One Naughty Night2 (22 page)

She led him to a hidden door in the wall just beyond the dining room. It concealed a winding staircase to the upper floors, and they made their way up to the dark silence of her office.

As Lily closed the door behind them, she tried not to think of what happened the last time she was alone here with Aidan. She went and stood behind the desk and carefully smoothed her burgundy satin skirts. Aidan pulled off his mask and ran his hand through his hair, but she kept the meager concealment of her feathers and pearl beads.

“Have you learned anything yet about Beaumont’s whereabouts?” she asked.

“I am making progress. Your old friend certainly knows how to conceal himself well, but there are lots of people who won’t yield even one iota of their territory to an interloper like him. He’s been gone too long. I will find him.”

Aidan’s words weren’t heated or angry but full of cool assurance. He sat down on the chaise, his long legs stretched casually in front of him as he leaned back on the
cushions, a lazy jungle cat. She wondered once again how he managed to be the son of a duke; he seemed so easily at home wherever he went.

But she knew that his position gave him that calm, deadly assurance. That sense that no one could refuse him anything, and he knew it.

Not even Lily.

“You have many friends,” she said. “Everywhere.”

Aidan grinned at her. “So I do. And most of them owe me favors. They won’t want Tom Beaumont getting his filthy boots under the table again. They’ll tell me when they see him, and he won’t get away for long. He won’t bother anyone else in your family again.”

Lily nodded. She knew he wouldn’t; she would not let him. But it felt good to have an ally, no matter how unexpected, in the hard-eyed man in front of her.

“But then, I’m sure your family can take care of themselves,” Aidan said thoughtfully. “I’ve been hearing their name a great deal of late among my more… colorful friends. They’re owed more than a few favors themselves, from the slums all the way to the palace. Especially your brother Brendan, perhaps?”

Lily stiffened. “Brendan doesn’t confide in me, especially about his business concerns. I doubt he confides in anyone at all.”

“Yet you haven’t asked for his help.”

She sighed and slowly came around to sit beside him on the chaise. She suddenly felt weary, as if her legs didn’t want to hold her up any longer. She untied her mask and let it fall to her lap. “He would help me, I know, and so would Dominic. They’re certainly used to making problems go away when needed. But their methods can sometimes be
less than subtle, and I don’t want anyone to know about this. To know about…”

“Your past?” he said quietly.

Lily nodded and closed her eyes. She rubbed at the aching spot between her eyes.

“Lily.” She felt the slide of his fingers over her chin, surprisingly soft and gentle as he turned her to face him. She opened her eyes to find him studying her intently, as if he tried to read her innermost thoughts and secret fears. “What happened in your life is nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud.
You
were the victor in the end, never the victim. What you’ve done is quite extraordinary.
You
are extraordinary.”

She gave a harsh laugh. She dared not believe his words, dared not trust the way they made her feel. That tiny, flaring spark of hope. “The daughter of a whore? A street thief and a beggar? I doubt anyone would agree with you.”

“Your family would. Are you not a St. Claire?”

“Not a real one. A masquerade one.” She held up the mask in her lap, studying the way the gaslight from beyond the window gleamed on the beads. “I don’t belong with them, not really.”

Aidan covered her hand with his, his fingers curling over hers on the soft feathers. “I don’t belong with my family either. I never could be what they wanted. And if my brother were to decide to go against his duties, they would be stuck with me.”

Lily slowly turned her head to study him. In the play of light and shadows, his handsome face looked sculpted and elegant, the sharp angles and smooth planes so perfect, his eyes so blue and so full of intelligence and the
flash of a rare intuition. How could the Huntingtons
not
want what he was? She wanted it far too much. She could see how much he did not want to be duke, but she was sure he would be a good one.

“Your family chose you, Lily,” he said. “And I know they care about you. They’re as protective as a pride of lions whenever I come near you. I can tell they hate me.”

Lily swallowed hard and let her hand fall away from his. She slid to the end of the chaise and he let her go. “It’s just the old story. They are actors, you know. They believe very strongly in old battles and powerful vendettas.”

Aidan leaned back on his palms and tilted his head as he studied her. “Old vendettas? That sounds promising. Tell me about it.”

“You mean… you don’t know?” Lily stared at him in astonishment. How could he not know? The hatred of the Huntingtons was such a part of the St. Claires’ life, always there, always a part of what they did. It seemed inconceivable that it was one-sided.

But Aidan shrugged, and the look on his face was one of curiosity, not awareness or realization. And Lily suddenly felt so foolish. What his family had done to hers had driven the St. Claires to achieve all they had in the shadows of society. It had driven them onward for generations.

And the Huntingtons had just been leading their oblivious, privileged ducal lives.

Lily shook her head. “Well, there is a tale I have heard ever since I came to live with the St. Claires, and it goes something like this.” She told him the story of that long-ago marriage of Mary St. Claire and John Huntington, how it all went horribly wrong. How Mary died of a broken heart and John ruined her St. Claire family, driving
them to the fringes of society. How the St. Claires still bore their hatred of the Huntingtons today.

Lily finished her tale and found that the aching spot between her eyes had returned. She rubbed at it with her fingertips, almost surprised to find herself still in her office and not at some desolate castle, at the mercy of a ruthless lord.

She turned to Aidan to find that he watched her with narrowed eyes, his lips turned down in a slight frown. His long fingers curled tightly on the edge of the chaise, and she suddenly wondered if she was not at a Huntington’s mercy after all.

“So your family hates mine because of what my ancestor did to yours?” he said quietly. “That is why your brother always looks as if he wants to bash my face in?”

Lily nodded. “The Huntingtons took away the St. Claires’ place in the world, destroyed them.”

Aidan gave a harsh laugh. “No wonder the St. Claires turned to the theater. It’s like
Romeo and Juliet
. It’s quite riveting. Why have I never heard this tale before?”

Anger suddenly burned through Lily. This was no game! This had eaten away at her family for years and years; her brothers truly hated him, and she knew she should hate him too. Especially if he was amused by it all, laughing at them. Acting on raw instinct, the instincts of a child of the streets, her hand flashed out to slap his grin away.

Aidan’s fingers closed hard over her wrist and held her hand a mere inch from his face. A muscle tightened in his jaw as he stared up at her, and his eyes were as icy-blue as a winter’s day.

“Don’t do that again, Lily, unless you mean it,” he said in a terribly quiet voice.

She tried to jerk away, but he used her own movement to tug her off balance and into his arms. His hands closed around her waist, and his mouth met hers in a bruising, hungry kiss, his tongue sweeping over hers as she moaned into him.

And just like that, her anger exploded into passion, and she only wanted to be closer and closer to him, to crawl into him and let him be part of her. Yes, she was sure this was how Mary St. Claire felt about John Huntington, how he was able to keep his power over her. This burning, terrible desire. It had destroyed Mary in the end, left her life in ashes, and Lily was afraid it could do the same to her. But still she held on to him and let him pull her deeper into the abyss.

She drove her fingers into his hair and let the soft strands wrap around her as he kissed her. He tasted of wine, of the strawberries from her lips, of anger and lust.

“God, Lily,” he groaned as his mouth tore away from hers. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and nipped it lightly before he kissed the side of her neck. His breath was hot on her skin. “How do you do this to me?”

Lily shook her head, and something in her reveled in his words. In the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, even if they fought against it. She pushed her palms against his chest until he lay back on the chaise.

He stared up at her, his chest heaving with the force of his breath as she knelt between his legs. She didn’t look away from him, didn’t say anything; she just slid her hands slowly down his body. She could feel the shift and stretch of his hard muscles beneath her touch, and she let her eyes drift closed to imagine what he looked like under
that fine wool and linen. How he looked when all that aristocratic civility was stripped away and there was only him. The graceful power of his naked body.

She opened her eyes and unfastened his trousers to peel them away from his hips. His buttocks clenched, and he arched up into her touch. He was already as hard as iron, his penis springing free from the fabric confines as she stroked one long, caressing touch down its length and up again.

“Lily,” he said, his voice a low growl.

She smiled at him and fell down amid the cloud of her skirts to run her tongue over him. His whole body went still, and he lifted his hand as if he would push her away. But when she delicately licked his crown, he fell back with a moan.

He tasted clean and salty, and she could smell the light musk of his arousal. It made her feel dizzy, his need driving hers even higher. Slowly, slowly, she slid her mouth over him to take him even deeper inside of her. He brushed the back of her throat, and she drew back again, sucking him between her teeth.

“Fuck, Lily,” he said, and she felt his hand twine around the back of her neck. She slid her fingers beneath the edge of his shirt to feel the ripple of his abdomen. She scraped her nails over his warm skin, and he jerked against her.

She flicked her tongue over him and felt the throbbing vein just under the velvet-taut skin. She moved her mouth up and down, slow and then faster, until he pushed harder against her tongue, sliding in and out. He was so close to his climax, she could feel it, and it made the core of her womanhood clench.

He cried out, a harsh, hoarse shout, and pulled himself out of her mouth. Dizzy, she felt him spin her down to the chaise beneath him. His hands were rough as he pushed up her skirts and tore open her silk drawers. Everything was hot and desperate, and Lily needed his body inside hers as she had never needed anything before.

But as he leaned down for a kiss, his lips on hers were shockingly gentle, his tongue a slow slide against hers as his fingers curled around her bare hip. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched up into him as he had with her.

He touched his open mouth to the delicate curve of her collarbone, the merest light kiss. Lily shuddered. Somehow that one small, fragile touch made her feel as if she would shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Hold on to me,” he said against her, and she looped her arms around his neck as he slid up to kiss the shell of her ear.

He sat up, and the shift of their bodies together made his penis slide into her, all the way to the hilt until their hips were pressed against each other, their bodies as close as they could get. So close it was as if they were no longer two people at all. Her legs trembled as they wrapped tighter around him.

“Lily,” he whispered, and he started to move.

Her hips rolled in one long, smooth movement, and he slid out and in again, a delicious friction that brought him even deeper with each slow thrust.

Lily moaned as her head fell back, and she held on to him as he moved faster. That hot spiral of pleasure began to uncoil deep inside her as his thrusts grew harder, rougher. She felt his fingers dig into her hips, almost
bruising, and it made her cry out as her lust burst into flame. Her hands slid into his hair and pulled hard.

“Come for me, Lily,” he said hoarsely. “Let me feel it on me, over me.”

“Then take me harder, Aidan.”
Make me yours.
The words rang through her mind even as she feared they were already too true.

His teeth fastened at the soft curve between her neck and shoulder, and his hips pistoned up into her. And just like that, she did shatter, like a dam breaking inside of her and letting all her walled-up emotions run free. She drove herself down hard onto him as she cried out, and it was as if she could feel every inch of him joined with her, part of her.

His teeth bit down harder, and she felt his body go rigid against hers with his climax. Her fingers pulled at his hair, and she let all thought go, let herself drown in him and be lost.

She fell back onto the chaise, his arms around her easing her down. Through her dazed, dreamy haze, she felt him collapse beside her. She could feel his harsh breath against her shoulder, and somehow the fabric of their clothes sliding together, clinging and tangling, seemed even more intimate than naked skin. How very desperate they had been for each other, how fast lust had overpowered them.

What was it about this man that did such terrible things to her?

Lily turned her head away and bit down on her lip to keep from sobbing.

Aidan smoothed his hand gently over Lily’s hair as he watched her sleep. It was not an easy sleep; her brow was
creased with a frown, and she shifted restlessly in his arms. But she grew still at his touch.

If only he could be still too. Already he could feel himself getting hard again, his body craving hers. He hadn’t come up here with the intention of having sex, but once they were alone in the darkness, once he touched her, kissed her, the need to have her overwhelmed everything else. When Lily was near him, all he could see, all he wanted, was her. She made him feel like a mere Neanderthal, dragging his woman back to his cave by her hair to drive himself into her again and again.