Countess So Shameless (Scandal in London)

by Liana Lefey

  The sudden intensity of her gaze as they joined hands and moved to first positions caught Alessandro off guard, and his breath stilled momentarily.

  At last, blessedly, the musicians struck up the prelude. Throughout the entire dance, their gazes remained locked as they wove, circled, and dipped, fingers brushing, desire mounting. The very air between them seemed almost to crackle with tension.

  As the music drew to a finish, Mélisande glanced to her left, lighting on the musicians’ blind.

  “You don’t happen to know the waltz, do you?” she asked.

  He found his tongue with some difficulty. “I learned it in Vienna before it became popular in France.”

  Without preamble, she grabbed him by the hand and quickly pulled him behind the blind. Startled, the musicians began to rise, but she motioned them back down, addressing them in an authoritative tone. “Mes amies, préparez à jouer la valse maintenant!”

  Delighted, they immediately began shifting the pages of their set.

  Lord Ludley, who happened to be standing nearby, bustled over. “Melly, it’s too early!” he hissed. “What are you about? Where is Stanton?”

  Mélisande turned to him with a careless laugh. “Change of plans, Luddy, darling. I’ve a new partner! Be a gem and announce it, won’t you?”

  “But—” His eyes fell on Gravina, and his panicked expression evaporated. Smiling, he scuttled back around the blind. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the milling throng, “I’ve prepared for your entertainment tonight the special exhibition of a new dance...”

  Behind the screen, Mélisande faced Alessandro. Giving him a siren’s smile, she took his arm.

  They walked out from behind the screen and moved to the center of the floor, ignoring the murmurs and gasps that followed.

  Upon seeing them take positions, Ludley hastily wrapped up his speech and frantically motioned for the musicians to begin.

  As the opening strains commenced, Alessandro tugged his partner’s hand sharply and pulled her close, wrapping his other hand snugly about her waist, acutely aware of its lack of a corset.

  The tempo increased and the pair began to move in unison. Beginning with small steps, they swayed back and forth; then the music swelled and the world disappeared.

  Mélisande’s long legs matched him step for step as they began to spin and glide in widening circles, never stumbling, never hesitating. He was sure and confident in his movements, a skilled dancer. Apparently pleased, she allowed a bit more give in her waist, encouraging him with her body. When he did not immediately respond, she eyed him askance, raising a brow as if to taunt, Is this the best you can do?

  He answered her with a satyr’s grin, pulling her closer on the next turn and pressing his hand hard against her pliant waist.

  The pair took flight. Across the ballroom they soared in great, sweeping arcs that seemed impossible without the benefit of wings. Mélisande laughed aloud with unrestrained delight. Held securely in his embrace, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

  When she looked back at him, her eyes blazed like living jewels full of joy and desire. In that moment, Alessandro knew he’d lost his soul.

  “Outrageous!” Mélisande heard one old matron gasp as they passed by.

  “That dance belongs between the sheets, as does that vixen!” another gentleman commented more appreciatively, earning a few chuckles of agreement from his cohorts.

  “The impropriety!” trumpeted another woman. “I should disown her at once were she my daughter!”

  “Shocking! No wonder Pelham wouldn’t marry her—she’s too brazen even for him!”

  One after another, onlookers offered up their vicious observations.

  As the pair continued to dance, however, the exclamations of disapproval were slowly overwhelmed (for the most part) by murmurs of admiration from among the younger set.

  The waltz ended, and they glided to a halt, inches apart.

  Mélisande was oblivious to all save the want consuming her. Her partner’s hot, black gaze held her, telling her of his matching desire. So wrapped up in each other were they that the wild applause and excited babble of their audience didn’t even register until they were completely surrounded.

  Alessandro released his hold on her waist but kept hold of her hand, concealing the connection in the folds of his coat skirts as they stood close amid the press of bodies.

  Ludley, appearing much relieved to see the majority of his guests congratulating the pair rather than running them out of his ballroom in disgrace, wriggled through, parting the waves of the crush like a charging walrus. “Magnificent!” he bellowed. “Melly, my dear, when you first suggested it, I’d my doubts, but you’ve certainly proven me wrong!” He frowned. “Of course it’ll probably be banned; but nevertheless, I’m sure it’ll be all the rage in a few years’ time. Forbidden fruit and all that, you know.”

  Mélisande’s blood hammered in her ears, pulsing through her awakened body, threatening to incinerate her. After an interminable few moments spent receiving compliments and automatically answering countless inquiries regarding her dancing instructor, she’d had enough.

  “Oh dear, I’m afraid I feel a bit unwell,” she said quite clearly, squeezing Alessandro’s hand hard before letting go. Feigning weakness, she leaned on his arm as if in need of support and opened her fan to cool her glowing cheeks.

  Taking her hint, Alessandro played along. “Come, my lady, and let us take the air outside. It’ll be cooler.” Pressing forward with polite apologies, he forged a path through their admirers. When they finally made it to the terrace doors, he flipped a coin to the attendant.

  The young man caught it deftly and shut the door behind them, standing before it to prevent anyone else from immediately following.

  It was only a brief delay, but it was all they needed. The second they were outside in the blessedly cool night, Mélisande dropped all pretense of weakness and grabbed his hand. Immediately, she yanked him hard to the right, forcing him to keep up as she broke into a run. Keeping close to the wall, she led him around the corner instead of toward the stairs.

  The balcony here appeared to wrap around the building for a short distance and then simply end in a wall. Knowing better, Mélisande continued to lead him along to the end and then suddenly darted to the side—directly into the wall. For an instant, Alessandro resisted and tried to pull her away in the opposite direction, but then he, too, was pulled into the gap.

  Hawthorne Manor had been built around an existing structure, and some of the old secrets still remained. The cleverly concealed opening revealed a passage that doubled back behind the original wall, leading to a steep, narrow flight of switchback stairs.

  Mélisande paused, holding a finger to her lips to silence his questions. She removed her shoes, indicating he should do the same. Quiet as mice, they began to climb.

  Occasional openings yawned to their left or right as they continued to ascend. She led him past these, knowing that none of them led to where she wanted to be. After what seemed an eternity spent groping for footing in the dark, she turned a sharp corner and a few steps later emerged into bright moonlight.

  Smiling, she turned to Alessandro. “The original owner of this house was an astrologer. He had this place built so he could watch the sky. Come and see,” she whispered, leading him across the flat expanse to the very edge.

  Together, they peeked over the lip of the embrasure. Far below was the wide balcony from which they’d escaped. The massive gardens stretched out beyond, threaded by lamp-lit paths that twinkled faintly in the night. A small crowd had indeed followed them outside. Most were milling about on the balcony, but a few were determinedly headed to the garden bowers, presumably hoping to catch them in a tryst. No one seemed to be making for the secret stair.

  Mélisande waited, nearly bursting with the excitement of their escape. After so long, he was here, in the flesh, the only man who’d ever made her feel completely alive.

  Turning to face her,
he bowed. “You, dear Countess, are a caution. Frightened the devil out of me, running into the wall like that. How on earth did you know it was there?”

  “A servant showed it to me years ago when I summered here with my parents as a child,” she laughed. “One day I grew bored and decided to explore it. I’m glad I remembered it, and extremely glad it wasn’t sealed off.”

  “As am I.” He sauntered over to where she stood. “I looked for you, you know. I searched for you for days, asked after you everywhere. You simply vanished. I wondered at times if I’d conjured you in a dream.”

  “I am quite real, I assure you.”

  “Are you?” He leaned closer. “I’m afraid I shall have to prove it to myself.”

  What began as a gentle kiss rapidly turned incendiary. Enfolding her in his arms, Alessandro claimed her mouth and branded it as his.

  He was everything she remembered and more. His hands were sure, his skill at arousal undeniable, but the desire that awakened in her was more than the result of a confident touch. She’d been kissed before and it had been, for the most part, pleasant enough. But only Alessandro seemed able to incite this maddening hunger.

  Mélisande melted into him, molding her every curve against his hardness.

  Her skin tingled as his hands roamed across her back, his palms traveling slowly down until they cupped her bottom, pulling her hard against him. There was no mistaking the urgency of his desire. A rush of heat enveloped her, tightening the pit of her belly. With a throaty chuckle, she brushed the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip, tasting him.

  Backing up against one of the crenellations that decorated the manor, he sat in the sill of one, pulling her onto his lap. Delicately, he caressed the line of her jaw and neck, running reverent fingers down to brush the tops of her breasts, slipping beneath to cup his palm around the side of one. His thumb grazed her nipple, sending tiny streaks of lightning pleasure straight to her core.

  His hand left her breast to meander lower, fanning out over her belly to press against another sensitive mound. She whimpered with delight, arching upward to meet his touch.

  Gathering her skirts, he slid one hand up her stockinged leg, burning a slow trail up to the secret place between her thighs. Gently, he nudged her legs apart, and Mélisande felt him slip between her slick folds, finding with unerring accuracy the little jewel nestled at the fore.

  Mélisande cried out, rendered mindless, boneless—shameless. When he inserted a single digit into her dampness, her breath burst forth in a short gasp followed by a long, feral moan as he courted the gem of her womanhood with consummate skill, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.

  A new, delicious tension began to build. Time stretched into infinity as the tide ebbed and flowed within her, increasing in intensity with every passing moment. Warmth tingled throughout her whole body as the sensation mounted.

  Though she craved the touch of his hand, it left her feeling somehow incomplete. She wanted more. Before she had time to process that primal thought, however, her body convulsed in a paroxysm of undiluted pleasure. Wave after wave of it washed over her, until she thought she might drown.

  Alessandro’s mouth swept down to muffle her outcry as she quaked and shivered in his arms.

  A strange, warm languor gripped Mélisande as he slowly removed his hand and peered down at her, his eyes gleaming with triumph. Gazing back up at him, the irony of her situation struck her with something akin to hilarity. I am my mother’s daughter after all. She looked to the source of her pleasure: handsome, intelligent, exciting—a cheerful seeker of pleasure. He pretended nothing to the contrary, openly enjoying his delinquent life.

  The idea that had begun to form in her mind became more appealing with each passing moment. Maman had said that love and passion were two entirely separate things. Never would she be so foolish as to give this man her heart, but with him as her guide...he would be the perfect instructor, allowing her to enjoy learning the ways of pleasure without risking emotional entanglement. And once her thirst was quenched and their attraction had run its course, they would both be free to do as they pleased.

  Could she? Ought she? She was so weary of playing it safe, and of suffering endless disappointment. After what had just happened, she knew she was very tired of being a virgin. Looking at Alessandro again, she made a decision. He would do quite nicely indeed.

  “May I inquire as to your sudden smile?” Alessandro asked. “I would like to assume I am the cause of it, but something tells me otherwise.”

  “I’m simply amazed at how Fate has delivered to me exactly what I desired,” she replied, nestling into him and tilting her head back to gaze up at the stars.

  “How so?” he ventured, wrapping his arms more closely around her.

  She smiled, enjoying how his embrace drove away the encroaching chill. “I once vowed I’d never act rashly out of passion, and yet here I am on the roof with a notorious rakehell and my skirts tossed up. And I feel no shame—not even the tiniest shred. What does that say about me?”

  It was a rhetorical question born out of the surprise of self-discovery. Is this tendency toward wickedness inherent in my blood? Am I truly tainted by my mother’s sin? It must be so, or she would be suffering an agony of conscience. Instead, she felt only desire and a sense of liberation.

  “You’ve had your way with me, my lord, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.” Gathering her courage, she forged ahead. It was now or never. “In fact, I’d very much like to repeat it. I propose that we become lovers, you and I.”

  IN WHICH BARGAINS ARE MADE

  ALESSANDRO WAS MORE than happy to oblige, of course, but the tone of her request was a trifle disturbing. He’d been propositioned countless times, but never in this odd fashion and never by a young, unmarried woman of respectable reputation.

  It made him rather uneasy. Over the years, he’d met a number of ladies possessed of an angelic façade, only to discover they were the very devil once behind closed doors. Those experiences had been immensely enjoyable, but for some strange reason, he didn’t take any pleasure in the idea that she might be of that ilk.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Mélisande sat up and wound her arms about his neck, looking him squarely in the face. “Because I like you,” she stated, her eyes betraying just how very much she liked him indeed. “You don’t pretend to be anything you’re not. And because I’ve waited a very long time for someone to stir me again. Five years have passed since we met in Versailles, and until tonight, not a single man has managed to make me feel that way,” she added, caressing his ear.

  “And what makes you think I’ll agree to this...arrangement?”

  “Because you’re a man who seeks pleasure,” she continued in a wicked whisper. “And rest assured that what I propose is a friendship of sorts, not a romantic entanglement.”

  Alessandro raised a brow. A friendship of sorts?

  “I see,” he answered slowly. With a deep breath he took the bait. “Let us say I did agree to become your paramour; the pleasures we would explore naturally pose a certain...risk. Surely you don’t wish to bear a child out of wedlock?”

  “There are ways to prevent such things,” she said dismissively. “I may be inexperienced, but I’m not entirely ignorant.”

  The roses blooming in her cheeks belied the cool answer. “And what of your future husband?” he asked. “Will he not care that you’ve sampled the delights of the bedchamber with another?”

  “I’ll worry about that—should I ever decide to take a husband,” she said, raising a brow. “My wealth will no doubt persuade him to overlook my past.” She inched closer, her sultry smile returning. “But before I settle for some boring country lord and the tedium of domesticity, I wish to first experience passion.”

  Alessandro was stunned by the sheer magnitude of her naïveté. Such a sensual creature would certainly never be content with a boring country lord.

  “I have no unreasonable expectations, Your Grace,” she continued, breaking
his reverie. Her dark lashes veiled her eyes, casting deep shadows across her cheeks. “I observed you for quite some time in Versailles, and I listened to your past amours when they spoke of you,” she confessed. “I am fully aware that you are uninterested in being bound to any woman. I can accept that.”

  “Can you?” he asked, watching the play of moonlight across her delicate features.

  “I can. When you are ready to move on, I’ll let you go—without any bitterness,” she added, flicking him a cautious glance. “In fact, I hope that, as with your former lovers, we may part as friends.”

  After a long moment, he nodded. Now it was all becoming clear. Her body was his for the taking, but not her heart. “I am quite pleased to accommodate your desire to be educated in the ways of passion, but how am I to do so without destroying your reputation? You realize you have very likely already ruined yourself by spiriting away with me,” he warned.

  “There is another way back,” she told him. “It will put us out near the ballroom. From there we can simply join the crowd, and by the time we’re noticed, no one will really know how long we’ve been gone. Does this mean you accept?”

  He bowed with a flourish. “With great pleasure, my lady.”

  Her happy smile was like the sun breaking through on a rainy day. He longed to kiss it, but they had not the time.

  “We had better go,” she said. “The moon is already high.”

  When she eased off his lap, a groan very nearly escaped him. He wasn’t going to be able to stand without embarrassment. Looking up, he saw her gaze resting directly on the source of his discomfort. When her eyes finally met his, the little imp wore a knowing smile. With a deliberately lecherous grin, he stood, fully revealing the strength of the desire straining against the confines of his breeches. “I’m afraid our conversation has rendered me unfit to rejoin the festivities just yet.”

  Mélisande boldly perused the evidence of his masculinity. Stepping up, she placed a hand on his chest and slid it down toward the bulge.