Encounter with Mr. Bad Luck

by Michelle Marcos

  Five

  Her heart was hammering so loudly in her chest, she barely heard the music in the ballroom anymore.

  Her gloved hands snaked up his arms in an unspoken invitation. Whatever she was doing seemed to have a dramatic effect on him. It was like asking a lion if he would care for rack of lamb.

  The light from within the ballroom illuminated his features. If he hadn't threatened her sister, she would have found him the handsomest of men. Barely above thirty-five, with a strong nose and thick black lashes. The black night hid his raven-colored hair, but a few threads of silver caught the light through the French doors. Though intensely attractive, his honey-brown eyes held an ancient knowledge that she found highly disconcerting. She was certain he could see through her attempt at distraction. But could he see that on some deep, unfathomed level, she wanted so desperately to find favor with him?

  Then he frowned down at her, and all her confidence evaporated. She must have failed to arouse his interest. Of course she did. She was no beauty, and what's more, she had no experience at this sort of thing. She knew all about what happens between a husband and wife, but what happens between the dance floor and the bedroom was a complete mystery.

  His wide jaw tensed, and she recognized that look. It was disappointment. What on earth was she thinking? How could she believe that she was capable of turning a man's head? Goodness, she still had her glasses on! Not to mention that she knew absolutely nothing about this "man." Was this creature even capable of being seduced?

  The silence stretched between them, and her discomfort grew. She retracted her hands. "I'm sorry. I—”

  "Touch me again."

  "What?"

  "I said, touch me!" His breathing grew erratic.

  Confused, she placed her hands upon his chest. The tawny eyes disappeared behind silky pale lids.

  "I felt that," he said, amazement illuminating his face. "I felt you."

  "Certainly you felt me. It was I who touched you."

  He seized her hand and pulled her glove off. Gripping her wrist, he placed her hand upon his chest again. He ground his teeth.

  "Nothing. Why is that? Perhaps…perhaps it must be you who must initiate…" He released her hand. "Touch me. Again. Please."

  The desperation she had been feeling seemed to have transferred to him. He gazed at her with a worried longing that suddenly made him seem…human.

  She brought her hand to his face, and rested her naked palm against his stubbly cheek.

  He groaned in exquisite pleasure.

  She could not believe the effect that she was having upon him. Only a moment ago she thought she was incapable of bringing him pleasure. Now it seemed she was the first person ever to do so.

  He opened his eyes. Gone was the mischievous, arrogant troublemaker. In his place was a humbled man.

  But maybe this was all a trick. Maybe he was playing the mischievous sprite with her. Maybe once he'd had his fun, his playful smirk would return, he would amuse himself at her imagined influence over him, and all would be as it was.

  "How are you doing that?" he asked. "How are you able to make me feel you?"

  Isha looked into his face, the look of smug amusement replaced with an expression of wonder. Perhaps this was not a trick after all. Though she had no idea why her touch pleased him so, she was determined to shroud it in secrecy.

  Warily, she pressed her advantage. She took him by the hand and pulled him away from the balcony doors, farther away from her sister. Blood pounded in her ears.

  She brought him to a wrought iron bench placed midpoint along the balcony, and sat him down beside her. "What do you feel when I do this?" She raked her fingers through his thick dark hair. His hair was shorter than the fashion decreed, but this just added to his roguish appearance.

  He tilted his head into her hand, delighting in the sensation it gave him. "How are you able to do that? Why could I never know this before?"

  His admiration filled her with a sense of power. She was well-read and clever, just like her father, and that had always been her private badge of honor. But for the first time, her accomplishment was not cerebral but visceral. For the first time, she felt not just like a real scholar, but like a real woman. And a beautiful one at that.

  "What about this?" she said, sitting upon his lap. Her bold advances surprised even her. She'd never dreamed of doing such a thing. Perhaps it was his weakened state, coupled with her empowered confidence, which made it irresistible to finally be brazen.

  He moaned, his chest vibrating beneath her hands. She felt him raise his knees, as if to dig his long thighs more deeply into her soft flesh. She fell against him as he wrapped his muscular arms around her waist.

  She brought her mouth to within a breath of his. "Or this?" Slowly, she pressed her lips against his. His lips were soft and receptive, and the connection she made with them was utterly delightful. But the sweet agony it caused him was nothing short of heart-wrenching.

  "More," he breathed, and she kissed his prickly jaw. Her warm kisses climbed to his temple, and she felt it jump with the tightening of his jaw. The power she had over his pleasure felt glorious.

  Then she felt his hands tighten upon her hips. It was an intimate and unfamiliar sensation, and it instantly sparked an awareness of her sex. Instinctively, she straightened and her mouth fell open.

  But his hands didn't stop there. They traveled down her silk-clad thigh, and she felt every penetrating caress just as intensely as if he were stroking her naked skin.

  "No more kisses?" he asked, the knowing smile returning. "Here, allow me."

  His large hand cupped the back of her neck and he returned her innocent kiss with passionate force. Those receptive lips from a moment ago now became hungry and possessive, completely plundering her mouth. Now it was her turn to be overtaken by the sensations that he wrought upon her. Trapped by his hands, she surrendered to the pleasure of his touch.

  Oh, the things she had been missing! None of the books ever gave her as much pleasure as this. Now she knew why all women wanted to find husbands, sacrificing themselves to corsets, crinolines and cosmetics—even poisonous ones. Indulging in this behavior was nothing short of heavenly.

  She didn't back away from his kisses, standing her ground. His hand softened behind her neck and slowly made a trail down her back. His other hand began another assault, this time up her waist and around her breast.

  She inhaled deeply, astonished by the sensation. It awoke a longing she had tried to water down for years, but now it flamed with unstoppable power. If he quit now, she would feel no compunction about pleading for more.

  He gazed into her face. "You use pleasure against me as a weapon, and yet you call me cruel?"

  The haze of exhilaration began to dispel. She looked into the beguiling slits of his eyes.

  "I was confused by this strange power you have over me," he continued, "but clearly it is a blade that cuts on both edges."

  It was true. She had tried to take advantage of him, and he turned her own weapon against her. It was a defeat of the first order.

  "Leave my sister alone."

  He chuckled. "I think you ought to be worried that I won't leave you alone."

  Something jarred her inside, but she wasn't sure if it was apprehension or relief.

  Then, amid the strains of Mendelssohn coming from the ballroom, she heard her mother's voice calling out to her. In a panic, she bolted from the man's lap and smoothed out her dress, just as the balcony doors swung open.

  "Isha," Lady Elmwood exclaimed. "I've been looking for you for hours."

  Isha tried to disguise the flush that was creeping up her face. "Come now, Mama. Don't exaggerate. I've only been gone a few minutes."

  "What on earth are you doing out here?"

  The man came to his feet. "Yes, Isha. Tell her what you were doing out here with me."

  Isha shrugged. "N
othing. Just getting some fresh ai-ai-air!" The word was strangled out of her by the feel of his hand on her bottom.

  Her mother pursed her lips. "Shouldn't you be inside chaperoning your sister?"

  His hot breath fell on her ear. "Perhaps she should be out here chaperoning you."

  She waved his face away, striking him clumsily on the head.

  "Are you all right?" asked her mother.

  "Of course, Mama. It's just an irritating pest that keeps buzzing around me."

  "Well, why don't you come inside?" she responded.

  "Hmm," he said, squeezing her round the waist, "what a brilliant suggestion."

  Provocation and humiliation wrung a surprised gasp from her.

  "What on earth is the matter with you?" asked her mother.

  "I'm a little overwrought, that's all. It's quite hot in there."

  "It's getting a little hot out here," he said, nibbling on her left ear.

  "Stop that!" Isha muttered.

  "Stop what?" asked her mother, a befuddled look clouding her features.

  "It's that damned nuisance."

  "Isha! Language!" Lady Elmwood cast a worried glance behind her. "What if a man heard you?"

  He chuckled into her temple. "He'd teach you how to put your wicked tongue to better use."

  She swallowed hard. "I'll be along presently, Mama." As soon as she could figure out how to keep close to her sister while keeping Mr. Bad Luck far away from her. From both of them.

  "I'd like you to collect our things. We're leaving just as soon as we've said our farewells to my cousin and her husband."

  "Finally!" he exclaimed. "Seems my work here is done."

  "Very well, Mama." Isha waited until her mother had closed the balcony doors. Then she turned and slapped Mr. Bad Luck across the face. Hard.

  His astonishment filled her with devious satisfaction.

  "Ow!" he said, rubbing his cheek. "That hurt!"

  "Is it part of your evil plan to make people around me think I've gone daft?"

  "This may come as a shock to you, but your sanity—or lack thereof—is the very least of my concerns." He rocked his jaw. "I always used to laugh when I made women slap other men. You took the humor right out of that."

  "If you ever do that again, your life is going to become a lot more humorless."

  "For the both of us, I expect. Because quite frankly, one kiss won't go very far."

  "Neither does a man with a broken leg."

  A devilish grin returned to his face. "Temper, temper. You know what your mother said. What if a man heard you?"

  "You impudent blackguard! If my mother knew how you'd provoked me…"

  "She won't hear it from me. A gentleman never kisses and tells." His dimples deepened. "And neither do I."

  He didn't give her a chance to tell him what she really thought. Before she knew it, he jumped over the balustrade and disappeared into the night.