by Jo Beverley
The sinful heat flared low in her belly again. The rational part of her insisted this was none of her affair, but the other part—this strange, needy part that until now she hadn’t known existed—was already nodding. “Of course. What do you want me to do?”
He smiled, just the slightest upturn of his lips, and his broad hand came up to cover hers where it rested on his forearm. He squeezed her fingers. “I don’t know. Just keep your eyes and ears open. Maybe Maria will let some clue slip.”
“Very well.” She managed to get the words past her suddenly dry lips. The weight of his hand on hers was doing unusual things to her heart.
She was in very big trouble.
Chapter 5
Jo listened as yet another set of footsteps crept past her door. If the frequent creaking of the corridor floor was any indication, everyone at the party had made his or her way to some other guest’s bedchamber. Mr. Parker-Roth was likely already in Lady Noughton’s room.
Whose room was Lord Kenderly in?
She tossed his letter onto her dressing table. She’d finally found time to read it, but now that she knew he’d thought he was writing to Papa, his words didn’t captivate her as they had in the past. Oh, he was still witty and perspicacious, but she could no longer pretend he was writing to her.
She should throw it away. She picked it up again to do just that, but her fingers refused to crumple it. She glanced down at the vellum square. She still felt an odd thrill when she saw his strong, bold handwriting.
She was a fool, but she tucked the letter into the book she’d been reading. She would keep it with all the others, tied in a ribbon in her desk at home.
She turned and frowned at herself in the cheval glass. She raised her chin. She’d put her foolish tendre behind her. Where Lord Kenderly was and what he was doing with whom were none of her concern. She would wait a few more minutes and then make her own surreptitious way through Greyham Manor’s darkened halls.
She wrinkled her nose at her nightgown-clad figure. She would not be headed to any gentleman’s arms. Oh, no. She meant to search the library. With luck, she’d find the stupid Ovid. She’d like to take it home and wave it in Papa’s face. But find it or not, she’d be gone in the morning.
And what about Lord Kenderly? He’d asked for her help. Was she going to desert him?
Yes. She thrust her arms into her wrapper. Indeed she was. He was the Prince of Hearts. She was merely a country spinster, very much a fish out of water at this gathering.
She’d never endured such a shocking meal as this evening’s dinner. She hadn’t known where to look. To her right, Mr. Dellingcourt was cutting Lady Imogene’s food and feeding it to her from his fork. Across the table, Lord Wapley plucked grapes from Mrs. Petwell’s bodice with his lips. And on her left, Lady Noughton ate a sausage so slowly and lasciviously, it was as if she were consuming something else entirely. Jo had bolted for her room at the first opportunity.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. The corridor had been quiet for the last ten minutes. She should be able to make it to the library without encountering anyone else.
She slipped out of her room. Just as she’d hoped, the passage was empty. The candles in the wall sconces provided plenty of light; she didn’t need a candlestick.
She hurried past the closed doors, ignoring the laughter and moans that came from behind some of them, and went down the stairs. The library door stood open. Everyone at this party had far more interesting ways of getting to sleep than by reading a book.
She went in, pulling the door closed behind her. Moonlight flooded the room and a glimmer of color glinted in the grate where the fire’s embers smoldered, but there was not enough light to find Ovid. She would need a candle after all. Where—
She heard a step in the hall.
Damn! Some randy gentleman was likely on the prowl. She didn’t want to be discovered. Where could she hide? He would be in the library in a moment.
The window curtains—they would have to do. She darted behind their generous folds just as the door opened.
Damian stepped into the library. Thank God the room was empty; he’d no desire to encounter any of the other guests.
No, that was a lie. He had a burning desire to encounter Miss Atworthy. Far too burning—he’d been tossing and turning for the last half hour, and hearing people creeping up and down the corridor had only thrown kindling on the coals. He could imagine in painful detail exactly what everyone else was doing in bed, and it wasn’t sleeping or reading.
Except Miss Atworthy. She must be lying demurely between her virginal sheets, sound asleep, unless she was bothered by salacious nightmares. The poor woman’s eyes had almost started from her head during dinner.
Dinner had been quite a deplorable show. Even when he’d reigned as Prince of Hearts, he’d avoided such things. But then again, perhaps the appalling spectacle had done some good. Stephen had looked almost as disapproving as Miss Atworthy. Lady Noughton was doing an excellent job of killing his enthusiasm for her.
Damian frowned. The widow wasn’t stupid. She must think she had a solid plan to trap Stephen. What could it be? He kept turning that question over in his mind, but he wasn’t coming up with any answers.
Ah well, he wasn’t going to solve the puzzle tonight. He needed to get some sleep so he could be alert tomorrow. A good book might distract him—he certainly hoped so. He walked farther into the library, lifting his candle to illuminate the bookcases.
Either the Greyhams weren’t readers, or they kept their more entertaining books elsewhere. He had no interest in examining Recipes to Ensure Improved Digestion or A Short Discussion of Sheep Shearing. Short? This tome was a good three inches thick. A long discussion might crush an unwary reader. Perhaps if he—
Damn, were those voices? Yes, a man’s and a woman’s, loud and slurred. They were drunk and coming closer. He snuffed his candle. Bloody hell, he’d neglected to shut the door. The moment the couple reached the room, they’d see him. He had to hide and quickly, but where? He looked around. There was only one option.
He jumped behind the window curtain—and into a soft, feminine body.
“Ee—”
He silenced the woman’s startled shriek in the quickest, most efficient manner he could think of: he put his candlestick-free hand on her back, pulled her against him, and covered her mouth with his.
She stiffened.
Who the hell was he kissing? None of the women at this party cared whom they frolicked with.
None except Miss Atworthy.
The height and the feel … and the innocent taste … of the woman were right, as was her scent—clean and fresh with a hint of lemon. His body certainly recognized her. It was reacting most enthusiastically.
She relaxed and opened her lips on a small sigh. He did not need a second invitation; his tongue swept into her warm, moist mouth while his hand slid down her back.
Mmm. It was definitely Miss Atworthy. No one else had such a lovely body. She was in her nightclothes, her stays discarded—and he was wearing only shirt and breeches, pulled on hurriedly over his nakedness. He could feel her every soft curve….
He drew his hips back quickly so she wouldn’t feel his suddenly hard curve. She might be older than most debutantes, but she was clearly inexperienced.
He’d very much like to remedy that situation, immediately if possible. He could carry her up to his bed or just lay her down on the couch he’d noticed by the fire and—
And he’d best pay attention to what was happening on the other side of the curtain. He moved his lips to Miss At-worthy’s ear. “I think we’re about to have company.”
“Wha—” She stopped, then stretched to whisper in his ear, “Who?”
He almost missed her question, he was so entranced by the feel of her body moving against his. “I don’t … ah.”
The newcomers’ identities required no guesswork.
“I don’t see why I have to sneak around my own house, Alice,”
Lord Greyham said in a conversational, if highly annoyed and drunken, tone.
“Shh, Hugh. It’s almost midnight. Maria and Mr. Parker-Roth should be down at any moment. We don’t want them to know we’re here.”
Maria? What was this? Perhaps he’d finally learn the widow’s plan.
“I thought they wanted us here.” Greyham had dropped his voice slightly.
“Maria does.” Lady Greyham whispered loudly. “But we’ll be a surprise for Mr. Parker-Roth.”
“An unpleasant one.” There was the sound of a stopper coming out of a brandy decanter. “No sensible man wants an audience for his proposal, Alice. And why he’d want to come down to the library when he could pop the question in a more comfortable, private location like a bedchamber is beyond me. I imagine he’s already in Maria’s bed.”
“Pour me some brandy, too, will you?” There was the sound of liquid splashing into two glasses. “You’re acting just like a man, Hugh. This will be far more amusing.”
“Amusing for whom? Not Parker-Roth.” Greyham’s voice slid into a leer. “And of course I’m acting like a man. I am a man, Alice. I’ll be happy to give you another, even more forceful demonstration of that fact if it’s slipped your mind.”
Miss Atworthy made a small sound of distress, and Damian pulled her tighter against him. Fortunately, he’d turned slightly, so she was against his side. She didn’t need to have a close encounter with his male organ.
“Really, Hugh, you are impossible. Just think how romantic it would be to become betrothed in the first moments of Valentine’s Day.”
Greyham snorted. “It certainly can’t be romantic to have your host and hostess leap up to shout congratulations. I tell you, Parker-Roth can just as easily—far more easily—become betrothed in a nice warm bed and seal his troth with a long, thorough, sweaty bit of lovemaking.”
“Oh, pish. I think you must not have a single romantic bone in your body.”
“I do have a suddenly bonelike appendage that’s very eager to show you how romantic I can be.”
Lady Greyham giggled amid sounds of a scuffle. “Mmm. Behave yourself, my lord.”
“I thought I was behaving myself.”
More giggling.
“Stop, Hugh.” Lady Greyham sounded rather breathless. “We have to hide. I promised Maria.”
Greyham sighed. “Very well. Shall we conceal ourselves behind the curtains?”
Miss Atworthy sucked in a small breath and her grip on Damian tightened. It would get rather crowded if the Greyhams chose this spot to secret themselves.
“No, I have a better idea,” Lady Greyham said. “See, this couch is turned so if we lie on it, we’ll be hidden from anyone coming in the door.”
“What? You think I can’t satisfy you standing up? I’ll be happy to show you that you are mistaken.”
Lady Greyham giggled some more. “But then we’ll make the curtains move. You know I can never hold still.”
“And you can never be quiet either, can you?”
“I’ll try.”
Her accompanying shriek didn’t speak well for her success nor did the groaning couch springs.
Frankly they were making enough noise to alert all but the deaf to their presence, but Damian couldn’t leave anything to chance. Maria must be planning to trick a proposal out of Stephen—how she thought she’d manage that was a mystery—and by having witnesses, she’d either claim breach of promise or shame Stephen into standing by his offer. A ridiculous scheme, but if she’d managed to get Stephen drunk—a feat in itself—it might work. Stephen was honorable to a fault.
He had to do something, but what? He couldn’t risk ruining Miss Atworthy’s reputation. If he—
“Why the hell do we n-need to go to the l-library now, Maria?”
Damn it all, that was Stephen’s voice. They were in the corridor.
“We have to save Mr. Parker-Roth,” Miss Atworthy whispered suddenly.
“Yes, but—”
She didn’t wait to hear his thoughts; she grabbed the candlestick from him and stepped out from behind the curtain.
* * *
Jo was lighting the candle in the fireplace when Lady Noughton dragged Mr. Parker-Roth through the library door.
Lady Noughton stopped abruptly and glared. “What are you doing here?”
Jo raised her chin. “Looking for a book.” She wasn’t going to let this sneaky, unprincipled snake intimidate her. “This is a library, you know.”
Mr. Parker-Roth laughed. “V-very true. Girl’s got you there.” His speech was slurred. He must be exceedingly drunk. “F-frankly, I don’t know why we’re here. D-didn’t think you wanted to read, Maria.”
“No, of course I don’t want to read.” Lady Noughton patted Mr. Parker-Roth on the arm. “Remember, I wish to show you—”
“Surprise!” Lady Greyham popped up from behind the sofa back, her hair tumbled over her shoulders, her bodice drooping alarmingly low.
“I say, it’s a party.” Lord Greyham appeared next to her. “And look, here’s Kenderly as well.”
In the confusion, Lord Kenderly must have slipped out of the room. It looked as if he were just entering the library now.
“Help yourself to some brandy; decanter’s on the table.” Lord Greyham wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I have to get back to what I was doing.”
Lady Greyham giggled as her husband pulled her down and, blessedly, out of sight.
“You looking for a book, too, D-Damian?” Mr. Parker-Roth wavered a little on his feet. “Should be looking for a l-lady instead.” The man winked. “A w-wet and willing woman will help you sleep much better than some dry Latin text.”
“And you should be in bed, Stephen”—Lord Kenderly glared at Lady Noughton—“your own bed.”
Suddenly the couch started creaking in an alarming way; odd, breathy pants and grunts emanated from the other side, where Lord and Lady Greyham were obviously engaged in some strenuous activity.
“It is a bit crowded here, isn’t it?” Mr. Parker-Roth executed a wobbly bow to Lady Noughton. “’Fraid my f-friend’s right. Not feeling quite the thing. Excuse me?”
Lady Noughton almost growled. “No, I—”
“Oh, oh, oh!” Lady Greyham’s voice rose, tight and vaguely desperate. There was something intense about her tone that made Jo feel extremely unsettled and, well, hot.
“That’s it. That’s the way.” Lord Greyham might have been urging on his hounds. His voice was strained, too. “Come on, old girl. Come on.”
“Oh, oh … y-yes!” Lady Greyham screamed. “Oh, God, Pookie!”
The couch shook more violently in sharp, hard jerks; Lord Greyham grunted … and then roared. “Huzzah!”
Jo’s entire body flushed.
She glanced at Lord Kenderly; he was grimacing in what looked like pain. Then his eyes met hers, and her temperature shot up another hundred degrees.
A very embarrassing area of her person throbbed, wet and empty.
Dear heavens, was she like a dog in heat—could he smell the need consuming her?
“Well, at least someone is satisfied,” Lady Noughton said waspishly.
“If you hadn’t decided to go h-haring off to the library, you could be, too.” Mr. Parker-Roth shifted on his feet as if he was uncomfortable. “I could be.”
“Yes, well, I believe it’s past time we adjourned.” Lord Kenderly sounded angry. “I’ll see you up to your room, Stephen.” He looked at Jo. His face was now expressionless. “Will you accompany us, Miss Atworthy?”
She certainly wasn’t going to stay here. Lady Noughton looked as if she might explode, ripping apart anyone unwary enough to be nearby, and the thought of facing Lord and Lady Greyham after what she’d just heard …
“That was splendid, Pookie.” Lady Greyham’s voice was almost a purr. “But do get off me now. We should attend to our guests.”
Jo shot out of the library ahead of everyone.
Chapter 6
Damn. D
amian sat up in bed and rubbed his hands over his face. His sheets were a twisted mess. He felt like he’d hardly slept a wink—and every time he had dropped off, he’d dreamt of a certain tall, prickly, virginal woman.
She was anything but virginal in his dreams. Those long legs … her full breasts …
He scowled down at his eager cock where it made an obvious bulge in the bedclothes. Stephen was right; he’d been far too long without a woman. Unfortunately, there was little chance he could cure that problem anytime soon. Miss Atworthy was not a candidate for seduction.
He rubbed the spot between his brows. Listening to Greyham and his wife last night had been torture, and with Valentine’s Day and, worse, Lupercalia the focus of the next two days, lust would be so thick in the air, he’d likely choke on it.
He threw off the covers and walked carefully over to the washbasin. Good, the water was cold. He splashed it on his face; he should splash it considerably lower.
He’d tried to talk some sense into Stephen after they’d seen Miss Atworthy to her door last night, but the man had been too drunk to see reason, damn it. Until he could persuade him to look out for himself, he’d have to look out for him, as last night had demonstrated.
He yanked on his clothes and made quick work of tying his cravat. Whether the Greyhams witnessing whatever Maria had had planned would have resulted in her trap snapping shut, he couldn’t say. But Stephen was so damn honorable, all the widow need do was convince him he owed her marriage.
Damian was bloody well determined to see to it that that didn’t happen.
He shrugged into his coat, straightened his cuffs, and stepped out into the corridor.
“Oof!”
Miss Atworthy’s delightful body collided with his.
He grabbed her upper arms to steady her and inhaled the scent of lemon and woman. His cock, which had finally assumed appropriate proportions, leapt with eagerness.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She was babbling, her lovely eyes wide, her cheeks red. “It was my fault entirely. I was woolgathering.”