The Duke and the Virgin (2 page)

“But you already know who I am.”

She was part of his class, good breeding flowing through every action, from her speech patterns and well-bred accent, to the way she held herself.

“Our situations are completely different, as well you know. Fair or not, women are always judged differently than men.”

“So you are assuming our paths will cross.”

“I know they will.”

He searched her face again, trying to see beyond the mask, looking for something—anything—that would help identify her. “Have I made your acquaintance?”

“We move within some of the same circles in the ton. I would not say we could claim an association, however.”

“You intrigue me. So we travel within the same class. You have been to my London house?”

She nodded, although that really didn’t narrow down the list. His mother, renowned for her balls, invited nearly everyone. “Have you been to my family estate for our summer party?

“I have not had the pleasure, your grace.”

“So not a member of my family’s inner circle.”

“Certainly not. In fact, I believe, if someone mentioned my name, neither you nor your family would be able to put a face to it.”

“Then take off the mask, my lady, as it should matter not if you are a nameless face in the crowd. I promise that, should I see you at a ball, I would do nothing to encourage scandal.”

“I cannot.” Her uncompromising tone discouraged argument. “If you insist upon seeing my face, then I must leave. “

For some reason, the idea of her leaving disturbed him. Perhaps because, for the first time in recent memory, he was having a conversation with a woman who didn’t simper or appear to have designs on his fortune. “Nay, I am only curious, is all. Should you wish to remain anonymous, who am I to complain? I am sure I will forever spend the rest of my days however, looking at women and wondering if one is you.” Walking behind her, he allowed his gaze to trail the elegant line of her neck, his dry lips aching to kiss it. He had paid a pretty penny to be there and although she was not a courtesan to be treated as he pleased, he had at least paid for that much.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I am yours to do with as you will, my lady.”

“Why would you go to Madame Eve to secure a rendezvous? You’re reputation is that of a rogue, your name causing titillation amongst the women of the ton. You could have nearly any of them as a bedmate, so why pay to meet one?”

“Could I have had you? Would you have warmed my bed if I had approached you at a ball?” He knew the answer and it bothered him. She wouldn’t have warmed his bed. In fact, she would have likely slapped his face. This a well-bred woman, whose motivations were yet unclear, had turned to Madame Eve for help.

“Actually,” he said, “I won the date in a poker game. I contacted Madame Evangeline, who informed me that dates could not be passed to someone else. By then, I was intrigued. To be honest, I am bored, and not even the thought of the Hellfire Club excites me.”

He had no idea why he’d needed to tell her any of that. Perhaps he desired to impel her to run. A gentleman never broached the topic of hedonistic clubs created for the sole purpose of allowing high society folks to act out their deepest immoral fantasies. The masked woman put his nerves on end. A strange, new emotion he hadn’t experienced or chose to ignore. Ladies in his circle were there to serve him. Starting in the household since his infancy, servants had run at his bidding and later, women served his baser needs.

He frowned. “What about you? Why did you call on the services of the Madame Eve?”

His unnamed lady bit her lip. “I didn’t want to go through life a virgin.”

Well, that answered the biggest of the questions on his list. “So get married.”

“You are under the delusion that women have a say in the matter. If we are not asked, there is very little we can do to rectify the lack. Honorably, that is.” She placed her reticule on the chair and started to remove her black gloves. “Being firmly on the shelf, not even on the edge of the shelf, but relegated to the back, I have watched more ladies than I can count enter and exit the marriage mart and I remain, as always, on the sidelines.”

Yes, women like her sat on the edge of the dance floor, desperate in their hope that some man, any gentleman, would bless them with his consideration. Pitiful women who, by their very nature of being content with any sort of attention, usually ended with none of it.

“A wallflower.”

“You say that like it’s a curse. There are worst things than being a wallflower.”

“Of course. You could be a wallflower bluestocking.”

She shifted abruptly and picked up her discarded pieces, her anger obvious. “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

He would not allow this spitfire, bluestocking or otherwise, out the door that evening. Changing tactics, he tugged her close and placed his lips on her bare neck.

Into her ear, he whispered, “No, you came here to be debauched, deflowered, and fucked until you scream. I believe your intent was to find out if the words written in those dirty little novels hidden in every library are true.”

She shivered. He must tread slowly. He planned to provoke her within the next minutes. Playing to her curiosity and thirst for sexual knowledge would keep her from running. Trailing a finger along the curve of her jaw, he said, “Tell me what you are feeling.”

“Nervous.”

“But not scared?”

She shook her head.

“You’re trembling.” He traced his knuckles across her collarbone. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he brought her against his chest while purposely preventing her from coming in contact with his hardening cock. He opened his hand and placed it over her soft belly. “What are you feeling here?”

She stiffened in his arms, her breathing fast and erratic. “I don’t know how to describe it. My stomach is doing circles. Not like when I’m ill, but—I don’t know.”

Smiling, he slid the hair off her neck and kissed the hollow spot just below her ear. She hissed before leaning into him, doubtless understanding that her body already craved more.

“Here is the game. You answer my questions as honestly as you can, and I will reward you with a new sensation each time.”

He couldn’t remember when wooing a lady had intrigued him so much. She was a sure thing, after all. He could have her, leave, and never look back. As a well-bred lady who had paid to set up a liaison, she had managed to pique his interest in something other than land, tenants, and laws. The only goal in her mind was to leave the next morning without her virginity. He could take care of that, but something deep within wouldn’t allow such callous behavior. She had a special quality that drew him.

“It’s so very strange. Warm and cold all at once.”

Lowering the neckline of her dress, he kissed her shoulder. “Where?”

”Between my legs,” she whispered.

He hid his surprise with silence. A woman who spoke the truth without being coy? So far he’d struck gold, thanks to Madame Eve. And if the masked lady could afford to pay Madame’s high fee, she couldn’t come from a family with small pockets. He rewarded her honesty by running his fingers up and over her breasts and feasted his lips on more bare skin. Working to catch her breath, she pushed her marvelous breasts against the bodice of her dress, their heavy weight filling his palms.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Without delay or hesitation, she turned to face him, eyes shut. He pressed his mouth to hers, taking advantage of her gasp by delving his tongue past her lips. She gripped his coat and her knees buckled.

Her lids fluttered open, her pale green eyes clear.

“So did the novels do it justice?” He chuckled.

‘Not even close, my lord.”

“Call me Wolfe, please.” He wanted to hear her scream his name in the throes of passion, wanted it imprinted on her that the man, not the duke, had incited that passion in her. He snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her into close contact with his overheated and primed body. His cock strained against the button flap of his breeches. “Do you feel what you do to me? Do you understand?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Grabbing her hand, he encouraged her to work down his chest to his waistband. As if comprehending what he next planned to do, she jerked her fingers away. Her cheeks reddened but before she could avert her eyes from his, he held her chin between gentle, yet firm, fingers. He wouldn’t miss her reactions for all the tea in England. Shy eyes met his again. Normally, he’d have described the look as coy, but even having just met her, he sensed no flirtation in her actions. With his cock hard to the point of pain, he stroked her hand over the undeniable bulge.

Eyes wide with shock, she cupped him and jumped when it twitched in response. Within seconds, however, she grew brave, giggled, and explored more thoroughly. Her lips parted enough to allow the tip of her pink tongue to sneak between them. Images of it licking up his shaft flooded his mind and, for the first time since he’d been an untried youth, a woman threatened to bring him to his knees. After but a few moments in her presence, he sensed his life changing and doubted one night would soothe the ache she’d already created.

He had to gain the upper hand before he lost control. “Are you ready for more?”

Taking a calming breath, she adjusted her gown. “Maybe we could have some tea first?”

“Tea? Perhaps wine would do better.” Searching the room for a pull cord, he found none and strode to the door to summon a servant. An open bottle of expensive vintage and stemware sat on a tray on the table in the empty hall. Grateful for the thoughtful staff, he brought the tray in, filled a glass, and handed it to her.

She gulped the wine and handed the glass back for him to refill.

He stared at it then raised an eyebrow. “You do want to remember this evening, don’t you?”

She blushed and glanced away, spotting the book he’d set nearby.
A Journey through India
. Picking it up, she beamed. “Fascinating read. I have always wondered if the descriptions of India are fantasy or factual.”

She’d shifted the conversation to something safe and he would give that to her. A few minutes to gain her footing would do them both good. She wouldn’t leave anytime soon and they had hours to enjoy each other.

“I suspect the author has never once set foot outside of England.”

“Really?” As if the thought that someone could write something they knew nothing about had never occurred to her, she flipped through the pages with interest. Delicate fingers caressed them much like they had his cock only moments earlier. “So you think flying carpets….”

“Are a figment of the author’s very active imagination.”

“I must admit I considered the same thing.” She chuckled and placed the book back on the table.

Closing the distance that separated them, he pulled her into his arms. He didn’t want her using that inquisitive brain of hers for conversation any longer, he wanted her to experience. Capturing her lips, he tasted the sweet red wine that lingered, spurring him to deepen the kiss. Though less tentative than the first time, she still hesitated adorably before responding. With the exception of his lips and tongue, he remained still to allow her to explore. He sensed her growing bravery, hoped her graceful fingers would soon caress his body. The longer he spent in her presence, the more he admired her obvious inner strength and ached to know more of her.

Her eyes fluttered open and he didn’t want her brain to clear from the fog enveloping her. Not now or ever. Such a thought should have him running from the room, out one of the escape routes the servant had shown him, and back to his safe, if boring, life. Yet his body had no wish to leave. And, he suspected, before morning his very soul would feel the same. He kissed her again, waltzing his tongue with hers, drinking in all she would give him.

His voice hoarse, he said, “Tell me your name.”

“Llysa.” Gripping his nape, she forced him down for another, deeper kiss.

He cheered silently that she’d given her name, certain it was real, yet just as certain it would not be the one the ton would know her by. Perhaps a pet name her family used. “Llysa,” he murmured to taste it on his lips.

Hesitant hands pushed at his lapels, working under his velvet coat, rubbing over the silk shirt. She sighed. “You’re chest is so much harder than mine.”

“You’ll find most of me is harder.” Shrugging out of his overcoat, he didn’t stop until it landed on the floor, followed by his brocade vest. The best fabrics money could buy lay haphazardly where they fell. He was glad his valet wasn’t there.

She stepped back. “I want to see you.”

He couldn’t help grinning. Llysa wanted to enjoy every part of the evening, not simply lie back and let it happen. With every fiber of his being, he would give her what she desired. After removing his cufflinks and setting them aside, he tugged the shirttails out of his pants, lifted the fine linen over his head then stood before her, naked to the waist. He hoped she found him appealing. He had never cared much if the woman with him thought him attractive. Most were looking for a bedmate, or the draw of money and power, a stronger aphrodisiac than his body. But it mattered a great deal if Llysa liked what she saw.

After what seemed like forever, she reached for him, then stopped, her fingers inches from his skin. It sang with need. She closed the distance and he hissed when her tentative touch on his chest sent tiny sparks straight to his cock. She appeared to enjoy his response and began to explore, but when her palm moved south, he thought he might come. His hand shot up to stop her.

Breathing deeply, he cupped her face. “My turn, minx.”

“Your turn?”

Lyssa had never dreamed she could be so bold. But once his warm skin lay under her daring fingertips, nothing else mattered. Hard muscle jumped at her touch and the triangular patch of hair on his chest fascinated her, not soft as she had expected, but coarse and springy. The tight muscles of his washboard stomach drew her attention, and there he stopped her exploration.