“So I’ve been told.” She’d gone way beyond blushing to outright mortification. She couldn’t believe they were having this outrageous conversation.
Suddenly his hand left hers to fumble with his breeches buttons. “Don’t be alarmed, Clara. All I want is for you to touch my bare flesh with your sweet fingers.”
The fall of his breeches now gaped open. Grabbing her hand, he slid it inside and beneath his drawers, then closed it around his hot, iron-rigid length. “This is what I’d like you to caress, angel. Only for a bit. The way I caressed you.”
For a moment, she was too stunned to react.
“Does that shock you?” he asked.
What a question. “Certainly not,” she said dryly. “I touch men’s privates all the time. Such behavior is quite the rage among women of my set.”
He managed a smile. “Then touch me, too.”
When she saw the intense longing in his face, she couldn’t bring herself to deny him what he wanted. Besides, she was curious. “Very well, if you insist.” Tentatively, she explored him.
He sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes drifting closed. “If you never let me near you again,” he choked out, “thank you for giving me this.”
“Why would I never let you near me again?”
He gave a wry chuckle. “Because you’re stubborn. Because you hate me.”
He sat there with his eyes closed and his breeches open, showing more vulnerability than she’d ever seen in a man, and her heart melted.
“I don’t hate you. If I hated you, why would I do this…this scandalous thing?”
He opened his eyes. Though glazed with need, they showed every portion of his uncertainty. “You ought to hate me.”
“I know. I’ve tried, but I just can’t.” She dropped her gaze, embarrassed. “I-I think I’m doing this wrong. Show me how to give you the same pleasure you gave me.”
“You’re not doing it wrong, but if you really want to please me…”
He showed her how to caress him, with long, tight pulls that made him groan every bit as much as she’d groaned when he stroked inside her. Arousing him gave her a heady sense of power. It was so forbidden, so very beyond what was acceptable for a woman of her station that it spiked her own excitement to new heights.
And piqued her curiosity. “Doesn’t it hurt? I mean, to have me grab you like this?”
With a weak laugh, he leaned forward to nip at her ear. “It drives me absolutely mad. Which is why we must…stop soon. Before I embarrass myself.”
“You? Embarrassed?” she teased. “Never!”
“You’d be surprised…oh, angel, that’s too much…damn, you have to stop.”
Delighted to have this little bit of feminine control, she whispered, “Are you sure?” as she gave him a long, firm tug.
“Yes,” he growled, forcing her hand out of his breeches. For a moment, he sat there, breathing hard, as if trying to get his bearings. Then he cast her a regretful smile. “This isn’t the place or the time, I’m afraid.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I tried to tell you that before.”
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t listen?”
He drew up her bodice, but then kissed her again, hot and deep.
They sat kissing a while longer, both loath to leave their private little sanctuary.
Then the ornate clock atop the mantle chimed, and she bolted upright. “Good Lord, look at the time! Aunt Verity will be frantic with worry, wondering where I am!” Sliding off his lap, she fumbled to restore her clothing.
He watched her with a hooded gaze as he stood to refasten his breeches buttons, then went to work on his waistcoat. “Clara, we should talk.”
She cast him an uncertain glance. “Yes, we should. You didn’t answer all my questions.”
“I didn’t mean about that.”
“Oh.” She dropped her head to concentrate on her clothing. Now that he wasn’t holding her, she felt much more self-conscious. And not quite sure that she wanted to talk. She didn’t want to spoil what had been a wonderful interlude. One that she shouldn’t let happen again.
So instead she focused on something else. “I still want my questions answered about you and Ravenswood and the shop.”
“None of that has anything to do with you, so stay out of it.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “I can’t. Something is going on, and I want to know what it is.” When he only glowered at her, she swished her hips and smiled teasingly. “If you’ll answer more questions later, I might even let you touch my bottom.”
Frustrated desire and the tiniest bit of humor flickered in his face. “Don’t tempt me. As it is, you’d best be grateful we’re in a somewhat public place, ma belle ange. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have stopped with touching and kissing.”
There went that silly quivering in her belly again. “Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I recognize when a woman is ripe for seduction, yes.”
When his gaze trailed knowingly over her wrinkled bodice and rumpled skirts, her mouth went dry. He was right, curse him. Deep in some naughty part of her, she’d wanted him to seduce her. She still did.
The realization stunned her. She hadn’t known how badly she’d craved such intimacy with a man until she’d found it with the wrong one.
Or was he the wrong one? She began to wonder. How many unscrupulous scoundrels would have given her pleasure without taking their own? And restrained themselves from taking advantage when they had a woman perfectly willing to let them?
For that matter, how many fences would have given a lady’s footman lessons in how to guard her? Or taken in a pickpocket, then not availed themselves of his talents? If Samuel was to be believed, that was exactly what Morgan had done.
She began to think that Samuel could be believed. Until now, she’d had no trouble considering Morgan’s strange actions as maneuvers calculated to further his criminal aims. But not after tonight. Not after he’d shown such astonishingly unexpected consideration for her virtue. That was why she must have her answers.
She tore her gaze from his and headed for the door. “I must go. But after the ball, I’ll expect a full accounting from you, even if I must camp outside your shop to get it.”
“Don’t go to the shop tonight, Clara. If you want to talk, come by tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“For once in your life, do as I say without asking a million questions, all right?”
“Fine. I suppose it can wait until tomorrow.” In a pig’s eye. If he didn’t want her there tonight, it was because he was hiding something, so she would definitely be there to find out what it was.
Unlocking the door, she slipped out into the hall, grateful beyond words that no one lingered there just now. As she headed back into the ballroom, she started to shake, a delayed reaction to the magnificent experience she’d just had in Morgan’s arms.
He was driving her mad, layering enigma upon enigma until she swam in a pool of questions. Well, if he thought she’d keep swimming without answers, he was mad.
Her thoughts so absorbed her that she scarcely noticed where she was going when she emerged from the passageway. So in her haste to find her aunt, she nearly barreled into a gentleman.
“Whoa there, madam,” said a rich, familiar voice as a man’s hand shot out to steady her.
Her gaze rose to the man’s face, and she started. “Morgan! But how did you—”
He laughed. “No, not Morgan. I’m his twin brother, Templemore.”
Twin? Belatedly she realized that this man was dressed differently and his hair was shorter, more evenly cut.
“I-I didn’t know Morgan had a twin,” she stammered. “I didn’t even know he had a brother.”
Just then, a young woman approached. “Lady Clara! It’s so good to see you.”
Embarrassed and confused, Clara fumbled for a name. “Yes, it’s good to see you, too.”
“You probably don’t remember me,” the woman said, laughing. “I was Lady Juli
et, now Lady Templemore.” She tucked her hand in the bend of the gentleman’s proffered arm. “This is my husband.”
Lord Templemore? Oh, heavens, now she remembered who they were.
Two things registered at once. One, Morgan had been hiding more than she’d suspected. And two, he was the brother of a baron.
Her pool of questions instantly deepened into a sea.
Chapter 13
With Step so majestic the Snail did advance,
And promis’d the Gazers a Minuet to dance.
The Butterfly’s Ball, and the
Grasshopper’s Feast, William Roscoe
Morgan waited in the library a few minutes after Clara left, trying to calm the raging erection in his skintight breeches before he made a spectacle of himself in Merrington’s ballroom.
But it was difficult when he kept playing over and over how sweet it had felt to have Clara moan with pleasure in his arms, accept his kisses eagerly, grow silky wet beneath his fingers. And then to have her admit she wanted to touch him, too! He’d thought he would explode when she put her hot little hand inside his breeches to stroke him, all shy curiosity and womanly temptation.
He wiped sweat from his brow. Bon Dieu, if that was what she could do to him when her surroundings kept her from actually bringing him to release, only think what she’d do to him at leisure in his bed. Which is where she’d end up if he wasn’t careful.
And what a temptation. She wanted him, too. So why not let her have what they both wanted? Ah, to be able to touch her without restraint…to part those long, luscious legs and bury himself inside her soft, waiting flesh—
He swore as his cock stiffened again. At this rate he’d never get out of here. She was driving him mad. He had to stop thinking of her, that’s all.
No, what he had to do was remind himself of the havoc she’d wreak on his plans if he followed his prick. She was already badgering him with endless questions. If he involved himself with her, there was no telling how far she’d go in her quest for the truth or what she’d do once she learned it.
Besides, he wasn’t what she truly wanted. If they shared a bed, nothing could come of it except ruin for her. Unless he married her, of course, which he couldn’t do. Even if he was ready to marry—and he wasn’t—why would a marquess’s daughter want to be stuck with a rascal like him? What possible advantage could she find in having a naval captain sail in and out of her life from time to time?
That sobering thought thoroughly dampened his ardor, and a few moments later, now depressed in both body and heart, he left the cozy library.
His business with Ravenswood was done, so he might as well leave the ball. He couldn’t stand by and watch Clara dance with a series of eligible gentlemen, all of whom would make her better companions than he would.
But he hadn’t counted on running into her right outside the passageway. Nor, worse yet, his brother and sister-in-law.
Panic surged in him as he hurried up in time to hear Juliet say, “So Lord Ravenswood tells us that Morgan has been helping you at your home for pickpockets.”
“Helping me?” Clara said, clearly bewildered.
Morgan stepped up and took her arm, squeezing it to beg her indulgence. “Lady Clara doesn’t like to think of it as ‘helping.’ She prides herself on not needing any help from a ne’er-do-well like me. But I hope I’m offering some small service by staying on the premises at night.”
The gaze Clara leveled on him was coolly curious. He tried to ask for her silence with his eyes, but he feared that she would call him an out-and-out liar.
Instead, she smiled. “Oh, yes, you’re offering all sorts of helpful services. I wonder what possessed you to do so?”
Weak with gratitude, he swept his fingers down to her hand, then lifted it for his kiss. “That should be obvious, my dear Lady Clara.”
As color suffused Clara’s face, he cast a sidelong glance to find his sister-in-law beaming. His brother, however, was looking past them to the passageway. Confound it, Sebastian probably had seen them both come out.
Very well. Morgan might as well maintain the illusion that he was courting Clara.
An illusion that Clara seemed less eager to maintain, for she slipped her hand quickly from his. “We both know that if not for Lord Ravenswood, you wouldn’t be ‘helping’ me at the Home at all, Captain Pryce.”
“Why is she calling you Captain Pryce?” Sebastian broke in.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
Clara’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon, Lord Templemore. Your brother led me to believe that he was a naval captain.”
“He was,” Juliet put in, clearly anxious to smooth away any misunderstandings. “He is. It’s just that he hasn’t used that name in some time. His real name is Blakely.”
His family was unwittingly digging a hole for him that grew deeper by the moment. Morgan cast his brother a rueful smile. “I’m afraid that when Ravenswood introduced me to Lady Clara, he…er…neglected to use my proper name. He’s so used to calling me Captain Pryce from the old days.”
“Ah, yes, the old days,” Sebastian said dryly. “When you spied for him and got yourself into trouble.”
“Why, Captain Pryce—” Clara began, then caught herself. “I mean, Captain Blakely, you never told me about this fascinating previous life. I’m surprised you could settle for the dullness of my institution after being a spy. You must tell me all about your exploits. Here I was led to believe you were only a naval captain fallen on hard times—”
“What hard times?” Sebastian broke in, outraged. “Morgan, what the devil did Ravenswood tell Lady Clara anyway? What is he up to?”
“You can ask him yourself, dearest,” Juliet interjected, “for here he comes now.”
With a groan, Morgan turned to find Ravenswood fast approaching. To all outward appearances, the man was utterly unperturbed by the sight of the little group standing there, but Morgan knew him well enough to read alarm in his quickened pace.
It served the arse right for having this meeting take place at a public ball. Then again, neither of them had expected Clara to show up.
“What a nice surprise,” Ravenswood boomed as he met them. “How delightful to see four of my favorite people conversing together.”
Morgan shot him a dark glance. Ravenswood ignored it.
“Lady Clara tells me you’ve been spreading lies about my family,” Sebastian snapped.
Ravenswood managed to look unconcerned. “Really?”
Morgan hastened to explain. “My brother is upset because you introduced me to her as Captain Pryce and implied I had no income of my own.”
“I must apologize, Lady Clara,” Ravenswood said smoothly. “I shouldn’t have let you believe that my friend was strapped for funds, but I thought you’d be less willing to let him stay in your Home otherwise. I know how you hate to feel obligated. I figured a little white lie about how he needed a place to live would ease your mind about his presence. Since you’re so kindhearted, I knew you couldn’t resist helping him. And me.”
His mute appeal was unmistakable. Morgan stood there marveling at Ravenswood’s sheer audacity. And his quick thinking.
Clara didn’t look quite so impressed. “Lord Ravenswood, you ought to be ashamed of yourself—”
“Indeed I should,” Ravenswood broke in expertly. “I’d completely forgotten that this dance was ours, my lady.” He held out his arm. “If you would do me the honor?”
She hesitated but apparently couldn’t pass up the chance to interrogate his lordship. “Yes, I’d be delighted. Good of you to finally remember.”
As soon as Ravenswood and Clara were gone, Morgan let out a breath and turned to Juliet and Sebastian. How much of that claptrap had they believed, anyway? Judging from Juliet’s happy smile, she’d believed every word. But Sebastian looked a little less trusting. He knew Ravenswood too well.
“So you’ve got a tidy setup down there at Lady Clara’s Home, have you?” Sebastian asked with obvious suspicion.
“What’s wrong, mon frère?” Morgan said, going on the offensive. “Can’t you believe that I would come to the rescue of a lady as worthy as Clara Stanbourne?”
“No one is questioning her worthiness,” Juliet put in, her little matchmaker’s heart clearly thumping with glee. “Or your gallantry. You always have been gallant to ladies. But you’re not fooling me—this is clearly more than mere gallantry.”
“Clearly,” Sebastian echoed, though his thoughts were obviously taking a different turn from his wife’s.
“Now tell the truth, Morgan,” Juliet went on. “Are you in love with her?”
“Yes, brother of mine,” Sebastian repeated, eyes gleaming, “are you in love?”
Morgan groaned. But it was either be “in love” with Clara or tell his brother the truth. If he claimed the former, Juliet would badger him for details. If he did the latter, his brother would strangle him.
He pasted a smile to his face. “Looks like you’ve found me out, Juliet.”
And it looked like it was going to be a damned long night.
Almost as soon as Clara and Lord Ravenswood left, she spotted her aunt and gave her a nod from across the room. Aunt Verity lit up immediately to see her niece being led to the floor by the very eligible Lord Ravenswood. After flashing Clara a blazing smile of approval, she returned to her conversation with the other ladies.
But Clara wasn’t terribly surprised when Lord Ravenswood took a detour and bypassed the dance floor entirely. Or when he asked to speak to her in private and then ushered her out through the cut crystal doors onto the marble balcony.
It didn’t matter to her where he answered her questions, as long as he answered them. Because somewhere during that bizarre conversation with the Templemores, she’d remembered who Morgan was. The fellow named Blakely who’d been aboard that pirate ship when Lord Winthrop’s ship was attacked.
“You have a great deal of explaining to do, Lord Ravenswood,” she said as soon as they were alone.
“I must thank you for your indulgence a few moments ago. My friend is in a sticky situation with his family, and you were gracious enough to save him from their wrath.”
Dance of Seduction Page 18