by Tarah Scott
“Carrick,” she repeated his name in low, sultry tones, and graced him with a slight nod. He’d hear no ‘my lords’ or ‘sirs’ escape her lips.
“Shall we dance?” Slowly, he slid his fingers down her elbow and over her bare forearm before dropping his hand away.
The simple gesture left a trail of fire in its wake. No matter. She had a trap of her own to set; a man to keep intrigued and off balance.
As he offered his arm and nodded toward the ballroom door, she boldly stepped into his arms—much closer than propriety allowed—and murmured, “I would much prefer to waltz here.”
Delight danced in his eyes. He crushed her so close, the buttons on his waistcoat pressed into the soft mounds of her breasts as he began to twirl her in the dimly lit hallway. The flex of hard muscle against her softness startled her. His fingers drifted lower to the swell of her hip. Heat radiated off his broad chest. Juliet shoved aside the distraction. She had a game to play.
“I do love a waltz,” Juliet said sotto voce as she peered up at him through her Venetian mask.
“By Jove, Stirling was right.” His chest vibrated with a deep chuckle. “You’re quite beautiful.”
It was an easy opening. She’d witnessed her mother’s girls spar in provocative wordplay countless times and summoned a mischievous smile. “Beautiful? Beauty is merely the cover of the book, is it not? Is not what lies underneath more…interesting?” She punctuated the question by mimicking Lady Aphrodite’s most popular girl’s signature move: a flutter of the lashes combined with a slow, undulating arch of the back.
The rub of her breasts against the solid wall of his muscled chest hardened her nipples. A shock of sensation rippled straight to her core. She drew a startled breath.
The man studied her through hooded eyes. “I believe you would be a book worth reading, my dear.” He executed an expert turn. “Perhaps, even more than once.”
Perhaps? That smacked of an insult.
“I fear I may be written in a language you cannot understand.” She flashed her eyes.
With a devious quirk of his lip, he trailed a slow finger up her spine. She couldn’t halt the shiver of response. He felt it. He couldn’t miss it. Not with how tightly he held her.
He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “There’s only one language between a man and a woman, my dear. And yes, I read it astonishingly well, in all its forms.”
The situation wasn’t proceeding as planned. The man obviously knew a few tricks of his own. She’d been taught that suggestive innuendo drove men mad with desire—she hadn’t realized it worked the other way, as well. As he twirled her again, she decided it was time to play a different game, and gracefully slipped free of his arms.
“Where are you going?” He fell into step beside her as she glided toward the ballroom.
Juliet lifted her chin and fixed him with a cool stare. “Perhaps, this book doesn’t wish to be read, Carrick.”
Their gazes locked. She couldn’t deny the strong tug of attraction this time. He obviously felt it, too.
He looked away first, then performed a lazy assessment of her slender form. “On the contrary, my dear, this book is simply begging to be explored.”
The lust on his face sent her pulse soaring. She couldn’t allow him to get the upper hand. This was a game. Nothing more. She curved her lips in an ambiguous smile and turned away.
The musicians struck the opening notes of another waltz as she stepped through the ballroom door and paused inside.
A balding man immediately emerged from the nearby shadows and bowed low. “May I have this—”
“No, you may not.” Carrick clamped a possessive hand around her waist.
She hid a smile. As expected, like a puppet on her string, he’d followed her.
The man scurried away like a frightened rabbit.
This time, Carrick didn’t ask permission. With smooth, elegant grace, he caught her close and spun her onto the ballroom floor, locking her against his powerful body with a hand placed low on the small of her back.
For several long moments, she surrendered to the foreign desire to mold herself against him. They whirled in the glittering candlelight, easily weaving through the remaining couples on the dance floor. As they spun into a darkened corner, Carrick’s hand slid across her buttocks until they emerged into the light once again.
Juliet had expected as much, but instead of feeling affronted, she wondered what his lips would feel like on her naked skin. Somehow, the thought didn’t evoke the same disgust it did when observing the clientele in her mother’s establishment.
“A penny for your thoughts,” the whispered words bathed her ear with warm breath.
Her heart beat fast. Might he nuzzle her ear? He didn’t—of course. The man was clearly a master of seduction and, much to her chagrin, he’d won the game—so far. But all was not lost.
Juliet lowered her lashes and, with a naughty little smile, slid the tip of her tongue along the upper seam. “Perhaps, I wished that I danced with the other gentleman.”
Was it her imagination or did his muscular arm flinch? It was difficult to tell. The gray eyes looking down at her only held a wry amusement.
“No doubt, if you wished to dance with the fellow, you would be doing so.”
Again, he whirled her into a darkened corner and, this time, stopped and slid his hands lower until he cupped her buttocks. Excitement thrilled through her as he gently undulated his hard length against her.
“Tell me what you wish, Juliet.” He nuzzled the sensitive skin under her ear.
His body fascinated her. She liked how her name sounded like a song when he said it.
What she wished? His question suddenly roused her from the haze of lust. She knew what she wanted. She’d thought of nothing else the past three years. She wished to become a dressmaker—though one wouldn’t guess it who watched her in the ballroom’s shadows with a man’s hardened cock pressed against her abdomen.
That realization evoked a perverse grin even as shock twisted through her. She’d come close to proving her aunt right. She was too hot-blooded for her own good. But then…her passionate blood had served her well. She had the man right where she wanted him: thinking with his cock.
Now, it was time to play cards, and, judging by his thick erection, she might not need to cheat.
Juliet slipped free of his embrace. He groaned, and her smile widened. He reached for her, but she avoided his grasp with a quick sideways step. She tossed her head, adjusted the ribbons of her mask, and started toward the card room, which opened off the far end of the ballroom.
She didn’t wonder if Carrick followed. She knew he did.
The card room’s gaming tables boasted half a dozen gentlemen sipping brandy and lounging on plush green chairs with their legs splayed wide. The men sat up straighter as she entered, but she ignored them and angled toward a table in the darkest corner of the room. The shadows would aid her if cheating proved necessary.
Juliet took the seat with the wall at her back and the door facing. Carrick entered and paused. Her heart beat wildly as he scanned the room. She deftly adjusted her skirts, withdrew the cards she’d tucked in the garter’s hidden pouch, and slipped them under her seat cushion as his gaze settled on her.
Eyes locked on her face, he strode across the room.
“Join me,” she invited in a low voice when he arrived, and she picked up the deck of cards resting on the table. “A game of commerce, shall we? Three rounds.”
“What shall we wager?” He sat down sideways in his seat and stretched out his long legs.
Her throat went dry. Dear God, the man knew what he was about. The blatant lust in his eyes held her mesmerized. For the first time in her life, her pulse raced at the thought of a man touching her most intimate places and suckling her tender flesh. Wet heat pooled between her thighs.
It took a moment to recall he’d asked a question. Juliet frowned. How had she succumbed to his designs yet again? Irritation flared. Sh
e inhaled a mind-clearing breath and dropped her gaze to the cards. It was time to turn the tables on the man and his seductive ways.
With deliberate focus, she leaned forward to provide him an unimpeded view of cleavage as she fanned the cards in a line and ran her fingertips sensuously over the patterned, gold-painted backs. Juliet repressed a grimace. She’d tugged her bodice so low, she could only hope her breasts didn’t escape the confines of her gown.
“What should we wager?” she asked with a little aching pant, mimicking the sound her mother’s girls used to drive men wild. She followed with the standard sucking in of her bottom lip. Slowly, she let her lip drag against her teeth, then released it, and added, “Gentlemen first.”
He watched her. “I would see you…uncovered.” His piercing gray eyes flicked to her mask before sliding down to her breasts.
Her heart skipped a salacious beat and she flirted with the idea of losing—but only for a moment. She gathered the cards and cut the deck with a one-handed pivot cut.
His eyes lit with appreciation. “And your bet?”
It was time to stack the deck. For that, she needed a distraction. She dropped her eyes to his necktie and murmured, “Your cravat. I…would…claim it.”
“Are you in the habit of collecting men’s cravats?” he queried softly.
She offered a mysterious smile, then dealt the hand. She set the deck to her right then reached for her cards. He grasped her wrist. She glanced up, surprised.
“One round,” he demanded in a rough voice.
One round? She would definitely have to cheat.
“Very well,” she agreed.
Juliet slid her palm over her cards in a lover’s caress and, as his gaze tracked her fingers, she dropped her other hand to retrieve the aces from under the cushion.
His gaze lifted from the fingers skimming the cards to her face. Her breath hitched when the fire in his eyes intensified. She took another stuttered breath and her bodice felt as if it would burst. He shifted in his seat and her nipples pebbled. He couldn’t possibly see her nipples through her corset. Still, she had to will her trembling fingers into submission when she quickly brushed one palm over the other, skillfully exchanging the cards.
“Shall we?” This time, she only half-feigned her shallow breathing as she tapped the table with her knuckles, signaling time to display their cards.
Carrick’s gray eyes caught and held hers as he slowly placed his cards face-up on the table. Four kings. She blinked, her long lashes brushing her mask. He had cheated! She hadn’t noticed a thing. Well, that would teach her to watch the man. With a private smile, she rose.
He lifted a curious brow.
“Do not move,” she ordered in low, throaty tones. “I would fetch my prize.”
Curiosity crossed his face as she walked around the table, trailing a finger along the linen-covered table. She stopped behind him. He smelled of sandalwood and pure masculinity and, damn him, the way his coat stretched over his broad shoulders captured her attention too easily. Heart pounding, Juliet placed the heels of her palms on his broad shoulders and let the cards slide from her hands and down his chest. Two of the aces landed face up on his thighs. The other two landed in his crotch. God help her.
His muscled chest rose and fell.
Slowly, she slipped her fingers around his neck. He tilted his head back against the pillow of her breasts and closed his eyes. Juliet shivered. He inhaled a deep breath. It took longer than she’d expected to untie his cravat—Lady Aphrodite’s girls had made it seem so easy—but at last, the deed was done.
With a sensuous twist of her wrist, she slid the silk free and stepped back. “Thank you, Carrick, for a most pleasant evening.”
She turned away and heard the harsh intake of his breath followed by the scrape of his chair. She quickened pace when his bootfalls followed, but she eluded him by slipping into the shadows, then made a quick righthand turn out a side door and up the Servant stairs. She was glad to go. Midnight balls were far too dangerous—especially for girls like her.
Chapter Four
Smitten
CARRICK TOOK THE STAIRS two at a time, then sucked in a sharp breath as Juliet vanished into the darkness as if she’d been a ghost. He slowed. He’d break his fool neck if he wasn’t careful. He reached the next floor, where meager hallway candlelight gave way to total darkness. His heart thudded. By God, he wanted to kiss her. Never had he played a more sensuous game of cards. The way she’d caressed the deck made him need to feel those slim fingers wrapped around his cock. And the way she’d teased him with her delicate, pink tongue? He was determined to taste those gorgeous lips and ravish them. His body tightened at the thought.
She’d obviously cheated with those four aces. It only made him want her more. He needed her—no, he needed to conquer her.
He stormed back down the stairs and made a thorough search of every darkened corner of the ballroom, demanding every candle and lamp be lit until the place stood bathed in light as bright as day.
As he feared, she had truly disappeared.
Finally, he thundered at a waiter, “Find Lady Peddington. Rouse her from her bed, if necessary. I must speak with her at once.”
Lady Peddington told Carrick nothing save that Juliet had left for London. He left the school headed for Stirling’s home, then got halfway and realized it was nearly three in the morning. With a curse, he ordered his driver to take him home.
At noon, he knocked on Stirling’s townhouse and was shown into the parlor. While he paced, a maid brought tea and, minutes later, Stirling entered the room.
“This is a pleasant surprise, Carrick.” He shook Carrick’s hand. “Tea?” Stirling seated himself on the divan.
“Nae,” Carrick said.
Stirling frowned. “You look harried. Is something wrong?”
“I suspect you know full well what is wrong,” Carrick said in frustration.
Stirling filled a teacup, then sat back and took a sip.
The smirk Stirling didn’t quite hide told Carrick he was right. “Where can I find her?”
“By ‘her,’ I assume you mean Miss Thatcher?”
“Thatcher.” He threw himself into a nearby chair. “Juliet Thatcher.” He pinned Stirling with a stare. “What do you know of her?”
“I received her portrait a week ago and recognized her, at once. I saw her at a London house party last year.”
“What do you mean, ‘received her portrait’?” Carrick demanded.
“A young lady at Lady Peddington’s school asked for my help. She mentioned that three other friends were in the same predicament she was, that is, they hadn’t found respectable gentlemen for husbands.”
Carrick stared. “Surely, you don’t think I’m respectable?”
“What is more respectable than a duke?” Stirling chuckled. “The lass is adept at card cheating, don’t you agree?”
Carrick laughed. “She is a vixen.”
Stirling grinned. “Sounds like a perfect match.”
“Not if she’s looking for a husband,” he said. “Though, she certainly didn’t act like a husband hunting lass. I took her for a courtesan.”
“That’s probably because her mother owns a very popular gentleman’s establishment in London.”
Carrick blinked. “You don’t mean…”
Stirling nodded. “Aye, she owns an upscale brothel, Lady Aphrodite’s House of Pleasure.
“How in God’s name did Juliet end up at Lady Peddington’s?” Carrick asked.
“She aspires to be a dressmaker.”
Carrick stared. “You jest.”
Stirling laughed. “Nae. Her mother has other ideas, however.”
Carrick studied his friend. “You seem to know a great deal about her.”
Stirling nodded and took another sip of tea, then set the cup on the table. “Lady Peddington and I are old friends. Miss Thatcher’s mother intends to auction her off to the highest bidder.”
“Bloody hell,” Carrick curse
d. “You aren’t serious. You said she wanted to become a dressmaker.”
“I also said her mother has other ideas.”
Carrick shoved to his feet and started for the door.
“London is a long journey to make for just any woman,” Stirling commented as Carrick headed for the door.
“Juliet Thatcher isn’t just any woman.” He reached the door and paused to look back at his old friend. “Be warned, I still plan to collect that roan from you.” With that, he quit the room.
* * *
Three days later, Carrick reined his horse to a stop on a busy London street and hailed a man with prematurely thinning hair, a bulbous nose, and close-set eyes. “Can you direct me to Lady Aphrodite’s House of Pleasure?” he asked.
The man grinned. “Aye, m’lord. About two miles down the main road.” He pointed the way. “Turn onto the road with a brick townhouse and short, wrought iron gate. Then take the second alley to the right, mate. You can’t miss it. There’s a tall wrought iron gate in front of the house and a painting of the love goddess in the window.” He hesitated, then added, “If I may say so, ask for Lucy. She’s a wonder, that one is.”
Carrick thanked the man and, half an hour later, he reached the narrow lane. A row of gray limestone houses hugged the street, each house looking very much like the one before, but as the man had said, only one domicile had a small but garish painting of Aphrodite propped in the window.
Carrick drew an exhilarating breath of crisp morning air. He’d found her. Anticipation coiled in his belly as he dismounted. The day he’d taken to wrap up his business in Edinburgh, along with the two-day ride to London, hadn’t cooled his ardor. If anything, he wanted Juliet even more than he had. He would double any bids offered from other gentlemen—even if she’d already signed a contract.
He dismounted, tied his horse to the post, and went through the wrought iron gate and up the walk. He’d just stepped onto the porch and lifted his knuckles to rap on the door when it opened to reveal a long-haired, burly gentleman in gaily colored clothing.
