RendezvousWithYou

Cecily
French

Ian covets the title The Best Lover in London and
enthusiastic Bella is just the woman to assist him. A secret note promises she’s
eager to join in their evening of wicked delights, a masked contest against
other couples, all pleasure bound to achieve the thousand-pound prize. Their
host encourages them to let their imaginations run wild. Their identities are
private, as is each chamber. Once the masks are off, anything can happen. And
usually does.

A
Romantica®
Regency historical erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

London, 1816

Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied
?

A rich scent rose from the small piece of paper she clutched
and her heart leaped in excited expectation of the satisfaction to come.
Beneath the skirt of her dressing gown, a dull ache started between her legs
and a warm flow of fluid signaled the beginnings of her excitement. Mercy, all
she had to do was think of him—his prick inside her, pounding away while his
hands cupped her bottom so she could feel every last, blessed inch of him—and
she became aroused.

And heaven help her, there was a
lot
of him.

Perching on the stool, she read over the message again in
the flickering light from the candle on her dressing table, admiring the way
the handwriting covered the paper in a sprawling but neat script. She shivered
in delight, recalling the power of his hands. Soon those hands would be on her,
stroking, teasing, tweaking until he had her screaming to use something more
than his hands to finish their coupling.

Would it be hard and fast, or slow and agonizingly
delicious?

Or both?

Meet me at the appointed place tonight at eight o’clock.
Don’t be late
.

She would have it both ways. She would
demand
it from
him. Her smile in the dressing table’s three-sided mirror took on a saucy tilt
as she considered how she would him make do her bidding. Should she take her
new riding crop with her?
That
would certainly surprise him.

And not only would she have him, if she were lucky and he
proved the lover she knew him to be, she would be one thousand pounds richer by
the end of the night. A delicious thrill of naughtiness coursed over her. She’d
never done it for money before.

And a thousand pounds! She could certainly use it.

Her maid would not return to help her dress for tonight’s
affair so she slid the silken robe from her shoulders, past her hips to pool at
her feet. Her breasts gleamed with a pearly luminescence, her nipples rosy
against her pale skin. She hesitated, and then stroked one of her nipples,
rolling it between her fingers. A sigh issued from her throat. Touching herself
was not quite the same as having him do it.

“Perfection,” he had murmured this afternoon as he moved his
mouth from one breast to the other, his tongue working a wicked suckling magic.
“Delicious.”

Her hand slid down to her belly and stopped. Dare she bring
herself to satisfaction before joining him later? Her cave’s inner walls ached
and she slid her hand lower to touch herself.

Would it arouse him if she told him she had used her own
hand to take her to pleasure’s heights?

Somehow she thought it would.

She stood and put the stool aside, then dragged an oversized
brocaded chair from the corner of the room and set it before the dressing
table. Sitting, she draped her legs over the sides of chair, opening them wide,
and gazed at the pale blonde thatch of hair covering her mound. She slid one
hand between her thighs again while the other gripped the arm of the chair, and
fixed her thoughts on the man she would see within the hour. A creamy wetness
coated her fingers as they centered on the tight bud he called her “sweet
spot.” They traced, they tickled, they pinched. In the mirror, her expression
turned heavy-lidded and dreamy while her breathing sped and she recalled how he
touched her there.

“You are a miracle of design,” he had told her as his
fingers fondled her clitoris. “Built to hold a man’s cock. A man would be a
fool not to want to bury himself in your sweetness
.”

“
Then do it. Give me your cock. Give me all of you.”

“Not yet. My hand is going to make you scream before I
give you the rest of me.”

She whimpered, unable to stop from fingering her clitoris
harder and harder. She slapped her other hand over her mouth to stop her
scream. Her panting filled the room and she waited for her heart to slow its
furious pace.

Oh, yes. They would have to do it in a chair later tonight,
with her sitting in his lap, guiding his cock in and out of her as she
straddled him on her knees. Or maybe on top of a table. She shivered at the
thought of the cool hard wood beneath her ass and feet as she opened her legs
to accept him. She tweaked her nipples once more, just to last until his mouth
fastened on them, and shivered again. She must remember to ask him to pleasure
her with his hand first.

And depending on whether there was one in their room,
perhaps they could do it in front of a mirror.

Only slightly satisfied, she dressed and left for the
evening.

* * * * *

Where in blazes is she? I told her not to be late!

The man readjusted his mask and peered across the room. It
was ten minutes after eight and the other guests—five men counting himself and
four women, all masked—had already arrived. He didn’t mind waiting for pleasure
as long as it wasn’t
too
long a wait. A glance at the others showed them
engaged in private conversations. From his breeches pocket, he cautiously took
out her written reply to the note he had sent her earlier.

Your future satisfaction is assured, my good sir. Let
your imagination run wild. Until tonight
.

Trying not to grin too broadly, he returned the note to his
pocket. Not only would he have satisfaction, but he’d be a thousand pounds
richer if his partner proved up to the task. He glanced at the others. He had
no idea who they were and didn’t care. But no doubt like him, the chance to
earn a thousand pounds simply for a night of tupping was too tempting for them
to pass up.

No matter how vast his fortune, he could always use an extra
thousand pounds. In spite of that, he longed for another lengthy session with a
certain blonde lady. Their afternoon romp at the hotel and then in the carriage
had left him eager for the evening and all that was to follow.

A murmur started on the other side of the room and his gaze
followed. A woman in a silver gown carrying an open ivory fan had entered. An
elaborate mask of mauve and gold covered her upper features and a matching
reticule dangled from her wrist. Her elaborate white wig shimmered like
starlight from the flicker of hundreds of candles around the room. His groin
ached in anticipation and only the sternest of internal commands kept his cock
from hardening in front of God and everyone else. The thought of her hands on
him nearly made him groan aloud, but he pressed his lips together, keeping his
desire—for now—behind his mouth.

He crossed the room, making his walk one more suited to an
easy stroll through Hyde Park and not a man impatient to begin an evening of
sexual abandon. He might have to punish her just a bit for making him wait,
naughty chit that she was. Maybe a quick slap or two to that sweet lovely ass
of hers. But nothing
too
hard. Her porcelain skin was far too lovely to
mar with bruises. A sore ass might slow their fun.

And since she would be on that ass a good portion of the
evening, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Some might like pain along
with their lovemaking, but he had no use for it.

She stood waiting, her fan beating a slow, steady rhythm.
Her mouth, tinted with just the faintest hint of rouge, curved up as he
approached. The other couples had returned to their own conversations. That was
among this evening’s rules. One did not attempt to learn the identities of the
other guests and one paid attention only to one’s partner for the evening.

And by heaven, he would give her every bit of attention she
wanted…and then some.

He stopped before her and bowed. “I believe you are mine for
the evening, my lady?”

“I am.” Her voice rolled over him in a velvet growl and she
inclined her head.

“Can you prove it?”

The tip of her tongue ran over her lips and from her gown’s
low-cut bodice—one that if cut any lower would give every man present a good
look at all of her breasts instead of only the upper half—she produced a small
scrap of paper. “I believe you sent me this earlier today?”

He opened and read over the note before tucking it back in
place. Her silken skin and the luscious swell of her breasts made his mouth
water and it took every ounce of his self-control not to let his fingers creep
past the neckline and tweak her nipples into hardness.

Damn all. He had to taste them—now. He had to taste
all
of her now. “What am I to call you, my lady?”

“Isabell.” The beat of her fan picked up tempo. “And how am
I to call you?"

“Ian. You may call me Ian.”

Her twinkling eyes were an invitation to wantonness. “Very
well. Ian it is.”

“If I may have your attention, please.” A light-hued tenor
rang over the room and the assembly turned their attention to a slender man in
a simple black mask. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I am
Allesandro, your host.”

The guests exchanged glances. “Allesandro” was known to
everyone and no one—famed for arranging private parties where anything could
happen and usually did. His identity was debated and discussed from Carlton
House to Boodles to every Mayfair hostess’s drawing room. Invitations to his
events were as coveted as vouchers to Almack’s and no one had the least clue as
to whom he really was. Any attempts to discover and reveal his identity ensured
no more invitations from him. Ever.

“You all know why you are here tonight.” Allesandro bowed to
the assembly. “For—”

“Fucking ourselves silly,” shouted a man wearing a puce
brocade coat and a shirt with far too many ruffles.

The auburn-haired woman standing next to him rapped his arm
with her closed fan. “If you’re going to be silly, I’m leaving right now.”

“Not even a
little
bit silly?” he pleaded. “After
all, screwing should be fun.”

“That depends on what you have to show me.” She placed her
fan against his groin. “And it better be good.”

He grinned, took her gloved hand and kissed it. “You’re in
for a wonderful surprise, my dear.”

“I was going to say we are assembled to celebrate pleasure,”
Allesandro said cheerfully. “Pure carnal pleasure in all its forms. The only
limitations are those set by your imagination or lack thereof. But you
gentlemen should be flattered. The ladies present have all declared to me that
each of you is the best lover in London. So your indulgences tonight have the
added challenge of proving your so-called reputations. Who shall be our victor?
The couple who can keep it up until midnight, pardon the expression, wins this
evening’s purse of one thousand pounds, with the lone gentleman winning the
accolade of ‘Best Lover in London’. How you divide your winnings is up to you.”

“You mean we have to share it?” Isabell pointed at Ian. “I
have to divide it with him?”

“My dear lady,” Ian drawled. “You make it sound as though
you’re going to be doing all the work.”

“If I’m to be forced to share the money with you, you had
better do more than just lie there,” she retorted. “I want my money’s worth.”

Allesandro bowed in her direction. “If the length of a man’s
prick is judged by his height, I think you’ll get it, my lady.”

“Good,” Isabell said primly and the other guests laughed.

“As to the rest of the rules,” a grinning Allesandro said,
“we are not responsible for torn clothing or any injury that might result from
your excursions. Enthusiasm and vigor is one thing. Bodily harm is quite
another. I only ask you try not to break any of the furniture. If you have not
already made arrangements for refreshments, they are available by sending down
the dumbwaiter in each of your chambers.

“Your honesty in reporting is depended upon. Throughout the
evening, bells will ring to signal a couple’s retirement from the competition.
The last couple to reenter this room will take home the prize.”

“What about our masks?” a man called. “Do we leave them on
or take them off?”

“That is up to you. But remember, if you and your partner
did not know each other before tonight and want your invitations to such events
to continue, then keeping your partner’s identity secret is vital. If the rest
of the
ton
learns they were not invited to this event, they’ll be wild
with jealousy and my life will have no peace. But then, none of them have your
reputations for sexual prowess.” After waiting for the ladies’ chuckles to fade
away, he gave a final bow. “So,” he said, “let the revelry begin.”

A buzz of animated conversations began and Ian stared at the
beauty beside him. “Can I trust you to divide the spoils at the end of the
evening?”

Her mouth formed a delicious pout and her blonde eyebrows
drew together. “Are you going to make it worth my time?”

“To not do so would make me less than a gentleman. Shall we
go?”

Silently, he offered her his arm and led her from the room
into the large foyer and up the curving staircase. Flickering lamps on the
steps and wall sconces provided light to guide them, casting their shadows on
the walls. A couple in front of them moved with great haste as if desperate
desire drove them. They entered a room at the top of the stairs and slammed the
door behind them.

Ian chuckled and opened the next door in the hall, allowing
Isabell to enter first. He had hardly followed her inside and closed the door
when she threw aside her reticule and fan and thrust herself against him,
pulling his head down to bury her tongue in his mouth. His arms wrapped around
her waist and he pulled her close, thrusting his pulsing cock against her.

“I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon since I left
you,” she whispered, breaking their kiss while her hands slid down his back to
squeeze his ass. “Did I really leave you unsatisfied?”

“Yes and no.” His thumb traced the soft pad of her lips.
“After all, we only had an hour. But now we have until midnight, my lady. How
do you want it first?”