A Measure of Deceit

by Jess Michaels

  Maura tilted her head, confused, and Grace smiled.

  “But I will require a favor from you.”

  Maura nodded slowly. “A favor?”

  “I need to write a letter to Mr. Sheridan, and I fear he will recognize my handwriting after so many years of correspondence. So I will dictate and you will write it, if you do not mind.”

  Maura nodded. “So this letter will be from you, not from the Lady?”

  Grace sighed. “Yes. From me. Only from me.”

  Chapter Five

  “Have you ever wandered into a very proper parlor and wondered what kinds of improper things have happened there? If the walls of the mighty could talk, I think we would all blush.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures

  Connor swung down off his horse and looked up at the grand London home of the Duchess of Jameswood. Hundreds of years ago, it had been built to venerate its occupants and intimidate others, and as he stared up at the stone and marble face, he had to admit it did its job. He felt like he should be scuttling around to the servants’ entrance rather than stepping to the front door to call.

  But he pushed those initial inclinations aside and walked up the steps. He was met before he knocked by a butler in expensive livery who opened the door and gave a cool nod of acknowledgment.

  “Sir.”

  Connor dug in his pocket for a card and handed it over. “Mr. Sheridan to see the duchess. I have an appointment.”

  The other man barely glanced over the card before he motioned Connor inside. “Her ladyship expects you. Follow me.”

  Connor was led through the sunny foyer and down a hallway to a parlor. The butler muttered something about tea and cakes and then he was gone, leaving Connor alone to consider his surroundings. He was surprised to find the room to be less formal than he had anticipated, especially considering the garish quality of the exterior of the home. The furniture here actually looked comfortable and the food smelled divine.

  But then, perhaps he had no basis for his initial judgment. After all, he had never been asked to a duchess’s home. Especially one who he had so thoroughly kissed just the night before.

  Connor’s body tensed at the thought. All night he had been tormented with memories of Grace’s soft curves molding to his, of her acquiescence to his kiss, her fervent return of it. He hadn’t meant to be so bold, but once he had been, he had never expected her response.

  And all of it set him on his head. He hadn’t begun to accept societal invitations in order to seduce ladies. He had done it to…

  Well, there was no reason to think about that either.

  He shook his head. Perhaps Grace had called him here to put him in his place. And why not? He’d lost control. He might have even gone further had she not pulled away.

  The door behind him opened and Connor turned to face it. Grace stood in the entryway, wearing a finely stitched blue gown that matched the color of her eyes, almost as if it had been dyed to do just that. The gown fit her form perfectly, accentuating full breasts and the slender waist he had felt pressed against him just twelve hours before.

  His body stirred in response, and he struggled to rein in his reactions.

  “Your Grace,” he said softly as she stepped inside the parlor.

  “Mr. Sheridan,” she said, her voice cool as she motioned him toward the chairs near a tea set and cakes. “Were you not told by Nash to help yourself to refreshments?”

  He nodded as he sat. “I was, but I did not follow his instructions.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” she muttered below her breath, though he caught every word.

  He stifled a smile. There was her spitfire face again, challenging him. What had he done to inspire her ire?

  “You have a lovely home, Grace,” he said, daring to use her first name, as he had the previous night.

  Her gaze darted up at the sound, but she didn’t correct him. “I suppose. Though it isn’t mine.”

  His brow wrinkled. “No?”

  “It is part of the entail and goes with my late husband’s title. Now his nephew is about to come of age and will become duke, taking all that comes with it.”

  He frowned. “Leaving you homeless? Not very sporting of him.”

  She shrugged. “It is part of what the title brings, Mr. Sheridan. I couldn’t expect him not to want to live in his own home. Besides, you forget Winterbourne End.”

  He smiled as he thought of their conversation the night before regarding Northumberland. That had been the first time he felt any connection to the duchess, any warmth.

  “And to be fair, I also have another smaller estate here in town.” She shrugged, as if the owning of multiple properties, the moving of titles and names, was nothing to her.

  They were truly worlds apart.

  “Well, I’m pleased you won’t be on the street,” he murmured, trying to maintain a light tone though he felt anything but jovial.

  She smiled at the comment, and his darker thoughts were forgotten as a rush of heated desire flooded his body. It was something his Lady would likely approve of.

  He jolted at the thought. He didn’t want to think of her when his cock was suddenly hard for someone else. Someone cool and in control and seemingly so different from the woman who had captivated him through her letters.

  “I assume you did not ask me here to discuss your living arrangements,” he said, his tone tighter than he wished it to be.

  If she noticed the strain, she made no indication. Instead she pushed to her feet and walked away from him. Her back was still to him when she whispered, “No. Not exactly.”

  She said nothing else for so long that he cleared his throat. “Your Grace?”

  She started and looked at him over her shoulder. “My apologies,” she began, wringing her hands before her. “It’s only that—”

  She stopped talking and turned her face away again. Then she drew a deep breath and walked to the parlor door, which she shut firmly to give them privacy.

  He arched a brow. They might be from very different worlds, but he knew full well that a woman and a man being left alone in a parlor was not the norm. Even if she was a sophisticated widow.

  She turned to look at him, her face slightly flushed. “W-would you like tea? Or—or brandy?”

  He leaned back in his chair and watched her carefully. Was she shaking? Grace, the ever-cool and in-control mistress of her surroundings? Could it be possible?

  “I suddenly feel as though I need my wits about me,” he said slowly. “So tea would be fine.”

  She retook her seat across from him and gripped the teapot. It shook as she began to pour the boiling hot liquid into the cups before her. His brow wrinkled and a new emotion filled him that he’d certainly not felt for Grace before.

  Concern.

  He reached out and covered her ungloved hand with his own. “Grace, you are very out of sorts. Please stop pouring and tell me why I’m here.”

  She set the pot down and snatched her hand from his, lifting it to her chest as she stared at him. Her blue eyes were wide, the flush gone from her cheeks, leaving them pale. She licked her lips and his cock swelled once again, leaving him happy he was seated so she might not see the evidence of how much she unexpectedly affected him.

  She struggled for words for a moment, then she cleared her throat. “I make it a point, Mr. Sheridan, not to lose control. Some might say that is my defining characteristic.”

  Connor covered his surprise at her sudden openness by taking a long look at her full lips. Those tempting lips he had not been able to resist the night before.

  “Would they?” He let his accent come through as he drawled, “I might name something else.”

  She shivered. “That may be so,” she said, her voice very soft. “But last night I-I lost control. In fact, since you entered Society, I feel as though I have none at all.”

  Connor couldn’t help but smile, for there was something quite fantastic about being able to shake her. Something incredibly powerful about knowing he h
ad power over her, even in the slightest way. Of course, he wasn’t certain what she wanted him to say about it.

  “Should I apologize?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh.

  For a moment he saw past that mask of icy restraint she worked so hard to maintain. He saw the raw and needy woman beneath, the one who wanted to lose control. The one who wanted him to take it.

  “You are somewhat of a distraction to me, Mr. Sheridan,” she continued, her vulnerability covered once again. “And it has nothing to do with not liking you or that book.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer, invading her space just as he had the night before. He could smell her skin now, fresh and citrus, as if she had bathed in orange blossoms. Did that scent continue everywhere? How he longed to find out.

  “No?” he whispered, locking his gaze with hers. “Then what does it have to do with?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and her breath was ragged in the quiet room. “Will you make me say it?”

  “I think you must, as you are the superior in this arrangement.” He leaned in again. “Aren’t you?”

  “Am I?” Her voice cracked as she opened her eyes and met his gaze again, this time without hesitation. “I don’t think my title makes me so. Not with you.”

  His heart thudded at that little surrender and he reached out to take her hand. He pressed it between his own. “Say it,” he ordered her.

  “I-I liked it when you kissed me, Mr. Sheridan. I liked it and—I want more.”

  Grace felt two emotions after she made her confession, and they were very different indeed. First was relief. Relief to say these things out loud, relief that her desire no longer lived silent in her heart, making her unable to think about anything else.

  But the other emotion was fear. Connor was just…staring at her now. His green gaze was unreadable, his face even less so and that stare just went on and on, too long.

  She drew her hand away from his and tried to maintain a modicum of dignity. “Certainly I cannot be the first woman who has expressed this to you since you came to Society. I know my peers.”

  Both his eyebrows lifted. “Actually, every other woman has only hinted at a desire for a…closer connection, never been so direct.”

  Grace felt her cheeks heat and hated her body for betraying her. Normally she didn’t blush or simper or stammer!

  “No one has ever accused me of subtlety,” she said, happy at least that her voice didn’t shake. Certainly every other part of her body was trembling like a leaf on a windy day.

  He held her gaze evenly. “I’m glad.”

  Her breath caught at those words. He had not truly responded to her statement—her request—but at least that answer led her to believe he wasn’t about to mock or judge her for making it.

  “I am a widow, sir,” she said. “Which brings me some freedoms. I have brought you here to ask if you might consider a—a liaison.”

  He didn’t break their stare, even as he slowly rose to his feet. When he did so, she could see the outline of an erection pressing against his trousers and she all but sagged in relief. She had not misread him. He did want her.

  “I understand what you’re asking,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Then what is your—” she began, but he didn’t allow her to finish.

  He snatched her hand, dragged her to her feet, and suddenly she was trapped in his arms, molded to his body as his mouth came down on hers yet again.

  She couldn’t help the moan of relief, surprise and desire that exited her lips as their mouths met. He chuckled at the sound and pulled her even closer, so that she could feel all his heat, so that his hard cock was trapped between them, obvious evidence of what she hoped they would soon do together.

  What she needed to do or she feared she would lose her mind.

  He guided her away from the narrow chairs as he continued to kiss her, but he didn’t take her to the settee across the room as she would have expected. Instead he swept her up and laid her down on the soft rug that was in front of the fireplace before he covered her body with his own.

  “Connor,” she murmured, trying to free her lips from his.

  He pinned her down with a hand on either side of her head and rose up over her slightly.

  “You told me your rank means nothing in this space,” he said, his voice soft as a caress and his accent hypnotic. “And it won’t. If you want me, Grace, then submit to me and all the pleasure I can give. No arguments, none of that legendary control. Just let me take you.”

  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her exposed throat, and she hissed out pleasure as heat flashed through her like wildfire.

  “Let me,” he whispered, but it was an order, not a request, no matter how softly it was spoken.

  For a moment, a part of her revolted at the thought of utter surrender. And yet to refuse meant she would have nothing.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Immediately, he began to unfasten the long line of buttons along the front of her gown and her mind emptied of arguments. What was control when compared with powerful pleasure? With knowing what it would be like to be with this man, as she had secretly imagined doing for so many months, years?

  He parted her dress and smiled at the silky chemise beneath. “Pretty,” he murmured even as he dragged both gown and undergarment down her body to reveal her naked breasts beneath.

  “Prettier,” he growled, then dropped his head and dragged his tongue between her breasts.

  Grace arched despite herself and stopped breathing entirely. It had been a long time since her last lover, and being touched like this, especially by this man, was heavenly.

  And he didn’t stop. He pressed her breasts together and licked again, mimicking what he would do if he gave her a much more intimate kiss. Then he dragged his mouth to her right breast and began to suck her nipple. He wasn’t gentle in the caress, but the roughness was divine. She arched up beneath him, panting as he suckled her until she was red and raw, throbbing beneath his ministrations. He switched to the opposite breast and repeated the action.

  She cried out and brought her hand down into his hair to guide his movements.

  He stilled immediately and looked up her body, his gaze dark and dangerous.

  “Surrender,” he ordered.

  She blinked, unsure what he meant. “Connor—” she began.

  He growled a sound of both desire and displeasure, then sat up, dragging her along with him. With a few quick motions, he stripped her gown away and tossed it aside, then dragged her chemise up over her head. She’d hardly had time to react when he grabbed her wrists and tied them tightly with the discarded undergarment.

  Her eyes went wide as she stared at her tied hands.

  “Connor?” she whispered.

  He pushed her back to the rug and lifted her hands over her head so she couldn’t touch him.

  “Leave them there,” he whispered, his voice rough and ragged. “Please.”

  She stared up at him. He hesitated, but she could see the rigid line of his lips. The dark desire in his eyes. She saw what he was asking for, demanding, and a thrill went through her. She had written about games of control in The Ladies Book of Pleasures, but had never played them. She’d never found a lover to whom she was willing to utterly surrender.

  “Grace.”

  Lying back on her carpet in nothing but stockings and drawers, her hands bound by her own silk chemise above her head, she wanted nothing more than to be his woman, his slave, to receive his pleasure.

  She nodded slowly. “Yes,” she whispered, once again giving him the consent he seemed to require to continue.

  Without further hesitation, he dropped his mouth back to her neglected breast. Electric desire ricocheted through her and she arched beneath him.

  All other thoughts vanished when he sucked her nipple back into the hot, dark cavern of his mouth and pleasure exploded throughout her body again. She was lost in it, forgetting herself and where she
was as she turned her head toward the fire and gasped with pleasure.

  He sucked hard at the nipple until it ached, then swirled his tongue around it to soothe her. Once she had relaxed, he began again until she was weak with need, her quim clenching and her clitoris throbbing.

  It was as if he sensed that burning need between her legs, for he finally slid down her body, away from her aching breasts. He pressed hot kisses along her flat belly as he cupped his hands beneath her backside.

  When his roving mouth finally reached her sex, he lifted her, opening her legs and revealing her glistening slit in the flimsy parting of her drawers.

  “These are in my way,” he said, grasping the fabric and pulling. The seams ripped and fell away.

  Now she was utterly naked and he had not so much as removed his jacket. She was at his mercy, under his command.

  The thought had her shivering with anticipation. As did the way he looked at her as he lifted her hips higher.

  “So beautiful.” He used his thumb to trace the swollen, pouting outer lips of her sex. He looked up the line of her body and met her gaze. “I’m going to eat you, Grace. I’m going to make you want to come, but you can’t. Even if you feel like you’ll lose your mind. Even if you feel like you’re on fire and orgasm is all that will save you. You must wait until I say you may. Will you do that?”

  She swallowed. He was asking, but not asking. It was a demand and she wasn’t certain she could meet it. Not when her body felt so on edge already.

  “Or I can stop,” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “No, no. I’ll wait. I’ll try.”

  He smiled, an arrogant expression filled with wickedness. “That’s my Grace.”

  Before she could respond, he lowered his mouth and traced the lines of her outer sex with his long, hot tongue. Every muscle in her body went limp and she collapsed on the floor beneath her like she was made of liquid. She thought of nothing except for the heat of his breath against her twitching sex, the feel of his tongue teasing her, the tingle of every sensitive nerve ending where her thighs met.