Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (11 page)

Her mouth flattened with displeasure. She wasn’t going to be gracious about his rebuff. They seldom were. Yet he had little doubt that Lady V would be. She wouldn’t make a fuss. She understood that some things weren’t meant to be.

“I won’t give you another chance to make love to me,” Burgundy said, a hardness to her eyes that he might have never experienced had she approached him before he became aware of Lady V. He wouldn’t have turned Burgundy away. Yet, at this moment, he could work up no enthusiasm at the notion of being with her, and it rather disgusted him to think that before, he would have been content with only the physical.

“My loss,” he said quietly.

She jutted up her chin. “Indeed.” Her movements weren’t particularly graceful as she stormed away. Halfway across the room, she settled into a saunter, and, by the time she reached Rexton, she was all poise and confidence. She certainly wasn’t one to allow the moss to grow beneath her feet.

Ashe took no offense. One purpose of the place was to allow for a variety of partners. He didn’t want to contemplate that Lady V, had she a taste of carnal knowledge, might take on an assortment of lovers. Why couldn’t he get the vixen off his mind? He should have gone to the Dragons—

His attention was snagged by an angelic vision in white gliding into the parlor as though her feet didn’t touch the floor. Perfect height, perfect figure, perfect everything. He’d set his glass aside and was striding toward her before he realized what he was about. Somewhere in the back of his mind, while he’d longed for her to come, he’d hoped that she wouldn’t, that she was smart enough to avoid this debauchery disguised as something acceptable. A place for those of like minds, a secretive circle that rebelled against Society’s mores and rules of morality. Nothing here was sacred except for the privilege of doing as one pleased.

He’d always embraced the notion, considered it forward thinking, but he didn’t want her to be part of it. Yet, he couldn’t seem to squelch his gladness at her arrival. Unable to take his gaze from her, he fought not to wrap an arm around her and haul her up against him when he was close enough to inhale her verbena fragrance. Lips, the palest of pinks, curved up ever so slightly as he arrived at her side. “Lady V.”

“Your Grace.”

Her voice was still the smoky rasp that curled around and through him, settling somewhere deep in his soul, filling an emptiness he’d held for too long. That was the only aspect of her that gave him pause that he might have misidentified her, but she could fabricate the timbre. Smart woman that she was, she would have done so, hoping for a further means to keeping her visit here secret. When most men wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to unravel their partner’s identity. Mystery was a good part of the allure.

“I must confess to being surprised you returned,” he said.

“It’s not the first time since our encounter.”

His gut clenched so tightly that he nearly doubled over. “Pardon?”

The smile again, only a little wider. “I was here last night.”

“Were you now?”

“Yes, but only until around midnight.”

Impossible. She’d been with him, dancing in his arms. Unless he
was
mistaken regarding her identity. He could ask around, but he didn’t want to draw attention to her. It was also possible that she was being a clever girl, fabricating a story in an attempt to throw him off the scent. But if she was speaking true, if he were wrong—

She’d ignored his advice; she’d had a man between her thighs . . .

He had the sudden, irrational urge to flatten some random gent’s nose, bust a jaw, blacken an eye. But he wanted her more than he wanted anything else in his life.

“I have a room,” he said.

Not waiting for her to respond, he grabbed her hand and headed for the stairs.

M
INERVA thought she should have objected to his forcefulness, his determination. Instead, she found herself rather flattered that he appeared so anxious to be alone with her.

She’d lied, of course. She hadn’t come here last night, but she needed to squelch any suspicions he harbored that Lady V was Miss Dodger. His questioning at Greyling’s had left her a bit more unsettled than she liked, especially after he danced with her at the Dragons. She knew she was playing a dangerous game here, that she would have been better served to stay away, but she wanted to give him his photograph and perhaps a little bit more.

As they traversed the stairs, her calm surprised her. The images he’d captured in Africa haunted her. The exquisite beauty behind them, the story they told. They were preserved for all eternity. While she had never considered herself vain—as she had nothing about which to harbor vanity—she rather liked the notion of being a mysterious woman viewed through the ages.

At the top of the stairs, they walked down the same hallway, his large hand clasped tightly around her smaller one. Before the night was done, he might touch her elsewhere, someplace more intimate. She hadn’t determined yet if they would go that far. She’d come here intending merely to pose for him. Beyond that, she’d not yet decided.

She couldn’t deny her attraction to him. Did he think less of the women who posed for him? Or did he admire them? How would he feel about her when all was said and done?

He led her to the same corner room, inserted the key, and opened the door. After stepping through the opening, she paused just beyond the threshold, giving him enough space to join her. The door clicked closed.

Without warning, she found her back pressed to it, the duke’s mouth latched hungrily onto hers. She should have shoved him away. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck, and when he used his tongue to insist she part her lips, she did so without hesitation, welcoming the deepening of a kiss so hot and consuming that she could do little more than become lost in it. This was what she had always yearned for: the unbridled passion, the madness, the smoldering desire.

She was aware of him bracketing his hands firmly on either side of her waist, then gliding them quickly upward. Not stopping when he reached her arms, he continued sliding his hands along them, moving them from about him until they were raised over her head. With one strong hand, he shackled her wrists together, before plunging the other in her hair, cradling the back of her head, taking further possession of her mouth as though he were its master and commander, leaving no part of it unexplored.

She had an idle thought that she would love to travel the world with him, experience all the various facets of it as they boldly surveyed everything before them. Then her focus narrowed to the present, to him. She tasted the richness of scotch on his tongue. His sandalwood scent invaded her senses. She wanted the freedom to touch him, yet couldn’t deny the pleasure in being pinned as she was, his large body flattening her breasts against his chest. He growled low and feral, a wild animal that had captured its prey and was now at liberty to toy with it, to taunt it, to make it grateful to have been caught.

He dragged his mouth over her chin, over her throat to the dip in the silk where her breasts lay in wait. “Who?” he demanded, his voice rough and raw with some emotion she couldn’t quite identify.

Breathing harshly, she could barely speak. “Who what?”

“Last night. Who bedded you?”

If she didn’t know better, she’d think she heard pure agony threaded through his words, as though he’d forced them out through gritted teeth. Why would he have such a visceral response? And yet she couldn’t deny taking some delight in his possessiveness. “No one. I wasn’t here for that purpose.” The problem with a lie was that it constantly had to be rebuilt, lest the foundation of it crumble. Why was she even playing this game? Why couldn’t she be completely honest with him? He had danced with her. Yet so had other men, and in the end, there had been naught but disappointment and hurt.

She fought so hard to ignore the pain of rejection, but she had been schooled enough times to know that it refused to be ignored—at some point it would rush in like a huge tidal wave and overwhelm.

His head came up sharply. She felt more than saw the intensity in his gaze. “Then why were you here?”

“I’d changed my mind about posing for you. It occurred to me that mayhap I did myself no great service by being so cowardly. If I couldn’t agree to your simple request, how did I think I was going to climb between the sheets with a stranger?”

“You’re not. You’re only going beneath the covers with me.”

Her first inclination was to object. She was too independent to be told what to do. But she had already decided that when the time came, he was the one she wanted. That he wanted her only sealed things. “You don’t bed virgins,” she reminded him.

“I’ve decided to make an exception. God help me. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you.” Then his mouth came down on hers again, hard and demanding, as though he were intent on devouring every inch of her.

Fool that she was, she gloried in being wanted. It didn’t matter that everything he yearned for, all that he knew of her, was the surface, her body and limbs. At long last, a man wanted to take her to his bed. Desired her. Was mad to possess her.

It wasn’t complete or perfect, deep or binding. But it was all heat and fire, urgency and need. She’d take it.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but he still held them in place, maintaining control, taking without quarter. When next he broke off the kiss, he was breathing as harshly as she.

“Remove the mask. Reveal yourself,” he commanded.

Slowly, she shook her head. He wasn’t completely in control after all. “No.”

“Why?”

Because the illusion of perfection would be shattered, and you wouldn’t want me anymore.
“You can’t know who I am. That’s the magic of this place. That ladies are anonymous, so we don’t have to fear public ruination or damage to our reputations.”

“I want to know who you are.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do this if you do. I can’t do any of it. I can’t even pose for you.”

“Do you fear that I’ll judge you?”

“No.”
I fear you’ll change your mind.
“I’m just more comfortable behind the mask.”

She counted the heartbeats, waiting for him to react, to say something, anything.

“Then keep it on,” he said quietly, and his hand loosened from around her wrists as he stepped back.

She lowered her arms. “Are you angry?”

“Disappointed. But we all have our secrets; we all have the right to keep them.”

“I can’t imagine that you have any.”

His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Then you are sadly lacking in imagination.” He walked over to the table. “Scotch or brandy?”

“Brandy.”

“You didn’t strike me as a shy miss,” he said as he poured the amber liquid into two snifters.

“What we’re doing here . . . I fear feeling exposed, when all is said and done. I’m not quite comfortable with it, but I don’t know that I can live with myself if I prove to be an absolute coward.”

Returning to her, he handed her a snifter. Taking a sip, she relished the warmth swirling through her but the result wasn’t nearly as heated or pleasant as his kiss.

“So tonight, you’re only here to be photographed?” he asked.

“That’s my present course. I simply don’t know that I’m prepared to go further, which I realize brings into question my wisdom in coming here the first night, but desperation sometimes has us being unwise. I know it’s frustrating—”

“I shall have my photograph.” He tucked his finger beneath her chin, tilted her head up slightly, and kissed her, not with the fire he had earlier, but with banked embers. Drawing back, he held her gaze and gave her a devilish grin. “And maybe I’ll have just a little bit more.”

When he looked at her like that, he was impossible to resist. It was silly to deny the attraction, to put him off when she’d come here that first night fully expecting to lie with a man.

He gave a sharp nod toward the area behind her. “Now get on the bed.”

And her stomach dropped to the floor.

Chapter 9

S
HE had known, of course, that this was where she would end up, but now that the moment was upon her, it was a little unsettling. The bed suddenly loomed massive and a great distance away.

“Where do you want me exactly?” she asked, nearly forgetting to alter the timbre of her voice until it reflected the throatiness she required. She didn’t like not being in control, yet she suspected tonight she would be merely a puppet, his puppet. The notion should have filled her with anger or dread. Should have had her informing him that she wasn’t a pawn, but could leave anytime she wanted. He wouldn’t force or bully her. She was relatively certain of that. He was simply a man who knew what he wanted. She found that aspect of him quite attractive.

He wrapped both his hands around hers that was holding the snifter. She wondered when her fingers had gone icy, was amazed by how quickly they warmed with his touch. She would like to have him wrapped around her in winter, when the snow fell.

“For now, simply sit on the foot of the bed.” He relieved her of the brandy, turned to set the glass elsewhere, giving her a moment of privacy.

She crossed the short distance to the canopied bedstead and climbed onto the edge of the mattress. Once situated, with her legs dangling over the edge, she looked up, and her breath backed up into her lungs. With his eyes focused on her, Ashebury stood near the fireplace slowly unraveling his neckcloth, his jacket draped over the back of the sofa. He eased the length of linen away from his throat, set it aside, and went to work on the buttons of his waistcoat.

“I do my best work if I’m comfortable,” he said, as though he read her discomfiture in the shifting of her body, as though she required an explanation. Not wanting to appear flustered, she refrained from asking how comfortable he intended to get. For goodness sakes, she’d walked unattended through rookeries and slums to assist the poor. She wasn’t some mewling miss.

She was, however, growing increasingly warm as he shrugged off the waistcoat, then loosened a few buttons on his shirt until a small V formed to reveal a hint of his chest. His cuffs were next. He began rolling up his sleeves as he prowled toward her, his gaze never once straying from her. She had a wild notion that he intended to pounce on her, to flatten her onto the bed and devour her with his heated kisses, raining them over every inch of her.

He stopped only when his thighs rested lightly against her knees. “I’m going to remove the pins from your hair.”

“It’ll tumble down.”

A corner of his mouth hitched up in that sensual smile he had that nearly stopped her heart from beating. “That’s the desired effect. I’ll use it to conceal the mask.”

“I can remove the pins.” She lifted her hands and his closed around them, preventing them from reaching their destination.

“I’ll do it.” His tone held no room for compromise.

But the thought of his performing such an intimate service . . . what the devil was wrong with her? She’d originally come here expecting a man to engage in something far more intimate. It was ridiculous to be squeamish now.

“Yes, all right.” She needed the words to at least pretend she had some say in the matter.

When he released her hands, she forced them to fall into her lap when she would have much preferred pressing them to his chest. While he was busy searching for her pins, his fingers barely skimming over her hair, she lowered her gaze to the V of skin that traveled from his throat downward. She didn’t know a single man as bronzed as he was. He no doubt didn’t wear so much as a shirt to shield him from the sun when he was traipsing through Africa or the Far East or anywhere else he dared to roam. She was half-tempted to press a kiss to that flesh, to feel its heat and silkiness against her lips, but before she could be so bold, she was aware of the pinging as her pins hit the floor.

She grabbed his wrist and his gaze slammed into hers. “Give them to me instead of tossing them aside; otherwise, we’ll have to search for them so I can put up my hair when we’re done.”

“We’ll find a ribbon to hold it back. I assume you’re not heading to a party after you leave here.”

“In the wee hours? Something reputable? Hardly likely.”

“Then I don’t see the problem. Except for the mask. Its ties are in the way.”

“I’m not removing it.”

“Then hold it in place.”

She put her hands over it, splaying her fingers so she didn’t lose sight of him. Gently, he tugged on the bow. The ties fell forward, the mask slipped ever so slightly. Without his warning, she’d have been revealed. It kindled something sharp and sweet inside her. He wasn’t going to take what she was not yet ready to give. He went back to work on her pins.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
She felt the shifting of her coiffure, then the weight of her hair tumbling down over her shoulders.

“Glorious,” he murmured right before there was a tug on the mask’s ribbons, and he was securing them.

Lowering her hands, she looked at him through the tiny holes upon which her eyelashes kept catching. Maybe she should get rid of the blasted thing, but his eyes held such appreciation that for a moment she could find no words, take no actions. With two fingers, he was rubbing several strands together as though he’d never before touched a woman’s hair.

“You could have discovered who I was,” she said quietly.

His attention shifted from her hair to her eyes. “You want the anonymity. I can honor that request. God knows there were times in my life when I longed for it.”

“When?”

“When I was younger. I wasn’t always the brightest of pupils. When I couldn’t arrive at the answer, I often wished no one knew who I was. I’ll wager you were an exceptional student.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You have intelligent, expressive eyes. You’re always watching, observing, striving to calculate where we’re going before we get there.”

“You deduced all that in our short time together?”

“I’m a keen observer, Lady V. It’s why I’m so skilled at what I do.” The smoldering look in his eyes implied he was referring to a great deal beyond the photography. It included kisses, touches, and far more intimate encounters. “Before we’re done here, I hope you have the opportunity to experience all my skills.”

“You’re not frightfully arrogant, are you? Both times I came here, you were a solitary figure against the wall. No ladies hovering about.”

“Because most know I make the selection. And I only select each lady once.”

“Yet you selected me twice.”

“It seems where you’re concerned, I’m making a good many exceptions. On the other hand, we’ve yet to complete my purpose or yours in being here. So perhaps it’s simply an extension of our first encounter. Now lie back.”

It was silly to want to talk with him more, to want to get to know him better. But Grace, blast her, was correct. How could she be intimate with a man who was more stranger than friend? While she had come here only to pose for him, now she was considering him posing for her, while she took liberties—

“A change of heart, Lady V?” he asked.

“No, I . . . a spurt of nerves, but they’re gone now.” She rolled down onto her back, looked up—

Jerked upright. “Oh, dear God, there’s a mirror there!”

He laughed, a deep, rich, rumble that made her smile, made her glad she had the power to elicit that response even if it was at her expense.

“I suppose I should have warned you about that,” he said.

“
Why
is it there?”

“Some people like to watch themselves while they’re . . .
copulating
.”

“Oh.” She had planned originally to be bedded with her eyes closed tightly, but if she did that, she would miss the beauty of his form. Still, she didn’t want to watch the actual coupling. She considered what she knew of the act. “Ladies, you mean. Ladies like to watch.”

“Men as well.”

“It seems that it might be rather difficult since you’re on top.”

“I’m not always on top.”

“Are you not?”

“No. Sometimes I’m on bottom. On my side. I’ve been known to stand.” He wrapped a large powerful hand around the bedpost. “Sometimes I kneel. There are all sorts of positions.”

“Do you know them all?”

“I doubt that. But I know a good many. I can share them with you when you’re ready.”

She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for all that, but she was intrigued by the possibilities. She had envisioned them coming together only once but, as she was beginning to realize she might never have enough of his kisses, perhaps there were other facets to him of which she’d never have enough.

Suddenly, barely aware of him moving, she found herself cradled in his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to place you where I want you, before you lose your nerve. My subjects don’t usually talk so much. It’s better to just get on with it. I’m going to touch you, but you can stop me if you become uncomfortable with my attentions.”

As he walked around the corner of the bed, she felt delicate when she never had before in her life. Having inherited her father’s features, she’d always felt unfeminine, almost boyish. It hadn’t helped that she’d loved climbing trees and following after her brothers.

He set her down gently in the middle of the mattress as though she were fragile glass. With his hands coming to rest on her shoulder and hip, he rolled her slightly. “On your stomach but not all the way. Extend your left arm up. You can rest your head on it. Your right hand here, near your ribs to provide some support.”

She did as he bade. Then, as he’d promised, he began arranging her hair over her face, over the mask that she was coming to detest. What if she removed it? What if he realized who she was? Would he still be willing to bed her, or would he be put off by the notion of being with a woman no man had ever loved? Quite unexpectedly, she desperately wanted him to be the one who deflowered her. On his feet, on his knees, on his side, below her, above her. She wanted to be his first virgin. Wanted him to be her first lover. Even if only for one night, she wanted him.

Through the curtain of her hair, she watched him move back to the foot of the bed. He folded his hands around her feet, and although it made absolutely no sense, they felt delicate as well. “Left leg straight, right leg bent slightly at the knee.”

Holding her ankles, he guided her leg. “There. Perfect.”

A word that had never been associated with her before. She rather liked it.

“I’m going to move the silk up now because I want the emphasis to be on your legs. Most of the rest of you will be in shadow. I’ll stop if you tell me you’re uncomfortable. But I hope you’re daring enough to let me reach my destination. It’ll be pleasing for us both.”

That was a challenge if she ever heard one.

He moved the silk up with his wrists, his hands remaining curled around her legs as he glided them smoothly up over her calves, her knees—

A quick release to tug up the material caught beneath her legs. Then a continuation of the journey up her thighs, slowly, slowly, giving her time to protest. Only she wasn’t going to. She was her father’s daughter, a man branded as a thief in his youth who had taught her never to back down.

Ashebury’s hands came to rest just below the curve of her buttocks. “Good girl,” he murmured, with appreciation laced in his voice. “Brave girl.”

The joy that spiraled through her at pleasing him was rather confounding. Making him happy made her happy.

He adjusted the cloth, angling it higher on one side. “Are you aware that you have a tiny heart-shaped birthmark on your hip?” He placed a reverent kiss there that branded her flesh, scored her soul.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he ordered. Then he was gone, and she nearly wept at his leaving.

A
SHE was as hard as granite. His body didn’t usually react when he was positioning a woman for the camera because he was so focused on the task, all his attention devoted to discerning how best to pose his subject to bring out the beauty of the human form. But with her it was different. Everything with her was different. He hadn’t wanted to stop at her hip. When he’d revealed the tiny birthmark, he’d wanted to continue exploring her, to uncover all the hidden secrets of her body.

Barely able to walk, he took his position behind the camera, peered through the lens. Exquisite, perfection. That, too, was unusual. Normally, he had to reposition a woman a little here or a little there. But he’d had two days to fantasize about her, to consider every facet of what he would do with those legs if he ever again had a chance to photograph them. All he needed now was to adjust the lighting.

Arranging chairs and small tables, he moved lamps to the foreground, increased their illumination, smiled as he became master of the shadows. They went where he willed.

So many times he’d almost tested his theory regarding her identity, almost called her Miss Dodger. But he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, didn’t want to lose this opportunity. Didn’t want to lose her.

He was going to bed her. Maybe not tonight, but very soon. He didn’t know when he’d become so certain of it, but he wasn’t going to let any other man have her. Not here, not anywhere, not for her first time. With her boldness, her willingness to go unflinchingly after what she wanted, she deserved better than a man who merely wanted to sate his lust. Although Ashe had to acknowledge that desire such as he’d never experienced was a motivating factor for him. He wanted what he had no right to possess.

She was a contradiction. A woman bold enough to come here for a bedding but reserved enough that she insisted on the secrecy, that even her lover not know who she was. Because she didn’t trust him not to hurt her? Had someone hurt her? Other than the dimwit who had hoped his children didn’t favor her? If she revealed his name, he might take measures to ensure the man never had children. He wasn’t prone to violence, except when survival was at stake, but she had him acting not quite like himself.

Yet she trusted him enough to be with him, to let him place his hands on her, to not harm her. Another reason existed for her reticence to remove the mask. It was a mystery he would like to solve. Slowly, over time, with relished moments and passionate kisses. She was fire beneath the reserve. He had the power to unleash it.