Susan Johnson (11 page)

“You’re not cold, are you?” He shouldn’t have spoken. He should have pretended he hadn’t noticed.

“No—a little touch of a breeze, I think,” she lied.

And then she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Where he stood—waiting…

Only the sound of their breathing was audible—his rough, hers less than steady as the silence lengthened.

“I’m not asking,” he said at last, his voice hushed. “But I’d like to.”

Her mouth quivered slightly, as though she debated speaking at all, and then she said, “As would I.”

As though given license by her words, he smiled. “I willingly forfeit our wager.” He lifted his hand, but let it fall to his side at the sudden apprehension in her eyes.

“This…is…so sudden,” she said in a small, suffocated voice. And whether she was lying to herself or him wasn’t entirely clear. “Give me…a moment…to think.” Her eyes suddenly flared wide. “Don’t touch me!”

His hand dropped back to his side, but his dark gaze was flame-hot. “What if I said no?” Patience wasn’t one of his strong virtues, nor obedience.

“Just don’t.” Her voice shook.

He took a step back. She reminded him incongruously—for a woman of her background—of a quivering, young ingenue. Holding his hands out, palms up, he slowly enunciated, “I-won’t-touch-you.”

She glanced around as though trying to find her bearings, then exhaled softly and offered him a tentative smile. “I always forget who you are,” she said with a kind of artless simplicity.

“Is that good or bad?” he inquired cautiously.

“At the moment, good.”

“And in the next moment?”

“We’ll just have to see.”

Reassured—she’d said
good
, not bad, nor had she fled—he smiled. “You tell me when you’re ready. It’s up to you.”

She looked at him for a protracted moment—the sound of the birds outside suddenly like an anvil chorus in the quiet entrance hall.

They could both feel their hearts beating in their chests.

Apparently coming to some decision a moment later, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him lightly while he remained motionless, his hands clenched at his sides. It was a butterfly caress, fleeting and sweet, and as she dropped back on her heels, she whispered, “I’m ready now.”

“May I touch you?” He didn’t want her to bolt.

She nodded, eyes downcast.

Was she playing a role or sincere? Playing, he decided a second later; Annabelle Foster was too experienced for such modesty. But he placed his hands on her shoulders cautiously and drew her near with circumspect deliberation, as though he were wooing a virginal young miss. He had to improvise, having never actually come in contact with a virginal miss, but simple courtesy certainly couldn’t go amiss.

They stood very close, their bodies almost touching. Crooking a finger under her chin, he gently lifted her face to his and bending low, kissed her like he might have when he’d been a well-mannered adolescent. But politeness notwithstanding, his senses were on full alert and with the expertise of considerable dalliance, he began to gauge her reactions with a minute regard.

Her lips were sweet; she tasted of peppermint and smelled of roses, an altogether lush combination of gratifying sensations. Having brought his hands to rest at the base of her spine, he held her with the gentlest of pressure as he delicately kissed her.

“So well behaved, Duff,” Belle murmured, after several moments of mannered kisses. Twining her arms around his neck, she adjusted her body slightly, as though better accommodating her ripe curves to his hard length and opening her mouth to his, kissed him with a degree more passion.

Taking his cue, he eased her back against the wall and leaned into her, their bodies pressed hard against each other for the first time, his erection rigid between them. “I’m not in a hurry; we have all day,” he whispered, exploring the minty sweetness of her mouth more fully but slowly, yet offering her pleasure in small, safe increments. Or perhaps teasing her. Or after a year of celibacy, more likely savoring what was to come.

She found his courtesy arousing, but even more, the tantalizing imprint of his hard, rigid length stirred her desires. But regardless his formidable strength and power, he neither forced himself on her nor wielded his authority and for that she was grateful.

She’d fought too long for independence to suffer tyranny.

He seemed to understand. Or perhaps, susceptible to doubt and pain since Waterloo, he’d gained a sensitivity to the vulnerabilities of others. But when her hips brushed against his in invitation or what he took as invitation, he eased away marginally and said on a softly indrawn breath, “Playing the gentleman has its limits. We should go upstairs in the event Eddie returns.”

“Upstairs?” A distinct uncertainty rang through the word.

“It’s entirely up to you,” he murmured urbanely.

She half-smiled. “Are you always so polite?”

“There haven’t been any alwayses of late. I have no comparison.”

“So we are both venturing out of our celibacy today?”

He tried not to let his shock register and only marginally succeeded.

“It’s been a very long time for me,” she said as though in explanation to his modulated surprise. “A very long time indeed.” Her smile was suddenly sunny with cheer, her indecision in full retreat for reasons unknown. Perhaps for reasons having to do with Duff’s grace and civility. “Are you sure you’re ready to accommodate my amorous cravings?”

“I’m certainly willing to try,” he drawled softly. “Although I have a small warning of my own. After a year, I’m probably more ravenous than you.”

She laughed, the silvery trill one of gay delight. “That almost sounds like another wager?”

“This one you’d lose.”

“So sure, my dear Duff?”

He wanted to say, don’t allude to your past; I don’t want to hear about it. But he understood he was the last person in the world to make accusations about sexual excess. He’d spent too many years indulging his vices. “Very well,” he said, in compromise to both his feelings and the past. “Why don’t we say a token wager of ten pounds?”

“Or no wager at all,” she murmured, reading the constraint in his voice.

“Better yet. Now come,” he said, taking her hand. “Let me entertain you.”

This time she was the one unable to conceal her surprise.

He laughed. “Don’t say you don’t like to be indulged?”

She had been in so many ways, but from a man like Duff—perhaps not. “I look forward to the experience.”

“Not as much as I.” And bending down, he lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

H
e stood in the doorway to his bedroom holding her, a faint frown creasing his forehead. “This room could use a maid. Perhaps we should find another.”

“This is fine. It smells of you,” she said, smiling up at him. “And I mean it most kindly. Who makes your scent?”

“A little shop in Mayfair.”

“It’s tantalizing.”

“Speaking of tantalizing,” Duff murmured, not inclined to discuss scents when he had other things on his mind, “how do you feel about”—he grinned—“a certain haste in this endeavor?”

She laughed. “Thank heaven. That’s how I feel. And speaking for myself,
instant
is the operative word.”

“I’m not usually so impatient.”

“Nor am I usually so needy.”

He grinned again. “So you won’t mind an unmade bed. I could find some clean sheets, perhaps, although I’m not altogether certain where they’re kept. And Eddie does change them every day—just not yet today.”

“As if I care about that. Put me down.”

His brows rose.

“I’ll undress,” she explained.

“I’m not in that much of a hurry,” he said with a smile, walking to the bed and seating her on the edge. “Especially since I’ve been thinking about undressing you most of my waking moments.”

“Let me help.” She was ravenous when she was never ravenous. When she couldn’t remember if she’d ever considered the word in conjunction with sex. “You’re much too handsome, Duff. I’m all a-quiver.” She reached for the braid-covered buttons on her jacket.

“Humor me,” he murmured, taking her hands in his, slowly lowering them to the bed. “I’ll do it.” His voice held a hint of gruffness. She was much too familiar with undressing for a man. That it suddenly mattered to him when he’d enjoyed the company of any number of actresses in the past, he chose not to contemplate.

“You must alter your tone of voice.” She, too, had her bug-bears.

“Must?” he said, a sudden coolness in his gaze.

“There. You see? That’s why I shouldn’t have come.” She was certain now of her mistake; she was too well-versed with that look in Duff’s eyes—that presumption that the world must yield to a nobleman’s will. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said brusquely, beginning to slide off the bed.

He stopped her, lifted her back in place, and spoke in what he hoped was a more amenable tone of voice. “Could we discuss this?”

She shook her head.

“I apologize, naturally. And most humbly.”

She shook her head again. “In truth, I never should have come.” She held his gaze as though in emphasis. “I don’t know what I was expecting, or rather I knew what to expect and came anyway. I don’t care to repeat patterns from my past that don’t bear repeating.” She smiled faintly, understanding he had nothing to do with the life she’d lived. “The thing is, I’ve turned over a new leaf. And then you came along and charmed me from my resolve. It’s a testament to your masterful abilities, although,” she added with another smile, “I don’t discount your handsome good looks either. You’ve heard that before, I suspect, but nevertheless, I quite fell under your spell. In fact, I can’t remember when I’ve wanted someone more.”

“Certainly you don’t expect me to let you go after hearing that,” he said, his smile dazzling and very close. “And while I’ve never subscribed to the notion of spiritual connections, I confess, darling Belle, that you have struck some chord deep within me. I have succumbed to
your
spell.”

Her gaze narrowed in cynical rebuke. “Please. Your impulses have nothing to do with spells or spiritual connections. You simply haven’t had sex for a year.”

“I wish it were that simple,” he disputed. “I’m the last person in the world to acknowledge strong emotion of any kind”—he grinned—“other than lust, perhaps.”

“And your passion for horses.”

He shrugged in acceptance. “And my family, I suppose. Very well, I concede to those passions. But in terms of more tender passions, you alone have moved me. I’m not altogether certain of why or how, other than I know I don’t wish you to go. So stay. I’m more than willing to forgo sex if you wish. Keep me company for other reasons. We’ll go riding as we’d planned and have our picnic.”

She wrinkled her nose and grumpily said, “You are becoming most troublesome to me.”

He was instantly encouraged, but then he’d had considerable practice reading the baffling moods of females. And the delightful way in which she’d wrinkled her nose was so damnably alluring he was quite taken with her all over again. “On my word, I promise
never
to use any but the most courteous tone with you, nor will I make demands. Just stay. You make me very, very happy.” He looked stricken for a moment. “You see, I’ve quite lost my senses to openly avow such feelings—”

“To a woman?” she murmured.

“Very well, I confess to a lifetime of utter selfishness,” he said, denying the casualness of his previous amours impossible with the
Ton’s
ear for gossip. “But,” he added, pausing for a moment as though conscious of the significance of what he was about to say, “consider me reformed.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “If only I were fifteen and not an actress myself, I might almost believe such penitence from a man of your repute.”

He was inclined to object to her mockery, but knew it wouldn’t serve. Novice he might be in feelings of tenderness toward women, but in all else he was highly accomplished. “Pray believe me,” he said with both sincerity and the most beguiling smile, “I am reformed—at least in regard to you.”

“Am I special, then?” she inquired waggishly, not entirely gullible, but enjoying herself nonetheless.

He grinned. “As if you don’t know after years of adulation from every man who’s come within your sphere. But should it matter, you’re very special to me and I don’t wish you to leave. Tell me what I must do to make you stay and I’ll do it willingly.”

“Make love to me.” She shouldn’t have said it, of course. She should have left long ago.

He scowled. “Don’t make sport of me.”

“I wish I were. On the contrary, I’m quite sincere.” Although hesitancy resonated in every syllable and inflection, and the pursed set of her mouth suggested more than a modicum of cavil.

He couldn’t help but smile. “You have reservations.”

“So many you might want to think twice about this.”

“Not likely that.”

“At least one of us is sure,” she said with a disgruntled sigh.

“Why don’t I be sure for both of us?” His voice was smooth as silk.

“How gallant,” she replied sardonically. Then she didn’t speak for a moment, some internal debate clearly going on in her mind.

He waited, if not calmly, visibly composed.

“I have one request,” she finally said.

“Only one? My gratitude would allow many more.”

“I ask that you refrain from ordering me about. Ever.”

“Rest assured, I won’t.”

She softly exhaled, her remaining qualms mollified by his certainty. Although, even without his assurances, would she have been able to walk away from the joy she felt in his presence? Probably not, or she wouldn’t have been seated where she was with Darley very near, smiling at her. “Forgive me for being so indecisive,” she said, smiling back. “You’ve been most gracious with my wavering resolve. Shall we move on now?”

“Perhaps you should write down your directions, so I don’t put a foot awry.” His dark gaze was disarming in its candor, his smile only half teasing. “I wouldn’t want to offend you. And truthfully, I’m not sufficiently in control of my feelings yet to offer any guarantees of politesse. Once things have reached”—he paused, searching for a suitable word—“say, a point of no return, you might not be able to—”

“Stop you?”

“Yes—I mean, no, you wouldn’t. Eddie tells me there are times when I’m not fully aware of the world around me. And at that stage—”

“If I could say no to any of this, Duff, I certainly would,” she said, interrupting him. “You’re not the only one who isn’t fully in control.”

The innocence of his smile could have charmed the birds from the trees. “We are an odd pair, are we not?”

“With apparently an ungovernable appetite for each other.” Having given in to Darley’s bewitchment, she spoke of her feelings with pleasure.

“An
unslaked
appetite,” he pointed out, softly.

“
Frenzied
, too. And for your information,
frenzied
has never been in my vocabulary.”

“In that case, I am your obedient servant, Miss Foster,” Duff murmured, the conventional courtesy taking on an entirely new meaning.

“You needn’t be so docile.”

He grinned. “Make up your mind.”

“That’s my problem, Duff. I can’t make up my mind about you. About what I want from you. What I wish to give you. And how long I wish to be in this ravenous state of indecision and lust.”

For a man of his experience, her admissions amounted to a carte blanche invitation. “While you’re trying to decide,” he murmured, his plans decidedly back on track, what was precarious now certain, “let me set this bed in order.”

She looked at him as though he’d gone mad.

“It’ll just take a minute,” he said, lifting her onto a nearby chair. “I don’t plan on leaving it any time soon.”

“I have to be home by dinner,” she noted firmly.

He glanced back at her as he pulled up the sheet. “I’ll have you home in time.”

“You quite unnerve me, Duff, with your domesticity.”

Her small smile warmed him out of all proportion to its brevity and scale. “Give me a minute and I’ll unnerve you with something much better,” he said, husky and low.

“In that case, I should save time and undress. May I?” For some reason, it no longer bothered her to ask.

“No—if you please,” he quickly amended, polite to a fault in this capricious dance. “I’d like to undress you.” Sweeping the quilt up from the floor, he tossed it over the foot of the bed. “Now then, that didn’t take long, did it?”

“Long enough,” she said with a delicious little pout.

He laughed. “Now tell me who wants their own way?”

“I’m allowed.”

“And I’m not?”

She grinned. “We can talk about it.”

Moving to where she sat, he pulled her to her feet. “Maybe we’ll talk later,” he murmured, with an answering smile as he reached for the buttons on her jacket. “After a degree of shall we say—satisfaction?”

“Mine first, if you please.”

He stood, his hand arrested, her tone while not precisely imperious, enough so that it gave him pause.

She giggled. “You’re scowling.”

He quickly altered his expression. This near to orgasm, it wouldn’t serve to lose his temper. “My apologies.” He began unbuttoning her jacket.

“You don’t really mean it, but I apologize as well. That was very rude of me. I expect you don’t need instructions.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s been a while since I did.”

“So I should probably stop trying to give orders.”

“I’m not saying you can’t try,” he said, a roguish gleam in his eyes. “But I’m not sure I need them. I’m pretty good at this.”

“Even after a year?”

“Particularly after a year.” He lightly touched her bottom lip. “So just relax now and let me take care of things.”

His casual authority was highly provocative, as was his reputation for signal feats in the boudoir, not to mention the smoldering heat in his eyes that effectively kindled an answering heat deep inside her. She stood very still at that point, absorbing the glorious sensations—a rush of arousal pinking her cheeks, racing through her blood, alerting all her senses to the certainty of future pleasures.

“Your hair is shorter than mine,” he murmured, ruffling her curls.

“Should I say I’m sorry?” Her tone was lightly sardonic, although in her current heated mood she might not mind apologizing.

He smiled. “Would you if I asked?”

They’d both heard the stories of each other. They were both accomplished at this game.

“It depends,” she purred.

“On?” He freed another fabric-covered button.

“On whether I was properly compensated.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Such confidence, my lord.”

A flash of humor shone in his eyes. “Years of practice. One learns.”

A little heated ripple streaked through her vagina at the lush implications in his drawling reply. “So the broadsheets have always asserted. You were their darling for years.”

“I’m glad we finally met—under the right circumstances,” he murmured, too polite to mention that she, too, had been featured with great regularity in the broadsheets.

“Thanks to the horse fair.” Maybe even then, she’d understood the inevitability of this. Or perhaps, she was simply no different from any woman who came within the marquis’s magnetic field.

“You wore the brooch.” Duff lightly touched the pink diamond rose on her lapel before sliding her jacket off.

“I like it very much—although I like you even more,” she added, when she shouldn’t have, when she knew better than to be earnest with men like Duff.

“I’ll buy you a bouquet of these roses,” he offered, as though heedless of her comment, “in every color. For the sweetness of your company today.” His voice was low and dulcet as he slipped his fingers under the lacy neckline of her chemise. “And for the pleasure you bring me,” he whispered, languidly caressing the swell of her breasts.

His callused fingers were rough on her skin, his dark gaze unruffled as though he’d been here a thousand times before. Shivering under that clement gaze, she wasn’t sure she wished to give herself up to a man who relinquished nothing. “I don’t know…” she breathed, suddenly wavering. She had distinctly wished to avoid such a calculated, impersonal encounter. “I’m not sure I wish to stay.”

But she hadn’t said
don’t touch me
or
stop
, he noted, and perhaps he even understood her reluctance. He knew the stories as well as anyone, how she played at love on her terms. So he didn’t argue or challenge her. Instead, he gently moved his hands upward, holding her lightly by the shoulders. “Just stay a little longer. You might change your mind.”