A Little Deception (15 page)

He took her glass and set it down on a little table beside
the window. ‘I have been patient, haven’t I?’

The deep timbre and intent of his words resonated through
her and she felt herself trembling as he pulled her closer against him within
the circle of his arm while with his free hand he cupped her chin. Tilting up
her face, he kissed her gently on the lips.

She felt the heat rise up through her body and stirred
slightly. ‘I don’t mean about that,’ she said, hearing the uncertainty in her
laugh but loving the intensity in his look. She’d never felt this way; so
deeply connected. ‘I meant in my ability to repay the debt we owe you.’

‘What?’ His eyebrows arched over his blue eyes as if in
faint censure for spoiling the moment. ‘My dear, I assure you I have no
intention of hounding you for such a trifle. Now, where were we?’

The pressure of his lips on hers increased, pushing away the
faint concern she felt at his words. He must not think she’d trade … this … for
what she owed him. She opened her mouth to speak and the tip of his tongue
which had contoured her lower lip, plunged in, deepening the kiss.

She gasped, feeling her legs buckle as he caught her fully
in his arms, pulling her against him. There was no mistaking the all-consuming
nature of his desire but what frightened her was the force of hers. Her head
spun with wicked, unexpected thoughts while strange, intoxicating sensations
coursed through her body, making her skin prickle and causing her to push her
breasts against his seeking hands. It was behaviour she’d never imagined
indulging in. It was wanton… She had plunged into dangerous territory.
Uncharted territory, at that.

‘Not here,’ she protested, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rampton looked down at her, saw the deep blush that had
spread over her porcelain fine skin, and was impressed. The lady could even
blush on demand. He glanced at the room, in which the only furniture was two
large, but quite unsuitable armchairs, and a collection of occasional tables
and tried to master his ragged breathing.

‘I think it’s time to show you the secret passageway,’ he
suggested.

‘I should be most interested.’ She sounded breathless.
Eager.

Smiling, feeling like the cat who had got the cream.
Actually, he felt in physical pain at having to truncate these passionate
proceedings. He offered his arm and with courtly grace, led her across the
courtyard to the tower. Obviously she could not wait for this moment, either. He
glanced down at her and imagined her naked, writhing beneath him, eyes vacant
with lust, skin flushed and covered with the moist sheen of their love-making
labours. Oh, he would show her just what a wonderful lover he was; she’d not
want to leave his bed until she was forced to do so in order to return to her
island home.

He was surprised at the stab of disappointment he felt at
the thought. Still, he was not a man who wasted time on the preoccupations of
the heart. His was a remarkably resilient one, thank God. His mother had taught
him there was no room for sentiment and he was not a man to pine for foolish
fancies when the action of the present was all that mattered.

And the moment for action was upon him. He increased his
pace. It had been thoughtless to have started proceedings in such a cold, bare
room when he’d intended to shepherd her to his nice, big comfortable bed,
however he’d found himself unable to exercise his usual restraint. He slanted a
glance down at her wide-eyed look, focused on her kiss-swollen lips and felt a
jolt that, extraordinarily, seemed to travel from his groin to the region of
his heart.

She paused amidst their progress. ‘Tell me some of the
legends about the heroic Delacroix men,’ prompted Lady Chesterfield – his
soon-to-be-mistress he thought with an even greater jolt of excitement as she
pressed against his side and smiled up at him - almost as if half a bottle of
champagne had gone straight to her head rather than that those wicked natural
impulses of which he had lately heard so much had finally come to the fore. He
laughed, his mood expansive.

‘Ah, so many of them. And not all so heroic, either. Not all
Delacroix were men of honour.’

‘Unlike you, my lord?’ she suggested, upon a faint hiccup.

‘You flatter me, madam,’ he said, hoping his look was not
too obviously salacious. An English rose. He had said it before, but how apt
was the description, for in the summer sunshine, her bonnet tied demurely under
her pretty little chin, she was like a piece of Dresden china but in his bed
where he’d have her in less than two minutes she’d be transformed into the
goddess of his lustful imaginings. How would her breasts feel when freed of
their confines? Would they be pert? Or ripe? It didn’t matter. He was so hard
he could barely walk. He tried to swallow. Normally he didn’t like surprises
but he was looking forward to this one. Would she be like an unleashed wild
animal when her clothes were off – like Catherine Barbery? He shuddered.
Now was not the time to make comparisons, but to focus all his expertise on
this exquisite woman who’d kept him waiting so long.

Clearly she was an accomplished coquette. Good God, she’d
kept him on the barest thread for longer than any mistress. Two thousand pounds
and she was his. Indeed, he’d have absolved her of twice the amount and believed
he’d got the bargain.

At the foot of the tower he lifted the latch and pushed open
the door. It gave way, protesting on rusty hinges and they stepped into the
gloom. Closing the door behind them, they were plunged into darkness and
immediately he felt her pull away.

‘I don’t think …’ she began, but her coyness seemed
unnecessary now they’d come this far. He laughed again.

‘My male vanity is wounded. I’d have imagined you’d draw
closer to me for protection.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Rose chided herself for being foolish. Lord
Rampton was taking her, at her request, to see the hidden passageway. Hadn’t he
already proved he was a gentleman of honour by pulling away at her first
display of reluctance?

‘If you’re afraid of the dark we’ll open the door to the
outside and let in the light. I had thought to give you a sense of the
authentic. Remember, these Catholic priests made their escape in the dead of
night, their lives hanging by a thread.’

He pushed open the door to let through a weak shaft of
sunlight; then, taking Rose’s hand, he led her up the spiral stairs.

‘What’s in there?’ Rose asked as they reached a room on the
next level.

‘You are impatient,’ said Lord Rampton as if something
amused him. ‘It’s nothing but a room full of dust sheets. It’s the room on the
next level that’s of interest.’

‘Where does the secret tunnel lead?’

‘From behind the bed down a back staircase and under the
courtyard to the park beyond.’

‘From the bed,’ Rose repeated faintly. Her light-headedness
was beginning to give way to her natural caution. The heady desire she’d felt
when he’d been kissing her was fast being replaced by concern. She should not
be allowing a gentleman to lead her alone and into the dark, to an unknown
destination. Her years of training, her innate common sense, should have her
pulling her hand out of his and stumbling back down the stairs and into the
sunshine. Her
 
foreboding was
growing. There was still time to save face. To save her reputation.
 

Lord Rampton continued to propel Rose forward. ‘You did say
you wanted to see the secret passageway.’

Was that the faintest note of exasperation she heard? She
caught herself up. She was being foolish.

‘Yes, of course.’ She was finding it hard to breathe.
Whether it was because of the many stairs or caused by his nearness, she had no
idea. And now she was on the second landing and Lord Rampton was throwing open
the doorway to a sumptuously decorated room. His bedchamber? she thought, in
sudden horror, as she took in the intimate details: the dressing-table on which
was laid out his brushes and combs, the shaving-stand, the brocade banyan
draped casually across the end of the bed. And what a bed it was! Exquisitely
carved with a headboard depicting a hunting scene, there was nothing
fainthearted about the rest of it. Instead of the conventional brocade
counterpane it was covered by what appeared to be an enormous bear skin.

‘And so the secret passage begins here?’ she said, hoping
her voice didn’t tremble as much as she feared it did.

‘Yes, my love.’

Rose looked up, half in surprise, half in fear. The
endearment was both music to her ears and an alarm bell. Lord Rampton closed
the door behind them, catching her to him so suddenly that she stumbled and
fell into his arms.

‘Please—’ she began, but his mouth, hot with desire,
drowned out anything else she might have said.

For a split second she thought to push him away; but her
simmering desire so clearly answered his own, combusting into desperate passion
and the pulsing desire to push the boundaries of her sensual experience, that
resistance wilted before it was even born.

His arms were strong and tight around her, and she sagged
against him, another attempt at protest dying upon her lips as he lifted her
and carried her to the bed.

She’d never felt a man move above her as he did now,
covering her with his body and kissing her eyes, her nose and throat. In mere
moments, of course, she’d return her two feet to the floor and profess her
desire to end matters there. She’d tell him she wanted to take it slowly. Yes,
that’s what she’d ….

Dear Lord, what was he doing? All thoughts of acting upon
her good intentions
 
evaporated as
she gave herself up to these new sensations which threatened to drown her in a
surfeit of pleasure. He’d somehow managed to undo the back of her dress and now
his mouth was hot upon her exposed breast. What started as a cry of objection
became a cry of pleasure as molten desire coursed through her, making her
surely the most willing captive that ever existed.

‘You are exquisite, Lady Chesterfield,’ he murmured as he
kissed the hollow of her throat.

Opening her eyes, she was reassured by the intensity of his
smile. No respectable woman would allow herself to be in such a position but she
was prepared to take the chance. She was not just another conquest. He not only
desired her, he wanted her for his …

Common sense returned.

What a fool she was! He’d forever hate her if he discovered
the truth.

Struggling out from beneath him, she made an ineffectual
attempt at restoring modesty, pulling her skirts back over her knees. How many
women had been brought to ruin by such naivety?

But with a deep chuckle and, as if she had no more strength
than a butterfly, he pushed her onto her back once more. ‘You’ve tried my
patience long enough, you little minx, though I’ll admit your merry little
dance has nearly killed me with the need to have you.’

Mesmerised, unable to move, she watched him remove his boots,
then his coat and waistcoat. Her mouth dropped open as he fumbled with his breeches,
revealing lean, muscled white flanks dusted with fine dark hair beneath his
shirt.

Only when he raised his eyes to hers did self-preservation
kick in and she jerked herself into a sitting position.

His laugh drowned her small shriek as he threw her back onto
the bed whereupon he had her clothes off in record time and was now lying above
her, his body a warm, sensuous cage. One in which she would have been quite
happy to flounder in captivity if there were not her future to think about.

Yes, she wanted him, but not like this. The realization
flashed through her mind that she had never known quite what the joining of a
man and woman entailed as she caught sight of his rampant manhood which
terrified and excited her in equal measure. Her body seemed to pulse with the
desire to receive him while her mind railed against such sinfulness.

What kind of woman was she? Terror and mortification gripped
her. She managed to twist her head away and with a gasp forced out,
‘Please—!’

It was an ill chosen protest, for of course he interpreted
is as a plea for more.

‘You are a delightful enigma, Lady Chesterfield,’ he rasped,
between hot kisses. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life.’
He paused a moment to brush a lock of hair back from her face. She could feel
her heart hammering. Surely he could feel it too. He would attribute it to
desire, not panic, and she had only herself to blame.

She opened her mouth to speak. To tell him the truth, but a
contradiction of emotions rendered her mute. Her body was willing him to
continue his pleasuring, while her mind railed at her wickedness. She had been
a fool. A naïve, innocent little fool, but would she ever experience such
pleasure again? She was unlikely to have another chance at love. Why should she
not simply succumb to enjoyment … just for once?

It was not worth the risk.

Lord Rampton’s voice, husky with passion, made her pause. ‘I
wanted you from the moment I met you, my love.’ He kissed her ear as he cupped
her face. ‘No woman has stirred my senses as you have.’

They were words she longed to hear but a lifetime of
training dictated that she should make her escape.