The Casanova Code

by Donna MacMeans

  “Ashton.” She stood, then soothed her hand over that part of his face that she’d slapped. “I’m sorry that I slapped you, but I’m not a thief.”

  “Hush,” he said, a finger to her lips. “I know that.”

  “You do?” Relief flooded her. His opinion of her was too important for her not to try to correct his misunderstanding. “How?”

  “Your letters.” He smiled. “And Matthew. Did you not see how his face lit like one of those new electric lights when he saw you? He trusts you implicitly, and I realized, I do too. I believe I knew that even as I accused you.” His brows lifted. “I know you, Edwina Hargrove. I’ve read your letters. I’ve seen your friends’ devotion. You are honest and trustworthy, and I was wrong to have forgotten that.” He kissed her fingers. “I’ve been the victim of some untrustworthy acts by people close to me, but you, my Mistress of Cherry Blossoms, you’ve not been one. I should be apologizing. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Of course I forgive you.” She relaxed, releasing all her worries and anxieties over that carved nuisance. “When I discovered the figurine in Faith’s parasol, I was afraid you might suspect that I took it.” She turned her face from his. “In fact, my main purpose in coming here tonight was to place the netsuke back on the shelf.”

  “It wasn’t because you burned for me?” he murmured. His gaze drifted toward her lips, causing her to think he meant to kiss her. Though she’d welcome his kiss, she wasn’t certain it would stop there.

  “What else did your father say?” she asked, hoping to draw his attention away from the inspiration surrounding them.

  His gaze searched her face a moment, then his lips twisted. He stepped back, putting a bit of space between them. “He warned me not to fail, though I have the impression that he expects that I will.”

  “Then he doesn’t know you well. You’ll show him that you’re made of sterner stuff,” she said with conviction. How could a father be so ignorant of his own son?

  “‘The falcon’s path is swift and bold, courageous and honest with service of old,’” Ashton recited, as if from an old lullaby.

  “What is that piece of verse?” Edwina asked. A smile tipped her lips. “I don’t think it’s another of Mr. Wilde’s sayings.”

  “It’s something my father said. It’s the slogan of Falcon Freight. If I fail the test, I will be a stain on the reputation of the company and the family. I’ll be banished from England and all financial resources taken away.”

  Her mind stalled on the word slogan. She didn’t really hear the details about consequences. “Is this slogan something you’ve heard often?”

  “Not so much of late, but as a child I recall him saying that line frequently.”

  “Say it to me again,” she said, scrambling for her reticule. Fortunately her journal was inside as well as her pen. “More slowly this time.”

  “Why is this important?” His eyes narrowed.

  “I won’t know until I apply it to the coded text. But a slogan, especially one in verse, might be the key. It would be easy for both parties to remember and record, and it eliminates the need for a page reference or a shared copy of a particular book.”

  He repeated the line. She copied it word for word, then repeated it back to him. She looked up, excitement glowing in her eyes. “I think this could be it.”

  Before she could say another word, he kissed her, a quick jubilant sort of kiss. She tasted the brandy on his lips, felt it warm her own. Still grasping the notebook and pencil, she reached to rest her arms on his shoulders in the returned celebratory expression. At least it began that way.

  Their lips parted to a point that only a breath existed between them, yet both were hesitant to separate. She looked up, noting desire smoldering in his eyes, and a flutter surged in her rib cage. She so wanted to be desired by a man who knew what he was about. She wanted to experience the excitement that he had brought to her earlier that evening, as she’d likely not have another opportunity. Was that what Mr. Wilde meant? She wished to be the Mistress of Cherry Blossoms before the cage surrounding her fully closed, locking her away from experiencing real emotion again.

  Her eyes must have reflected her desire. He pulled her close, kissing her, but this time with hunger and demand. His tongue did not shock her as it had before. She allowed her tongue to stroke his with bold assurance while her fingers reached higher into his hair, lifting her chest to press so willingly into his. Her journal and pen fell from her fingers, the sound absorbed by the carpets on the floor.

  Almost immediately, he pressed forward with a low growl of demand and dominance. Her back pressed the wall with a gentle thud, rattling the netsukes on the shelves opposite. One of his hands found her breast, his thumb working the nipple to a tight nub beneath the layers of thin cloth. The other hand worked to remove those layers as quickly as possible, and she wished it so—wanting to experience the awakening she had earlier. She pulled his shirt from his trousers, wishing to feel the warmth of his skin. Once her fingers discovered what her eyes had not, she worked frantically to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

  Suddenly he bent, then scooped her into his arms. She could feel the hard muscles in those arms, and remembered that he said working for Falcon Freight had improved his ability to carry heavy loads, something for which she’d be forever grateful. How wonderful to be lifted off one’s feet with urgency and need. Both of which she felt building inside. He carried her to the mattress and lowered her gently.

  “Edwina, I think you know my intentions. I want you. I’ve wanted to bury myself deep inside you since the day you first broke into this house. I want you to experience the sort of pleasure those women know.” His jaw pointed to the prints on the wall. “Tell me now if you don’t want the same. Once we begin, there will be no going back.”

  No going back. She liked the sound of that. She felt like the tiger discovering the cage door latch hadn’t been securely refastened. A world different from the one she’d known, different from the one before her, beckoned with a lure she couldn’t refuse. What was it that Wilde had said? The best way to deal with temptation was to yield to it? She might never experience the many exotic locales on the globe, but she would experience this. Intimacy with someone who had been to such places and would teach her the secrets that he’d learned, intimacy with someone she had come to love. “No going back,” she repeated, then pulled his lips to meet hers.

  She wasn’t sure how they shed so many clothes in such a short period of time, yet they managed. Her shirtwaist, skirt, and petticoat puddled on the floor. She’d tossed her wide leather belt, and it landed on the far side of the mattress. She worked the metal fastenings of her corset, unhooking them until the split busk hung on either side of her, then her breath caught. Ashton, naked from his shoulders to his toes, stood before her.

  He was so incredibly beautiful, dark curling hair sprinkled across a chest sculpted by hard labor. The masculine hair formed a dark line from his belly button, passed ridges that begged to be touched, to a nest of curls not unlike her own. However, in the midst of this rose his magnificent jade stalk, long, erect, and threatening. Yet, it wasn’t. After viewing the prints and the pillow books, he was as she expected . . . and desired.

  He watched as her hand reached out and stroked him from the base to the tip. She circled her fingers around him as she’d seen in the prints. Almost immediately a low growl issued from his throat. He pushed her back on the mattress, lifting her breast away from the cover of her chemise. He suckled there as he had before.

  Dear Lord she wanted this. She wanted him. Flames danced in her body. Every part of her reached to get closer, begging for his touch. While he laved her breasts, he pulled the bottom of her chemise till it reached her hips. Without a glance, he untied her drawers and tugged them free, first one hip and then the other. Soon she was open to exploration with his fingers, but he did not stop there.
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  She guessed his intent as he worked his way down her body, stimulating with his fingers and lips, until he reached the juncture of her legs. He gently pushed them apart to accommodate him as he settled there, just as the octopus settled in the woman’s juncture in the fisherwoman’s dream print. The moment Ashton slipped his tongue into her nether regions, she understood why someone would dream such a thing. His tongue worked the part of her that his fingers had set to throbbing earlier. Soon waves of intense pleasure rippled through her. Her head thrashed, her fingers dug at the woven covering on the bed. Sensation exploded in rapidly increasing waves until she wanted to cry out, but she wasn’t assured that even the secret gallery could confine her screams of pleasure. When her littlest finger brushed the leather belt, she grasped it and placed it in her mouth. Biting and screaming behind clenched teeth, the release exploded within her.

  Before the waves had subsided, Ashton directed the head of his jade stalk at her opening and thrust inside her. A flash of pain followed, and she screamed silently again into the leather. Ashton slid inside her, pushing and stretching.

  “Are you all right?” He removed the leather from her mouth.

  “I didn’t want to wake the house,” she explained.

  He smiled, soothing the hair from her forehead. “Intimacy can be painful the first time, but the worst is over. The next time, I promise it will be better. Does it still hurt?”

  “No,” she admitted. There was a discomfort, but not as before.

  He moved slowly, pressing and withdrawing. Strange to feel this part of him inside of her. After the first few thrusts, her body caught his rhythm. Her hips lifted and surged with him, pulling him deeper and deeper inside. He quickened, moving faster and harder until he stiffened and she felt his explosion deep inside.

  He lay very still, while she stroked his wide back. The stories he’d told her of ying and yang came drifting back. While she didn’t truly believe the Japanese mythology of the value of the exchange of fluids, she did recognize the value of this intimacy, of holding Ashton so close that she could hear his heartbeat.

  While she knew she could conceivably come to regret her actions, she didn’t at the moment. She was proud to be his Mistress of Cherry Blossoms this night. She imagined she’d never have the opportunity to experience anything so profoundly beautiful ever again, but she had tonight with a man she loved.

  • • •

  ASHTON GAZED AT THE BEAUTY BENEATH HIM. GOOD Lord, what had he done! He had suspected Edwina was a virgin but somehow managed to ignore the consequences of breeching her maidenhead until it was too late. Even in his Casanova days, he had rules about taking virgins. They were to be avoided at all costs, but Edwina . . . she was different.

  Ashton slipped out of her and rolled to her side, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her head as she curled onto his shoulder. He imagined she must be filled with regret. “Edwina, I—”

  She placed a finger on his lips. “What we did was beautiful.”

  He kissed her finger and then moved it away. “Beautiful or not, we still need to talk about what just happened. Now, however, is not the time. The servants will be about soon. If we’re to slip you out of the household unnoticed, it should be now.” He kissed the top of her head. Lord, it was difficult not to kiss her. While he should be ashamed for taking the maidenhead of such a beautiful, trusting, and responsive woman, he was proud of the gift she’d given him. His substantial, practical, compassionate Edwina had considered him worthy enough of her innocence.

  Once they were both dressed, he left her momentarily to wake the footman, who in turn was instructed to hail one of the hackneys that prowled the area this time of night. A hack would be more private and faster than rousting the stables and hitching a team. With her hood up to cover her glorious hair and pert little nose, he assisted her into the hack once it arrived, then climbed alongside.

  “You’re coming as well?” she asked, surprise evident.

  “I couldn’t let you travel alone this late at night.” The hack lurched forward. “Besides, we need to talk about what will happen if there is issue from tonight. I wouldn’t want you to become like your friend Sarah, raising a child on your own.”

  “Would you send me money as you do to her?” she asked.

  “I thought the money came from a secret admirer.”

  “I know better.” He heard the smile in her voice.

  The robins and warblers began their early morning birdsong. Dawn would be upon them soon.

  “Edwina, I’m serious. No child of mine will grow up without a father. If it appears we planted a seed in your womb, you must contact me immediately. Do you understand?”

  The hood nodded, but he wasn’t certain that she took him seriously. He shouldn’t have taken advantage of her as he had. Perhaps it was a consequence of his later years, or perhaps it was Edwina herself, but he couldn’t control his need for her. He had to have her with an urgency that he’d not experienced before, and that scared him. He’d not had difficulty refusing a sexual invitation before. But then she hadn’t really invited him, had she? No. He was the rotten rogue who took advantage of her sweet nature. And now he was delivering her, used and soiled goods, back to her parents. He was a complete cad by his own admission.

  “Edwina, I will take care of you,” he reassured her. “No matter what occurs, you shall be protected.”

  “And what sacrifices do you require for this protection?”

  “Sacrifices?” What an odd question. “I believe you’ve sacrificed enough.”

  “Must I give up my friends? My freedom to go where I please? My interest in reform societies?”

  “No.” He drew back. Who was this stranger wearing Edwina’s cloak? “I wouldn’t ask you to change a thing.” He took her hand in his. “I . . . care for you just the way you are.”

  The hood turned toward the pink in the east.

  “Will your parents be upset at your morning arrival?” He’d never concerned himself overly much with a woman’s means of departure. He’d assumed arrangements had been made, if needed, to shield the lady’s return, but Edwina was another matter. She knew codes, ciphers, and patterns well enough, but he suspected lying convincingly was another matter. In all fairness, it was one of the things he loved about her.

  “They probably haven’t noticed my absence, but if they have, I’ll tell them Sarah’s niece was ill and I spent the night so Sarah could get some sleep.” The hood tilted toward him. “I’m long past the age when they harbored fears about my virtue.”

  “Your parents did not strike me as fools,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  “They’re not foolish. They’re practical,” she insisted.

  “Assuming your practical parents did notice your absence, would they accept that you’d return at such an alarmingly early hour? We could drive around London until the sun rises to a respectable height. I don’t think the driver would mind the additional blunt.”

  The hood tilted toward him and he slipped it back so he could see her face. She was exhausted, he could see it in the circles beneath her eyes. At least those circles would support her story if asked. He leaned over and kissed her softly on her lips.

  “You would do that?” she asked.

  “Edwina, for you I would do so much more.”

  • Seventeen •

  MORNING HAD OFFICIALLY DAWNED ON THE LONdon streets when the hackney shuddered to stop in front of the Hargrove residence. A soft rain dripped from the gray clouds overhead, causing Edwina to be glad of her hood. She left the carriage where she had slept on Ashton’s shoulder until an acceptable time had been reached for her arrival. After agreeing to meet him the next afternoon at Regent’s Park, she left the hack and walked to the front entrance. She reached the front door, then peeked over her shoulder to see Ashton in the hack. Already the agreed-upon meeting seemed too far away
. The door opened suddenly before her.

  “It’s high time you got yourself home, girl. Your mother is worried ill.”

  “Father,” she gasped. “You surprised me.”

  “As you do me, daughter. For what purpose have you been out all night?”

  Edwina went inside and removed her cloak. “I received a request from my friend Sarah to sit with her sick niece so she could get some sleep. She’s been up several nights with the poor girl.”

  “Sick niece!” Her father took a few steps back, his eyes narrowed. “And you risked bringing home sickness and contamination!”

  “She’s not that ill, Father. You’ve nothing to worry about. The girl had recovered beyond the point of concern, but Sarah was exhausted and needed someone to sit with the child in case there was a relapse.”

  Her explanation didn’t fully mitigate his disapproval. “I’m not certain I would have permitted your departure even under those circumstances, but in either case you should have left a note telling us of your intent.”

  “Yes, Father. I should have done that.” She strode toward the stairs, hoping to escape a lecture. The two hours of sleep with her head on Ashton’s shoulder had left her wanting. “I’ll remember the next time.”

  “Next time it’ll be a husband demanding to know your whereabouts.”

  She paused with her hand on the banister. “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Thomas has asked permission to speak to you about an engagement.” He puffed his chest out. “Naturally, I gave him my permission.”

  While this was not unexpected news, she wasn’t thrilled that it was coming to fruition. She’d have to decide whether to accept Walter and a guaranteed secure, mundane, uneventful future or . . . what? Pray that Ashton felt as she? He was accustomed to a far grander society than herself. Even their intimate activities of last evening would carry no obligation for Casanova. Otherwise, he would have been caught in the parson’s trap years ago.