How To Vex A Viscount (24 page)

She felt like a circus performer swinging high above the crowd, flying without a net.

Daisy willed herself not to shrink from the pointed stares of the men she wandered past. She’d managed to sneak Blanche’s red tulle dress, feathered mask and ridiculously high heels out with the rest of her belongings for her supposed trip back to Cornwall. It was deucedly inconvenient that she’d forgotten to include the white powdered wig and, more important, the filmy fichu to cover her exposed nipples. She walked slowly to hide her slight limp.

In the last couple of hectic weeks, Daisy had been busy. She travelled as far as Oxford in the company of a widow and her daughter, just in case Lord Wexford should check on her progress toward Cornwall. Then she pleaded illness and bade them to travel on without her. Once they were gone, she left Daisy Drake at the dusty roadside inn as well and returned to London as Blanche La Tour. She presented a draft on her account at the Bank of London made out to herself as Blanche. The skinny clerk frowned, but since Daisy’s signature on the draft matched the one on file, he reluctantly turned the funds over to the veiled Frenchwoman. She found a suitable house to rent, hired a discreet staff and settled in on a quiet, yet fashionable street and bided her time, trying to decide the best way to contact Lucian as Blanche.

The duke’s masquerade seemed made-to-order. Of course, she’d received the invitation as Daisy, but it was a masked ball, so she expected to slip in easily. She hadn’t realized she was missing that essential piece of her costume until her new lady’s maid helped her dress for the ball. There was no time to run out for another fichu, so she had to brazen the evening out, exposed nipples and all.

Now, if only Lucian made an appearance . . .

Finally she decided she’d have better luck trying to find him if she stayed in one place and let the dizzying crush wander past her. She’d already turned her ankle once on these confounded platform shoes. She didn’t want to do it again.

She found a bit of space near a curtained alcove and leaned against the wall. After a moment, she heard soft moans and a rustle of silk from behind the damask drape, then a whispered, “There . . . oh, God, yes! Just like that.”

Daisy ground her teeth, trying to ignore the grunts of exertion coming from the alcove.

The sounds of passion made her belly clench. She was acutely aware of an empty sensation. An ache began as a distant drumbeat and now throbbed in tandem with her quickening heart.

The clandestine lovemaking had already started all around her. Isabella was right: costumes allowed people to behave outrageously with impunity.

Daisy was ready to be outrageous, ready to put to the test all the delights she’d read about in Mlle La Tour’s journal, but she had to find Lucian first. Ignoring her body’s growing arousal and trying to seem bored and unapproachable, she sipped her champagne and let her gaze wander the room.

No sombre Puritan anywhere in sight.

But there was an elegant and deadly-looking highwayman eyeing her intently from across the room. From his rakish plumed hat to the lethal rapier at his hip, he exuded masculine energy.

There’s one thief who might take whatever he pleased from a woman and she wouldn’t complain a bit,
she thought. But when he started her way, Daisy’s heart fluttered.

It was one thing to admire the fine line of a man’s form and another to want his attention when she was looking for someone quite different. How could she find Lucian if she were fending off advances from this gentleman-turned-robber?

He made a courtly leg to her, doffing his hat to reveal a head of thick, dark hair.

She whipped out her fan. It didn’t completely cover her bosom, but it was better than nothing.

“Bon soir, monsieur.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he stepped toward her, tipped her jaw up with one finger and regarded her steadily. Behind his black mask, fire burned in the depths of his dark eyes. Like a hare caught in the gaze of an adder, Daisy couldn’t move as he lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her softly, then with more insistence, tasting and sampling, sliding his tongue between her parted lips to smooth over the slick roof of her mouth and tease her tongue back into his.

Jupiter! It’s Lucian.
She’d kissed him often enough as both herself and Blanche; now she’d recognize his kiss anywhere.

She let her fan drop on its wrist cord and grasped his shoulders, tugging him closer. True, he was kissing her as Blanche instead of herself, but at the moment, Daisy didn’t care. All that mattered was his blessed mouth on hers. His hands found her waist and pressed her to his hard body. She rocked her pelvis against him, but instead of easing the ache in her groin, the action made it worse.

Then he reached for the curtain and edged her toward the alcove.

“No.” Daisy pulled her lips free with monumental effort. “Someone is there already.” She forced herself to speak French to him, sagging against his chest. She inhaled his scent and smelled her own arousal, musky and sweet, as well. “Where can we go, Lucian?”

He took her hand. “His Grace has a fine library.” His smile was bright in the dimness of the great hall. “And I know how much you love books . . . Daisy.”

“Despite what the world believes about courtesans, pleasure is the true currency of love. Its coffers are replenished only by giving without thought of remuneration.”

—the journal of Blanche La Tour

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Lucian led her unerringly, communicating through only the pressure of his hand on hers, through the labyrinth of merrymakers and dancers. When they finally turned away from the more populated parts of the duke’s imposing residence and down a wood-panelled hall, the noise of the ball dimmed to a dull rumble. Daisy skittered to come even with him.

“How did you know”—she panted with the effort of keeping up with him—“it was me?”

He smiled down at her, his gaze raking her pert nipples. They tightened further under his scrutiny.

“Let’s just say you have certain memorable attributes.” His smile flattened. “And you’re limping.”

Lucian scooped her into his arms and carried her down the dim hallway, past the suits of armour and waist-high Ming vases.

“How long have you known?” She draped her arms around his shoulders and pressed feverish kisses to his neck. The sweet saltiness of his skin made her mouth water.

“That you’re limping? I noticed just now. Those shoes ought to be outlawed.”

She swatted his chest. “No, I mean how long have you known that I’m Blanche?”

“Since the night you turned your ankle,” he said. “I suspected before then, but that night you let me touch your face, and I knew for certain it was you, Daisy.”

She’d been willing to let him touch far more that night. Instead he asked to feel her naked face. She’d felt disappointed at the time, but now happiness welled in her chest.

“Guess I’m not as clever as I thought. You must think me shockingly fast.”

“Beyond shockingly fast,” he said with a grin. He bent his head to kiss the curve of her breast, his warm breath teasing her nipples into aching points. “And I mean that in the best sort of way. I’ll never complain so long as you’re only this shockingly fast with me.”

He pushed through the tall doors into the duke’s dark library. Long shafts of moonlight spilled through the two-story windows to the polished oak floor. At any other time, Daisy would have been enraptured by the rows of books, by the spiral staircase in the corner that led to the upper collection, by the wall-size map of England behind the massive burled wood desk. But now, all she could think of was the man who carried her as easily as if she were a child, and yet made her feel all woman when he turned his dark-eyed gaze on her.

He lowered her gently to her feet. Then he took off his plumed hat and tossed it to the desk. He unbound his mask and let it drop.

“Now you,” he encouraged.

Daisy pulled off the feathered mask and met his gaze. Lucian wanted
her,
not Blanche. She hugged that delicious knowledge to herself and decided she’d strip naked if he asked it of her.

“Let’s get those infernal things off,” he said.

She blinked hard, thinking he’d heard her exceedingly naughty thoughts.

“Before you fall again. The shoes, of course.”

He knelt and she lifted her hem enough to expose her feet and ankles. She balanced on her good leg while he undid the shoe on her sprained ankle. It was still bound with a length of cloth for support. He eased the shoe off and brushed his fingertips around her sore spot, his touch gentle, yet arousing. When he caressed her instep before lowering her foot, a tickling streak of pleasure shot up her leg and settled in her groin.

“Can you stand on it?” he asked.

“For a bit.” She lifted her other foot so he could remove that shoe as well. If he asked her to fly, she’d make an attempt.

When he was finished and she stood in stocking feet, he rose up, sliding his hands slowly along her legs, lifting her skirt and bunching the fabric over his arms as he came upright. Starbursts of sensation danced along her skin.

“You’re so smooth,” he said, as he covered her bare sex with one hot palm. “Now, where was I?”

“Right there.” She scarcely breathed. His fingertip slipped into her intimate folds as he held her. A shimmer of pleasure sparked between her legs, coursed through her, then returned to circle her most sensitive spot.

He bent to kiss her again, then nibbled his way down her neck to her breasts. She threaded her fingers through his dark locks as she’d itched to do since she was a girl. Her nipples drew up taut and aching in anticipation.

His warm breath feathered over her breasts, doubling their sensitivity before he claimed them, licking and suckling. He thrummed her nipples with his tongue; then, when Daisy thought he couldn’t please her more, he used his teeth in a love nip.

Delight arced from her breasts to her womb. Her mound ached under his hand. She rocked her pelvis against his touch, but that only increased her longing.

“Spread your legs,” Lucian urged as he switched to her other breast. “Open to me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a lover’s demand, and she complied with joy. He invaded, gently exploring her tender places.

Breathless awareness prickled her whole being as he spread her intimate folds. She was so slick and wet, his fingers slid from one tiny valley to the next with ease. The whole world spiralled down to his hand on her, touching and exploring. Daisy gasped when he passed a glancing caress over that tiny bundle of flesh Blanche’s journal had described as “the seat of bliss.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” he asked, returning to the pea-size bump. “The place that drives women wild?”

Daisy nodded, not trusting her voice. The little spot between her legs throbbed.

He returned to circle it with his middle finger, maddeningly, teasingly avoiding direct contact.

She shuddered in frustration.

Then he slid his finger farther along her folds and entered her, now rubbing over that special place with the pad of his thumb. She spread her legs wider, granting him deeper access.

“You feel wonderful,” he whispered into her ear. “But I want to look at you.”

Without waiting for her response, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her to the duke’s glass-smooth desktop.

She leaned back on her elbows as he lifted her skirt and spread her legs wide. The scent of her arousal wafted around them. Her breath hitched uncertainly, but Lucian’s nostrils flared like a stallion’s, and the wild light of a rutting creature flashed in his eyes. As she watched his face, he struggled to master himself and contain the beast.

An exceedingly wicked part of her hoped he’d fail.

But he maintained control and very deliberately bent to place a kiss high on the tender skin of her inner thigh.

“You’re like . . . like a flower,” he said with wonder as he parted her outer folds and then drew a fingertip along the delicate inner ones. “All soft and dewy and fragrant, with your secrets safe inside.”

He pressed a kiss on her, then stayed to dally using his hands, lips and tongue. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, blinded by pleasure. She writhed. She moaned. She couldn’t have remained a sedate and proper lady for worlds. She knew no law but delight.

Every woman in London, with the exception of her great-aunt perhaps, would admonish her to feel shame at being handled and ogled and finally devoured. But Daisy felt only joy at Lucian’s obvious delight in her. She’d longed for his touch, yearned for him to discover all her secrets and find them fair.

But he seemed to be going round-robin a bit, missing that extra-sensitive spot with each pass. She squirmed to shift herself into his path. It helped some, but the ache was quickly building to frustration.

Besides, she wanted to divine all his secrets as well.

Much as she hated to halt his investigations, she had her own to attend. She sat up and grasped his head, easing him up, even though her groin throbbed in protest.

“I haven’t hurt you?” he asked, his expression dazed.

“Oh, no.”

“Then why did you stop me? Was I doing it wrong?”

“Not exactly. Your touch is wonderful.” She ducked her head shyly. “It’s just that you’re missing the spot sometimes. But I think we’re on the right path. As Mlle La Tour says, ‘The journey is at least as important as the destination.’” She kissed him and tasted herself on his lips. “I want to drive you wild as well.”

“You do, Daisy, you do,” he assured her. “You’re the most vexing creature on God’s earth.”

“And I’m sure you mean that in the best possible way,” she said with wicked smile, toying with the buttons of the drop fly of his breeches.

“Absolutely.” He surrendered to her invasion.

She worked at unfastening his breeches and undergarments, knowing this time what a delightfully thick phallus awaited her under the linen. But her fingers weren’t quick enough, and he rushed to help her. He strained against the fabric. She drew him out, one hand palming his scrotum, the other caressing the length of him, lingering over the bit of skin near the base of the head that seemed the male counterpart to her special place. She circled it teasingly with her thumb.