Those sorts of thoughts weren’t going to help him accomplish his mission, however. He delivered his tray to the proper table, then inched back to the doorway, peering out into the hall. There were any number of men and women who might have recognized him milling about the front hall and making their way into the grand ballroom. Thaddeus was particularly noticeable with his ginger hair. He’d combed a bit of ash through it in an attempt to darken it for the evening, but nothing dampened the power of ginger hair. He had to rely on the fact that no one from the ton would expect to see him in footman’s livery, dashing about with the servants.
Oliver didn’t try to stop him as he slipped out of the room entirely, edging his way down the hall until he could peek into one of the doorways leading to the ballroom. He’d heard word that Mapplethorpe had invited anyone who was anyone to his ball, and so far, that seemed to be the case. The evening was still young, but it promised to be a crush in no time. That could only help, as far as Thaddeus was concerned.
A quick scan of the ballroom proved that Imogen hadn’t arrived yet, so he headed back toward the refreshment room.
“Did you find your girl?” Oliver asked as he exited the room.
“Not yet,” Thaddeus said. “She might just be—”
No sooner had he started to speculate why Imogen was late, when she walked through the front door, a step behind her father and Lord Cunningham.
“That’s her,” he whispered to Oliver, turning to stand by the young man’s side.
“What, the one with the—” Oliver made the shape of twin orbs over his chest.
“That’s the one,” Thaddeus whispered.
“No wonder, sir,” Oliver said with a sly grin.
Thaddeus would have treated the man to a sharp elbow in the ribs for his comment, but he had to admit that Imogen was dressed like some sort of tart. That could only be Lord Cunningham’s doing. The man had made no secret of why he wanted to marry Imogen. He’d been bragging about the things he planned to do with her all over London in the last six weeks. And Imogen looked miserable to be dressed the way she was. Thaddeus was more determined than ever to move heaven and earth to get her out of her current situation.
Those thoughts were bolstered as she glanced up, as if guided by some sort of sixth sense, and looked right at him. Thaddeus stood straighter, smiling at her. Imogen’s expression was shocked at first, but then it filled with a sort of joy that made Thaddeus feel as though he could do anything.
He thought fast, pointing down the hall and across a bit, to a closed door that led to one of the parlors the family had deemed off-limits to party guests. A moment later, just as Lord Marlowe and Lord Cunningham came to a stop before entering the ballroom, Imogen nodded to him, understanding in her expression. Even though her father and Lord Cunningham turned to speak to her with frowns, Thaddeus felt as though they’d won an important victory.
“Give my excuses to whoever asks about my absence,” he told Oliver before heading as subtly as he could across the hall to the closed parlor.
Chapter 2
Imogen’s heart shot to her throat the moment she noticed Thaddeus lingering at the side of the hall. It had been so long since she’d laid eyes on him that she’d begun to question whether he was just a dream her aching heart had conjured up. But there he was…dressed like a footman?
“Balls are such a nuisance,” Lord Cunningham grumbled to her father a few steps ahead. “If I didn’t want to court Mapplethorpe’s favor, I would have skipped the bloody thing.”
“Hear, hear,” her father answered. He followed that by snorting in derision at a group of excited young ladies that passed him on their way to the ballroom. “Events like this are just an excuse for men like Mapplethorpe to show off and empty-headed young ladies to trap unsuspecting men into marriage.”
Lord Cunningham guffawed in agreement. Imogen watched him and her father closely, until she was absolutely certain neither man had noticed Thaddeus. Then she stole a second glance at her one, true love, her heart overflowing with joy and relief.
Though he was much too far off for anything he might say to be heard, Thaddeus communicated with crystal clarity all the same. He nodded to one of the closed doors down the hall. He wanted her to meet him there. A thrill shot through her. She’d heard more than a few whispered stories of ladies meeting gentlemen in private rooms during balls before. They were the sorts of things that were talked about with reverence and awe, and more than a bit of shock. More than a few reputations had been ruined by such meetings. Imogen didn’t care if her reputation was tossed in the mud and trampled on if it meant she could run away with Thaddeus. She nodded back to him, indicating she would meet up with him as soon as she could.
“Imogen. What has gotten into you?” her father snapped, nearly frightening Imogen out of her skin. Her father didn’t wait for her answer. “We’re proceeding into the ballroom. Don’t just stand there like an idiot.”
“Yes, Father,” she said, skittering into motion and nearly falling over the hem of her gown as she did. Her toe caught on the hem, tugging the entire gown down enough so that one of her nipples popped free of the daring neckline. She gasped and rushed to tuck herself back in, all too aware that Lord Cunningham was watching her with greedy eyes and a ruddy complexion.
“Careful,” he said in a rough voice. “We wouldn’t want every man here to get a look at what is mine.”
As they walked on, Imogen had the sickening feeling that was exactly what Lord Cunningham wanted. He had dressed her inappropriately so that he could show off to his friends. As soon as they entered the ballroom, those friends flocked to them, congratulating Lord Cunningham on his conquest and ogling Imogen’s nearly exposed breasts as though they knew they would have their chance with her sometime soon. It was pure torture, but she was able to bear it, knowing that Thaddeus was there, that he was waiting for her. All she had to do was figure out how to break away from her father and Lord Cunningham.
Her chance came suddenly, but Imogen was ready.
“Cunningham, would you allow me to dance with your charming betrothed?” one of the lecherous old men flocking around her asked, addressing his question to Imogen’s cleavage.
“What?” Lord Cunningham grunted and shrugged. “You actually want to dance with the chit? Well, on your head be it.” He laughed, slapping his friend on the back.
Imogen hadn’t even been properly introduced to the old man. He didn’t seem to want to be introduced to anything but her breasts. So she had no qualms at all of using him for her purposes. She took his offered arm, swayed closer to him when he stepped toward the other couples forming lines for the dance, and rejoiced when he trod on the hem of her gown right on cue.
“Oh, dear,” she gasped at the ripping sound that followed. Better still, her nipple popped free of the neckline once more. “Oh dear, oh dear.”
She did her best to tuck herself away as discreetly as possible while the old man looked as though he would either have a heart attack or embarrass himself then and there in the ballroom. Luckily for Imogen, her father and Lord Cunningham witnessed the whole thing.
“I must go to the retiring room to repair my hem. And to see if I can do something about this bodice,” she told them, eyes downcast. She hoped the expression made her look ashamed instead of bristling with excitement at the idea of meeting Thaddeus again. “Please excuse me.”
“Oh, all right,” her father sighed, rolling his eyes as though she were a trial.
“Hurry back,” Lord Cunningham ordered her.
Imogen nodded to him with as much deference as she could muster, then turned and hurried out of the ballroom. She was well aware of people watching her with pity and disapproval as she fled. Even if her gown was a cruel prank and even if the fashion of the day was daring, the ton did not approve of nipples flying out in public. At least, not at respectable balls.
By the time she reached the door Thaddeus had nodded to, she didn’t care if her breasts were hanging free. She grasped the do
or handle, said a quick prayer that her deliverance was at hand, and cracked open the door. She poked her head only into the room at first, to make certain Thaddeus was there and any number of other guests were not.
“Imogen.” Thaddeus leapt toward her from the fireplace he’d been staring into while waiting for her. “Thank God.”
“Thaddeus.” She rushed into the room, shutting the door behind her, and flew into his arms, near tears. He caught her and slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with all the passion of a man who had been denied for too long. She kissed him back with equal fervor, circling her arms around him and digging her fingertips into his back as though she would never let go. “Oh, Thaddeus, my darling. I’ve missed you so, so much. I haven’t known what to do without you.” Each declaration was made between bouts of kissing that left her breathless and dizzy.
“Imogen, my love,” he said, swaying back at last so that he could look at her. “I’ve been so terribly worried about you.”
“My father has kept me and Alice virtual prisoners in our house,” she said, clutching him tightly so that he wouldn’t break from her. She had the feeling that if they separated by too much now, they would be separated forever.
“And Lord Cunningham?” Thaddeus’s expression turned murderous. “Has he laid a hand on you?”
Imogen shook her head. “Not really. He has attempted to take liberties by walking too close to me and such. And he purchased this alarming gown for me.” She glanced down.
Thaddeus did as well. The thundercloud of his expression shifted momentarily to a grin. “Under other circumstances, I would admit to liking this gown quite a bit.”
Of all things, Imogen giggled. It was horrific to have Lord Cunningham and his friends stare at her like she was a piece of meat they wanted to devour, but when Thaddeus did the same thing, it filled her with desire and made her ache in delicious places.
That only drove home how awful her situation was.
“Oh, Thaddeus,” she sighed, close to weeping once more. “Please take me away from here. Rescue me. Run away with me. Anything.”
“That is exactly what I intend to do,” he said, then leaned in to kiss her once more. His lips were like magic against hers. The heat that radiated from him infused her with hope. She would have given herself to him then and there. Her body certainly pulsed as though it were ready to. But Thaddeus broke their kiss. “I have a plan,” he said, stepping away enough to take her hand and lead her to one of the sofas placed discreetly in the corner of the room.
“Tell me,” she said, still unwilling to let go of him entirely as they sat. “Whatever you want to do, I will do it.”
“The plan—” he began, but stopped so that he could pull her into his arms and kiss her once more. His mouth was hungry for hers and his hands spread across her sides. The groan deep in his throat was more than enough to tell Imogen how desperately he wanted her.
At last, he broke their kiss, struggling to catch his breath for a moment, then said, “I still have the money that Saif Khan gave me. It isn’t much, but it should get us away from London.”
“Good,” Imogen said, unable to catch her breath herself. She throbbed in distracting places and her mostly-exposed breasts felt heavy and eager to be touched. “Anything. I’ll do anything you want.” In more ways than simply running away. She would bare herself for anything Thaddeus wanted to do to her, no matter how wicked.
Thaddeus hummed deep in his throat, as though he knew exactly what she meant. He closed a hand over her breast, squeezing gently. His fingers reached for the neckline of her bodice, but he held himself back.
“My father has forbidden me from interfering with you,” he said, his voice hoarse with lust. “He has threatened to disown me if I prevent you from marrying Lord Cunningham and attempt to marry you myself.”
“And do you care what he says?” she asked, a pinch of trepidation gnawing at her gut.
“Not at all,” Thaddeus said with a rush of breath, surging into her for another kiss.
His lips on hers were demanding. His tongue invaded her, thrusting in imitation of even more stunning acts of love. His hand closed more tightly around her breast, and it was all she could do to keep herself from straddling him, opening the falls of his breeches, and riding him like a strumpet.
But they had not secreted themselves in the quiet parlor for an assignation. There were important matters that needed to be dealt with.
“I don’t care about money,” she panted, barely able to form the words, so desperate was her need for him. “I’d live a pauper’s life with you, if that’s what it takes for us to be together.”
“It won’t come to that,” he promised, brushing his fingertips along her neckline and over the tops of her breasts. “Aside from Mr. Khan’s money, I have skills and ambitions. We may not live an aristocratic life, but we will be comfortable, I swear it.”
“And the school,” Imogen somehow managed to say as he leaned into her and laid a series of kisses across her neck and shoulder. “The school is always willing to help us.”
He paused in his delicious ministrations to glance up at her. “The school?”
“Your sister-in-law, Lady Caro’s, school,” she reminded him.
He laughed. “I have a hard time remembering any other woman, or anything else at all, when I am with you,” he said, following his words with another kiss that had Imogen’s sex flaring with heat and moisture. “But you are right. They will help us. In fact, I suspect that all we need to do is get there and we will be home free.”
“Then how do we get there?” she asked.
“Like this,” he said, lust in his voice and fire in his eyes.
He tipped her to her back, spreading her against the sofa. When her breasts slipped free of her dangerous gown at the gesture, he tugged her bodice down, freeing them entirely. With a mischievous laugh that left her writhing with desire, he bent closer, closing a hand around one of her breasts and holding it so that he could close his mouth over her escaped nipple. She gasped and arched into him as he sucked hard, then swirled his tongue around her tight nipple. The sensations he produced in her were so deep and so heady that she moaned far louder than she should with pleasure.
That only seemed to encourage him. He let go of her breast, reaching for the hem of her skirt instead. In seconds, he’d hitched the flimsy fabric over her hip and pushed her knees apart so that he could stroke the soft, overheated flesh of her inner thigh. She was so primed for pleasure that when his fingers brushed across the opening of her sex, she nearly flew apart.
“God, you’re wet,” he panted, nuzzling her breasts. “I knew you would be.”
“Thinking about you makes me wild,” she panted, moving against his hand in search of what she needed from him. “I think about you when pleasuring myself.”
He answered her wicked confession with a low hum. Simply touching her didn’t seem like enough for him anymore. He thrust two fingers inside of her, causing her to cry out in pleasure. She shuddered as he continued to thrust demandingly, grinding the base of his hand against her clitoris.
“Come for me, my siren,” he growled, kissing her breasts and neck.
Imogen was so ready that she burst apart at his command, throbbing and trembling as he brought her to climax. It was pure bliss, absolute pleasure. She gave in to it, wanting to reward him for his faith in her by being every fantasy he had ever had rolled into one. She was his in every way.
As her orgasm began to subside, her thoughts shifted to him. She reached for his breeches, finding him every bit as hard as she knew he would be. With a lazy, sated grin, she slipped off of the sofa and came to rest on her knees between his legs. She fumbled with the fastenings of his breeches, sending him a wicked look, hinting what she was about to do. He didn’t try to stop her with flowery platitudes about how she was his angel and shouldn’t even think about such things. Instead, when she peeled back his breeches and stroked his hard, hot prick, he arched his hips toward her.
The tip of his cock was already glistening with moisture as she stroked him. The desire that he had just satisfied within her flared to life once more as she wriggled closer to him, then bent forward, drawing him into her mouth. They both groaned as she circled her lips around his head only. She stroked him with her tongue, delighting in the salty, musky taste of him. She teased him for as long as she dared, putting her all into kissing and tormenting him until she was ready. Then she took a deep breath and plunged.
“Christ almighty,” he gasped as she took him deep into her mouth. His body tensed and he jerked even deeper into her while clutching the cushions for support. He filled her to the point where her eyes watered and she was in danger of choking, but the pleasured sounds he made and the way he seemed completely at her mercy more than made up for any discomfort.
He was so masculine and so aroused that any shred of good sense or modesty she had went out the window. She gripped his hips hard and bore down on him repeatedly, using her tongue to give him as much sensation as possible. He was large and powerful, and soon his own, jerking movements melded with hers in a heady dance of sensuality. His cries grew more and more desperate and his body tenser until, at last, he pushed her back.
Within a split-second of releasing him, he came with a jet of pearl that shot up between them to a remarkable height. It sullied the hem of his shirt as he grasped himself and worked to a full finish.
“Oh, my,” Imogen gasped, clapping a hand to her reddened lips. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
He laughed and was about to reply when there was a knock at the door. Imogen gasped, as did Thaddeus, but neither of them had time to right themselves or conceal what they’d been up to before the door cracked open and the footman Thaddeus had been speaking to when Imogen had first arrived popped his head in.
The Faithful Siren Page 2