Jordan, Nicole - Notorious 1

The Seduction

Nicole Jordan

London, March 1810

The silken bonds bit into his wrists with exquisite pressure, heightening the sense of pleasure. A willing captive, Damien Sinclair lay defenseless, his bare arms fastened to the bedposts with scarves of scarlet silk.

He could see his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror overhead: his naked, muscled body juxtaposed against the snowy sheets; the full, hard length of his arousal jutting from the curling ebony hair of his groin.

His tormentor, the lovely Elise Swann, stood over him, clad in only the sheerest of muslin negligees, if one didn’t count the emerald bracelet he’d presented her as the opening gambit of their game of seduction. The green stones adorning her wrist glittered in the nickering dance of candle flame, while the rouged nipples of her lush breasts peeked daringly through the delicate fabric, with a lasciviousness calculated to stir the passions of the most jaded connoisseur.

London’s premiere actress, dubbed the Silver Swann because of her silver-blond hair, was staging a magnificent performance. They both understood this was an audition for the post of his mistress. The enchanting Swann meant to persuade him to take her into keeping.

“Now that you hold me in your power,” Damien commented, his tone a teasing murmur, “I trust you intend to have your wicked way with me?”

“Indeed, I do, my lord. I rather like having you at my mercy,” she said in the low, musical voice that could hold theatrical audiences enthralled.

“I am all attention, sweeting.”

From atop the bedside table, she picked up a riding crop and raked his chest lightly with the tip. Damien raised a curious eyebrow, wondering if the actress mistakenly assumed she must resort to singular methods to arouse a man of his jaded lusts.

In his youth he had led a life of pleasure and license. Yet despite his scandalous reputation, despite the fact that he still sought out novel experiences upon occasion, he hadn’t reached the point where he needed perversions to gratify his physical whims. His sexual appetites were strong and immediate, especially with a beautiful woman.

And the Silver Swann was quite beautiful. Apparently she was perceptive as well, for she hesitated when she met his inquiring gaze.

“I suppose,” she observed thoughtfully, “there is no need to exercise force to stimulate you further. You are aroused enough as it is. You are enormous.”

In the bantering spirit of their game, he returned a charming grin. “Does my size dismay you?”

Her red lips curved upward as she gave a laugh. “On the contrary, my lord.”

With a nod of his head, he indicated the whip. “I’ve always considered pain overrated as an aphrodisiac. Surely you can be more inventive, pet.”

“Perhaps I can.”

She let the crop fall to the carpet and put a finger to her luscious lower lip, musing aloud. “Let me think. A man whose lovemaking prowess is legend

A devilish rogue who is said to make women weep for joy. How can such a magnificent lover be entertained?”

Slowly she unfastened the clasp of the bracelet at her wrist. With a sly smile, she draped the links over his jutting arousal and gently refastened the clasp. His blatantly rigid erection swelled further.

The hard stones felt cool against his heated flesh. Damien shuddered at the sensation, while smiling in acknowledgment of her resourcefulness.

“Is this inventive enough for you, my wicked Lord Sin?”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound of pleasure. “I commend your imagination.”

“I gather that you admire boldness in a lover?”

“Boldness does have its merits.”

“Then let me demonstrate to you how bold I can be.”

With cool deliberation she curved her fingers around the pulsing crest of his manhood, stroking him slowly.

“I have seldom seen,” she said in a throaty timbre as she bent over him, “so fine a stallion.”

Damien closed his eyes with a pleasured sigh and gave himself up to the Swann’s skillful ministrations. With lips and tongue and teeth she attended his throbbing cock, utilizing a tantalizing expertise, until he was teetering on the brink of spending himself.

“You

are testing my stamina, sweeting,” he said, his voice a low rasp.

“Is that not the point, my lord?” She gave him a coquettish smile.

“Yes, but I would have you join me. It would be unforgivably selfish of me to claim all the enjoyment. Come and sit on me,” he invited.

She stepped back, intent on teasing him. “You are in no position to make demands, I believe.”

“No?” With his arms still tied above his head, Damien twisted suddenly and stretched his leg out, hooking his calf around her curving thigh. Catching her by surprise, he drew Elise down on top of him.

“Well

if you insist.” With evident eagerness, Elise stretched her full, voluptuous length on top of him, her lush breasts nuzzling his face.

When he caught a peaked nipple through the delicate muslin, she drew a sharp breath. Controlling his own carnal urges, he took a turn arousing her, suckling and nibbling and softly biting the fullness of her flesh.

Moaning audibly now, she shifted her hips to straddle his loins and rub herself feverishly against him. Damien winced as the forgotten emeralds dug into his groin. He let out a breathless laugh. “The bracelet, sweet. If you don’t wish to unman me, you will kindly remove your jewelry from my person.”

She eased herself upright, her heavy-lidded eyes glazed with passion as she fumbled for the offending bracelet. When she had tossed it heedlessly on the floor, she gazed down at him. “My lord

please

”

“Please what?” He smiled tauntingly. “I believe you are the one in control just now. I am merely your helpless prisoner.”

She lifted herself up again, positioning her lush cleft above his rigid shaft. He could feel the triangle of auburn curls between her thighs soaked in her own juices.

“Yes, sweet, ride me.”

Without further urging, she mounted him, impaling herself on his erection with a blissful sigh. Damien let his head fall back, savoring the feel of her. She was sleek and wet and pulsing around him. Deliberately then, he raised his hips and thrust deeper into her slick, hot passage, eliciting a whimper of pleasure from her.

He had to repeat his powerful upward thrust before she grasped the cue and took over riding him in a sensuous rhythm that quickly increased to a frenzied pace. Damien matched her movements, devoting himself to her pleasure, until the luscious, hot-blooded woman above him was frantic with need. She was writhing

on fire

bucking and grinding against him with an animal savagery. With a gasping incoherent cry, she found ecstasy in a breathless, trembling orgasm.

Even when she collapsed upon him with a sob, Damien prolonged the moment, allowing the pulsing convulsions to recede before losing himself in the dark grip of passion. Arching his back against the explosive need, he let his own savage lust claim control.

He regained his senses to find Elise still sprawled upon him, her breath making delicate ripples on his sweat-cooled skin, the silken scarves biting uncomfortably into his wrists.

“Pet, would you oblige me?”

Weakly she reached up to untie the knots, then fell back among the pillows, her eyes heavy with languorous contentment.

“They said,” she murmured in tones of wonder, “you were a man of legendary passions. “Wicked and wonderful” was the phrase I heard used. I can now attest that the rumors didn’t exaggerate. Yet I never expected you to be so

considerate a lover.“

His smooth response came almost at once—the sort of praise she would wish to hear. “Your own reputation does not do you justice either, Elise. You are every man’s fantasy.”

“So, you found my

services satisfactory, my lord?”

Sexually satisfied yet not entirely replete—which seemed to occur often of late—Damien prevaricated with a murmur that could be taken as agreement. There was really nothing lacking in her performance. Rather—he’d begun to believe—it was something in himself.

The sumptuous Swann should have been the perfect mistress. As famed for her performance in the boudoir as on the stage, she was sensual and hot-blooded enough to excite his passion. All London found her fascinating, even to the point of dueling for her favors. If she was unable to satisfy the restlessness that had been brewing in him recently, well then, perhaps he was expecting too much.

Damien opened his eyes to find her studying him intently. Doubtless she was calculating the remuneration he could be expected to furnish her—house, carriage, servants, jewels.

“I understand,” she began carefully, “that you are unencumbered by a mistress at present.”

“How could you have failed to hear of it?” he replied dryly, referring to the scandal inspired by the end of his last liaison.

“Indeed. It was the talk of the town for days.”

“Any reports were likely embellished.”

“Perhaps so. The wicked Baron Sinclair does tend to be prime fodder for the gossipmongers. But still, there must be some truth to the matter.”

“What precisely did you hear?”

“That when you gave Lady Varley her conge, she threatened to fling herself into the Thames. And you offered to drive her to the docks in your curricle yourself so that she might accomplish the feat.”

Damien grimaced in remembrance. “I merely offered to drive her home. She was distraught.”

“I imagine you find such scenes a bore,” the Swann remarked. “As do I. I well know how tedious it can be, being the object of such unwelcome attention. You cannot enjoy having noble ladies swooning over you, declaring their undying love.”

“The lady was not in love, I promise you. She merely fancied herself so.”

“Still, you are said to have broken scores of female hearts, my wicked lord.”

He gave a noncommittal murmur.

In a sensual gesture, Elise reached up to smooth back a disheveled lock of raven hair that had fallen across his forehead. “There is a moral to the tale, I suppose. Never give your heart to a rake.”

Damien smiled his usual charming smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “A wise philosophy, sweeting. But I subscribe to an even simpler conviction. Never give your heart at all.”

“ “Tis just as well, then, that I consider love merely a business proposition.”

She was shrewdly trying to reassure him, he knew. Promising that she wouldn’t create a scene or make unwelcome demands when they inevitably parted—which was fortunate.

He had no desire for any sort of permanent arrangement. His dalliances lasted a few months, rarely more, and he made it a practice never to keep any mistress longer than a Season. He knew from experience how destructive lengthy affairs could be. And he had no intention of emulating his late father by becoming obsessed with a beautiful temptress. Not even one as alluring as the Silver Swann.

Before he could respond to her pledge of restraint, however, he heard swift footsteps on the landing outside the bedchamber.

The tentative rap on the door held a distinct reluctance.

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” a nervous female voice called out, “but there’s a gen’lemun to see “is lordship.”

Her lovely face stiff with sudden anger, Elise leapt from the bed and crossed to the door. Drawing it open a crack, she hissed in a harsh whisper, “I’ve told you never to interrupt me when I am entertaining!”

“But “e said it was the utmost urgency. Said to tell ’is lordship ”is name was Mr. “askell.“

Damien caught the name of his secretary and frowned. Wondering what the urgent matter could be, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his satin evening breeches. While the graceful Swann railed like a fishwife at the poor servant girl, he gathered the rest of his clothing and went to the door.

“You say Mr. Haskell is here?” he demanded of the servant.

“Aye, milor“.” The quaking maid bobbed a curtsy, even as she cast a fearful glance at her mistress. “I’ve put ’im below, in the green parlor, milor”.”

Damien turned abruptly for the stairs. Behind him, the actress snatched up a wrapper and followed.

He found the parlor without difficulty and entered to discover his secretary pacing the floor. George Haskell was a tall, pleasant-looking man with even features, non-descript brown hair, and gold-rimmed spectacles. Normally possessed of a lively sense of humor, he appeared at the moment as grim as his employer had ever seen him.

“What goes, George? The matter must be very important to bring you here.”

The secretary glanced at the actress, who was lingering in the parlor doorway. “I’ve come on a matter of some urgency, my lord. If I might have a word in private?”

Finding the attention on herself, Elise flushed prettily. “Of course, I shall leave you alone.” Obligingly, she backed out and shut the door.

“What is it?” Damien demanded impatiently.

“I fear I have grave news. Your sister has suffered an accident.”

Damien felt his heart clench. “Olivia?”

It was a reflexive question. He had only one sister, a girl some fifteen years his junior, who lived quietly at his country estate of Rosewood, the family seat of the Barons Sinclair. “What manner of accident?”