnt. Vauxhall had not been a one-time fantasy. Tonight proved the pleasure could happen again. She arched against him in invitation.