Twice the Temptation (16 page)

 
Three-quarters of the way along the terrace he shouldered open a door which led into a dark room cluttered with outdoor furniture—sheet-covered chaises, umbrellas, stacks of padded cushions, and wooden chairs. Everything necessary for a large al fresco luncheon party. After he kicked the door closed behind them, Connoll plopped her down on the nearest chaise. The white covering sheet billowed up around her in a wave and then sank down again.

 
“I have a quadrille in less than half an hour,” she said as he latched the outside door and then strode across the room to secure the inner door. “So if you’re kidnapping me, I will be missed very soon.”

 
He faced her, blue eyes black in the gloom. “This would be a fairly pitiful attempt at a kidnapping, don’t you think?”

 
The marquis actually sounded amused. And apparently she was permitted to speak again. “Then what is this?”

 
“My last chance, I think.” He sat beside her, the chaise shifting a little with his weight.

 
She supposed she should be angry. After all, he’d kissed her without permission—again—and told her to be quiet, and then he’d carried her off and dumped her on a dustcover in an abandoned room. With him right beside her, though, close enough to touch, the emotion that stirred her pulse was excitement. And arousal. And a fair measure of confusion.

 
“Your last chance at me, I suppose?” she asked, her voice sounding unsteady even to her own ears. Blast. “You should know that nothing you say can convince me that you will—”

 
“I told you, Gilly, no more words. I’ll just have to show you why we belong together.” He smiled at her expression. “You see,” he continued, running a finger along the knuckles of the hand she clenched on her thigh, “I happen to believe that your Nightshade Diamondis cursed. And I think that its idea of bad luck where you’re concerned is a life with Redmond or Dapney. Your gem doesn’t seem to care which mushroom you pick. I also think that the diamond’s view of ill luck for your mother is the two of us sitting right where we are now. Or worse, kissing.”

 
Connoll leaned in, taking her mouth in a slow, heart-stopping kiss. She moaned, curling her hands into his lapels. Desire, lust, sank through her. Oh, why couldn’t Dapney make her feel this way?

 
“Are you trying to seduce me?” she managed, shivering.

 
His lips crept along the line of her jaw. “No. Iam seducing you. I want you, and I mean to have you.”

 
“But I really don’t like you.” She closed her eyes, clutching his shoulders as his lips traveled to her throat.

 
“Yes, you do. Just not in the way you think is important.”

 
She could argue with that, but then he might stop the kissing, and the way he drew her ever closer against him. “Why do you likeme , then, Connoll?”

 
His mouth lowered to her collarbone. “Well,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin, “you speak your mind. It’s ironic, I suppose, that most females speak to me the way you’d prefer that men speak to you. ‘Yes, my lord. No, my lord. Isn’t the weather fine today, my lord?’ They’re so intent on being what they think I want that they’ve forgotten about passion.” He lifted his head to look her in the eye. “You, Gilly, are full of passion.”

 
“No. No, I’m not. My aunt said so.”

 
He knelt at her feet, taking her ankles and removing her slippers one by one. “Yes, you are. Your aunt is wrong.” He kissed her calves, sliding her skirts up as he trailed his mouth toward the backs of her knees.

 
Good heavens. “You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” she whispered, sliding sideways on the chaise as he lifted her legs onto the furniture.

 
“With your permission. And in my favor, Gilly, I would like to point out that even if I’m wrong and you actually don’t like me, neither of your lapdogs will care about the state of your virginity.”

 
Obviously he’d thought this through, and she couldn’t disagree with his conclusions. Dapney might raise an
eyebrow, but Redmond probably wouldn’t even notice. As for the alternative, abruptly she didn’t even want to consider it. With Connoll at least she would have one evening—one moment, really—where her foremost thought wasn’t how quickly she could escape her spouse’s embrace.

 
“It won’t work,” she said belatedly, noting that he’d paused his trail of kisses.

 
“It’s working quite well for me, Evangeline.”

 
Truth be told, it was also working quite well for her. And obviously she wasn’t fooling him, much less herself. For a moment she watched him in the gloom, watched as he tugged up her skirts, his mouth following the trail of his hands. Everywhere he touched her felt heated, sensitive, and alive. And aching for more of his attentions.

 
“Very well,” she conceded, gasping as his warm hands brushed the insides of her thighs, “I will accept you as a lover. Nothing m—”

 
“That’s enough for tonight, then. We can begin the debate again tomorrow.”

 
His smile, full of lust and everything wicked she could think of, sent heat spearing down to her depths. As his hands moved higher, brushing the apex of her thighs, she gasped again. The bodice of her gown abruptly felt very tight and confining.

 
Logically she should be kicking him in the head and screaming for assistance, but then she wouldn’t feel the ache of pure sensation as he moved in to…oh, to lick…

 
“Connoll,” she rasped, curling her fingers into his hair.

 
His chuckle reverberated through her into muscle and bone. “If I only did as you requested,” he murmured, straightening to pull her frothy sleeves down
her shoulders, “would you have thought to ask for this?” He released her gown to slide a finger inside her.

 
“Oh, goodness,” she squeaked, writhing beneath his hand. “I had no idea.”

 
He shed his coat, leaning in as he did so for another deep, long, tongue-teasing kiss. This time he sank slowly along her, pausing at the low neckline of her gown. Dipping his fingers beneath the silk, he pulled the material down to her waist.

 
As that capable mouth of his kissed the swell of her bare breasts and then closed over one nipple, she bucked. The sensation left her feeling weightless and stretched tighter than a violin string all at the same time.

 
For the briefest of seconds she tried to imagine whether she would feel the same physical pleasure with one of her other suitors looming over her—but since neither of them had the passion or imagination of a turnip, she didn’t see how they could ever make her feel so wanton. So wanted. So free.

 
A country dance began dimly, and Connoll glanced toward the doorway. “Damnation,” he muttered. “Your quadrille is next.”

 
She was surprised he’d been able to keep track. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Connoll,” she panted, squirming as his nimble fingers brushed her breasts again. “Please.”

 
His smile appeared again, dark and possessive. “I won’t. I wouldn’t be able to appear in public, either. I…I want more time with you. To convince you.”

 
She felt half convinced as it was. Settling back on his knees again, Connoll unfastened his breeches and shoved them down to his thighs. The bulge that tented the material of his trousers sprang free, hard and erect.

 
He wanted her. She knew that, but seeing the proof
made it real. And if she said no, he would leave. The moment, and what happened next, was up to her.

 
This was real power. And oddly enough, she had no wish to use it against him. Not here. Not now. Taking a shallow breath, her hands shaking as much as the rest of her, Evangeline reached out and grasped his manhood. His muscles jumped in response. “Are you…exceptional?” she asked, running her fingers down his girth.

 
“Exceptional?” Connoll crouched forward, kneeling between her thighs to kiss her again. “I’ve never been made fun of, if that’s what you mean.”

 
No, she didn’t imagine he would have been. “This feels nice, doesn’t it?” she continued shakily, stroking the length of him once more.

 
“If you want me to continue, you’d best stop,” he whispered into her ear, his own breathing unsteady. “That is how good it feels.”

 
Immediately she released him. “I hope there are a great many people dancing,” she managed. The more there were, the longer it would take for all of them to go through their paces, and the longer the dance would continue.

 
“So do I.” He settled his weight along her, his hard manhood pressed between her thighs. “I’ve never bedded a virgin, Gilly,” he said, splaying his large right hand across her breast as if he still couldn’t stop touching her, “but I have it on good authority that it will hurt. Briefly, and not again.”

 
She lifted her chin. “I have it on good authority that if you don’t hurry up, someone will come looking for us.”

 
“Mm.” Lifting up on his elbows, he kissed her again, at the same time shifting and pushing his hips forward.

 
Evangeline gasped with surprise and then pain at the
sensation of him entering her. “Oh, God,” she gasped, clinging to shoulders still covered by the fine lawn of his shirt.

 
He froze, shaking a little as he held himself still inside her. The pain began to fade, and her muscles relaxed a fraction. The sensation that remained was…exquisite. “Apologies,” he murmured, nibbling at her ear. He began to move his hips again, back and forward.

 
The chaise longue squeaked beneath them in time with his thrusts. Evangeline grabbed on to him, digging the pads of her fingers into his shoulders, wishing they could somehow be closer together than they already were. The bowstring tension ran through her, tighter and tighter, as he moved inside her. Suddenly she shattered, crying out as everything went white. Time, sound, everything stopped but sensation.Glorious .

 
A half dozen heartbeats later, Connoll gave a fierce grunt, holding to her, and kissed her again. Still inside her, he twisted them so that she lay sprawled and spent across his chest.

 
“The next time, you have to take the rest of your clothes off,” she panted.The next time . She wanted a next time, and a time after that. Obviously her mother had failed to describe all of the aspects of marriage.

 
“I hope I’ve adequately demonstrated the benefits of compromise,” he said, his heart beating hard beneath her cheek.

 
Oh, he’d done that. At the moment, all she wanted to do was lie there in his arms and have him hold her as he was now. And then, like the crack of doom, the music of the quadrille began.

 
Chapter 9

 
Connoll did a last quick check of Gilly’s andhis clothes. Shoes, ribbons, jacket, gown—everything looked perfectly in place. With a quick lift and kiss of her fingers, he led the way from the terrace back into the ballroom.

 
Lord Redmond stood close by the terrace windows, his generally bland expression bordering on annoyed. More troubling, though, was Lady Munroe, standing beside the earl.

 
“There you are,” she said, her voice clipped, as Gilly moved in front of Connoll and stopped beside her dance partner.

 
“Apologies,” Evangeline said easily. “We were talking with one of the gardeners about the Howletts’ glorious roses.”

 
“My fault,” Connoll put in, very aware that the conversation was eating into the time remaining for Redmond’s dance and quite willing to nibble every bit of it away. “I neglected to check my watch.”