Carte Blanche

by Camille Anthony

  Women paused and stared when he entered their sphere. Conversations lagged and petered out until he passed by. The feminine attention he garnered didn’t surprise her. She’d never seen such luscious eye candy and she was sure her taste was no better than that of the other women.

  “It cannot be. You are the daughter and niece of Dukes. He is the disgraced, disinherited son of the Earl of Chesley. Since his family threw him out his behavior has been notorious and I don't like the way you are blatantly ogling him.”

  “I shall soon do more than ogle, believe me.”

  “I feel a sinking sense of impending doom, here.” Ali clutched at her chest. “I’ve never seen you so bemused. Are you bewitched? Father will have an apoplexy when he catches wind of the excessive interest his wayward niece and affianced ward openly displayed for a man he holds in abhorrence.”

  “After tonight your father’s sentiments will have no bearing on what I do.”

  “Posh! He’ll never countenance an alliance there, darling.”

  “You mean marriage?”

  At her cousin's nod, her lips curled up. She couldn’t help it--she laughed. “First of all, I repeat, your father’s desires no longer concern me and secondly, one does not need to marry to enjoy such a magnificent animal! Just look at him…” And she followed her own advice and returned to doing so. “He is a fine specimen of prime male flesh.”

  In a day when men wore their locks short and restrained or confined beneath stiff wigs, he allowed his black locks to flow in a wild sweep down over his broad shoulders. No ribbon confined the silky tresses that many women would have clawed eyes out to have as their own. Chassy giggled excitedly, licking her lips at the thought of getting her hands into that sleek, abundant fall of storm-dark hair.

  “Shush --! Do not even jest like that!” Alicia gasped. She glanced about, hoping no others had heard her cousin’s bold comments.

  “It is so like you Newer British to restrict yourselves when it comes to sexual matters.”

  “That’s a bold statement, even for you, cousin. Recall that you are also a Newer Britain noblewoman, and expected to act like one!”

  “Pooh! Who was jesting?”

  Alicia drew back. “Your attitude makes my heart pound. I feel trouble gathering around like acid thunder clouds. If you continue to refuse to be governed by what you call the staid strictures of our shallow society…” she broke off and huffed, “I wish I could have gotten my hands around uncle's irresponsible neck.”

  “Why? Because I’ve been raised with all the freedom of a boy child, allowed to roam free in the jungles of Newer India with the children of servants? Trained to think?”

  “That’s a start. The unorthodox beliefs you espouse are the direct results of your exotic upbringing. It doesn’t help that you openly scoff at society's strictures, constantly courting censure. Your antics are keeping polite society in an uproar.”

  Chassy raised her eyebrows. “Really, Ali…I cause uproar because I think nothing of flitting neck-and-nothing in Hyde Park, or of visiting Hookman's library unaccompanied by a maid?”

  “Not just those instances, though they were bad enough, but what about when you went into the slum-infested area of White chapel to find the home of that little chimney-sweep?”

  “He was injured cleaning the chimney in my rooms.”

  “That’s the attitude I’m talking about. If you weren’t the daughter and niece of a Duke and filthy rich in your own right, you would be a social pariah. Instead, you’ve been deemed an original, and every unattached male of any consequence was courting you before father announced your betrothal.”

  “My popularity shall be on the rise again when word spreads that I am once more available.”

  “I doubt even your unrivaled popularity could withstand the rumor of a romantic association with Darian 'Dare the Devil' Acer,” Alicia cautioned. “Everyone knows he compromised his own brother's fiancée. When she was found increasing, she drowned herself, and the brother--their father's heir-- hanged himself two days later. His father publicly accused him at the double funeral, and cast him off when he offered no defense. His poor mother was killed in a fire less than a week later. Some say she set the blaze herself, driven mad from the loss of her sons. He wasn’t allowed to attend her funeral. His father had Darian turned away from the church.”

  Her voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “Since then, he has become naught but an amoral rakehell, flaunting his sexual excesses in society's face. On top of that, he is poor as a church mouse. It’s rumored he has only his winnings at the card tables with which to support himself.”

  Chastity's fingers closed on her fan until the thin wooden boards threatened to snap. “What did people expect? That he would crawl into a corner and hide? He is not that kind of man!”

  “How would you know what kind of man he is?” Alicia demanded, her eyebrows winging high in skeptical inquiry. “You haven't even met him yet, Chassy. Do you claim to be an expert on his innocence or guilt, or on how he would respond in any given situation?”

  “I -- I just know. I don’t believe he is guilty at all,” Chastity replied after a moment's startled reflection. “And as for making his acquaintance…There is no time like the present!” Laughing gaily, Chastity gathered up the voluminous drifts of her spangled skirts and sprinted down the wide staircase.

  “No, Chastity! Wait!”

  She didn’t wait; she sped up, easily outdistancing her cousin who no doubt thought her mad, courting a looming social disaster.

  Joy spun through her. Feeling light and buoyant, caught up in the excitement of embracing her fate, she raced through the ballroom, her laughter trilling out behind her.

  In the widening distance, she heard Alicia’s hushed cries as she hurriedly tiptoed after her. Sparing a thought for her poor cousin’s fashionably shod feet, she hoped her dogged relative would stop following her before those tottering heels landed her flat on her face. Besides, nothing she could say would stop this reckless tumble into scandal.

  Chapter Two

  Where the hell are you, Crofton?

  Angry and impatient, Dare stopped a waiter and deftly exchanged his empty champagne flute for a full one. He swept the crowded ballroom with a jaded black glare. Lifting his glass, he tossed back the high priced bubbly barely tasting it, his disregard an insult to the years spent in perfecting its exquisite bouquet.

  His ire grew. Crofton had begged and pleaded until Dare had finally agreed to meet him at the Avondale's party, but he remained nowhere in sight, and Dare's legendary temper was in danger of exploding.

  Snagging another full glass, Dare gulped its contents down. He hated these debutante events, and never attended. Being here made him antsy, aroused buried memories. He preferred they stay buried.

  He curtly refused a fourth flute from a hovering waiter. There wasn't enough champagne in the house to drown out the clamoring voices of the past. He needed something stronger…scotch or a good fuck.

  Since an excess of scotch always left him with a headache, he decided on the latter. He swept the room again, this time with a darkly sensual intent to his midnight gaze.

  Years of debauchery had honed his senses where women were concerned. His chest rose on a deep inhalation. He could smell the subtle aroma of sexual arousal a room away, even when masked by the strongest perfume. He knew --and played on -- the allure his salacious reputation held for these bored women of the upper ten thousand. He had but to wink and the majority of them would fall over themselves climbing into his bed. There was no uncertainty, no longer any delight to the chase or thrill for an assured victory.

  What chase? He’d grown weary of their eagerness long ago. Lately, it seemed the lady’s lust outstripped his own. Emotionally, he was a deadened hulk and that was just the way he liked it. What did emotions have to do with lust?

  Fucking was a matter of hips and lips, friction and heat, cocks and cunts. Contrary to rumor, he didn’t accept payment for fucking. He considered the act a mutua
l scratching. Both parties received what they wanted. He made sure of that. No woman could honestly claim he’d left her unsatisfied, but once finished, he was finished. He quickly dressed and left. He never slept with the women he’d pleasured, never entertained them in his quarters.

  This place held any number of likely bed-partners and he had no intention of returning home unsated.

  Let's see…whom would he choose, which lady would partner him tonight? Lady B--? No. He'd had her early last year, and while she had been an acceptable toss, his firm rule was never to go back for seconds.

  Lady S--? Uh-huh. Groverton claimed she was a bed banshee; left teeth marks and scratches all over a man. He preferred his skin intact, thank you.

  Young Lady C--? Hell, no! The chit had “marriage mart” written all over her. Marriage! Ugh! It was enough to make a man's cock wilt.

  “Dare! Glad you could make it!” The boisterous greeting accompanied a hearty slap to his shoulder.

  Darian abandoned the amusing pastime of choosing tonight’s sex partner to glower at his erstwhile friend and secret brother. “Where the hell else would I be seeing you badgered a promise of attendance out of me?”

  Chezαnn Crofton, Earl of Rotham --C.C. to his friends --grinned. Smiling, he looked too innocent to be friends with the notorious Dare Acer. His dark morning-glory blue eyes and his fair complexion were a gift from his mother. So was the thick blond hair, gleaming with highlights of platinum that tumbled over his high brow and cascaded down his shoulders to be caught back in a thin black leather ribbon. But the chiseled profile, the cleft chin, the full, perfectly curved lips were the genetic legacy of his publicly sanctimonious father, the Earl of Chesley. Even his height and muscular physique was a match for Dare's, and those with discerning eyes easily saw the familial resemblance. Chezαnn was a golden, angelic copy of the darkly demonic Dare.

  People who knew him—like his brother and their cronies—knew his looks were deceiving.

  Dare looked at his brother and wondered for the hundredth time how they had come to be so close. The unacknowledged son of his adulterous mother’s noble lover, Chezαnn had been raised as another man's heir with all the trappings of wealth and position that came with the lie. Upon his beloved foster-father's death, he had used that wealth and social power to implement his long-awaited revenge. His first act had been to put his mother out of his family seat and cut her allowance to a bare minimum. Further, he barred her from ever stepping foot in any of his numerous dwellings with the threat of cutting her funds totally. His next move had been to befriend his disgraced half-brother to annoy and toy with his unnatural natural father.

  At twenty-seven, C.C. was as profligate as his elder half-brother, if not more so. He trusted few, especially the fairer sex, and callously used his spectacular looks to practice his amorous wiles.

  “All right, C.C. Why am I here?” Dare asked, his low voice a sexy growl.

  “I want you to meet a young lady,” his brother replied, glancing about the room almost nervously.

  “Damnit, C.C.!” Dare's thick brows came down over his glittering eyes. “Tell me you didn’t have me cooling my heels for over an hour, to meet a debutante.”

  “Not just any debutante, Dare,” C.C. protested. “Wait till you meet her. I tell you, she is nothing like the usual fare. This woman has spirit! Imagination! Verve!” His eyes lit up when he spied Chastity already coming towards him. “She is making her way over here! I swear to you, Dare, this might be the woman I could give up all the others for!”

  “I take it you haven't fucked her yet,” Dare quipped, sure his brother's unusual enthusiasm was merely a case of sexual anticipation and frustration.

  Chezαnn drew himself up to his full impressive height. His narrowed eyes bored into his brother's. “It is not what you are thinking, and I will thank you not to speak of her like that.” His low voice carried a cold warning.

  Dare was taken aback by C.C.'s vehemence. C.C. was the only person left in his life he held in affection. “I suppose I must meet this paragon,” he said, the playfulness falling away, “if you are so serious about her. As your elder brother, I must determine if she is worthy of you. Do you mean to offer for her?”

  The question seemed to give the younger man pause. “I--I haven't gotten that far yet,” he stammered, throwing out his hands. “But I do like her…a lot. Please, just keep an open mind.”

  “You know how I feel about debutantes and their infernal search for husbands,” Dare reminded his smitten companion. “However, as you ask it of me, I will…attempt to be civil.”

  “That is all I ask.” C.C. grabbed Dare's sleeve. “Here she is! Let me introduce Lady Chastity Tilson, Chassy to her friends--”

  Dare turned to greet his brother's new interest and time stopped. The world went away until there was nothing but her. He knew this petite woman. Somehow, she was already in his blood, embedded in his soul. How had she been in the same city as him and he’d not known…?

  At six foot, six inches, Dare was used to feeling like a giant around the ladies, but this goddess' auburn curls didn’t even clear his shoulders. He would have to bend far to meet her moist pink lips. Better to lift her up to him.

  He closed his eyes and saw her still. Saw her held against his bedroom wall while he pushed his thick erection into her small, tight sheath. He could almost feel the kiss he shared with her in this waking dream, taste the sweetness of her lips, savor the slickness of her pink little tongue…

  He opened his eyes and she was there, staring back at him with a boldness that said she knew where his mind had gone. She was a concerto in autumn colors; brown hair, brown eyes. But what browns! Streaks of gold glinted among the dark mahogany strands. Her eyes sparkled; the lightest brown swirled with darker specks of gold? Cinnamon? They were alive with humor and sexual awareness.

  “Chastity,” he croaked. “What misguided fool named you so inadequately? You should be called Persephone…Aphrodite!”

  The vision smiled, revealing a deep-seated dimple in her left cheek. “I am pleased to meet you at long last, my Lord,” she said, extending a gloved hand. “Aphrodite? Wasn't she the goddess of love?”

  “She was…and Persephone was a golden-eyed goddess beautiful enough to temp the Lord of the Dead.”

  He took her hand and held it for an inappropriate length of time, noting she made no protest. Turning her hand palm up, he deliberately brushed an open-mouthed kiss on the exposed skin of her wrist, above her glove, tasting her with the tip of his tongue. Smiling against her skin, he felt her gasp, felt when she involuntarily pressed her hand against the caressing movement of his lips.

  “But you said…'At long last'. My Lady?” he queried, unable to tear his eyes from her speaking gaze.

  “I despaired of ever finding you,” she informed him, her words coming low and breathy, as if she could not catch her breath. Beneath the veils of her evening gown, her chest rose and fell, her breasts quivered and her nipples sharpened against the confines of her tight bodice. “For years, I have seen you in my dreams --”

  “Are you sure you do not mean nightmares?” Chezann snapped, anger cracking his voice. His harsh words shocked Dare back into a realization of their surroundings. He lifted his head and met his brother’s gaze.

  The young Earl glared at him, his handsome face sullen with anger at his brother's betrayal. He snarled. “I did not mean her for you, Dare!”

  “I know, C.C.,” Dare answered softly, addressing his brother, but keeping his eyes locked with hers. “Yet, she is…mine.” As the words left him, he realized he spoke the truth. His hand tightened on Chastity's slim fingers and felt hers squeeze back in an unconscious statement of reciprocal possession.

  “So you do make a habit of stealing your brothers' women?” The soft-voiced taunt was a vicious attack, designed to hurt. It did.

  “Oh, Chezann,” Chastity cried, “how unworthy of you…and unfair. I warned you. I told you I could not love you.”

  The younger Earl had
the grace to look shamefaced. “You told me you could love no New Britisher!”

  Chastity nodded. “True, but Darian always appeared so dark…I did not know he was New British.”

  “What is happening here?” Chezαnn demanded.

  “Damned if I know,” Dare admitted wryly. Running his left hand through his gleaming tresses, disarranging their ordered fall, he struggled against the tidal wave of desire surging through him for this woman. “C.C., I would not hurt you for the world, but…I cannot back away from this, from her. Not even for you.”

  Dare's eyes met his brother's, and the look in them caused the Earl to suck in a shocked breath. “You bastard, you talk as if you know each other, as if you have a prior claim, yet I know you have never met. This is insane!”

  “No. This is a miracle,” the woman whispered, an enigmatic smile softening the lush lines of her mouth. She turned to Lady Stanton, who had just come up, and her lips curled up in a soft, dreamy smile. “Dare and I are going for a walk in the garden. Don’t wait up…”

  Chapter Three

  Dare led her down the marble steps into the shadowed realm of leaf and flower. He drew her into the heart of the garden where a maze--its walls the dense, interwoven strands of tall bushes trimmed in fantastical shapes--would shield their tryst.

  Wandering deep into the interior, they progressed until the sounds of the party faded away, and the crickets’ song was heard above the gurgling of a small fountain. She sank down onto a cool stone bench and spread her skirts, demurely covering her slippers.

  “Who are you and where are you from, angel?” Dare asked, seating himself beside her. “I cannot believe I could have missed you had you been here long.” He smiled at her. “Besides, you have a faint accent --?”

  “I was raised in New India. But that is of no real interest to you,” Chastity challenged, turning to him and placing one gloved hand on his arm. “You want to know what my lips feel like…what I taste like.”