One Naughty Night2 (12 page)

But all too soon, Lily became aware of other things. Of the cool air on her bare backside, the press of the chaise on her cheek, the muffled clatter of traffic from the street below. The man whose body lay against hers.

Aidan Huntington’s body. Aidan, who had just had sex with her, bound her hands, slapped her ass, and made her go mad from it all. Made all her defenses come tumbling down.

She pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the chaise and tugged her gown over her shoulders and down along her shaking legs. Her hair unwrapped from his wrist, but she felt him catch a fold of her skirt between his fingers. He rubbed the crumpled silk.

“Why do you dress so somberly?” he said, his voice rough. He held up the fabric to let the fading lamplight fall on its dark purple color.

“Because I am a widow,” she answered, and snatched her skirt out of his hand. She heard him roll to his back, and she looked over her shoulder to see that he lay there with his hands clasped lazily under his head, watching her with hooded eyes. As if he had all night to ponder her mysteries.

“For more than a year now,” he said. “You’re too young to stay in purples and dark blues.”

“I like my clothes.” They let her fade into the scenery. Hide from everyone.

Except this man. He wouldn’t let her hide from him at all.

He grinned up at her, his dimple flashing. Just like that, he went from dominant lover to careless rogue.

He caught her around her waist and drew her down on top of him. He took her lips in a lingering kiss. Unlike their frantic, lustful embraces of earlier, this kiss was slow, seeking. He traced the tip of his tongue along her swollen lower lip before he drew back to look into her eyes.

“Well, I like you
out
of your clothes better,” he said.

She couldn’t help herself. She laid her hand on his cheek and let her fingertips trace over his sharp cheekbone and the line of his nose, the ridge of his brow. She outlined his sensual mouth, the mouth that had driven her to such heights of madness. He was such a good-looking man, almost godlike with his skin gilded in the lamplight. Had they really just come together?

“We never did quite get around to losing the clothes, did we?” she murmured.

He caught her hand in his and pressed his lips to the soft center of her palm. He slipped the tip of her finger into his mouth and gently nipped at it. “Next time,” he said.

Next time?
“Aidan…”

He shook his head and tightened his hold on her hand so she could not turn away.

“Come with me to the theater tomorrow, Lily,” he said.

“I go to the theater every day,” she answered, still bemused that he wanted to see her again. That she wanted to see him again. She couldn’t stay away from him, even as she remembered that strange smile he gave her when they met in the park and a warning bell rang faintly in her mind.

“Not like this one. Please, Lily. Don’t say no. Come with me, just this once.”

Lily laughed ruefully. “Very well. Just this once, Aidan, though I fear I’m sure to regret it.”

Aidan grinned and kissed her hand again. “I won’t let you regret it. Meet me in your back garden again. And for pity’s sake, woman, wear some color. There’s no need to be the respectable widow where we’re going.”

Lily nodded and watched as he gathered his discarded coat and waistcoat from the floor. He straightened his clothes and his hair, which was tousled from her fingers. She smoothed her own gown before she led him to the back stairs that would take him to the street out of sight of her brothers.

He kissed her hand one more time, whispered, “Tomorrow,” and then he was gone.

Bemused and dizzy, Lily made her way back to her office and locked the door behind her. The small room felt stuffy and warm, the air filled with the heady scent of sex and skin, of Aidan’s cologne mingled with her own violet perfume. It made her remember all too clearly what they had done together, his mouth and tongue on her, her body bound and stretched beneath his, that dark need.

She hurried over to open the window and let some of the cool night air in. A fog was rolling in off the Thames, thick and damp, gray with the smell of coal fires and the tang of the river. Through the clouds, she just glimpsed a flash of bright yellow as Aidan’s carriage drove away from the club. She stared after him until he was gone, and then she crossed her arms tightly at her waist and turned back to the room.

The lamp was sputtering low. One of its fading beams fell on her gloves laid out on the desk where Aidan had left them. She placed her hand over them gently, stroking her fingertips over the smooth leather.

Then she noticed that one of the desk drawers was
slightly ajar. She was always so very careful to keep them tightly closed. She slid it open to examine the contents, the papers neatly filed, the account book, the stack of creamy stationery engraved with her initials. It all seemed to be in order, not moved as if someone had been rifling through them.

Lily rubbed wearily at her eyes. “And now you are becoming delusional,” she whispered.

She should go home now, find her own bed, sleep—and decide whether or not she should really go to the theater with Aidan Huntington.

Aidan bounded up the stairs to his lodgings, feeling lighter than he had in a very long time. Lily had agreed to go out with him, and strangely enough, just being with her made him feel as if the world were somehow new again. That life was taking some strange, fresh direction. He couldn’t wait to see what would happen next, what new facet she would reveal.

He unlocked his door and slipped inside. The only light in the room came from the window, and in the shadows, he almost didn’t see the mail scattered across the carpet where the postman had thrust it under the door. On top of the pile was a letter addressed to Aidan in Freddy Bassington’s messy handwriting.

At the sight of it, some of Aidan’s high spirits dimmed, but there was no escaping from the letter. He knelt down to pick it up and broke the wax seal.

It was a short missive, with none of Freddy’s usual enthusiasms. He demanded to know if Aidan had made any progress retrieving his letters or if he had discovered
anything of Lily St. Claire’s intentions. The penciled words were hastily scrawled, smeared, full of desperation.

Aidan couldn’t tell his friend he had discovered nothing of his letters—though he
had
learned much about their possessor lately. And he intended to discover more very soon.

He went to his desk and stuffed the note into a drawer. There would be time to figure out all he needed to know about Lily St. Claire….

“Y
ou were quite right,” Lily said. “This is nothing like the Majestic.”

Aidan laughed as he watched her study their surroundings, her face solemn as she took in every detail. He hadn’t been sure he should bring her here. It wasn’t the usual place he brought a woman. A society miss would faint dead away at the scandal, and a courtesan or an opera dancer wanted fine suppers in expensive hotel restaurants. But he had taken a chance on Lily, on the depths he glimpsed behind her serious, dark eyes.

On the sense of adventure he found with her in bed, much to his surprise.

He slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer, just to feel the brush of her body against his. The smell of violets lingered in her hair, and he leaned his head down to inhale the sweet scent, the warmth of her skin.

Damn it, you are a fool tonight
, he thought. Finding excuses to touch her, to smell her hair. He hadn’t been so lustful since he was a boy. He needed to back away, to keep control.

“I haven’t been to a place like this in years,” she said.

“Do you like it?”

Lily glanced up at him, a faint smile on her lips. Her eyes were so dark in the dim, smoky room, so opaque and cool. He could hardly believe this was the same woman who had let him tie her up and spank her bottom, who came apart in his arms.

“I don’t know yet,” she said.

“Well, let’s get something to drink while you decide.” Aidan slipped his arm lower around her waist and led her into the crowded room.

While his friend Nick’s place didn’t have the grandeur of the Majestic, it was not exactly a penny gaff either. It was spacious, carved out of an old, abandoned dissenters’ chapel, with plenty of tables and chairs and a dance floor. A large wooden stage was built at the far end of the room, with benches for the audience lined up in front of it.

Along the adjacent wall was the bar, its long wooden surface full of the scars and nicks of hundreds of patrons. The cloudy mirror behind it reflected the crowd of workmen in rough wool, shopkeepers in their black coats, and girls from the shops and factories in their cheap, colorful finery out for an evening of fun. Nick mostly kept out the rougher sorts.

Aidan led Lily around the edge of the crowded dance floor to a place at the end of the bar. He caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror. She had done as he asked and left her solemn silks and satins behind, but even in a simple rose-pink muslin skirt and pink-and-white striped bodice, her hair drawn back to a plain knot at the nape of her neck, she stood out. She looked like a fresh summer flower. A very serious flower. She studied her
surroundings so carefully, as if she would be tested on them later.

Aidan frowned as it suddenly struck him that he didn’t actually know much about Lily St. Clair at all. He knew she wasn’t one of the St. Claire offspring but adopted from somewhere; she had been married to some frightfully respectable-sounding greengrocer; and Freddy had been in love with her, and she took advantage of that love.

And he definitely knew the way her soft, slender body felt against his own, the way she cried out his name. His body knew hers, craved hers.

That was more than he usually knew about his women. But he wanted to know more. He would know more.

He gestured to the barkeep, an intimidating-looking hulk with a shaved, scarred head and beefy arms in his rolled-up shirtsleeves. The man grinned widely, revealing broken teeth as he turned toward them.

“Aidan, my man!” he shouted. “Haven’t seen you here in an age. Come to see the show, have you?”

“You know him?” Lily whispered.

“An old friend,” Aidan answered. If he wanted to know Lily, he had to let her see him. At least a little bit. He had learned long ago never to reveal his very deepest heart.

“I’ve been busy, Robbie,” Aidan said, reaching over the bar to shake Robbie’s hand. “But I can’t stay away forever.”

“You’ve been missed. Molly and Annie won’t stop asking about you.” Robbie’s curious gaze slid over Lily. “Looks like they’ll just have to keep waiting. Who’s the pretty lady?”

“Robbie, this is Lily. Lily, Robbie here was the most famous prizefighter between here and Edinburgh.”

“Really? That sounds impressive,” Lily said with a smile.

Aidan thought her voice suddenly sounded different, the accent softer, rougher at the edges.

“Retired now,” Robbie answered. He reached for Lily’s hand and raised it gallantly to his lips, making her laugh. “Always happy to meet a friend of Aidan’s. Where has the old rascal been keeping you?”

Lily gave Aidan a sidelong glance. “I think it’s more, what is he hiding
here
?”

Robbie roared. “Oh, love, the tales I could tell you. Later, after I feed and water this sorry lot. What’ll it be? Ale? It’s good stuff, none of that watered-down swill you’ll find at Aikan’s place across the street.”

“Two ales, Robbie,” Aidan said. “And no telling tales to my girl. I’m trying to impress her.”

Lily just smiled and turned to lean against the bar to watch the dancers. Musicians hidden up in the old choir loft played a lively polka, and the couples swirled and stomped around in a kaleidoscope of color and noise. When Robbie put a large beaker of dark ale before her, she reached for it and took a long swallow.

“He’s right,” she said. “It’s not watered-down swill.”

Aidan laughed and drank down his own ale as he watched the room with her. Oh, this
was
dangerous—he feared he could actually like her. Enjoy spending time with her, talking to her, even with their clothes on. Was this how poor, pitiful Freddy felt when he wrote her those wretched letters? Was he, Aidan, getting to be pitiful as well?

“How does a duke’s son come to find a place like this?” she asked. “How does he get to be friends with ex-prizefighters and girls named Molly and Annie?”

Aidan shrugged. “If I only had friends my parents approved of, I would be wretchedly bored. I met Nick, who owns this place, at one of Robbie’s last bouts. Nick was planning to open a music hall and needed writers to create new vignettes.”

“You write plays for him?”

“When I have time.”

“And will I get to see your work, then?”

“Not tonight,” he said. “I haven’t been able to write for some time.” Not until he met her and the ideas came back to him.

Lily shook her head and took another drink of her ale. “You are a strange man, Aidan. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

“If you think I’m strange, you should meet my brother David. He’s the heir, and yet he lives like a hermit. Makes my father crazy.” Aidan finished his own drink and watched Lily closely. She seemed just as comfortable here, drinking cheap ale and watching shopgirls dance, as she had been sipping champagne at the Devil’s Fancy. “And you are rather unusual yourself.”

Her smile turned wry. “You have no idea.”

He put down his empty beaker and wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer to him. She gasped in surprise at his sudden move and braced her hands against his chest. He kissed her hair, feeling the soft strands under his lips, the twist of her body under his hands. Just like that, he felt his groin tighten.

“I want to know, Lily,” he whispered. “I want to know everything about you.”

She shook her head, but he felt her body relax into his, her palms flatten onto his chest. Her fingers stroked him
through his thin linen shirt and wool vest, and he almost groaned.

“Believe me, Aidan, you don’t,” she said.

“It’s all right, Lily. You don’t have to tell me everything right now.” He reached for one of her hands and raised it to his lips. He slowly, gently, kissed every fingertip until he sucked the tip of her index finger between his teeth and bit down. Her breath hissed in her throat, and he smiled at the sexy little sound. He wasn’t the only one affected. “I can wait until I have you tied up again, in my own bed this time.”