The Sins of Lord Easterbrook (12 page)

When she joined him, he took her arm. “This way, if you do not mind. It is bad for one's career to be considered indiscreet.”

She allowed him to guide her down the terrace stairs and into the garden. They found a bench beneath an ivy-covered arbor. The sounds of the party came as so many muffled laughs and hums out here.

She wrapped her shawl closely and looked at the shadowed face of the man who sat beside her.

“I do not seek to force any indiscretions,” she said. “I have cause to believe that there are men in England engaged in illicit trade with China, however. They
operate through intermediaries. Do you think that your passenger was such an agent?”

“He might have been.”

“You said that you had cause to speculate. Was that the direction that your speculations took?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“You suppose? If you speak of your speculations, should you not know what they were?”

He shifted slightly. He faced her now, and suddenly seemed very close.

“I may have exaggerated, to engage your interest,” he said. “I find myself incapable of remembering if I did or not, or what those speculations were. You are even more lovely in these shadows than in the candlelight inside, and I cannot take my eyes off your ripe lips. I must.…” He bent closer yet. “I must.…taste.…”

Incredulous, Leona angled away as Lieutenant Crawford's face moved closer. His arms suddenly embraced her, keeping her from falling off the bench but also imprisoning her. She struggled to free herself.

“Sir, you forget yourself.” She twisted her neck so her mouth would be out of reach. “I demand that you—”

“Lieutenant Crawford, are you good with a sword?”

The question came out of nowhere.

Lieutenant Crawford froze. For a moment they stayed like that, a statue depicting a man pressing a kiss on an unwilling woman.

A sound rustled in the garden. A few footsteps could be heard. A figure emerged. A tall one, in dark garments and longish hair framing his face.

Lieutenant Crawford released her and moved away.
Leona had recognized the voice, and was relieved that Easterbrook had managed such a timely interruption.

“Does ardor make you mute, Crawford? I asked if you were good with a sword.”

“More than fair.”

“That is unfortunate. If I discover that you importuned Miss Montgomery, and call you out, your chance will only be more than fair if you choose swords.”

Lieutenant Crawford went very still. Then he stood. “I would not choose swords.”

“Ah. Well, with pistols you would stand no chance at all. None of which signifies if the lady is unmolested. Did you importune her? Doings in that arbor appeared a little ambiguous in the moonlight.”

Lieutenant Crawford's discomfort was palpable. Easterbrook had just invited him to condemn himself with honesty, or to lie in vain since the lady in question sat three feet away.

Leona did not mind the marquess's interference this one time, but if this ended in a duel it would just be stupid.

“He was not importuning me, Lord Easterbrook. He was boring me.”

“Boring you? Crawford, that is probably more worthy of a challenge than the other. You had best go while you can.”

Lieutenant Crawford decided that was good advice. With a cursory bow to Leona, he faded into the night. Leona stood to follow him.

“Still slipping into night gardens with young men, Leona? I would have thought you learned your lesson in Macao with me.”

“It was supposed to be a brief conversation. Nothing more.”

“Let me guess. He dangled information about Canton, and could only tell you more if you were alone.”

She turned from the path and faced him. He had guessed correctly. Too correctly. “How did you come to be here, to rescue me?”

“I was seeking some quiet in the garden. I am not accustomed to the unceasing noise of all those people.”

“But you knew who he was. It is dark.” She looked into the arbor, where it was darker yet. “You knew what he had dangled.”

“His intentions were obvious all night. As for what he dangled, I am not surprised. Only secrets about Eastern trade would cause you to act so foolishly.”

“You followed us? You listened?”

“Of course. For your protection.” He walked closer and looked down at her. “It appears that I am correct in suspecting that you are tempted to dig at matters that will only bring you trouble. You followed a stranger into a night garden on the flimsiest evidence that he might provide information about illegal trade with China.”

“I come from a trading family in China. Such a tidbit would be of interest to anyone with my heritage. Listening to gossip is not digging.”

She could not tell if she had convinced him, or if his thoughts merely wandered elsewhere. His attention still centered on her, however.

“You deliberately listened to our conversation before
making yourself known. That is inexcusable,” she said.

“I have the best excuses. I wanted him to cross a line first, so I could scare him away. I also wanted to be alone with you in this garden without a hundred people knowing about it, and here you are.”

Leona glanced askance at their location. She could not even see the terrace, although the sounds of the party hummed on the breeze. Darkness enclosed them, but it was not so black that she could not see Easterbrook's expression.

The night, the scents, the delicious, dangerous expectation, reminded her of another garden, long ago and far away. She had left her chamber to take some air, drawn into the dark by a restlessness of the heart. When he found her there, she had realized that she had hoped he would.

They had faced each other in that garden much as they did now.

She did not know if it was nostalgia's doing, but she felt that she faced the same man now. For the first time since seeing him again, it seemed that he had not really changed so much. He was less a stranger suddenly, and their old intimacy poured through the night to her. She felt naked standing here, and wonderfully vulnerable to both herself and to him.

Her defenses began crumbling. No logic would save her if they fell. No suspicions would get a hearing if she yielded to the yearning ache inside her. Already her body thrilled from their isolation and from his closeness. Already she anticipated the touch that would come.

She had to leave. She could not indulge the arousal titillating her like so many tickling licks.

She found it terribly hard to take the first step away from him. With her second footfall, a drenching disappointment triumphed over a vague relief that he would be decent enough to allow her to go.

Her third stride met with resistance.

A warm hand, male and firm, settled on her shoulder above the edge of her dress. It neither grasped nor squeezed. It just held her carefully and announced that she would step no more.

She could shake off his hand and run, of course. She
should
do that. But the human warmth on her bare skin made her senses spin. The physical connection felt so good, so alluring. Her entire spirit sighed a groaning “yes” that overwhelmed her so thoroughly that she almost went limp.

“You will not leave yet.” His voice sounded very near her ear, carried on a breath that sent a shiver down her neck.

“Why not? Because you command it?”

Lips smoothing over her ear, then lower to her shoulder. “Because you do not want to, and because this is destiny.”

His arms embraced her from behind, his hands splaying over her midriff and hip. His hair feathered at her cheek while he pressed a line of devastating kisses along her shoulder and up her neck.

She closed her eyes and tensed her body, trying to contain what he did to her. The struggle proved futile and brief. Her body succumbed forcefully, and tingles of desire began in the worst places. Even her heart sabotaged
her, by whispering memories and secret dreams that had sustained her for years.

She gave in as if it truly were destiny. Perhaps her soul believed that it was. She dully acknowledged that she had no strength because the years had robbed her of it. She had long ago decided that denying his excitement in Macao had been a sinful waste.

She did not resist when he turned her around and claimed her with a kiss that reminded her so much of the past. He had always been Easterbrook when it came to seduction. Always confident. Always dangerous. His kiss lured her in deep, then took possession and control.

He caressed her boldly. His hands moved in sure paths over her dress, arousing her without mercy. His embrace tightened. Her feet left the ground and she floated. Then she was sitting on his lap in the arbor, their passion hidden in its dark ivy cave.

His kiss called forth all the sweetness she had ever known with him. All the memories and all the dreams. Her physical responses fascinated her. She relished the new sensitivity of her skin to the cool night air, and welcomed the pressure of his strong thighs beneath her bottom. Her breasts grew heavy and their tips so aroused that she could hardly bear it.

He held her face to a harder, more demanding kiss. His mouth claimed her completely, and insisted she permit the stunning, sly invasion that he had taught her in Macao. She submitted, knowing it was an acceptance of much more, and a symbolic encouragement of his passion.

He took what she allowed, and more. His spirit
seeped into her, and she accepted it like a starving woman offered food. She pulsed against his thighs and shifted to find more pressure for that wonderful discomfort. She followed his lead when he cajoled her to kiss him back.

His caress slid along her body, against silk that offered little armor. His hand raised silent cries in her head that emerged as gasping sighs. His fingertips smoothed along the naked skin of her shoulder, to the exposed flesh above her breast. It rested there, tempting her, teasing her so badly that she almost begged him to go on, to continue, to let her feast on the wonders that she had only tasted in Macao.

The mixture of pleasure and hunger undid her. Her blood fired, making her half crazed. She embraced him and kissed him hard and sought his own body with her hands, searching and seeking beneath his coats for his form. Like a flame meeting oil, his passion flared higher until they met in a conflagration of kisses and embraces, mouths meeting and leaving, tasting and biting.

The madness retreated but the heat did not cool. Holding her to more deliberate and calculating kisses, his caress moved up silk to her breasts. The sensation, so intensely pleasurable, so directly erotic in its effects, made her consciousness spin.

His fingers found the tip through her dress and teased. Overwhelmed and breathless, she tucked her head against his neck, unable to do anything more than feel how that devilish touch made her want more.

“I have waited seven years to do this.” He cupped her breast. His head lowered. “And this.”

A moist breath and a gentle bite created a pleasure so stunning, so intimate, that she wished cloth did not interfere. As if hearing her silent pleas, his left hand moved to her back, to the fastenings of her dress.

Suddenly he stopped. His mouth met hers, silencing words not spoken.

A laugh. A voice. She emerged from her stupor and heard both, not far away. She also heard her own deep breaths, the remnants of the cry he had swallowed.

The voices came closer, very near. Then they drifted away.

The intrusion made her alert to the world, to the garden and the night. And to him. To how his arm cradled her shoulders, and to the masterful way he encouraged her recklessness.

His palm smoothed slowly over her breast even while they listened to the other lovers retreat. She closed her eyes and floated on the wonderful streams of arousal.

“Did he have you? Pedro?”

She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her. Even in the black night his attention made her vulnerable. “No.”

“Did another man?” A soft kiss on her cheek followed the quiet question.

“No.”

A brief smile formed against her cheek. He rubbed her nipple more directly, and the sweet pleasure took on darker colors. “You knew we would meet again.”

She had to work hard to find a voice. “Your conceit knows no bounds. I was not saving myself, least of all for you. I just never wanted a man enough.”

“I will have to make sure that you do now.”

He already had. He had seven years ago, and right now she was almost lost to his power. But time and place had reasserted themselves. The hum of the party played like a spirited melody not far away, an accompaniment for their sensual dance.

She did not really want to be saved. Her baser self calculated how she might be relieved in this ivy arbor despite the risks and discomforts that the setting implied. She found little contentment in finding the strength to reject that option.

“My advanced age may be making me rash, but I am quite safe no matter what you make me want. A gentleman will not ask me to give myself in a garden arbor with a hundred people nearby.”

His touch turned more gentle. The light, brushing arousal actually titillated more. She squirmed as her discomfort pitched higher, and took on a desperate edge.

“We will leave here. You will come back to Grosvenor Square with me.”

A new, delicious touch tickled her. She smothered a moan in his shoulder. “If you try to take me away in your carriage, Tong Wei will have to kill you.”

“Then I will return with you to your house in your carriage, so he understands you are truly willing.”

“No.” An especially effective stroke turned her denial into a gasp.

“I can see that I will have to do better. Here I thought I had conquered your rebellious spirit.”

“If you do any better I will die, so that will avail you
nothing. A marquess may have whatever he wants, but the rest of us learn that often we cannot.”

He lowered his head and kissed her breast again. His hand slid down over silk, along a body too eager to feel that caress. “I think that I will do better anyway, so that you reconsider what you can and cannot have. I promise you will not die, at least not for more than a moment.”

She felt his hand on more than silk suddenly. He caressed the skin above her knees and garters, and the soft flesh of her thighs. She peered through the dark, stunned, as the skirt of her dress bunched higher. His boldness awed her. Anticipation shivered through her, so pleasurable in itself that her brief respite of rationality dissolved.