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Good evening, madame.”

Respect, Lara thought with resignation as he bowed away, was so dearly earned and so easily lost. At a guess, there was not a man in the

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crowded ballroom who did not look at her differently now that everyone was agog over her affair with the infamous
comte
.

“Is it wise to even exchange a passing glance with Cartel, much less speak with him, even if so briefly?”

The sneering question made her look up. She saw Jacques Lacroux stood very near, his pale silver eyes baleful as he gazed at her, his fingers gripping a glass of champagne as if he would shatter the delicate stem. He was thin to the point of gauntness, attired in elegant evening clothes, with the lean hungry face of a wolf. His hair was long and blond, drawn back in a queue, emphasizing his pallor.

Haughtily, Lara said, “I do not know what you mean. He is very a nice young man—”

“Who would like nothing better than to topple Bonaparte from his throne, especially if he could give the emperor the shove himself.”

She pointed out with as much calm as possible, “Many people feel that way.”

“But not all of them pass valuable information to the enemies of France. Beware. I am watching you, waiting for that slip that will allow me my triumph. I will see you grovel at my feet, Countess, make no mistake.”

Coldly, she replied, “Monsieur, you overstep yourself. Once again, I am sorry I rebuffed your advances when I first arrived here, however, your enmity is…misplaced. It wasn’t personal,” she lied. “I was simply not ready to accept my husband’s death.”

“Of course,” a cynical smooth voice interrupted, “that has fortunately passed.

“Come, Lara, dance with me, I haven’t touched you since we arrived. Good evening, Lacroux, but I am sure you will excuse us.”

Handing his glass to a passing footman, Anton did not wait for agreement but instead grasped her waist, swinging her gracefully into the whirling mob on the floor. He was a superb dancer. She had watched him enough times over the past year to know that already.

Lara lightly grasped his muscled shoulder and lowered her gaze to

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conceal the alarm in her eyes, but she knew he felt the trembling in her body.

How much, she wondered, did the enigmatic
comte
know?

They moved together to the music, a host of interested stares upon them, the fluttering of fans taking on epic proportions. Wondering if he deliberately held her a little too close for convention just for the inquisitive throng, Lara was actually relieved when he whispered in her ear he felt they had dutifully put in an appearance and was ready to leave, if she was agreeable.

Once they were in his carriage, rolling away from the sprawling mansion, she hoped he wouldn’t mention the confrontation, but that was a foolish dream.

Across from her, his long legs extended so they brushed her skirts, her lover smiled without humor. “I offer you my protection, my beautiful Lara, but even I cannot shield you completely if you are careless. Cartel is too young to be completely circumspect. There are many who know his politics. It is no wonder Leon was caught when men like Louis Cartel are involved. He can’t be more than twenty.

“Tell me, do think it is that much of a secret, their little …organization? Do you want me to name them all? I know each one.

If that does not scare you, it certainly should. All it would take is for one of them to be caught and confess all, including the names of those who aid them. So far, Medes is not talking, I am told. But who knows, some men break more easily than others. Lacroux is not unique, there are many fanatics who believe in this new regime.” After a small pause, he added, “He is just more intent on you personally.”

Lara fought a shiver.

“I see it does frighten you, which is all to the good,” he said in a soft voice, his arresting dark eyes veiled by ridiculously long lashes.

“However, I am only telling you this to make sure you understand all you need to do is stay completely away from any contact with your
colleagues.
Instead, you can spend your time more…pleasurably.”

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“In your bed, of course,” Lara retorted, unsure if he baited her, but not willing to test him further.

“Of course. I promise to share with you my impressive
size
whenever you wish.”

What she wished, of course, was that his
size
wasn’t tempting in any way. But remembering the way he had stretched her so wide and deliciously the night before made that impossible. Her face heated when she recalled how she had so eagerly spread her legs, welcoming his erotic invasion, and how she had cried out at the sheer joyous release he had brought her. She felt branded by his touch—her breasts tingling at the memory of his heated mouth suckling her nipples, dampness suddenly flooding her cleft at the heavy promise in his gaze.

“The moment we get home,
chérie,
since you look like you can’t wait,
”
he said as he correctly read the change in her expression, “I will take you at once, for my hunger equals yours. Then I will spend the rest of the night making love to you slowly and sinfully. You will like every moment if I recall properly your sensual enthusiasm of last evening.”

“I can wait indefinitely, monsieur.” Lara coolly attempted the lie, doubting somehow she achieved any kind of conviction in her voice, for suddenly his mouth quirked at the corner in amusement.

“Are you so sure?”

“Absolutely.”

As if in answer to that declaration, the carriage suddenly rocked to a jolting halt, the sound of shouting outside very clear. Seconds later, the hatch opened and the driver’s face appeared, his hat slightly askew. “Forgive me, Monsieur de Comte, but there is an accident ahead. It looks to be difficult to clear away. A large coach collided with a wagon of vegetables, bound no doubt for the early morning market. Already people are gathering. I think we should turn around and go a different route, though it will take time. Waiting here might take hours at a guess.”

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“Go around by all means, Gaston,” the
comte
declared with a careless wave of his hand. “I have the beauteous countess to keep me company, so the delay does not chafe me.”

“Yes, of course, Comte.”

When the hatch flipped shut, Anton lifted one elegant brow and the carriage began to lurch as the driver fought to turn it around in the narrow street, allowing them to proceed the opposite direction. “How frustrating this delay. Of course, I suppose it need not be.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lara asked, all at once wary of the heated glimmer in the eyes of the man across from her, all too aware of his lean, muscled body, of his powerful masculine beauty, and of the simmering erotic promise in his smile.

“These seats are actually quite roomy, don’t you think, my gloriously deceptive English lady?” Before she even quite realized it, Lara found he had joined her, crowding the upholstered seat, leaning over her as she tried to retreat in the small space. “Lie back,” he ordered softly, “like this. We have time, let us spend it pleasantly instead of talking of treason or Bonaparte’s venal ambitions.”

Grasping her hips, he tugged her backward until she reclined on the seat, his hands sliding under skirts, his palms warm on her legs, caressing her bare inner thighs above her stockings and garters.

“Anton,” she gasped in protest, making him laugh.

“I like,” he said softly, his hands straying upward, finding her sex with his long fingers, stroking her folds lightly and causing another rush of warm wetness there, “the sound of my name on your lips, Lara. Say it again, just to please me.”

If there were any treason, it was in her wayward senses, Lara thought, feeling that light practiced touch, a sudden anticipation flooding her body. Within moments, she was nude from the waist down, the flurry of her skirts shoved up above her hips, those same caressing, talented hands running along her bare legs.

Anton brushed her center again with his fingertips, a caress that sent the blood thrumming through her veins. He adjusted himself so

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that he leaned between her open thighs, lifting her legs with her knees bent, pushing them apart very wide.

Backwards on the seat, she complied, holding her legs open, feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet excited at the same time. Her cleft throbbed, her labia swelling and softening in anticipation. “Anton,”

she whispered.

In the darkness of the carriage, his smile was a gleam. Almost conversationally, he spoke as he stared at the vulnerable weeping place between her legs, “You are quite wet already. Tell me, do you want me to make love to you right now, or fuck you?”

The coarse word was not something she hadn’t heard before, but certainly not something a lady was
supposed
to hear. Without doubt, no one had ever said it deliberately in front of her. “What?” She gasped incredulously, for he was the consummate gentleman at all times.

“Last night,” he explained as his hands caressed her inner thighs, strong and yet gentle, his gaze heatedly focused at the apex of her open sex as the carriage began to rock forward, “I wanted to make slow, passionate love to you, but…I’m afraid you wanted me to fuck you, at least that first time. There is a distinction, you realize. Making love is a deliberate sharing of mutual pleasure. Fucking, on the other hand, is more basic, a greedy need for release if you will. Tell me, Countess, are you wanting to share, or are you needy?”

Held open so blatantly, feeling the aching seep of wetness between her legs under that penetrating intent look, Lara swallowed, closing her eyes. She did feel ravenously needy if the truth be known.

Ever since this morning, when she had woken and remembered how it felt to lie in his arms and feel his touch…not to mention the glorious penetration of his spectacular erection, she had been unconsciously looking forward to this moment.

“Fuck me,” she exhaled on a breath, “and then like last night, make love to me later.”

“Can I use my tongue first?” His compelling smile grew wicked.

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Now she truly didn’t understand him. Knitting her brow, she whispered, “I don’t know…just please,” she begged and would probably feel humiliated later, but didn’t care, “do something to me.

Now.”

“Oh, certainly
.
”

Before she truly understood his intent, he lowered himself between her bent and spread open legs and she felt him lightly kiss her most intimate place, his breath whispering across the heated, sensitive flesh. A small cry caught in her throat as he suddenly pressed his mouth against her aching cleft and began to tantalize the tender tissue between those folds with long strokes of his tongue, going from her swollen nub to her female opening and back again, tasting all of her.

“Oh, God,” she cried, arching back, not able to believe the sensations evoked by his scandalous intimate kiss.

“Remember, darling, call, me Anton,” he murmured, chuckling, his fingers parting her labia, holding her open as he lowered his head again. This time, when he laved her with greater force, she felt as if she ascended to heaven, the sensation was so carnally intense, so blissful and abandoned. Opening her legs wider, uncaring of the fact that they racketed along the streets of one of the largest cities in the world, she moaned and arched, reaching for an accelerating paradise.

“Yes…oh, yes.”

His hands slid lower and cupped her bare bottom, cradling her as he nuzzled her pubic hair, licking, pushing into her vagina with his tongue in a glorious imitation of what he would do later with his cock.

It was decadent, but something in that very decadence excited her immeasurably.

Her orgasmic peak built, holding her in a sexual prison, nothing on earth important suddenly but the skillful teasing of Anton’s mouth between her legs. In turn, he licked and then sucked gently. She shook, her body trembling, out of her control, and tiny, exquisite spasms rippled through her womb and passage.

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With a small scream as she climaxed, Lara threw back her head and arched into his hungry mouth. Gripping her buttocks, he held her place and kept her on the brink for what seemed a rapturous eternity, his mouth hard against her pulsing cleft, her thighs taut and open in his large hands as she shuddered over and over.

Finally, he withdrew and she lay there, uncaring of her dishabille, her thighs slick with the liquid evidence of her intense release.

Vaguely, she realized Anton unfastened his trousers, releasing his erect shaft.

Her body still humming, she put her hands up against his chest in protest as he moved over in obvious intention, saying in weak protest, “Anton, no, I can’t now…”

“Yes, my love, you can,” he kissed her lightly, his mouth damp with her fluids, his large penis inexorably prodding the burning opening between her open legs. Pushing through to penetrate and stretch her, he began to rapidly thrust in and out. To her amazement, it felt wonderful despite the tremors that still rippled through her, his entrance both insistent and relentlessly splendid.

That she found pleasure again so quickly was a revelation, and Lara slipped her arms around his neck as he moved in slick, arousing friction, matching the sway of the moving vehicle.

It was resplendently, vividly sinful to feel such wicked abandon.

He felt huge, large yet velvety smooth and hard as iron at the same time. His shaft plunged into her time and again, his impatience apparent in the way he breathed so unevenly in her ear and the rub of his open trousers against her tender thighs.

She expired in abject sexual joy once more, her orgasm swift and insistent, a small cry filling the carriage. Lara felt the man above her go rigid as he ejaculated, flooding her passage with scalding semen and shuddering in her arms. He held there deep inside her, his hands braced on the rocking seat, both of them uncaring of the sound of horses and the cobbled streets under the wheels.