by Liana Lefey
The result was a sharp, burning sensation where they were joined that made her clench her teeth to keep from crying out. She prayed he would simply continue on until he found release. If he does not notice, I might not have to tell him about René, and then this whole debacle can be easily—
“George’s bollocks!” gasped the man above her, clumsily shifting up onto his elbows to peer down into her face with an expression of utter dismay. “Are you…? You were a virgin?” Scrambling back, he withdrew and looked down at himself in horror.
“I can explain—” she began, trying to inject a sense of calm in spite of the sick feeling in her stomach.
Gray eyes snapped up to meet hers, and now she saw fury slowly replace the shock as he held up his hand, on which there was a smear of blood. “Damned right, you will!” he rumbled menacingly. “Is this some sort of sick jest? Are you and your friends—or should I say ‘lovers’—having a laugh at my expense?” His face went blank for a moment before the anger returned, and along with it a new wariness. “Is this a trick? Are you—are you trying to entrap me?”
“No,” she answered glumly. “As if anyone would ever believe me still a virgin after living openly as someone’s mistress—even if it is true.” She hadn’t intended to come off that sarcastic, but it felt damned good to see him flinch back as she spat the words.
His expression went from angry to incredulous. “If it is true then—” Breaking off, he again looked down at himself, clearly trying to discern whether there really wasn’t some trickery involved.
“I assure you it most certainly is,” Diana hadn’t thought it possible for one’s ears to be this hot without melting right off the sides of their head.
“But if you were a virgin, then…” He gestured wildly around the room and then stabbed a finger at the incriminating feathers and scarves scattered across the bed. “What of all this, and the…things you did to me? How could a virgin know how to—”
“Harrow taught me—using books and drawings, obviously,” she added when his eyes widened. “Before you, no one had ever touched me. It has all been an act.”
He blinked, clearly flummoxed as he tried to process this information. Then his gaze again narrowed in suspicion. “Why did you agree to honor the forfeit when I know you had plans to start over anew once your agreement with Harrow was fulfilled? Yes, he told me all about it. As a virgin, you could have one day married.”
“I still can, if indeed the prospect of forever binding myself to any man ever appeals,” she shot back, irritated. She hadn’t thought it would end this way. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d thought she could hide it or that he’d be so impassioned he wouldn’t notice or possibly even care until after he’d found his pleasure, if at all. “Diana Haversham was ruined long before now. I can move, take a new name, claim to be a widow or—”
“You idiot,” he cut in, his soft tone stunning her into silence. “You did not have to do this. Why did you do it?”
Her temper flared at the regret she saw reflected in his face. She didn’t want his sympathy! “Harrow asked me if I wanted him to offer you alternate compensation to discharge the forfeit, and I told him no. Because I wanted this. The choice was mine. I wanted to know passion before enduring what might be a lifetime without it.” Her eyes brimmed, and she swiped at them angrily. “I’m owed that much by Fate!”
They sat staring at each other in silence for several heartbeats before he spoke. “I have questions.”
“No doubt,” she said bitterly.
“Will you answer them truthfully?”
She refused to dignify that and told him so with a furious glare.
He sighed. “Why did you become Harrow’s mistress?”
“Because I’ve yet to hear of a tree that produces lumps of gold, why else? I was cast out—”
“In error, obviously,” he interjected wryly.
“Yes, and through no fault of my own, save that of trusting the wrong people,” she added pointedly. “I had neither friends nor prospects when my uncle threw me out. It was this, sell myself at the docks, become an indentured servant, or starvation. I consider myself fortunate to have avoided my other choices.” Her already frayed nerves unraveled a little more, and she prayed he would leave it at that.
He didn’t. “I’ll spare you the trouble of lying in answer to my next question, which is why Harrow took you in the first place. I think your function is to provide a plausible alternative to, and therefore a distraction from, his true affair with that Laurent fellow.”
Diana felt the blood rush from her head and was glad she was sitting.
A sly look of amusement entered his eyes. “I see I’ve struck gold with that supposition.” He chuckled softly. “I’ll admit my mind ran wild with conjecture when I saw you three. I imagined your pianist friend being the man who ruined you for Grenville, and that you’d introduced him to Harrow and that you, he, and Laurent had become a love triangle.”
Shock brought the blood flooding right back into her face. “What? And what do you mean, you saw us?” And just how much had he seen?
His gaze slid away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “I happened to see you all together one morning and witnessed them kiss, immediately after which I watched Laurent handle you in what I felt was a most…familiar manner. Naturally, I made some assumptions.”
Confusion made her frown. “In the morning? But our little act was put on at nigh—” She suddenly remembered the duet in the drawing room and Harrow surprising them with an early visit. “Oh. That morning. But René has never touched me inappropriately—he’s like my brother.”
Now he looked at her again, skepticism written all over his face.
“This is ridiculous!” she scoffed. “Harrow and René have been in love with each other for years—exclusively.” Fear gripped her anew at the admission. “Every word of what I told you about Harrow’s wife, Minerva, is true—by my own life, I swear it. His love for René harms no one. Indeed, if not for that love, I myself would have been lost.” She caught herself reaching out and pulled back her hand, unsure how he’d react to her touch now. “You…you won’t tell anyone? Will you?”
Skepticism was replaced with wry cynicism. “Harrow is not the first man of his kind I’ve met,” he told her. “Even if what such people do defies the edicts of both church and state, it’s not my place to judge a man for what he does in private with another consenting adult. Besides, I believe you’ve made it all but impossible for me to incriminate anyone without also incriminating myself. Or was that not your plan from the start?”
Guilt assaulted her, but it was tempered by resolve. “Everything was perfect until you came along,” she accused, again glaring at him, but without any real heat. “Other men had made nuisances of themselves, but you were different. More persistent. And when you took the house behind mine…well, it frightened me.” She’d meant to say “us,” but the truth was it had been her fear that had spurred Harrow to act.
“I never intended to make you afraid.”
The gentleness of the admission did something to her. Something dangerous. No. I cannot afford to be soft. “I knew there was a chance you’d learn the truth. I tried to convince Harrow to move me again, but he…” She felt herself flush. “He refused, as he thought it would look too suspicious.”
A slanted smile twisted his lips. “So instead of running away or giving me the cold shoulder, you decided to draw me in close enough to make certain I could not escape the honey trap without damning myself.”
It was difficult to meet his eyes, but she made herself do it. “Yes.”
Soft laughter followed her answer. “It surprises me that a gently raised female from a morally upright family would be so devoted to someone like Harrow—and it is devotion,” he said before she could offer any lame excuses about being paid for her loyalty. “You care for him. For them both—you said Laurent is like a brother to you. I assume you must feel the same way about Harrow.”
Diana had no
qualms about answering this time and did so with her head held high. “Society might condemn them, but I won’t—not when so many of the supposedly righteous members of the Ton have proven themselves anything but virtuous. Most of them are no better than snakes.”
Like my uncle.
It was hard not to be bitter. Too hard. And now, with all that had happened, she decided the time for holding back was done. “Throughout my time with Harrow, I’ve become privy to a great many of the Ton’s dirty secrets. Their hypocrisy disgusts me, but his steadfast kindness has proven him a better man than most. Better than my own kin, who robbed and abandoned me without just cause. Harrow took me in when I had no one. He gave me a new life and a chance for a fresh start.”
“At great cost to you,” he interjected, arching a brow.
The smile she gave him was broken, but she didn’t care. “I was already ruined. He saw my need and an opportunity to help himself while helping me. That is no sin. Our friendship may have been born of mutual necessity, but I now consider both him and René—as well as Lady Harrow and her son—my family, and I know they feel likewise. There is nothing I would not do to protect them.”
His expression when she said it told her she’d made her point. “Including ruin me,” he confirmed flatly.
“If necessary, yes.” Shame filled her at how her voice wobbled, but her resolve was adamant. “You said you don’t judge your fellow man. Would you judge me? I only wanted to keep my family safe. You know the punishment they face for their love if they are discovered.”
…
Though being fooled sat ill with Lucas, he couldn’t find it in himself to remain angry. This is my fault. He knew it with certainty. Had he let her alone when she’d first tried to fend him off, none of this would be happening. Instead, he’d pushed.
She’d merely pushed back harder.
He also believed with absolute certainty that her interest in shielding her friends—or family, rather—wasn’t rooted in self-preservation or mercenary ambition. She truly was willing to give up everything to protect them. Such loyalty was both commendable and dangerous.
Not loyalty—love. She loved them. Fiercely. And he knew they loved her. He’d seen firsthand the genuine affection in their eyes when they looked at her—all of them, including Lady Harrow. Their love hadn’t been bought. It had been earned through merit and sacrifice.
“No,” he finally answered. “I won’t judge you. In your place, I would likely have done the same.”
Her shoulders dropped in evident relief, and suddenly he realized they were both still quite naked. The instant his gaze fell to her bare breasts, she apparently realized it, too. He fought back laughter as she snatched up a pillow and covered herself with it, her face turning beet red.
“I think by now we must be past the point of modesty, you and I,” he drawled, deliberately stretching.
Her gaze had fixed on something just above his head. “Yes, of course,” she mumbled, still clutching the pillow. “But in light of—”
“This changes nothing, you know,” he said over whatever excuse she’d been about to toss his way. “I still won the wager. And the night is still quite young.”
She flinched, her gaze lowering to meet his. “You still want me? Even after…?”
Especially after. The internal confession was more than a little shocking. When he looked at her, an odd mixture of emotions rose to the surface. Some he identified, like admiration, lust, and longing, but there were many others which he couldn’t or didn’t want to pin down. The chaos within quite frankly terrified him.
One thing he did know for certain was that his desire for her hadn’t diminished one whit. “Of course I still want you. And there is also the matter of that first impression I spoke of. I made a terrible one.”
“The fault for that is mine,” she said softly. “I let you believe I was something I’m not.”
“But you are,” he insisted, reaching out to take one of her hands. “You’re amazing, Diana.” He let out a laugh and brought her hand up to kiss her palm. “At one point, I actually contemplated kissing Harrow in gratitude for training you so well.”
It elicited the smile he’d been looking for. “I won’t tell him—I don’t wish to put ideas into his head.” She sobered. “Please promise you’ll keep our secret?”
“Of course I will,” he vowed without hesitation. “Even if it means people start calling me a molly.” Brave words, but for her sake, he’d suffer it—and then run the offender through for saying such a thing. Harrow had been doing it for years.
And what of my parents? He pushed aside his conscience’s unwelcome intrusion. “I accepted the consequences of coming here tonight in full knowledge of what they might entail.” Scooting closer, he took a corner of the pillow she held, but didn’t attempt to pull it back. “As did you,” he added very softly.
After a moment, she let the pillow go and he set it aside. Holding out his hand, he waited. When she put her fingers in his palm, he pulled her toward him and just held her, reveling in the trust granted him.
The desire that had been snuffed by the shock of learning the truth flared back to life. But it was nowhere near as urgent as before. He ran his palms up and down her long back, warming skin that had grown cool. “Do you still wish to taste of passion with me?” he murmured at her ear.
Her whispered “yes” was accompanied by a little shiver he felt run through her as he held her close. She was the most physically responsive woman he’d ever known. Burying his nose in the tumble of caramel locks that had fallen over one shoulder, he kissed the curve of her neck and felt another tremor. “Then tell me what you want me to do, Diana.”
Chapter Sixteen
Diana had expected there would be pain the first time. She hadn’t been wrong. But it had been short-lived. Blackthorn—Lucas—was a skilled lover, and he soon made her forget any discomfort. With surprising tenderness, she was again brought to the height of frustration and then the lofty peak of ecstasy. Because of his diligent preparation, the ache of stretching around his girth for the second time had been exquisite rather than excruciating.
The soreness between her legs as she stretched them out in the warm water of her tub was already easing away. A little groan of relief fought its way from her throat as she shifted.
Lucas, who was soaking in a second tub which had been placed beside hers, shot her a knowing grin. “I think your servants have been scandalized tonight. First by all the noise we made, and again when they brought the water in and witnessed the wreckage.”
“They are accustomed to such things here,” she said, in fact not at all concerned with what they thought. “But I imagine they will be a bit surprised when they have to come again in the morning with a second bath.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You intend us to make love again before morning?”
“You don’t?” She waited until after he stopped chuckling before broaching a sensitive issue. It was going to come up anyway. Better to address it now while he was relaxed than in the morning when his mood might be altered. “I don’t know what your plans are concerning us, but I do know I’m not opposed to doing this again. On another night, I mean,” she amended, lest he misunderstand.
His gray eyes held hers, their expression open and frank. “I want that, too—only I want it every night.”
The breath stilled in her lungs, and a pain blossomed in her chest briefly before she quashed it. He wasn’t asking her that, of course. Even if he was, the answer must be no. “I cannot leave him. I cannot leave them,” she corrected.
“Why not? It’s not as if Harrow cannot find another to do for him what you do now. He found you, after all.”
“Perhaps he could find another to take my place, but that would require time.” And what if she’s not as trustworthy or loyal? She didn’t voice the question aloud. He wouldn’t understand. “It took a great investment of time to shape me into what I am now, and I promised him five years.”
Frustration pinched
his brows. “I know you consider them your family. I’m not asking you to give that up.”
“Oh?” She pursed her lips and, sitting up, propped her chin atop her folded arms on the lip of the tub, facing him. “You propose making yourself our ‘special companion’ as far as the public is concerned, then? Because that’s what they will think. And at that point, they will start calling you a molly.”
“Bloody hell,” he sighed, sinking back a little deeper into the water. “I don’t want to do it that way, but if it’s what I must do, then…”
She sat up so abruptly that it splashed water over the side of the tub, wetting the rug beneath. “You’re serious?” She’d assumed the very idea would be off-putting enough to make him drop it.
“I’d really rather not, but yes.” He too sat up. “Why can we not simply see each other secretly? Our gardens share a gate. It would be a simple thing to keep it quiet.”
A snort broke free before she could stop it. “So you say. But I’d wager it would be out within only a day or two.”
“I think we can do better than that. But even if it does get out, what harm is there in it for you?”
“Not me. Harrow. If I’m seen having a clandestine affair with you, it will make him look bad.”
“You mean worse than if people think the three of us are in bed together every time I come to pay a neighborly call?” he said with a chuckle. “I should think that far worse than you leaving him for me.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Even if you were truly amenable to becoming our ‘third’, we’ve never—to all appearances, thanks to René’s talent with disguises—had the same ‘gentleman friend’ overnight with us more than two or three times within the same year. As long as it’s an occasional event, people generally don’t make assumptions about Harrow other than that he’s got a penchant for voyeurism—a perception I support as often as occasion provides.”
“So we continue to perpetuate that assumption, only with me being the regular ‘entertainment’.”
