Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel (12 page)

“I’m perfectly fine with this being the last dance of the night.”

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“No,” she said, wondering where the sultriness in her voice had come from. “But I am ready to leave with you.”

When the music ended, they said good-night to their host and hostess. Outside the air was cool. While he draped her pelisse over her shoulders, it was his nearness more than the cloth that warmed her.

As they settled into the carriage, he said, feigning surprise, “Well I wonder where my sister has gone off to. Whatever will happen between us without a chaperone?”

She cradled his face with her gloved hands. “It is my hope, James, that we’ll kiss.”

As the carriage rolled away, she found her hope being realized as he crushed his mouth against hers, and she parted her lips to receive what he offered. Once again she was amazed by his taste, but tonight it was different. No meat pie. Rather, it was rich and smooth and decidedly dark. Not champagne. He’d had something else to drink, something strong, something that would appeal to a man. Whatever it was, she liked it—enjoyed the flavor on his tongue as it stroked hers.

His arms stole around her back and hips, and she found herself being pulled onto his lap. Almost immediately the angle of the kiss shifted and deepened, as though he was intent on touching her heart. How was she to tell him that he already had, in so many small ways, like a ball made up of scraps of yarn that came together to create an intriguing whole? The loan of the pearls, the fireworks, the drives through London. Conversations and waltzes. An invitation to a ball. She’d come to London with a goal, and he’d slowly worked his way into her life until she had a difficult time remembering what her plans had been.

Selfishly, to her everlasting guilt, Rockberry seemed insignificant when compared with what she might have if she turned her focus away from the vile man. James’s heated mouth trailed along the curve of her jaw, then journeyed over her throat, leaving a damp mist in its wake. Her pelisse fell away from her shoulders, baring them to him. Without hesitation, he began to nibble on the exposed skin. His teeth gently nipped her collarbone, before his tongue tenderly apologized.

Squirming on his lap, she pressed her legs together, relishing the tiny tremors of pleasure that seemed to originate there and spread outward. She’d never experienced anything like this. It was as though by touching her in one place, he had the ability to create that touch over her entire body. Everything wanted to curl into itself, tighten and expand. His harsh breathing echoed through the confines of the carriage as his large hands traveled over her. She felt the hardness of him bulging against her hip. His raspy groans filled her ears before he returned his mouth to hers with a hunger that exceeded her own. She had no doubt that he desired her, that he was hers to command, that she was his to treasure.

The carriage came to a halt, and he released a low groan as he tore his mouth from hers and pressed his forehead against hers. She knew she should have moved off him, was certain he knew he should have pushed her away.

But instead they clung to each other, as though they were both drowning in a tumultuous sea. Even when the footman opened the door, James didn’t loosen his hold.

“Give us a moment,” he ground out hoarsely.

The door immediately closed, blocking out the world that required chaperones and propriety, enclosing them in their own world where behavior was dictated by them.

“It’s been the most magical night of my life,” she whispered, her heart pounding so hard that she was certain he could hear it. “I don’t want it to end, not here, not like this.”

He drew back, and in the shadowy confines of the carriage, she felt more than saw his gaze wandering over her face as though he was searching for an explanation of her words. “What are you saying, Eleanor?”

“I want to stay the night with you.”

Chapter 8

H
e knew it was a terribly bad idea, even as he ushered her into his lodging house and up the stairs to his rooms. But he wanted her too desperately, and even if he was compromising his integrity, he didn’t give a damn. He’d have a talk with Sir David and make everything right in the morning, work things out to the satisfaction of Scotland Yard and Lord Rockberry. The hood of Eleanor’s pelisse hid her face. Swindler was not in the habit of bringing young misses to his lodgings, although his landlady was accustomed to him keeping late hours. She seldom stirred from her bed when he arrived home. Tonight, thank God, was no exception. With his key, he quickly unlocked the door to his apartment and ushered Eleanor into the room. Barely taking the time to close and lock the door behind him, he pulled her into his arms. God help him, he’d never wanted a woman so desperately, had never wanted to feel her body pressed against his, had never wanted to drink so passionately from her mouth. She’d only just entered the room, and already her rose scent was taking up residence, mingling with the more earthly scented cologne he used so sparingly.

Her mouth eagerly opening to his, she intertwined her arms around him like a rose seeking out its place on a trellis. No coyness, no doubts, simply need and desire spurring her on. He banished his own doubts that he was ruining her. If she was so willing to give him tonight, she could quite possibly give him more. Where they would take this was a discussion for another time. For now, all that mattered was that everything that had been building inside him since he first kissed her in Cremorne Gardens was about to be brought to fruition. If he could just hold on, just hold his own needs in check. He wouldn’t allow her first time to be tainted by his inability—

His mind came to a staggering stop, as did the kiss. He always gave ladies his attention, but tonight he wanted to give her more than he’d ever given to anyone, because she meant more to him than anyone else ever had. With nimble fingers that had never served him well as a pickpocket, he quickly loosened the fastenings on her pelisse. In the darkness, he heard the whisper of it pooling at her feet.

Tearing off his gloves, he tossed them toward a nearby chair, but based on the thud, they’d landed on the parquet. The faintest light from the street eased shyly into the room, silhouetting them, providing no details. Now, he thought, now with the darkness providing its own haven, he should explain to her how he’d come to be in her life. He should tell her that he’d see to Rockberry, that he would ensure the man paid for whatever he’d done to Elisabeth. He would be her champion. Even as he considered that now was the time to reveal all, he wanted nothing to detract from this moment. Later he would tell her everything, after he’d spoken with Sir David, once he’d set things into motion.

But tonight was just for them. He didn’t want Elisabeth or Rockberry or Sir David invading this moment, becoming part of this memory. Just as that night at Cremorne Gardens when she’d not wanted to discuss the past, so now he selfishly and greedily wanted this moment to focus on the present, on them, on what they could share with each other. Gently, he cradled her cheek. “It’s not too late if you’ve changed your mind.”

He’d very likely expire on the spot, but he had never forced a woman, and he wasn’t about to start now, especially with her.

He could see her sweet smile. “I haven’t. Have you?”

Laughing, he swept her into his arms and strode into his bedchamber. “Never. I’ve wanted you since that first afternoon in the park.”

“You’ve shown remarkable restraint.”

“You’ve no idea.”

He set her down beside the bed, before turning to the bedside table and striking a match. The wick of the lamp flared to life.

“Wouldn’t darkness serve better?” she asked.

“No.” But he turned down the flame until it allowed in enough shadows to provide the intimacy he thought she required.

“Your bed is so large. I’ve never seen one like it.” He heard the nervousness in her voice.

“I had it made especially for me to accommodate my height. But it’s only a bed, Eleanor, and nothing will happen within it that you don’t desire.”

He detected the tiniest of flinches. With both hands, he cupped her face to draw her attention back to him. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know. I trust you implicitly, James. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

He brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her deeply. Tasting the lingering flavor of champagne, he prayed the heady drink wasn’t affecting her decision. But she wasn’t swaying, not yet anyway. If he had his way, she would before long. She’d become drunk on his kisses, on his touches.

He dragged his mouth along her throat, feeling her pulse quickening against his lips. With a sigh and her hands clutching the sleeves of his jacket, she dropped her head back, giving him easier access to whatever he might wish to plunder. Her hair first, he thought, as he straightened. He skimmed his knuckles down the column of her throat. “You have the most enticing neck.”

“Is it my best feature, do you think?”

“A little vain, Eleanor?”

Her brow pleated. “No, I just…I’m nervous, I suppose. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“There is absolutely nothing about you that could disappoint me.”

He saw in her eyes the pleasure that his words brought. It was only the first bit of pleasure he intended to bring her. After deftly removing her pins, he watched her hair cascade around her shoulders and tumble down her back. It was more glorious than it had appeared at a distance. He almost confessed about the night he’d watched her brushing it in the window, but then he’d have to explain why he’d been outside her lodgings. He didn’t want anything to distract her from his attentions.

He took her hand and began to peel her glove down her arm until it was bunched at her wrist. His thumb grazed her pulse there and he felt it jumping beneath his touch. She watched him, and he wondered what she was searching for, hoped she could see how very much he treasured these moments with her.

“I could do that,” she whispered, her voice a rough rasp.

“It’s my pleasure to do it.” He tugged on each finger until they were all free enough that he could finish removing her glove. Tossing it away haphazardly, he skimmed his fingers over her hand.

“The glove belongs to the Duchess of Greystone. I should take more care with it,” she said.

“She won’t mind. I’ll purchase her new ones if need be.”

He began working to remove the other glove. With the bared hand, she touched his cheek, skimmed her fingers up into his hair. It was the first time she’d stroked him with a bare hand. Although it was only his face, his hair, his scalp, a shudder of pleasure coursed through him. He wanted her touch so badly. Everywhere. He discarded the second glove with equal abandon. Very slowly he turned her around.

She’d not expected him to take his time, but then where he was concerned, she had quickly learned that he was a constant surprise. He made her feel lovely, desired. She saw in his eyes that even something as simple as letting her hair down pleased him. Now he moved it so it all draped over one shoulder. Then he began to work on her gown. She felt the first button set free, then the second. She tried to remember how many buttons there were, how long it might take before the gown was removed completely. Before she’d finished the thought, he was easing it off her shoulders.

He touched his mouth to her neck, and it was as though he’d poured hot wax into her veins. Warmth swirled through her.

She knew she was wrong to be here, to take matters this far, but Elisabeth’s death had taught her that one never knew when everything of value could be stolen. James was hers for tonight. She had no promises that he’d be hers tomorrow.

Happiness was fleeting. Love an illusion.

She would make the most of what time she had with him, cherish it, pray that she never came to regret it.

She pushed back thoughts of Elisabeth and Rockberry. For this small space of time, she wanted no sorrow to intrude, no quest for retribution. Selfishly, she was going to take all that James offered her and hoard it away for the lonely nights that would no doubt await her. Leisurely, so leisurely that her skin grew more sensitive, he removed cotton, silk, lace. He untied ribbons, loosened buttons, eased aside cloth. Each piece was discarded without care, until nothing remained except for the pearls, while his fingers gave the greatest care and attention to her skin. His mouth followed his fingers, touching and tasting, stirring passions until she thought she’d go mad with wanting more.

Pivoting around to face him, she judged his reaction, hoping he wasn’t disappointed that she wasn’t acting demure. She wanted this night with him, wanted it so badly she would trade her soul for it. No doubt she already had.

His breathing became short and shallow as his gaze took a leisurely sojourn from the top of her head to her wiggling toes.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was scratchy and rough, his eyes heated, his craggy features now so familiar and yet tonight so different, as though each part of her somehow managed to reshape him.

“We should put away the pearls lest they break,” she told him.

“No, leave them. They somehow suit this moment.”

She was surprised that he ceased to touch her. “I won’t break,” she assured him as she tugged on his neckcloth.

“My hands are callused.”

“I like the way they feel,” she said, taking one and bringing it to her lips. She circled her tongue around its center and he released a low strangled groan.

“You torment me,” he rasped.

To her surprise, she released a short burst of laughter. “Me? I’m not the one still wearing clothes.”

He rewarded her with one of his rare, sensual smiles as his jacket was added to her pile of clothes. His waistcoat and shirt followed, then everything else, until all that remained were his trousers. He was magnificent. Sculpted stone could not have contained or revealed more perfection.

Running her hands up his chest, she felt his muscles bunch and relax as she journeyed over them. For his size, he was all lean muscle and flesh. Stepping closer to him, she brushed her breasts against his chest.