A Dangerous Game (13 page)

Nicolette looked at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger. Her hair, which she usually plaited before sleep, shone silky and bright, and her eyes looked enormous in her face. Her cheeks were pink, her lips as well. Charlotte leaned forward and yanked on the chemise, bringing the neckline down and exposing the tops of the firm globes of her breasts. Her nipples nearly rose above the lace collar.

“Now lay down. I shall go inform Salvatore that you are not well, and that I had been sitting with you but must be off to bed myself.”

“But what if Darian comes back?”

Charlotte lifted a brow. “I will make sure he is kept busy.” She smiled. “Now remember, you are the temptress. Let him believe you need him, and then weave your spell over him. I guarantee it works every time.”

The door closed behind Charlotte, and Nicolette immediately blew out the candle.

The door across the hall had no more closed when suddenly there was a tap at the door, and it opened.

With heart pumping loudly, Nicolette feigned sleep.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and suddenly she felt a hand on her forehead. She slowly opened her eyes. “Salvatore, what are you doing here?”

“Shh,” he said, his brows furrowed in concern. Through the window, the light from the moon shone upon his features, and her heart gave a jolt. His cheekbones jutted out as he pursed his lips, a habit when he concentrated. Still dressed as he was earlier, save for his jacket, she realized he had been on the alert, waiting for midnight.

“Charlotte said you were not well? I wondered at the duck that had been served. It did not taste right. Perhaps that is what makes you ill?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your cheeks look flushed, though it is hard to tell with no light.”

“Lay beside me.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Thankfully, he did not ask about Darian, and instead kicked off his boots and lay down beside her. He lay flat on his back, and she inched closer to him, nuzzling against him, laying her head on his shoulder, and a hand on his chest. She could feel the unsteady beating of his heart against her palm, and wondered if she was the cause of it.

He ran his hand through her hair, and her eyes closed. “Tell me if you feel like you will be sick.” He sat up a little. “Perhaps I should get a basin—”

“No, do not leave me.”

He lay back down and she closed her eyes, relaxing.

For long minutes she lay still, not daring to move, taking in the feel and scent of him. How comforting it was to have him near. How many times had they lain like this? Hundreds, yet now it seemed so different. He seemed so different.

It wasn’t until she heard his even breathing did she dare open her eyes. Expecting him to be asleep, she instead found him watching her.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

“You didn’t.”

“Do you need the basin?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He nodded. “Close your eyes. Sleep.”

She could not sleep if she wanted to. Not with him near. If she could have her way, she would stay like this for eternity. She reached up and ran her finger along his jaw. The muscles in his shoulder contracted beneath her cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

The sides of his lips curved in a soft smile. “You do not need to thank me.”

“I know I don’t need to, but I want to.”

He swallowed hard, his gold eyes unwavering.

Nicolette turned her face and kissed his neck. He tasted salty, yet sweet, and she kissed at the pulse that beat wildly in his throat, then further up by his ear.

“Nicolette?” The word was questioning, yet warning her at the same time.

“Shh,” she said, kissing his clenched jaw and high cheekbone. Her hand wandered from his chest, to his stomach, splaying there against the hard planes of muscle. His stomach tightened beneath her fingertips and his breath left him in a rush.

“Nicolette—”

She kissed him, her lips opening, her tongue seeking entrance. He did not disappoint, and with a moan, pulled her on top of him, his hands moving down over her back, her buttocks, a hand weaving through her hair, anchoring her there.

Her heart soared to the heavens, feeling the hard evidence of his desire against her stomach. His hand pulled the chemise up, his fingers stroking a path up her bare hip. With a growl he sat up, bringing her with him. He wrenched the chemise up and over her head, and tossed it aside. She sat astride him, naked as the day she’d been born, and his hot gaze swept over her possessively.

He opened his mouth as though to say something, but she shook her head, and instead ripped the shirt from his pants and brought it up and over his head, to join her chemise on the floor. With a deep-throated moan, he reached up and pulled her face down to his.

The feel of his chest against her breasts was nothing short of heaven, and as he kissed her hard, she shifted her hips. She wanted him inside her.

He immediately stilled her hips with his hands. “Not yet.”

Not yet? He would not deny her this time.

She nodded in agreement and with a wicked smile he rolled over, until he had her pinned beneath him. His long hair felt like silk on her breasts and shoulders, his lips tasting sweeter than any candy. The feel of his hard shaft pulsing against her heated center felt almost too good to be true.

Salvatore ignored the warning bells going off in his head. He knew he should not be here, doing this, with her. Yet he could not force himself to walk away again. Earlier today he had almost taken her, and she would have let him. Tonight she had planned to make love to his brother, but fate had intervened. When Charlotte had knocked on his door, his heart had dropped to his toes thinking that it might be Nicolette, and that he had been too late. Instead, the widow had told him Nicolette had fallen ill and aside from the sudden flash of concern, he felt vast relief.

With his knees, he nudged Nicolette’s thighs apart. His cock pressed against her woman’s center—the only thing between them was the fabric of his pants.

She lifted her hips, seeking, needing. Her hands stroked his back, up and down, over his shoulders, her fingers splaying, holding onto him like she was drowning, only to move down over his back to his waist, and then to his buttocks.

Sweat beaded his brow as she spread her thighs wider, cradling him, seeking his hard length.

“Make love to me,” she whispered against his lips.

With heart pounding nearly out of his chest, Salvatore rolled off her long enough to divest himself of his pants and drawers. It gave him a few seconds to bring some semblance of calm to the heated frenzy he had started. Nicolette watched him, and as he moved over her again, he could see the relief in her eyes, the heated passion, the desire.

His cock, already thick and long, grew painfully hard. How he wanted to bury himself deep inside her, but he wanted her to remember this. To be ready for him. He kissed her lips, then trailed a path down her jaw, near her ear, down her long, swan-like neck.

The pulse there beat in triple time, her back arching off the mattress, offering her firm breasts to him. He lowered his head and flicked his tongue against one rose-colored nipple. Nicolette inhaled sharply and he hid a smile while his hand splayed upon the other breast. Her fingers wove through his hair, anchoring him there, her silent panting spurring him on, causing his need to reach a fever-pitch.

His hand slid from her breast, over her quivering stomach, down to the patch of downy hair between her thighs. His fingers stroked the dewy folds, teasing the sensitive pearl with his thumb, while inserting a finger into her tight, hot channel.

Her honeyed walls hugged him snugly, and as he moved his finger in and out of her, her hips undulated, questing his touch.

He kissed her hard, his other hand finding hers, bringing it to their sides, splaying her fingers with his own until they entwined. He looked down into her face, into her trusting eyes. “We cannot go back once we do this.”

“I want you,” she whispered, her eyes searching his face. He nodded, kissed her, then guided his cock into her.

Sweat beaded his brow. Her tight channel squeezing his length, her hips lifting, questing, wanting more of him.

“This will hurt only for a moment.”

She nodded, and with a single thrust, he broke her maidenhead and filled her to the womb.

She bit down on his shoulder and he welcomed the pain. He did not dare move. Instead, he savored the feel of her heat surrounding him, adjusting to the intrusion. God she was so tight, hugging him like a hot, clenched fist.

Her hands had clasped his back, and now her fingernails dug into his shoulders. She slightly shifted her hips, and he needed no more encouragement. With slow, steady strokes he began to move, watching her face as he increased the tempo.

Her hands on his shoulders relaxed, her eyes widened and her lips parted.

Kissing her, his tongue mirrored the movement of his body, and he could feel her smile against his lips, could feel her body quickening as her fingernails dug into his shoulders. “Oh,” she said, her breath leaving her in a rush, her heels digging into the mattress as she lifted her hips.

Her sheath tightened and throbbed around him, squeezing him until he followed behind, with an orgasm that left him reeling.

Chapter Eleven

Nicolette made her way downstairs, only to find the dining room empty, save for the servants clearing away dishes. “Where are the others?” she asked a passing footman.

“The majority of the guests have gone afield. An archery contest of sorts, my lady. If I may be so bold as to say that the majority of the women are taking this quiet time to handle correspondence or catch up on their reading.”

Having no desire to do either of those things, Nicolette thanked the man and rushed outdoors. Following the boisterous voices toward the back of the manor, Nicolette’s gaze swept the fifty guests, looking for one man in particular.

Her heart gave a wild jolt seeing Salvatore, standing not ten feet from Darian, both men standing with feet askance, bow pulled back, their target in the far distance.

Salvatore loved archery. He came naturally to it, since he excelled at darts, a game he played to while away the long hours in their attic room.

At the signal, both men released, and Nicolette clapped with delight seeing Salvatore the winner, his arrow hitting directly in the giant red center.

He smiled graciously to the crowd, and then accepted his brother’s handshake. How similar the two men were. Very strange for having been brought up in such different surroundings.

Nicolette approached the gathering, her breath lodging in her throat when Salvatore looked up and caught her gaze. His golden eyes roved over every inch of her before settling on her face again. He smiled softly.

A delicious warmth began in the pit of her stomach and worked its way downward to her most private place. Already she yearned to slip away to her quarters and experience the magic of last night.

The crowd seemed to part and Darian walked toward her in long strides. “You are just in time, Nicolette. The few women who have managed to pull themselves up from their slumber are about to give it a go. How about it?”

Challenge sparkled in his dark eyes, and she lifted a brow. “I would love to challenge anyone, including you, my lord.”

Had that been flirtation she heard in her voice? Good gracious she had come a long way in a week’s time.

“I would enjoy that very much,” he said, motioning for her to ready herself.

With every step that brought her closer to Salvatore, Nicolette told herself to remain calm and pretend that last night had been nothing but a tutorial for her. Yet as she reached her partner, she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him, feel his heart pound against her own, and to feel the sweet taste of his lips once more.

“Good morning,” Salvatore said, handing her the bow and arrow.

She took the bow with trembling hand, and fought to keep the arrow in place. “Good morning.”

“You are nervous?” Salvatore asked, his scent surrounding her, warming her, lulling her.

“No,” she said, too soon and he grinned.

He leaned into her. “You can beat every one of these women who scarcely look like they can handle a bow.”

His confidence encouraged her, and taking a deep breath, she extended her arm, and released. The arrow hit the rim of the outside ring. She did not glance at Salvatore. She notched another arrow and stared at the target, concentrating on nothing else. She extended her arm again and released. This time, the arrow hit square in the middle and applause exploded all around.

“Bravo, Nic,” Salvatore said, handing her yet another arrow. “Show them what you are made of.”

She did not disappoint, as arrow after arrow hit its mark. She stepped back and watched while Lady Becket shot erratically, sometimes hitting the furthest ring of the target, other times missing the target altogether.

While she watched, Nicolette stood at Salvatore’s side, more aware of him than the contest going on. She watched him beneath lowered lashes, taking in his beauty, his self-assuredness amongst all these titled lords. Sadly she realized, he belonged here, for all that he thought he did not. He was their equal in every way, and honestly, a better man than the whole lot combined.

Sensing she was being watched, she looked up to find Charlotte standing across from her. The other woman’s gaze shifted to Salvatore, then back to Nicolette. Her lips curved. Nicolette smiled and felt the telltale signs of a blush stain her cheeks.

“Lady Mariweather,” Darian said, causing all to turn toward him. “Would you like to try your hand at besting our current champion?”

Charlotte’s brows lifted and she smiled sweetly. “I fear I would be no match for one so young and fair.”

The men around her laughed but Darian approached with bow in hand. “Oh come, I know you to be quite good at archery.”

Charlotte stiffened her spine. “I have not been in practice.”

Darian lifted a dark brow. “You are afraid?”

The words held a challenge, one that Charlotte accepted, for she all but ripped the bow from his hand.

The men all shouted their encouragement as she took her place beside Nicolette. Wearing a flattering gown of blue silk, and a tri-corn hat with a huge white feather, Charlotte looked ready for a ride through Hyde Park rather than a day in the country. Pulling back on the string, she released and the arrow hit dead center.

The men went wild. “You have found your match, Miss Nicolette,” Darian said, an amused smile on his face.

“Indeed, I have,” Nicolette replied.

Only once did Charlotte miss the target, and that was when Lady Becket went into a coughing fit.

“Now side by side,” Darian said, motioning for Nicolette to take her place.

Charlotte grinned. “May the best woman win.”

Salvatore leaned forward and whispered in Nicolette’s ear, “You can best her, I know you can.” His hot breath stirred her hair and she nodded.

Darian cleared his throat loudly. “At the ready? Go!”

Nicolette released and held her breath as the arrow hit square in the middle of the target. Charlotte’s arrow had veered just the slightest bit, and it hit just shy of center.

“You did it!” Salvatore pulled her into his arms and swung her about. She dropped the bow and wrapped her arms about his neck, sharing his smile and his happiness, aware of his body in a way she had never been before.

“Congratulations, Nicolette.” Darian’s voice was edged with steel, interrupting the moment. Salvatore set her on her feet and she turned to their host.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Will you be joining us for a ride?” His brows were lifted in question, his dark eyes intense.

“Of course.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “I am glad you are not wearing your breeches, for I would have a hard time concentrating on the ride ahead.”

By the wicked expression on his face, she knew what type of riding he had in mind.

She forced a smile she did not feel. “I would not want to be held responsible for injuring you, my lord.”

“Ah, Nicolette. You can hurt me in any way you would like.” His tone was positively sinful.

Her cheeks blazed red. Nicolette turned her attention to the woman who had graciously let her win and smiled.

Charlotte returned the smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

No doubt Charlotte thought her daft. One moment she said she wanted Salvatore, the next she flirted with Darian. If only she could tell her the truth.

“Come,” Darian said, extending his arm to her.

She took the elbow he offered, and walked toward the stables, the others on their heels.

“You surprise me, Nicolette,” Darian said, his strides long, no doubt in an effort to get away from the others.

“In what way?”

The sides of his mouth curved. “In many ways. Who would have thought a musician, a woman at that, would be so skilled with a bow? You ride like a man, and do whatever your heart pleases. You do not care about the strictures of society, do you?”

“Should I?”

He shrugged. “I think we all have boundaries—some are just broader than others.”

“What if you had not been an earl’s son? What would you have done with your life?”

He frowned, contemplating. “I think I would have liked to be a sea captain, or perhaps a soldier.”

“Perhaps the Royal Navy?”

“No, my father would never allow it. I was the only heir, and he did not want to risk me being killed. I always admired the Duke of Marlborough. He was not only a brilliant soldier, but a very wise business man.”

“Indeed, he was. But you know, his wife was very wise and managed the businesses while he was away fighting.”

He laughed, the sound low and pleasing, and she smiled up at him. How he resembled his brother. The way the corners of their mouths curved just so. The shape of their eyes, the long, thick lashes.

The smile left Darian’s face. “I will go up in flames if you continue to look at me that way.”

She dropped her gaze from his, embarrassed that he had misinterpreted what he saw in her eyes. If only he knew he had a brother. “So, you are an only child? Do you wish you had siblings?”

“Of course. I think all only children do.”

“Would you prefer a brother or sister?”

He bit his lower lip as he contemplated the question. “Well, I suppose I would enjoy having a sister to dote on, though I fear I would be quite overbearing. A brother would be equally nice, though I must say I would want to be firstborn. I have many a friend who are second, third and even fourth sons, who envy their oldest sibling their birth status. I would hate to have such a rift with a person so dear to me.”

Nicolette nodded, and Darian pulled her closer. “And what of you, Nicolette? Do you have siblings?”

“No, I do not.”

“I imagine Salvatore is like a brother?”