Countess So Shameless (Scandal in London)

by Liana Lefey

  A long moment passed before he answered. “I will.”

  A tension she hadn’t known was even present suddenly eased. “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me yet, amora,” he said, lying back against the pillows. “My help comes at a price.”

  In response to his teasing tone, Mélisande came to stand before him. Loosening the ties of her wrapper, she let it fall. “Oh? Does it? Name your price, then.”

  “You asked me to teach you the ways of love, did you not?”

  “I did indeed.”

  Pulling aside the sheet, he grinned. “In return for my assistance, you will show me what you’ve learned thus far.”

  With curious hands, she explored his male form. His rapid intake of breath as she touched one of his nipples brought another smile to her lips. She circled it with the tip of a finger, watching as his eyes closed and the pulse at his throat jumped.

  Her gaze dropped. Boldly, she ran her hand down the trail of dark, springy hair that led to the seat of his masculinity. Thick and heavy, it lay in wait. His breath caught again as she traced the sensitive flesh of the rim, his cock leaping at her light touch.

  A strangled chuckle issued from her lover, and her gaze snapped to his face. He was smiling, but it was a pained expression that clearly said she was tormenting him.

  Grinning, she mercilessly continued her unhurried exploration of his person, venturing down to feel the corded strength of his legs, molding well-shaped thighs and calves before traveling slowly back up again. Gathering her courage, she firmly grasped his manhood.

  He moaned faintly in response, his buttocks clenching as he strained upward.

  Her heart began to pound. He was now at her mercy. She felt positively uncivilized as a rush of lust filled her. Touching him boldly now, she noted the strangely soft skin and the hot pulsing of his shaft. A single drop of dew appeared at its tip, glistening in the firelight.

  He groaned again and a shocking idea entered Mélisande’s mind.

  Alessandro’s unbelieving gasp and widening eyes registered just before she took him into her mouth. His whole body jerked and trembled as she ran her tongue around his smooth glans, tasting the faint saltiness of the gem that had formed there.

  A prolonged groan of ecstasy tore from his lungs as she experimented with light suction, flicking her tongue across his sensitive flesh. Mélisande felt his hips rise yet higher. It was all she could do not to crow in triumph. He was just as susceptible to his own tricks! She chuckled in satisfaction as he came up off the bed, the lack of grace in the movement betraying his loss of control.

  Grabbing her, he pulled her up, laughing breathlessly as he plunked her down atop his lap. “Ye gods, woman, stop!” he gasped.

  Flushing, she looked away, unable to bear meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve heard men discussing such things with what seemed like great relish, and I thought you would like it. Did I do it wrong?”

  “Not at all!” he answered unsteadily. “It is only that most women are quite reluctant to pleasure a man in that particular manner. That you have done so with such enthusiasm simply astonishes me.”

  “I was only returning the favor in kind,” she said, still embarrassed. “I enjoyed it so much when you...” She halted, blushing.

  “I can assure you I most certainly enjoyed it.” He laughed. “But you must remember that a man is not like a woman. I can endure most love play for quite some time, but not that. That will bring me to crisis far too soon, and I would not wish to leave you wanting.”

  Mélisande looked down between them to where his manhood pressed against her. “I will not let you leave me wanting,” she said, stroking him.

  Arching a brow, Alessandro surrendered himself to her will. Rising up onto her knees, she straddled him, and with agonizing slowness, lowered, impaling herself.

  It was an entirely different sensation, being atop him this way. The fullness she experienced was complete. Each and every tiny pulse and throb of his member was felt intensely. The pressure swelled within her like an enormous wave when he lifted his hips and ground up into her, touching her very core.

  Moaning, she shifted forward, savoring the delicious friction between their bodies as he slid nearly all the way out of her passage. With a sigh of satisfaction, she pushed back and felt him fill her again.

  Alessandro’s hands skimmed down to graze the flesh just above the place where their bodies joined. She cried aloud at the intense sensation, bracing her hands against his chest. He lifted his hips again, and she rose with him, riding him.

  When she began to tire, he pulled her up just enough to take the rosy tip of one breast into his mouth. Sucking hard, he flicked the swollen, aching bud with the tip of his tongue. Mélisande could only thrust her chest out for more. When he did the same to the other breast, she wailed her pleasure.

  Her coming was like the tide, slow and inexorable. Gasping with each ecstatic pulse, she sank beneath the depths as crest after crest washed over her. Alessandro rocked with her, licking the sweat from her shoulder and nipping the flesh at the juncture of her neck. Before her peak could completely subside, he flipped her over and thrust deep, a guttural cry ripping from his throat.

  Mélisande shook and strained with each powerful stroke, her muscles clenching tightly as the tide broke over her yet again.

  At last, with a low groan, Alessandro poured his long, hot release into her.

  Together they collapsed, muscles trembling from exhaustion. He held her tightly for a moment before rolling to the side, taking her with him.

  Contentment filled her. Inexplicable peace. Being cradled in his arms felt...right.

  The thought crystallized.

  Somehow, against all logic and despite her vowing not to let it happen, she’d begun to love him. The thought frightened her to no end.

  The morning of Herrington’s ball, Mélisande sent a message to David and Reggie telling them Charlotte was indisposed and that she and Alessandro would meet them at the ball instead of traveling together as a group.

  Upon seeing Charlotte that evening, Mélisande almost changed her mind about her plan.

  The aqua silk mantua she’d had commissioned for Charlotte last month had been quite significantly altered. The lace at the neckline had been removed and the amount of décolletage now exposed was shocking. It would have been so on a married lady, Mélisande mused.

  If Charlotte thought David would come running after her the minute he laid eyes on her, she was probably right. He would—to give her a stern talking to and then to lend her his kerchief to cover herself. That is, of course, if her brother did not see her first and take her over his knee. She hoped neither of them spotted the girl before her plan could come to fruition, but if she had to choose, she’d rather it be David. With him at least, there was a chance that Charlotte’s embarrassment over his reaction might deter further pursuit.

  “You look lovely, Charlotte,” she said, keeping such thoughts to herself. “You’ll certainly captivate the young men tonight. I just hope it’s for the right reason,” she added, unable to help herself.

  “Regardless of the reason, captivating them is the whole purpose of my going to these balls, is it not?” said Charlotte. “I’m to catch a husband, and that’s what I intend to do—by hook or crook.” Her eyes shone with determination as she turned toward Alessandro. “What think you, my lord? Shall I bewitch my admirers?”

  “You look enchanting, Miss Stanton,” said Alessandro. He looked to Mélisande as the girl turned away, his expression worried.

  Shaking her head slightly, she signaled him to remain silent. Her stomach tightened unpleasantly. Ironic that she, who’d spent the past several years courting scandal, would now be unsettled by the sight of her young friend’s risqué gown. Though certainly no prude, perhaps she was a bit more conservative than she’d thought. “Come. The carriage awaits, and we don’t want to be at the end of the line.”

  By the time they arrived, Mélisande had managed to settle her nerves. T
heir host’s greeting was on the chilly side, which suited her just fine. Herrington’s obvious annoyance at having not only her but her infamous fiancé at his ball further lightened her mood. If he didn’t want her there, he should not have invited her.

  She raised a brow. “I thank you for your kind invitation, Your Grace. I cannot imagine a more pleasurable means of entertainment on such a lovely evening.”

  Herrington’s blush left little doubt that he’d immediately conjured several images of the “pleasurable entertainments” implied by her tone.

  Tearing his gaze away from her to greet Charlotte, he blushed deeper, all the way to the roots of his hair.

  Mélisande almost wished he would say something to Charlotte. In her present mood, she’d probably tell him to go straight to the devil—loudly. The thought made her smile.

  When he saw her amusement, Herrington’s expression shifted back to one of thinly veiled hostility.

  With a smirk, Mélisande turned to leave with Alessandro. She could feel Herrington’s gaze burning into her back. She hoped he enjoyed the view, because from this point on, that was all he would see of her.

  Charlotte went with the now engaged Winifred, leaving the couple to their own devices. Mélisande didn’t particularly care for Winifred’s influence of late, but she felt it was the lesser of two evils. Better to allow Charlotte her companionship than to have her mooning about at David’s elbow.

  Together, she and Alessandro circulated throughout the room. When they failed to find David among the general assembly, they went to the gaming room, where they discovered him playing primero. He nodded a cordial greeting and continued to play.

  “Elizabeth!” Mélisande exclaimed happily, seeing Mrs. Montagu sitting by the fire. “It’s been far too long since we last saw each other. May I join you?” Surely Charlotte couldn’t possibly get herself into trouble this early in the evening.

  “Of course! Come. Sit. Both of you,” Elizabeth replied, signaling a footman to bring another chair.

  Mélisande was conscious of the fact that eyebrows rose over her invitation including Alessandro. They rose higher still when Elizabeth asked him to attend an exclusive reading by Henry Fielding of his new novel at her salon the week following. While part of her was pleased that he was being accepted, another part felt it would only make things more difficult in the end.

  They bantered in friendly fashion until David excused himself. A few moments after he left, Alessandro did the same, leaving the two women to continue their game.

  Elizabeth’s eyes followed him. “And just what are our handsome friends up to, I wonder?”

  For once, Mélisande sincerely hoped David was up to no good. She decided to tell Elizabeth about her plan.

  “What say we keep an eye on them?” suggested Elizabeth, her eyes twinkling.

  Mélisande agreed, and the two of them went in search of the men. She looked for Charlotte as well, but she was nowhere in sight. They found David deep in discussion with a group of gentlemen. Alessandro was there too. At her questioning look, he shrugged and shook his head. Eventually, he gave up and rejoined them.

  She and Alessandro paired for both the first and second dances—scandalous, even for an engaged couple. She didn’t care. Fervently hoping Herrington would cluck at her over it, she made her movements as provocative as possible.

  Alessandro’s cinnamon eyes darkened as they danced, his smile growing sensuous. Her pulse hammered wildly and her skin began to tingle in anticipation. That he still looked at her that way after nearly three months amazed her.

  Reggie joined their group, looking for Charlotte, who he’d been told had decided to attend in spite of her headache. Mélisande suddenly realized she hadn’t actually seen the girl for nearly an hour. She looked to where David stood, still in conversation with the same men. How ironic that the one night she actually needed him to misbehave, he’d chosen to do the opposite.

  Charlotte was nowhere to be found.

  Without it being announced, the musicians struck up the next piece, which was, to everyone’s delight, a waltz. All eyes turned to the ballroom floor to see a couple moving through the steps with fluid grace.

  Mélisande caught herself gaping in surprise. Herrington, the disapproving prig who’d lectured her about impropriety, was engaged in what had recently been dubbed “the most scandalous dance ever performed outside a gypsy camp.” That he happened to be dancing with Charlotte only made the reality that much more bizarre—and alarming.

  Just as they made the turn, Herrington caught her stare. The malicious triumph in his eyes froze the blood in her veins.

  David strode up, rage written in his stiff motions. “Little fool!” he said. “Someone ought to give her a good thrashing.”

  Mélisande had never seen him so angry. “David, I—”

  “Why did you lie to me and tell me she was ill at home? What have you done?”

  “You think I did this? I had nothing to do with that, I can assure you,” she said, pointing at the couple. “I was only trying to help her—”

  “Ruin herself?” he cut in.

  “This is nothing more than a childish prank on her part, David. She cannot be seriously considering—”

  “She looks bloody serious to me,” he interrupted again. “Herrington is only sniffing around her because of you,” he went on, stabbing an accusing finger at her. “Except Charlie doesn’t know it. Once she figures it out, it’ll break her heart.”

  I was wrong. He does care for her.

  “Now,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I’m going to find Reggie and get her out of here—before I beat Herrington to death on his own ballroom floor.”

  Alessandro arrived just as he departed. “What has happened? Where is Pelham off to in such a rush?”

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Mélisande answered. Gritting her teeth, she began telling him about her conflict with their host.

  STEP INTO MY PARLOR

  AMID THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE, the waltz ended. For the past hour, Herrington had been everything a young lady could hope for in a gallant gentleman—kind, attentive, and sympathetic—for Miss Charlotte Stanton was the key to his plan.

  He watched as she again glanced in Pelham’s direction. He was leaving. Her eyes began to fill. Quickly, he shepherded her out of the ballroom before she could cause a scene.

  The moment the parlor door closed, she burst into hot, angry tears.

  Herrington enfolded her in his arms, letting her weep and curse her rage against his chest. When she’d finally spent herself, he sat her down beside him and handed her his kerchief.

  “Your Grace, I don’t know what came over me, I must apol—”

  “Look at me,” he commanded. When she would not obey, he took her chin in his hand and tipped her face up to gaze into clear, blue-grey eyes brimming with bright tears. The tip of her upturned nose was charmingly pink from crying, as were her cheeks and mouth. The girl was actually quite pretty, he thought, even when weeping. It was something that could not be said of most women.

  A strange sort of tenderness filled him, and he felt a twinge of sorrow for what he was about to do. He spoke, barely above a whisper. “I know what it is to love someone, and to be spurned by them. I, too, have loved someone who cares nothing for me. One who detests me, even.”

  As he’d intended, his words had an almost hypnotic effect on her.

  “Who?”

  “Your friend Mélisande,” he answered with a brittle smile.

  “Melly?” she blurted. “But you hate her!”

  “Hate is a very strong word, Miss Charlotte. I am merely embittered by her disregard.”

  “But—I don’t understand. How...?”

  “Three years ago, I saw her and fancied her. I more than fancied her, in truth,” he confessed. “I worshipped her from afar, too timid to approach such a glorious creature. Finally, one night after several glasses of champagne, I worked up enough courage to speak to her. I opened with a jest, thinking to impress her
with my wit, and she mistook it for an insult. She has disliked me ever since.”

  And she had shamed him in front of everyone with her harpy’s tongue! Herrington could not control the tremor of impotent rage that ran through him at the memory.

  “It was unwise of me, perhaps, to speak to her with such familiarity before she’d been given an opportunity to know me better and see that I meant no offense,” he continued. “I had no idea she would react so to my attempt at friendly banter. It was a simple misunderstanding. One I have never been allowed to correct.”

  Indeed. It was a wound that had festered for three years, rotting in the darkest recesses of his soul. The bitch had scorned him, subjected him to public humiliation, and all he had done was make a simple witticism to try and gain her attention. She’d then proceeded to make him a complete laughingstock. Practically every female he’d met since that day had given him the cold shoulder or giggled at his approach.

  The witch taunted him at every opportunity, as well, and he could not help but rise to the bait. She was a poison in his veins; even though he hated her, he still desired her. Every time he laid eyes on her he was stricken by almost debilitating lust. He would have her, and she would pay for his torment!

  Charlotte placed a gentle hand upon his. “I can only imagine how truly awful it must be to know that she is now engaged to someone else.”

  Herrington turned her hand palm-up and kissed it. She, at least, was genuine. “I thank you for your compassion, Miss Charlotte. It is a testament to your sweet nature that you can be so kind after having been the victim of such similarly cruel indifference.”

  “In—indifference?”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at Pelham.” He watched her cheeks redden. “And I’ve witnessed his careless disregard. He is most undeserving of your devotion.”

  Charlotte stiffened and tried to pull back her hand, but he held it fast.