A Wild Night's Bride (6 page)

He turned to face her, placing a warm hand over hers. “Though I wondered what would bring such a lady to a place like this, your reasons are your own, madam. I am only glad of your company.”

His statement, curious rather than judgmental, was nearly her undoing. Phoebe felt her lip quiver, her armor slipping. Why was he being so genteel, so kind to her? It had been so very long, years now, since anyone had addressed or treated her as a lady.

She awarded him with a sultry smile,
Kitty’s
smile. She leaned into him, tempting him with a close view of her décolletage. She smoothed her hands up his arms, relishing the strong solid feel of them and entwined her own around his neck. Her lips sought his ear where she murmured against his clean-shaven skin. “Then I am truly a finer actress than I thought...for I have come seeking a protector.”

She withdrew a few inches and focused an inviting gaze on his mouth, a full, sensual mouth, and briefly wondered what he would taste like and how it would feel when he pulled her into his arms. She was overcome with a yearning to feel his embrace, his warm lips seeking hers. Something about him drew her inexplicably, engendered a feeling of safety and comfort that she found irresistible, that her very soul craved. She also knew how dangerous such a man could be.
You are not Phoebe. You are Kitty. You are here to find a patron, not a lover. Lovers betray,
she reminded herself with a shake.

“A protector?” he asked.

“Yes.” She gifted him with a siren’s smile. “And I’ve begun to fancy you for the position.”

***

Her warm, sweet breath caressed his cheek, the generous swell of her lovely breasts, and lovely they were, pressed against his chest. His nostrils flared at the combination of her womanly essence with the light perfume scent of her hair. The sum total stirred his cock to life, seizing him with a rampant jolt of carnal hunger he’d been tamping down for three long years of self-denial. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth against the powerful urge to crush her in his arms and devour that luscious mouth.

With a herculean show of self-control honed from long practice, he gently disengaged her arms, putting her at a safer distance. His reply was formal, stiff and terse. “If that is what you sought from me, I’m sorry to disappoint. I would
not
be a suitable candidate.”

Her response betrayed bewilderment and then a complete misconstruction of his actions. “I have heard of certain
women
with a preference for their own gender...”

“Gad, no!” Ned barked. “It is no such thing as that! It’s just—I haven’t—I can’t—Oh, bloody hell!” He raked a hand through his hair. “Is it impossible to believe that not every man wishes to use women in such a demeaning manner?”

“Demeaning? You mean to say you have never paid for your pleasure?” Her tone was laden with cynical disbelief.

“I was young and wild once,” he confessed. “But unlike
some
of my acquaintances, I have discovered the deepest fulfillment of body, mind, and spirit comes not from random acts of lust, but from the abiding love of a woman.”

“You speak of a wife?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Then your presence here tonight belies your professed devotion,
my lord.”

“Edward,” he answered softly, ignoring her sneer.

“What?”

“My name is Edward, not my lord. Sir Edward Chambers, although my friends call me Ned. And my wife is dead these past three years.”

Her eyes grew wide. Her expression softened. “Oh... I couldn’t know that. Forgive me,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive. In truth, you are right. I shouldn’t be here. It’s not a respectable place, and I am an
eminently
respectable man.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh.

She didn’t smile in return. She moved closer. Once more, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to take her into his arms but didn’t trust his power of restraint. If he even touched this woman he would be lost and buried in her to the hilt before she could blink. He feared he would become as a rabid animal if he gave in to his baser nature.

“But doesn’t even an eminently respectable gentleman get lonely?” she asked, idly caressing his sleeve, her blue eyes gently probing his.

“Yes,” he answered almost inaudibly.

“Then have you never thought of taking a mistress?” She moved her hands to his chest again, where she fingered the lace of his cravat. Her gaze beckoned to him, or perhaps it was his heightened lust playing tricks on him. “Most men do, you know. It is more or less expected.”

Once more, he fought the powerful urge to breathe her in, to devour her, but maintained his rigid self-restraint against her sensual onslaught. Though he’d never failed to be gentle with Annalee, he’d exercised little control over his libido. Generous and loving to a fault, she had indulged him, and now she was dead. Dead. Because he couldn’t keep his hands off her, or better said, his prick out of her. Grappling with his need for that long-ago rapture, Ned averted his gaze only to light upon a statue of Pan fornicating with the moon goddess, Selene.
Not helpful. Not helpful at all.

“For better...or worse... I am
not
most men,” he said, grasping her hands and lowering them to her sides. “I do not live in town, neither do I follow fashionable habits. I live a quiet life in the country. Besides, I cannot afford to embroil myself in scandal. I have my daughter’s future to think of.”
Yes. Think of Vesta instead of your bloody prick.

“You have a daughter?”

He laughed at her surprise, relieved for the change in topic. “I do. She is the light of my life and soon to be eighteen. It is time for her come-out, the reason why I have come to town, to arrange a house for the season.”

“Then how do you come to be here? In
this
of all places?”

“As I said, I am the guest of a friend and could hardly avoid it. DeVere insists that I am becoming a dull old man and is resolved to meddle in my life.”

“DeVere?” she asked, averting her gaze to the fountain.

“Aye. Ludovic, Viscount DeVere.”

“The one they call the devil?” Her voice sounded strangely flat.

“Aye.” Ned laughed. “Many would claim the devil and DeVere are one and the same. Perhaps they are right.”

“You know him well then?”

“Since university. I count him among my closest friends.”

***

“Do you, indeed?” Phoebe asked, realizing she had inadvertently struck gold. Here was the very one to help her achieve the meeting she sought. Yet now, she felt little enthusiasm for the pursuit.
But I am looking for a protector.

“Might I impose upon you for an introduction?” she asked.

His mouth became a tight line. “You wish me to conduct you to DeVere?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“It would hardly be a kindness to do so
this
night, madam. I fear my friend might not be on his best behavior. Besides, I don’t even know your name.”

Her front teeth touched her lips and paused. “Kitty,” she said. “Kitty Willis, lately of Covent Garden Theatre.”

“Lately?”

“Yes. The theater has closed for renovations, thus, I find myself temporarily out of work.”

“Ah,” he said. “Might I ask if that circumstance has anything to do with your present quest?”

“It has everything to do with it. I am in danger of losing my livelihood. Hence, I seek a gentleman who might be inclined to provide for my needs and promote my career.”

“And you think
DeVere
might be so inclined?” His expression was unreadable, but his reluctance to make the introduction was obvious. Why, when he’d clearly stated he had no intention of taking a mistress for himself?
Maybe he just doesn’t want you.
The thought was a painful blow to her confidence.
But you are Kitty.

“I have heard DeVere is generous...and in more ways than one.” Her gaze swept downward, her implication clear.

“I see.” His mouth hardened.

She didn’t know why she’d said what she had, but his rejection stung, regardless of his reasons. Did she subconsciously wish to alienate him now? Drive him completely away because he didn’t want her? She wondered if she had taken the act too far.

“If that is truly your wish,
Miss Willis
, far be it for me to deny you.” His manner, only moments ago warm and relaxed, shifted to stiff and cold, making her regret her words.

Phoebe accepted his arm again with a profound physical awareness of him, a feeling she’d never experienced before. He seemed so different from any other man of her acquaintance, and, certainly, the antithesis of the rake she had set her sights on. She had chosen DeVere as her best prospect, yet after only this short time in Ned’s company, she couldn’t help fervently wishing that
he
was DeVere. Though she believed he felt the same powerful magnetism between them as she did, when she had asked for an introduction to his friend, he had obliged, thus proving her feelings unrequited.

She should feel triumphant that her goal was within easy reach, but was rather strangely deflated and harboring doubts about the entire arrangement. In truth, it was as if her appetite had been whetted for beefsteak...only to be served liver instead.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

When they reentered the receiving room, an entirely new scene greeted them. The room was a shambles. Articles of clothing littered the trees, and male and female bodies slumped everywhere in a drug-like stupor of satiation.

“Where do you think to find him?” she asked.

“Look no further.” Ned inclined his head toward the dais with a glower. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

For surrounded by women and sprawled like a god, or more aptly, a satyr, on the queen’s throne, naked as Adam with a floral wreath on his head and phallic scepter in hand, was Ludovic, Viscount DeVere.

Lacking any sense of shame, he idly caressed the breast of the woman who held his cup to his mouth whilst another knelt between his knees fondling his manhood. To Phoebe’s shock, he seemed to positively glory in the dissolute decadence, as if he were Bacchus incarnate with the entire night tailored for his own sensual gratification.

The moment had come, and she found herself hesitating.
Dear God in Heaven. What would Kitty do now?

“You shouldn’t see this.” Ned growled. “I would be more than pleased to call a hack to take you home.”

Grappling with her feigned sangfroid, Phoebe swallowed. Hard. “But whatever for?” The cool response commanded a supreme effort. “I sought DeVere, and here he is.” She couldn’t help slanting a glance at Ned. His jaw was clenched, his pulse throbbing visibly in his neck.

“You really wish to go through with this?” he asked in an undertone. “You see how he is. He’ll only use you and cast you aside.”

“What does it matter? As long as I get what I need, we shall call it an equal trade.”

“I don’t believe you mean that!”

“But, indeed, I do,” she replied, directing a brazen gaze to DeVere and endeavoring to keep it above the impressive staff jutting from his nether region. “For needs must—”

“When
the devil
drives?” Ned flicked a bilious look from Phoebe to DeVere.

“You might say that.”

“Very well,” he replied, tight-lipped. “If that is what you wish, far be it for me to deny a
lady
.” Ned made a mocking obeisance to the would-be demigod. “My lord DeVere.”

“Ah, Ned!” Ludovic cried in a voice slurred from drink. “I wondered where you’d gone. You’ve returned with a companion?”

“Only because the lady expressed a wish to make your acquaintance.”

Ludovic gave Ned a sardonic arch of his brow. “How extraordinary. Did she, indeed?” He abandoned the nearby breast to appraise Phoebe. “Charming.”

She realized she had passed muster when he waved away the woman between his legs and flashed her a bedazzling smile. “What is your name, my pet?”

“Kitty,” she replied.

DeVere threw back his head with a guffaw. “Kitty? How delightfully apropos!” His erstwhile companions forgotten, he patted a muscular thigh. “Come then, Kitty, my sweet, little puss. Sit on your master’s lap, and I’ll stroke you ‘till you purr.”

She slanted a look to Ned, a sudden quickening in her chest. His hands were clenched by his sides; his knuckles blanched white. She opened her mouth to speak, but he’d already turned his back on her. Phoebe’s heart sank like a stone.

She knew her mask had slipped when she looked back to DeVere to find him studying her with a sly smile beneath a hooded gaze. “It appears our Ned is quite taken with you, my pet. And one can’t help but wonder if his sentiments might be returned.”