Staring into her eyes, he said, “You can do as you please.” Gilbert lowered his head and placed soft kisses along her jaw.
Remaining undecided as to where she wanted to place her hands, Mary lay unmoving until Gilbert ran his tongue along her collar bone. The glorious awakening of her skin had her running her hands through his hair. When his tongue continued to make a trail to her nipple, she inhaled with anticipation. Flicking his tongue on her hardened nipple twice, she wasn’t sure if it had been her to pull his mouth down to suckle upon her or if she had arched up, pushing her breast into his eager mouth. Either way, she didn’t want him to stop.
She moaned as Gilbert teased and pinched a nipple with one hand as he laved and suckled the other. Glorious sensations filled her. Mary’s core contracted and ached for attention. Without thought, she ran a hand down Gilbert’s back and slid it between them to touch herself.
Gilbert lifted his head and flicked her nipple once more as he shook his head. Eyeing her hand, he growled, “Lass, it is my duty to see to your needs.”
Mary quickly removed her hand. “Of course.” Unsure of where to place her hands, she rested them upon his shoulders. With a smirk, she added, “I’ve never known you to fail in carrying out your duties, but—”
She couldn’t finish her thought as Gilbert shifted backward and placed his tongue where her hand been moments ago. The man knew exactly the right amount of pressure to apply. Mary hitched a breath as he raised her hips and began to lick and tease every inch of her center. Sparks flew before her tightly closed eyes. On her own she had not managed to invoke such intense sensations. Gilbert’s warm breath and the feel of his skin beneath her hands added a different element to the experience.
Unable to remain still, Mary squirmed, pressing back onto the bed. Gilbert was no novice. The man was adeptly building up the tension within her. His hands shifted to her sides, and he ran them up along her body, stretching out his arms until each rough palm finally rested upon a breast. While his tongue continued to flick and circle the sensitive flesh at her core, Gilbert’s fingers circled and pinched her erect nipples.
Mary’s heart thudded hard against her chest. She wanted him to taste her again. She wanted his fingers to continue their teasing, pinching, and pulling upon her now engorged nipples. When Gilbert acquiesced and gave her all she wished for simultaneously, she melted against the bed and allowed the pleasure to build.
At the loss of heat against her left breast, Mary opened her eyes to catch Gilbert gliding his palm down to her core, where his skillful tongue continued to circle, around and around. He pressed his hand against her, and she lifted her hips off the bed. This sensation, this experience engulfed every sense in her body. Gilbert slid a finger deep into her center until she felt his knuckles brushed up against her. Her inner muscles contracted as he began to withdraw his hand.
Concerned he was about to stop, Mary reached out, grabbing his biceps that was flexed taut, halting his movements. “Gilbert— don’t—”
“Shhh. Not to worry, lass. I always finish what I start. Lie back, and I’ll take care of you.”
Ignoring the condescending words he chose to use, she did as he bid. Moments later, she was writhing against the bed as Gilbert took her to heights she had never known before.
It was a release she had never achieved by herself, and as soon as she floated back to reality, she realized Gilbert hadn’t taken his own pleasure. He lay next to her, skimming his hand over her side, with a very smug look upon his face.
“But what about you?” Mary sulked. Did he not want her?
“Lass, once I have you, I’ll not want to let you out of bed for days. I’ll have to wait until you have scrawled your name in the register.”
Blood was returning to her head, but all her brain could manage was, “Oh.”
Chuckling, he tucked her under the covers and stood to put his shirt back on. Mary’s eyes were glued to the bulge in his breeches. Surely he had to be in discomfort.
Gilbert looked to the adjoining chamber and back down to his obvious state of arousal. “I’ll have to take the service exit. I can’t wander the halls in this condition.”
Mary couldn’t help but giggle. He gave her a wink and strode over to the dressing chamber.
From behind the curtain, she heard Gilbert say, “Make sure your mistress is ready for dinner.”
Mary closed her eyes. If Gilbert had spoken the truth about not letting her leave the marriage bed for days, she had been a ninny not to have convinced him sooner to make her Countess Waterford. But—if she was like her mama, who became enceinte every time she lay with her husband, then she was right to have avoided the man all these years.
Chapter Sixteen
Bent at the waist, palms planted on his bed, Gilbert took in another deep breath. What had just occurred? He shook his head to clear it of the images of Mary naked. Never in his life had he wanted so badly to sink deep into a woman. Blast! He needed to regain control over his thoughts, or he would never make it to dinner.
When he left his room a little over an hour ago, he had convinced himself that he was seeking Mary out to confront her, to find out what information she had gained from Valois. When he entered and found her wet and naked from her bath, all rational thoughts had fled from his mind. He should be unsettled at not knowing all the pertinent details.
Gilbert straightened from the bed and tugged off his coat. A warm, satisfying feeling settled in his chest as he recalled Mary’s enthusiastic responses to his touch. Proud of his achievements, he had extracted from Mary the words most critical to his future—a promise to marry him. His knees nearly buckled as a vision of a baby in his arms with striking blue eyes—the same shade that ran strong in Mary’s family—appeared in his mind’s eye.
A scratch at the door had Gilbert blinking to banish the image of the child. “Enter.”
Hadfield meandered in and stopped short as he took in Gilbert’s appearance. “Good Lord, man, what have you been about? You’re all rumpled.” Glancing about the room, Hadfield walked over to the window.
“Why is it every time you enter a room, you head straight for the window and peer out?”
“Accessing the best possible escape route, of course.”
Gilbert would have expected no less from a fellow agent, but from a former barrister? Perhaps he had underestimated the man before him.
Slapping his gloves idly against his leg, Hadfield said, “Well, don’t just stand there. Be quick about things, or we will be late for dinner.”
Gilbert ducked into the changing chamber and ran a hand along his jaw. He needed a shave. Had he left marks on Mary’s thighs? The wayward thought had him tugging at his breeches.
“Waterford, hurry up! We don’t have all evening. We barely have enough time as is, assuming we don’t get lost. This bloody estate is like a maze.”
Gilbert slipped the last button in place. It was statements like the last one Hadfield had uttered that made Gilbert question the man’s capabilities. An agent would know how to navigate the vast estate.
Exiting the smaller room, Gilbert strode straight past the man to leave.
A footman approached as the door swung open. “My lord, follow me.”
Oddly, skin on the back of Gilbert’s neck prickled. Hadfield was right on his heels. Interesting. The man could move without a sound.
At the sight of Hadfield, the footman shook his head and stepped to the side. It was clear the footman was to only escort Gilbert alone. He suspected Comtesse Boucher had sent the servant to fetch him.
What games was the lady up to?
Gilbert would have to be mindful of his interactions with the woman.
Oblivious, Hadfield said. “Oh, good! A footman at the ready.”
Eyeing the footman, Gilbert said, “Please take us directly to Lady Mary’s chambers. We would like to escort her to dinner.”
The footman lowered his gaze to the floor.
“Perhaps you should speak French.”
S
haking his head, the footman replied, “Non. Duc de Valois declared he was to escort the lady.”
Gilbert’s hands clenched at his sides. “That will be all.”
The footman scurried down the hall.
Placing his hands behind his back, Hadfield turned and said, “Lead the way.”
When they entered an empty corridor, Hadfield leaned closer and asked, “Did you ensure Lady Mary was settled in?”
“Yes.”
“Any update?”
Gilbert was loath to admit he hadn’t managed to get a full accounting from Mary. “Not yet. Where did you nick off to?”
“It doesn’t appear that the lord of the manor is a fan of Valois. They heartily disagree on how to deal with our friend Burke.”
“Is that so?” Gilbert was glad that at least one of them had made progress and was focused on the mission at hand.
“Boucher wants the man dead and is willing to see to it the next time Burke sets foot on French soil. Valois wants to let the Crown handle the matter.”
“And who would you support?”
“The Crown, of course.”
“Of course.”
Gilbert found their way to the dining room with little difficulty.
As they entered, his gaze fell directly upon the back of Mary’s beautiful swan-like neck. A string of pearls covered the skin he had nibbled upon earlier in the day. Mary was standing next to Valois with their backs to the entrance. Valois was fingering the end of the bow at the small of her back. Gilbert wanted to grab the man’s wrist and snap it like a twig.
Leaving Hadfield’s side, he strode toward the group that was intently listening to whatever Mary had to say. Comtesse Boucher’s eyes widened as he approached, and the glimmer of interest was evident. Mary turned, and Valois’s hand dropped to his side.
The blush that rose on Mary’s cheeks had his lips curling into a smile. The grin fell away as Gilbert’s gaze fell to Valois, giving him a hard stare. The man understood his meaning and quickly stepped to the side.
Gilbert slipped in to stand next to Mary. “Good evening, Lady Mary.” She was his, and he would make sure everyone was aware of the fact.
The duke’s eyes darted between Comtesse Boucher and Mary, and then he said, “I’m famished. Let’s dine.” Valois led their small group along with Hadfield and Boucher’s son, André, who had joined them.
Gilbert sat at the table, and to his chagrin the comtesse sat to his left and Mary across from him between Hadfield and Valois. Genteel conversation filtered throughout the room, and Valois pointedly kept the topics light—the weather and their journey.
Sometime between the onion soup and leek-encrusted fish, a hand slithered under Gilbert’s napkin. He glanced toward Mary, who was deep in conversation with Hadfield, and reached for his glass of water as he lowered his other hand to remove the comtesse’s fingers that were creeping along his thigh. Her hand tightened before he could remove it, and he almost knocked his glass over. He pulled at her hand—the woman had a damned strong grip for a lady. He finally pried her fingers from his person, dropping her hand back into her lap. He looked up, victorious, only to find all eyes on him and Comtesse Boucher.
Comte Boucher and his son simply returned their attention to their meals, while Hadfield glared at him. Valois had a wide smirk plastered to his features, boastful like he had won a prizefight.
Gilbert shifted his gaze to Mary, who raised her nose a smidgeon higher in the air before resuming her discussion with Hadfield.
Heat rose on Gilbert’s cheeks, a combination of anger and embarrassment. He glared at Hadfield, stuffing another forkful of fish into his mouth.
Comte Boucher raised his glass to his lips and paused. With a frown, the man asked, “When is Victor to arrive?”
“Within the month.”
“Humph. We shall see.”
Gilbert sneaked a glance at Hadfield, who gave a slight shake of the head.
With her eyes focused on Hadfield across the table, Mary said, “Victor is Valois’s heir and nephew.”
What other information had she obtained but had yet to share with them?
Comtesse Boucher leaned forward, giving him full sight of her assets. “Lady Mary, perhaps you would care to join me in the cardroom this eve.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
The ladies rose, and so did the gentlemen.
Comtesse Boucher led Mary away from Gilbert—like a lamb being taken to the slaughter.
Chapter Seventeen
Mary trailed behind her host. The lady of the house yielded much power, and the comtesse was fully aware of her authority and charms. Nor did she hesitate to use them. Comtesse Boucher swayed her hips, flashed an occasional sensual smile to guests, and issued the most nerve-racking glares when displeased.
The comtesse was definitely not a friend.
How to convince the woman to assist in Mary’s investigations? She needed to know how the Boucher jewels had ended up in Lord Burke’s possession. Without the assistance of Lady Frances, Mary had no choice but to try to outwit the wily woman before her.
As her hostess continued to make her way through the room, Mary caught the attention of more than one handsome young male guest. She lifted her chin. I’m the daughter of a duke. From childhood, she had endured endless lectures and lessons on deportment and etiquette. She knew how to conduct herself with elegance and grace, which would have to compensate for her lack of beauty. She followed in the wake of the comtesse, executing the Seaburn ducal nod to those who had managed to tear their gaze away from their hostess and come upon Mary.
Comtesse Boucher stopped in front of a table with cards neatly arranged in two rows. “Do you know how to play faro?”
“I’m not familiar with the game, but I am a fast learner.”
One corner of the comtesse’s lips rose in a smirk. “Faro is complicated and not for the faint of heart. Do you have the coin to play?”
“Why, of course.” Coin. Mary had plenty. For the past six months, she’d had no reason to spend her generous monthly pin allotment her papa sent. It was safely tucked away in Scotland with her aunt, but Gilbert would spot her the blunt if need be. Wouldn’t he?
“Perhaps we should play a game with less risk.”
“Oh, no.” Mary sat at the table. A footman took the chair across from her.
“Jean will be our banker for tonight.” Comtesse Boucher arranged her skirts and sat in the chair next to Mary and pushed a stack of red-colored coins in front of her.
Counting out the coins, Mary asked, “How much do each of these represent?”
“Five francs.”
Mary’s hand paused. The stack before her represented one hundred francs. That was more than all her savings. Her palms began to sweat.
Comtesse Boucher arranged her own coins into four even stacks. “Jean, let us use hearts this eve.”
The footman fanned out the cards. Selecting those marked with a heart, he arranged them in descending order, starting with the king, to form a singular line in front of them.
“Each round, you place a wager on which card will be the winner. Jean will turn two cards over. The first will determine the losers and the second the winners, and then they will be placed to the side.” There was a devilish sparkle in the comtesse’s eyes. “You may bet as much or little as you wish. Wager on as many cards as you choose, oui?”
The rules seemed simple enough. Mary nodded.
The trick was to calculate both the odds of the remaining cards appearing and how much to wager. Having never played before, would she be capable of such mathematical enumerations?
Jean shuffled what appeared to be a full deck and turned over the ace of clubs.
“Ready?” The smirk on Comtesse Boucher’s features solidified Mary’s determination to win.
Figuring the odds of another ace appearing, Mary placed a single chip upon the six of hearts. “I am ready.”
Comtesse Boucher tilted her head. Grabbing a stack of coins, the woman pla
ced two on either side of Mary’s wager, on the five and seven of hearts.
The comtesse nodded.
Jean slid two cards off the top of the deck.
Mary’s heart pounded with anticipation. She inhaled, steeling her nerves, and laced her fingers in her lap.
The footman turned over the first card, the one that would determine who the loser was. The six of diamonds.
Mary blinked hard—she had lost.
Comtesse Boucher smirked as the footman retrieved Mary’s bet, moved the card over next to the ace of spades, and flipped over the second card, all with deft hands. The seven of spades.
Giggling, the comtesse retrieved her winnings, leaving her original wagers on the six and seven of hearts.
Mary glanced at the discarded cards and then stared at the row of hearts before them. Her hand hovered over a stack of coins.
Comtesse Boucher laughed. “Ready to quit so soon?”
“No. I just need a moment to decide.” Mary stared at the cards laid out and recounted her pile of coins once more.
Her host had placed wagers on two cards on the previous round, increasing her chances of winning. Glancing at the discarded cards, Mary counted out three coins this time.
Comtesse Boucher’s lips curled into a smirk as Mary placed her wager upon the six of hearts. It was certainly a daring bet.
Eyes remaining trained on Mary, the comtesse gave the nod to go ahead.
Smiling at her host, Mary couldn’t bear to watch as the footman slid another two cards onto the table. Phillip was brilliant at cards and mathematical calculations. How she wished she could consult with her brother. Mary glanced about. But his familiar features were nowhere to be seen among the small group of young bucks surrounding their game.
The losing card was a three, and the winning card a king. Neither of them had lost nor won this round.
Retrieving her coins from the board, Comtesse Boucher said, “It doesn’t appear to be your night for winning. Perhaps instead of coin, we should play for something else.”
Visions of Lady Mary Page 11