by Never A Lady
The amusement faded from her eyes, and he instantly missed it. Although he should be happy it was gone as he found it far too attractive and tempting. But bloody hell, she was no less attractive or tempting without it. Perhaps if he tossed a sack over her head…but no, he’d still be able to see her luscious curves. A full-body sack—that’s what he needed. To cover her from head to toe. And if the sack happened to mask her alluring orangey scent, so much the better.
“I wished to discuss your card reading.”
Her words yanked him from his brown study. “Oh? Which one? This afternoon’s, which cost a small fortune, this evening’s which cost a larger fortune, or tomorrow’s, which I suspect will somehow end up costing me a larger fortune still?”
“This evening’s. Because of Lady Newtrebble’s presence, I did not tell you everything I saw.” Her gloved fingers plucked at the folds in her gown. “I’m afraid the cards revealed all the same distressing things I saw earlier today, my lord. The deceit, betrayal, and treachery.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The illness, danger, and death.”
“I see.” He studied her for several seconds, and while her expression gave nothing away, her manner seemed genuinely distressed. A fissure of unease crept down his spine. His gut had been telling him that he faced the same things she’d seen in his cards. Could there be any truth to what she read, or was it merely a parlor trick and coincidence?
He shook his head. Bloody hell, he was turning into a fanciful nodcock. This woman was clever, and he’d be a fool to underestimate her. If she predicted a rosy future for him, their sessions would end. By predicting doom and gloom, she no doubt hoped to keep him interested—enough to continue paying her outrageous fees.
“Given how we’ve agreed that women say one thing and mean another, am I to take it that ‘deceit, betrayal, and treachery’ actually means I’m going to come into large sums of money and find the woman of my dreams?”
“This is no joking matter, my lord.”
“Don’t disarrange yourself, Madame. I’ve no wish to insult you, but as I told you from the outset, I hold little belief in card readings.”
She frowned and leaned forward. “You must be wary. Careful—”
“I always am, so please do not distress yourself further on my account. Now, tell me. Did you do as I suggested?”
“Suggested?”
“Yes. I told you to think of me.” When she appeared completely nonplussed, he added softly, “And wonder what my excellent idea is.”
She blinked then lifted her chin. “I was so occupied with my readings, I’m afraid I didn’t give the matter any thought.”
He shook his head. “Pity. As I’d hoped to tempt you. But clearly you are not a woman who gives in to temptation.”
“No, I’m not. Most definitely not.”
Reaching into the darkened corner of his seat, he lifted a small, linen-wrapped bundle. “An admirable virtue, Madame. I applaud your resolve. However, I am not made of such stern stuff.” He unwrapped the bundle then watched her eyes widen.
“What are those?” she asked, leaning closer.
“Miniature cakes. The insides are layers of chocolate cake and raspberry cream. Each creation is then dipped in chocolate and topped with a dab of creamy frosting.”
“Oh…my.” Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips, a pink flick that stilled him. “How did such lovely things come to be in your carriage?”
“My cook prepared them. I pilfered these four and hid them in the carriage so I could eat them on the way home. My excellent idea was to enjoy them with someone who shares my weakness for sweets.” He blew out an exaggerated breath. “Alas, as you gave the matter no thought, ’tis clear you’re not interested.”
“Oh, but—”
“Nor are you a woman who gives in to temptation.” He reached out and waved the bundle beneath her nose. “Pity.”
Her nostrils flared, and her eyes closed briefly. Her lips parted, drawing his attention to her lush mouth. Then she cleared her throat. “My lord, I believe we’d agreed that it isn’t necessary to fight temptation in all cases.”
“Actually, while I recall saying as much, I’ve no recollection that you agreed.”
“Certainly I meant to. Especially as frosted cakes are involved.” Her gaze flicked down to the treats he held. “Lovely, delicious-looking, sweet-smelling frosted cakes. I think your idea to enjoy them with someone who shares your weakness for sweets is beyond excellent. Indeed, I’m tempted to call it genius.”
He smiled. “Then I have managed to tempt you.”
“I fear I’ve folded like a house of fortune-telling cards.”
“My dear Madame Larchmont, given these cakes, even I could have predicted that outcome.” He picked up one of the treats and held it out. When she reached for it, he pulled back his hand and shook his head. “You’ll stain your gloves. Allow me.” He extended his hand and held the morsel in front of her lips.
Her startled gaze met his, and he could almost see her internal struggle as she debated propriety over longing for the treat. Finally, she leaned forward and took a delicate bite.
Her lips brushed his fingertips, shooting heat up his arm. But that heat seemed cool compared to the inferno she ignited when her eyes slid slowly closed, and a low moan of pleasure rumbled in her throat. Transfixed, he watched her lips slowly move as she savored the bite of cake. When she finished, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips to capture any remaining flavor. His entire body tightened, and he had to press his own lips together to stifle a groan.
She expelled a long sigh that sounded like a contented purr. Then her eyes opened, and she looked at him with a glazed expression through half-closed lids.
“Ooooooh, my,” she whispered. “That was…lovely.”
Bloody hell. Lovely didn’t even begin to describe it. With her lips parted and moist and her eyelids drooping, she looked aroused and more delicious than any sweet he’d ever seen. And by God, he wanted to taste her more than he’d ever desired any sweet.
He wasn’t certain how long he sat there, simply gaping at her, but finally she blinked, and said, “You’re staring, my lord.”
He had to swallow twice to locate his voice. “No, I’m…admiring.” Without taking his gaze from her, he moved to sit on the seat next to her. Raising the uneaten half to her lips, he said, “For you.”
“You don’t want it?”
God help him, at the moment his entire existence boiled down to the word want. “I want you to have it,” he said in a husky rasp he barely recognized.
He touched the morsel to her mouth, and she parted her lips. After slowly sliding the bite-sized portion into her mouth, he withdrew his hand, dragging the tip of his index finger across her lower lip, leaving a glistening film of melted chocolate behind.
Her pupils flared, and she pressed her lips together, catching his fingertip. The erotic sight and breath-stealing sensation of her lips surrounding his fingertip rendered him immobile. Heat engulfed him, and his heart pounded, pumping fire to every nerve ending. His finger slowly slid free, and he watched every nuance of her expression as she ate the offering, growing more aroused with each passing second. Damn it, when had watching someone eat become so sensual? So sexually charged?
Her eyes slid closed, and her jaw slowly moved as she chewed, eliciting a low growl of delight as she swallowed. Then her tongue slowly swept across her bottom lip, erasing the thin gloss of chocolate he’d left there.
Then she opened her eyes. “That was marvelous.”
“For me as well.” His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel.
“But you didn’t have any.”
“I’d prefer to taste yours.” Angling his head, he brushed his lips over hers. She drew in quick breath, then went perfectly still. “Sweet,” he murmured, touching his lips to hers again. “Delicious.” More. Must have more.
Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed each corner of her mouth, then lightly ran his tongue over her full bottom lip. Her
lips parted on a tiny, breathless sound, and he instantly took advantage, settling his mouth on hers. And was immediately lost.
Had any woman ever tasted this luscious? This warm and delectable? No…only this woman. This woman who’d haunted him for four years. This woman whom he’d never expected to see again, touch again, anywhere other than in his dreams. This woman whom he’d somehow known, in his heart, would taste like this. Utterly perfect.
With a groan, he slipped one hand into her soft hair and the other around her waist, pressing her closer while his tongue explored the velvety sweetness of her mouth. Urgency pumped through him, overwhelming him with need, a need that multiplied when she rubbed her tongue against his, tentatively at first, then with a responsiveness that shaved away another layer of his rapidly vanishing control.
Bloody hell, he wanted to simply devour her. A searing, raw desperation unlike anything he’d ever experienced gripped him, forcing him to battle back the overpowering urge to unceremoniously lift her skirts and bury himself inside her—a humbling, confusing reaction as he’d always considered himself in command of his actions. His reactions. And certainly a man of some finesse. But with a single kiss, she stripped away his control, leaving him all but trembling, burning with a desire, a lust, unlike anything he’d ever before known, and one he wasn’t certain how long he’d be able to contain.
Still, he couldn’t stop…not yet. Not while his fingers still explored the silk of her hair. Not while the captivating scent of oranges rose from her skin. Not while her enticing mouth fitted so perfectly against his.
Closer…damn it, he needed her closer. Now. Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her, settling her across his lap. A deep groan vibrated in his throat when her curves settled against him, her hip pressing against his erection. He spread his legs, hoping to relieve the throbbing ache, but the movement only served to inflame him more.
All concept of time and place fled, leaving only hot want and desperate, clawing need in its wake. Mindless, his fingers plucked the pins from her hair, tossing them carelessly onto the carriage floor. He sifted his fingers through the long, silky skeins, releasing the faint scent of oranges as the locks fell down her back and over her shoulders to envelop them in a silken cloud of fragrant curls.
She moaned and shifted against him, her hip sliding against his straining erection, and another groan rose in his throat. Bloody hell. He felt as if he were unraveling. At a frantic pace that gained momentum with each passing second.
A small voice of reason worked its way through the fog of lust engulfing him, warning him to slow down, to cease this madness, but he shoved the admonition aside, and instead ran one hand down her back to her buttocks, pressing her more firmly against him, while his other hand explored the satiny length of her neck. His fingers skimmed over the delicate hollow of her throat, then dipped lower to explore the swells of her breasts where they met the material of her gown. Soft…she was so incredibly soft. And damn it, he was so incredibly hard, and he wanted her so very badly—
The carriage jerked to a jarring halt, jolting him from his sensual haze. He slowly lifted his head and looked at her. And bit back a groan. With her eyes closed, shallow breaths coming from between her parted lips, moist and swollen from his kiss, and her hair in complete disarray from his impatient hands, she looked wanton and aroused and more desirable than any woman he’d ever seen. His gaze dipped lower, riveting on the sight of his hand resting on her chest. Slowly he splayed his fingers, captivated by how dark and rough his skin looked against the pale delicateness of hers. Her heartbeat thumped, hard and frantic against his palm, a rhythm that matched his own.
His gaze wandered slowly back up to her face, roaming over each imperfect feature that somehow looked so…perfect. Unable to stop himself from touching her, his fingers, still not quite steady, followed the same path as his gaze, brushing along her jaw, over her smooth cheeks, down the short slope of her nose, then tracing the lush shape of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself looking directly into her dazed eyes.
Desire speared him low and hard, along with something else that felt suspiciously like possessiveness. Something that whispered this woman belongs to me through his mind. She lifted her hand from where it rested on his chest and slowly, hesitantly, feathered her fingertips over his forehead, brushing back a stray lock of hair. The simple gesture, combined with the look of utter wonder glowing in her eyes, made his heart roll over.
Taking her hand, he pressed a quick kiss against her gloved palm. “We’ve arrived.”
She blinked several times, then, as if a bucket of cold water had been tossed on her, she shot upright, a look of sheer panic filling her eyes. “Oh, dear. I…oh, what have I done?” She pushed away from him, then her hands flew to her hair, which tumbled over her shoulders. She began frantically looking about, clearly for her hairpins, and he grasped her hands.
“Calm yourself,” he said gently. “I’ll help you gather your hairpins.” But before he could do so, she snatched her hands from his as if he’d burned her and grabbed her reticule.
“I must go,” she said, reaching for the door.
“Wait,” he said, stilling her hand.
She turned to him, her eyes filled with distress and unmistakable anger. Whether that anger was directed toward herself or him, or both of them, he didn’t know. “Wait? For what, my lord? So I can further shame myself?”
“You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”
A bitter sound passed her lips. “Haven’t I? Haven’t we both?”
“I don’t see how.”
She lifted her chin. “Are you in the habit of passionately kissing married women?”
“No. I’ve never kissed a married woman.” His gaze probed hers, willing her to tell him he still hadn’t. When she remained silent, he added, “Are you in the habit of passionately kissing other men?”
A stricken look filled her eyes, then her gaze hardened. “No. I…I never have. I don’t know what came over me. I only know it will not, cannot happen again. I beg your most sincere pardon. I intend to forget this ever happened, and I suggest you do the same.”
Without another word, she jerked open the carriage door, then exited as if pursued by the devil. As he had last night, he waited for her to round the corner, then left the coach, instructing his coachman to return to the town house. He followed her through the dark streets, wincing at the pain pulling in his thigh at keeping up with her swift pace. After making certain she arrived at her building, he stood in the shadows, watching the window of the third room on the second floor. Less than a minute later he saw the glow of a candle flare, and he knew she was safe.
He watched for several more minutes, then was about to depart when he sensed he was being observed. He quickly retrieved his knife from his boot. Palming the blade, his gaze swept the area, but he noted nothing out of the ordinary. The sensation faded and his instincts told him that whoever had been silently watching him was gone. Still palming his blade, senses on alert, he walked quickly home.
He arrived at his town house without incident, and the minute he closed the door behind him, he leaned back against the oak panel and rubbed his aching thigh while her words echoed in his ears. I intend to forget this ever happened, and I suggest you do the same…it will not, cannot happen again.
He was no fortune-teller, but he knew she was wrong in every respect. She wouldn’t forget that kiss any more than he would. Bloody hell, he now knew what it felt like to be struck by lightning. The taste and feel of her was permanently imprinted in his mind, as was her response to him. And as unwise as it might be, it most certainly would happen again.
He intended to see to it.
Eight
FROM THE LONDON TIMES SOCIETY PAGE:
Brunettes of England rejoice! At Lord and Lady Newtrebble’s soiree, the ever-popular and always right Madame Larchmont read the cards of a certain viscount who is looking for a bride, and the fortune-teller predicted that the woman destined for the v
ery eligible Lord Sutton will be a dark-haired beauty. A crushing disappointment for the blond beauties out this Season, but clearly they’ll need to set their caps elsewhere. Now, the only question remaining is who is this dark-haired lady Lord Sutton will marry?
The walked slowly toward him, her footfalls silenced by the thick Axminster rug in his bedchamber, her hips swaying with a sinuous rhythm that quickened his breath and riveted him in place. Her expression was no longer unreadable, and there was no mistaking her intent. Dark eyes the color of melted chocolate glittered with a wickedly sensual light, and a siren’s half smile touched the corners of her plump lips. Her filmy aqua dressing gown floated around her—a shimmering silk column edged with ivory lace that provided teasing hints of the luscious curves beneath with every step. Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back to her waist, a shiny waterfall of thick, shiny dark curls.
She halted when less than an arm’s length separated them. Reaching out, she settled her hands on his bare chest, dragging a low groan of pleasure from him.
“Alexandra…”
He tried to reach for her, but it felt as if a weight sat upon him, and he couldn’t move. With a seductive smile, she rose on her toes and lifted her face and…
Licked his cheek.
Frustrated, he tried again to move, desperate to touch her, kiss her, but his shoulders were held immobile by invisible hands. She rewarded him with another wet lick on the cheek. Clearly she required a few lessons in the art of kissing. His entire face was wet and by God, slimy as well—
With a groan, he opened his eyes. And found himself staring up into a black, jowly muzzle and wide-set dark brown eyes.
“What the hell—?” His words were cut off by the swipe of a large, wet, canine tongue across his chin.
“Blech!” He grimaced and tried to lift his arm to wipe his face, but the weight of the monstrous dog lying across his chest rendered him immobile. Paws the size of plates held his shoulders pinned to the bed.
Recognition hit him, and he narrowed his eyes, then shifted his head on the pillow to avoid another enthusiastic doggie kiss. Instead, he was pelted with a barrage of hot doggie breath followed by a deep, gravelly woof.