An Affair with a Notorious Heiress

by Lorraine Heath

  He had yet to move toward her, was merely waiting, his eyes burning into her. He had to know who she was, had to know why she was here. At least he’d reacted as though both those things were true. It was unnerving to finally be on the cusp of doing something so wicked, of being with a man who could totally destroy her if she wasn’t extraordinarily careful.

  She felt fairly naked in the flimsy silk she was forced to wear, suspected he’d probably disrobed her with his gaze. No petticoats, corset, or chemise served as protection. No layers separated her skin from the silk. Her nipples had reacted to his heated gaze as though he’d closed his mouth around them and sucked hard. She’d imagined it too many times as she’d moved restlessly beneath the covers. Dear God, she was trembling like a leaf in the breeze. She may have made a ghastly mistake in coming here, but she was too stubborn to turn tail and run.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and forced her legs to walk forward. He, drat him, moved not at all. Perhaps he was too mesmerized by the way the silk seemed to undulate over her body with each step, the way it clung, leaving no doubt she wore nothing beneath it. She could see the advantage as it failed to hamper movements. It was more nightdress than frock, and a man could get at what he wanted rather quickly. Although, he could also get at what he wanted sooner if he’d take a step nearer.

  When she completed her lengthy sojourn, she wasn’t quite sure how to greet him, how to ensure they progressed to the next step. Directness was no doubt warranted, and the order of the night. “You received my missive, I see.”

  Although in retrospect hers could have been one of a dozen, two dozen, three.

  “You’re late.”

  He didn’t sound particularly put out but rather curious. She glanced over at the mantel. No clock. She supposed this wasn’t the sort of place where people worried about time. “Not by much, I’d wager.”

  “Four minutes.”

  “You were counting?”

  “Wouldn’t you be disappointed if I hadn’t?”

  “But I didn’t sign the note. You couldn’t have known who sent it, couldn’t have known who you were waiting on.” She suddenly hated that he was here, that he had shown, that he hadn’t cared who had sent it. She was a fool to think he wanted anything other than a tumble. It didn’t matter to him who the lady was. He had lust that needed to be slaked.

  He leaned in, his lips brushing over her ear, his breath stirring the strands of her hair that she’d left unbound. Everything within her stilled, waited, as though she were the prey, and he the hunter about to pounce. “I’m anxious to know if I guessed correctly.”

  How silly she was to think he would be able to see through the mask, that her eyes, hair, form would give her away. He hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to her as she’d thought. Perhaps she’d misjudged his interest. Perhaps in the end, he’d dismiss her out of hand, and she’d be left feeling foolish.

  “I’ve secured a room,” he said, in a lower, throatier voice. “Shall we make use of it?” When he drew back, his eyes held a challenge as he extended his hand. His bared hand. His large, bare hand.

  Her own was equally bare. Skin to skin. She wanted to spin on her heel and simply lead the way, wanted him to follow like a lapdog, but he wasn’t one to be subservient. She needed something from him and that required she stay on his good side. She placed her hand in his, watched as his long, thick fingers slowly closed in a way that spoke of absolute possession. Anyone watching could not doubt that he had just claimed her for his own.

  She’d expected him to drag her from the room like some Neanderthal. Instead, he set a leisurely pace, shortening his strides so she could keep up easily, giving the impression they were equals in this endeavor. But they weren’t, and he’d soon realize it. He had more experience, more knowledge, more confidence.

  When they reached the stairs, he swept her up into his arms. She hated the tiny squeak that escaped. She was grateful he was close as she latched on to his lapel with one hand, her other arm curling around his broad shoulders. She could feel the strength in his arms. He carried her up to the landing as though she weighed no more than a summer cloud. Down one hallway, then another. She could hear moans and cries escaping through the closed doors.

  When they reached a room at the end of a hallway, he set her on her feet, removed a key from his jacket pocket, unlocked the door, and swung it open. Easing past him, she walked quickly inside, stopping short at the sight of the bed—the reason people came here. She didn’t turn when she heard the door close with a hushed snick, didn’t move as his soft footfalls brought him nearer, hardly dared to breathe when she felt his fingers at the lacings that secured the mask to her face. It loosened, began to fall. He caught it, then tossed it onto a nearby chair.

  Gathering up her resolve, she spun around, caught unawares by the heat and want she saw reflected in his eyes.

  “Thank God, it is you,” he rasped before taking her face between his hands and lowering his mouth to hers.

  He sounded truly grateful. Her feminine side told her to luxuriate in it, but too much was at stake. She would allow him to have this, but only this. They needed to come to an understanding before things went further. Her marriage had been on Downie’s terms. This, whatever this with Rexton turned out to be, was going to be on hers.

  Although for a fleeting moment, she feared it might turn out to be on his. How could she think, plot, scheme when his tongue was tenderly coaxing her lips to part, when they obeyed his insistent command without even asking her permission. When he was then stroking that very same tongue over hers, parrying with it as though they were engaged in a fencing match, coming in for the touch, retreating, encouraging her to take a stab. He tasted of something dark and rich, whisky probably. He tasted of wickedness, desire, and untold passions. He was an intrepid explorer, leaving no aspect of her mouth unsurveyed, encouraging her to return the favor.

  She did so gladly. Running her hands up into his hair, smiling inwardly as the curls wrapped around her fingers, holding her as he eventually would. For the briefest of moments, she felt young and innocent again, untouched, with her life unfolding before her and all her dreams waiting to be realized.

  He drew her in close, so close it didn’t matter that he wore clothes and she wore naught but flimsy silk. She could feel the hard length of his cock against her belly, could feel the rumble of his chest against her breasts as he growled, could feel the power in his hands as he skimmed them up her back and down, cupping her buttocks, and pressing her harder against him.

  She had an insane urge to scramble up his body, to wrap her legs around his waist, to unfasten his trousers, set him free, and slide down over him. Right here, right now, standing in the center of this room. She was close to exploding, just as she was every night when she thought of him touching her. What was it about him that brought out such extreme wantonness? He made her yearn to be exactly what all of London whispered she was: notorious, scandalous, indecent, disgraceful.

  But in spite of everything, in spite of the way he called to her, she wasn’t here for this. She was here for something far more important. With a great deal of effort, and regret, she tore her mouth from his. They were both breathing heavily and harshly.

  His eyes boring into hers, he waited, as though conceding the next move was hers, that she was the one who would set the pace. He was accepting her as an equal. It was an odd realization, seeing the need etched so clearly on his features, to feel it thrumming through his tense body, and to know he recognized she required more than lust satisfied.

  “You need to court Gina again,” she forced out on a rush.

  The stunned expression on his face was almost comical, made her want to laugh, only there was nothing humorous in this situation. “I beg your pardon?”

  His hold on her had loosened, and she used the opportunity to step away from him, beyond reach of those magnificent hands and talented lips. She didn’t want to consider how truly incredible it might be to tear off his clothes and allow his entir
e body to have its way with hers.

  “At least pretend to be courting her, as you were. The gentlemen have ceased to give her attention. I fear they believe you found fault with her.”

  He plowed his hands through his hair and stared at her as though she’d gone mad. “You set up a meeting here to discuss my courting your sister?”

  “I wanted someplace neutral, someplace where our coming together wouldn’t be observed. I’m willing to honor your original bargain with my uncle and ensure you have Black Diamond for stud.”

  His laughter was harsh, dark, a little frightening in its intensity. Turning on his heel, he walked over to a table, splashed whisky into two glasses, and brought her one. She did hope he didn’t notice how her hand was trembling when she took it. His gaze never leaving hers, he dropped into a chair. She eased over to the one opposite him and settled into it.

  “How many times have you visited here?” he asked.

  Not exactly the question she’d been expecting. “Three.”

  “Twice before tonight then.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Sipping on his whisky, he seemed to mull that over. For some reason, the mulling irritated her. “And you?” she asked pointedly. “How many times have you been here?”

  “I didn’t keep count. Although I’ve never spotted you, you must have seen me somehow. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have known I knew the whereabouts of this establishment and could in fact meet with you here.”

  She had seen him. A few years ago. The first time she’d come. She’d been skirting the shadows of the hallway, working up her nerve to enter the parlor, when she’d seen him walk out of it with a woman on his arm. She’d stayed where she was until they disappeared up the stairs. “Your point?”

  “This isn’t the sort of place where people come for a conversation. I think you chose this establishment because you hoped for more than that.”

  “I selected it because it gave me more control of the situation. With a mask, no one will have recognized me. No one will know we are talking instead of—” She waved her hand toward the bed.

  “Fucking?”

  The crudity of the word was like a punch to the stomach. Was that how he had viewed the kiss? As a prelude to that? Passion and desire had been no part of it. Had it been all lust and animalistic baser instincts? At that moment, she hated him, hated herself. “Do you want the stallion or not?”

  “Not.”

  The word was delivered like a shot from a rifle. Succinct. To the point. And had taken her completely by surprise. She was familiar with his racehorses. Had seen them run at various racetracks. Had even wagered on them a time or two. “But Black Diamond mated with one of your mares is certain to give you a winner. I don’t see that pretending to court Gina is much of an inconvenience. You were willing to do it before—”

  “I’m still willing to do it. But now the price has changed.”

  “What do you want in exchange?”

  “You.”

  Chapter 10

  He was fairly certain that within the annals of horseracing history would be a footnote that indicated the Marquess of Rexton had been a complete and utter fool. When given the opportunity to breed one of the fastest and finest stallions in existence with his mare, he’d tossed it aside in favor of his cock.

  Tillie—after the searing kiss they’d just shared he could no longer think of her in so formal a manner as Lady Landsdowne—stared at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Damn but he was anxious to explore that mouth again. He didn’t know if he’d ever tasted anything so sweet.

  “Me?” she asked finally, as though insulted. She glanced over her shoulder at the bed. “There I suppose.” Swiveling her head back around, she glared at him. “You want to fuck me.”

  He regretted now his choice of word earlier. He’d been keenly disappointed her reason for meeting him wasn’t the one he’d expected, that they weren’t already tangled in the sheets, lost to wild and untamed passion. “I want to have an affair with you.”

  Again, she seemed surprised by his words. Did she think he was going to be content with one night, one coupling? Was that her usual method? Once with a gent before moving on? Once with a footman—within her residence by all accounts; once with a couple of gents here? The jealousy that ratcheted through him with the thought of any of those men touching her might have doubled him over if he weren’t sitting.

  “An affair,” she repeated as though testing the word on her tongue.

  “And not here.” He’d taken other women within these walls, but he didn’t want to bed her here. She was somehow different, in ways he couldn’t fathom or explain.

  Her delicate brow furrowed. “Why not here?”

  It gave him hope that she was considering his proposition. “It’s too tawdry.”

  She tilted her head to the side as though the angle would allow her to decipher his meaning better. “But you’ve been with other ladies within this establishment.”

  And she’d been with other men. Perhaps that was part of it. But more, he wanted with her something he’d never had. “I see no need for the games played within these rooms. I reside alone. You can come to my residence in an unmarked carriage—or I can send mine for you. Wear a hooded cloak. If someone figures out it’s you, it’s not as though your reputation will be sullied.”

  “There is that, I suppose.” She took a swallow of whisky, tapped the glass. “Although I don’t want you bragging that you’re fucking me.”

  Damn these Americans for their boldness. An English lass would have been shocked, but never repeated the word once, much less carrying on so. “I’m not going to be fucking you.”

  She raised a finely arched brow. “Is that not the purpose of an affair?”

  “I apologize for using the crass word in your company. I shouldn’t have. It was ungentlemanly and you are undeserving of such language. Trust me, when we are done, you’ll be glad to have been in my bed. Nor will I be bragging to anyone about it. It doesn’t serve your sister well if we’re not discreet.”

  She nodded. “She above all is my concern. When you escort her somewhere, I will come to you the night following.”

  “That’s fair.” He would be doing a great deal of escorting.

  “However, there will be no complete consummation until she is betrothed.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not an affair if we’re not—” He bit back the word he wanted to use. “If I’m not buried inside you.”

  “Once you have that, what assurances do I have you will work diligently to see she is settled with a proper gentleman?”

  “My word and my honor.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve had another lord offer me his word and his honor. Little good either did me.”

  What did she mean by that? What had Landsdowne done? “You were the one who was unfaithful.”

  She lifted a shoulder, dropped it back down. “If you want a complete coupling, those are my terms.”

  “I want more than once, so I don’t find those terms agreeable. But I understand your concerns. A counteroffer.” He leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs. “Are you familiar with Fair Vixen?”

  A tiny pleat appeared between her brows while she seemed to be scouring her memory. Finally she nodded. “I’ve seen her race.” Realization seemed to dawn as her eyes widened. He wanted to see pleasure reflected in the blue. “You want Black Diamond for her.”

  “I do indeed. If I don’t uphold my end of the bargain, if I abandon this quest to find a match for your sister after you and I have been together, I forfeit my most prized mare to you.”

  She blinked, studied him. “That would no doubt make me the most expensive whore in history.”

  “Damn it, Tillie. You’re not going to be my whore and I shan’t treat you as such. You can’t deny there’s an attraction between us. If I say no to helping you with Gina, are you truly going to walk out of here without making use of that bed that’s only a few yards away?”

  She shot
to her feet and walked over to the window. She wasn’t foolish enough to stand before the glass, but took a position so she was hidden from view by the pulled-aside drapery, but still she could see out. He contemplated staying where he was, but he loathed the distance between them. When he reached her, he didn’t touch her, although he longed to with a need that was close to a physical ache.

  “There’s no shame in desire, in wanting intimacy,” he said quietly.

  “Society would disagree.”

  “Society isn’t going to know.” Slowly, so very slowly, he touched a finger to a bared spot on her shoulder, drew a tiny circle on her skin, felt a shudder ripple through her. “Tell me I’m wrong; tell me you don’t go to sleep at night wondering what it might be like between us.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not wrong. But these terms, they feel degrading.”

  “They merely extend what otherwise might have been only one night.”

  “If you discover . . . if you’re disappointed . . . if one night is enough for you.”

  It wouldn’t be. He trailed his finger down her arm, back up. “Then you acquire Fair Vixen.”

  As though her limbs were controlled by the slow steady movement of the minute hand on a clock, she unhurriedly turned to face him. “If Gina is not settled by Season’s close, our arrangement will come to an end at that time. I can’t have you striving to undermine your own efforts just to keep me about.”

  “I would not be so underhanded.” The words were a lie of course. If they were half as compatible in bed as he suspected they would be, he was going to take his time seeing her sister set. Although it was also possible he’d have no control over it at all. He couldn’t stop a gentleman from falling in love with her quickly, nor could he prevent gentlemen from not wanting her at all.

  “Fair Vixen becomes mine at that time.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He barked out his laughter. The cheek on her. Damn but he couldn’t wait to have her in his bed. “I beg your pardon?”