The duke—she really needed to learn his Christian name—was obsessed with this Ruby person. Arabella dismissed the realization and concentrated on what was about to occur. It seemed funny to give herself to a man without knowing his Christian name. Plus, it would tell her something about his character. She’d have to find a way to ask him once he quit demanding to know about Ruby. Arabella frowned. Maybe he’d truly cared for the woman and it wasn’t just a carnal fascination.
“Did you care for her?” she asked.
“In a way,” he said rather evasively. Yet if a man she cared for had run off with another, Arabella doubted she’d want to admit how she felt to a virtual stranger. “Do you know where she went?”
“No,” she said truthfully. She would have missed that he was irritated, except he shifted away from her ever so slightly and his nostrils flared. “I could find her,” she rushed out, hoping he’d not care once they were together.
“Splendid,” he said in a measured tone. He patted her on her shoulder. “You’ll do nicely.”
She’d do nicely? Arabella frowned. “But you haven’t even kissed me. You don’t even know if we would, er, suit.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How can it not matter?” she demanded, suddenly offended for all the demireps. Was this how they were usually treated?
He let out a sigh, not irritated, almost emotionless. “It does not matter because I’d like you to help me find Ruby. I will pay you handsomely for your services, but I must have your complete discretion.”
Arabella clenched her teeth on her irritation. So he’d come here tonight looking for this Ruby, and now he wanted to hire Arabella to help him locate her? The nerve! It was insulting. She felt utterly ridiculous for being insulted, but there it was. Her pride was bruised. She didn’t want to sell her body, but she didn’t care in the least for the all too familiar feeling of not being wanted. She’d had her fill of that emotion caused first by her real parents and then by her intended.
“You don’t even desire me?” she demanded, shocked at her question the moment it left her mouth.
He’d started to turn the door handle, but he went completely still and spun toward her. He studied her with a curious intensity, his gaze raking down her body and back up to her face. He stepped toward her, so close she swayed backward. His hand slid around her waist to crush her to his hard chest. He brushed away the lock of hair that had fallen over her right eye, and then he cupped her chin. “Do you want me to want you, Arabella?”
“Yes,” she murmured, utterly dazed by the satisfied gleam that had sparked in his eyes and the oddly protected way his embrace made her feel.
What was he doing? The question reverberated through his mind. He did not need to sleep with this woman. He had what he wanted. Except suddenly, inexplicably, he’d gone from dead tired to fully alert, and he wanted her. Blood surged though his veins as she stared up at him with her smoky-blue eyes rounded in a perfect yet false picture of innocence. His desire wasn’t so unexplainable, he thought, grimly aware of how weak a woman could make a man. If a man let a woman, that was. He never would.
This beguiling raven-haired woman wanted to give herself to him. Why the devil should he say no? She was a demirep. And experienced by her own assertion. And she was clearly disgruntled that she thought he was pining after Ruby Rose, who he’d never even laid eyes on. The exquisite creature before him had probably never experienced rejection. Far be it from him to sully her record.
“You are in luck tonight, my lady,” he whispered into her thick, rose water–scented hair.
She gulped. “I am?”
He smiled. She was surprised. He rather liked that she didn’t seem to comprehend how beguiling she was. It was most unusual for a demirep not to grasp the power she had over men. “You are.” He leaned back and brushed his lips to her soft ones. “I want you completely.”
In fact, it had been ages since he’d felt a surge of lust like the one taking hold of him. The desire to plunge into her and forget himself pounded through him and washed away any trace of weariness. He claimed her mouth in a kiss meant to show her exactly how desirable she was, except her mouth didn’t open. Or rather it did, but she quickly clamped it shut on a squeak and almost bit his tongue. He jerked backward and eyed her. “What the devil?”
“I’m sorry,” she rushed out, a blush as red as the ripest apple staining her cheeks.
“If you’ve changed your mind…” He’d never forced his attentions on a woman, and he certainly was not about to now.
“No!” she cried out. “I want you to kiss me.”
Only kiss her? He jerked a hand through his hair. He was getting very odd signs from this woman.
“It’s just that I don’t even know your Christian name.”
He almost laughed, except she had a very serious expression on her face. Never had a woman asked him his Christian name during a mutual seduction. They normally asked him to undress more quickly.
“It’s Justin.”
She grinned, and his chest actually tightened at the loveliness of it. He found himself wanting to smile, but he fought against it.
“That’s a perfect name,” she said. “Did you know your name means justice?”
“I’m aware,” he replied, careful to keep his words neutral. He may be about to give his body to this woman, but he was damn sure not about to share his secrets. Still, an imprisoned memory slipped free of its cage and his father’s voice whispered in his head, sounding just as he had moments before he died: Continue the mission to find your mother. Seek justice against the man that stole her from me. Honor me.
Justin clenched his teeth, then inhaled sharply to regain his detachment. It descended slowly, and he allowed the memories to skip across his mind. His father had never seen the truth. He’d driven Mother away due to his inability to let her or anyone close to him. Justin had recognized the reality, but still he’d tried to obey his father’s command to find her and bring her home. When his father had first made the request right after Mother had left, Justin had the missions carved into his body, one on each shoulder, in a bid to combat the doubt that battered him. She’d left willingly after all. If she missed him or his father, she would have returned. He’d found her a year before Father, on his deathbed, had begged Justin to continue the search, but he’d never told his father. In the end, when Father had lain dying and crying and mumbling about his lost love, Justin feared that by deciding to not force his mother to return he’d had a hand in his father’s declining health and eventual death.
“Yes, Justin, is a very honorable name,” she continued, her melodic voice chasing the memories back into their prison.
He focused on Arabella once again. She nodded her head decisively. “You may kiss me now.”
She was an odd, odd demirep, but he liked her. He cupped her face and claimed her lips, and this time, when it seemed she might not open her mouth for him, he slid his hands to her bottom and hoisted her firmly against him. Her eyes flew open, and her mouth parted. He took advantage of the moment to slip inside her mouth. He groaned with pleasure at the hot, sweetness of the woman. She tasted of honey and a bit of lemon.
He circled his tongue around hers, and at first, she seemed almost unsure how to proceed, but then she tentatively took up the age-old dance of seduction that surely she knew by heart. Their tongues mingled and retreated before meeting again.
He broke off the kiss and swooped an arm under her legs to cradle her to his bare chest. Her delicate hand settled over his heart, her panting hot breath caressing his skin. She gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes that had darkened to almost indigo, and suddenly, the tender touch of her hand against his heart was almost more than he could stand. It was the gesture. So intimate. He didn’t normally allow such things, but his hands were occupied.
It took three strides to reach the bed, and he laid her in the middle of the silken covers, her black hair fanning around her face and contrasting vividly with the wine-colored backg
round. He could not remember a woman ever stealing his ability to breathe, except his mother when he’d learned of her deception, but this woman stole his breath like a lightning-fast thief who struck unexpectedly. It wasn’t her beauty, though her face would make a painter weep with joy and her body… He hardened instantly as he traced his gaze over the outline of the slender legs he could see hidden under her thin, silk gown. Her skin was a never-ending canvas of creaminess, and her high, firm breasts made his fingers tingle to bring her pleasure.
What was so alluring about her was the innocence that lurked in the depths of blue staring back at him. But it was impossible. She was no innocent.
As if she knew his thoughts, she scuttled backward until she met the mounds of pillows he’d leaned against earlier.
“What are you doing?” she rasped.
Her voice wobbled, as if she was scared. Every instinct he had sharpened, and he scanned a mental list of everything she’d said and done since the moment he’d met her. Something was not as it seemed. The lust-filled side of his brain rejected the knowledge that it was her and urged him to undress her and enjoy her, but his good sense embraced what his gut knew to be true: she was no demirep. He’d bet his life on it, but how far would she take this little act and why was she playing the part?
“I’m quite sure you know what I’m doing,” he said in a purposely low, silken voice. “Surely, you’ve seen a man undress before.” He deliberately held her gaze as he undid his breeches and slid them off. If her eyes popped any wider, she’d be in danger of them coming right out of her head. He clenched his jaw. He detested deception, even if she was attempting to keep him as her protector, and he damn well knew how hypocritical he was being, given he was also lying to her.
“Of course I’ve seen a man undress before,” she stated boldly while pressing her hands to her fiery cheeks and bringing her knees up before her chest in a defensive posture.
“So is this a game you like to play? The innocent demirep?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, relief apparent in her voice. “That’s it. I adore games.”
“So do I,” he said and grinned in a way he knew made him look wolfish. The color immediately drained from her face. “In fact, I’d like to play one now. You’ll be the innocent debutante and I’ll be the gentleman who steals your virtue. Doesn’t that sound amusing?”
She jerked her head in a nod, her lips now as white as her skin. She looked so pitifully scared he almost considered offering her quarter and telling her he knew of her ruse, but he suspected she’d deny it. He had to make her admit her deceit, and he’d learned long ago from his father’s harsh lessons that in order to rip the truth from someone determined to keep it hidden, you had to attack like a wolf given a piece of raw meat. You had to chew up your quarry and spit them out in shreds, if necessary.
He’d been shredded by his father, and his father had learned all Justin’s secrets, save two. Justin was no fool. He knew those secrets were only still secrets because his father had never thought to ask about them, never considered the possibility that his son could harbor discontent against him and understanding for why his mother had fled in the dead of night, leaving a note of apology and regret.
“Oh yes,” Arabella finally managed to choke out. “That sounds so funny I might die.”
He had to give it to her. She was clinging to her sarcasm admirably. “Excellent.” He allowed the word to rumble from his chest and was pleased to see it had the desired effect. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth while unconsciously twisting a strand of her long hair around her finger. It should only be a moment until her ruse was up. He’d wager by the time he slipped her gown up her thighs, she’d be singing like a bird.
He kneeled at the foot of the bed and motioned to her. “Lie back, close your eyes, and pretend you’re sleeping.” He’d actually played out this fantasy for a very insistent, very eager French spy last year, and the memories were helpful now, though at the time he’d been more annoyed than impassioned.
“What for?” she gasped.
“Because you’re the innocent debutante, remember? I’m the rogue who has come into your room while you’re sleeping to steal your innocence.”
“I see,” she said in a weak voice. “Wh-what shall I do while pretending to be asleep?”
“Oh, moan and wiggle a bit,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “Once I have you naked you can pretend to protest.” It would never get that far. Even if she was able to hold out that long, he’d not let it continue on to that point.
“Yes, of course,” she murmured and slid down onto her back until her head was flat against the bed. Her long, dark eyelashes lowered, and her hands grasped the material on either side of her. He paused a moment, thinking she might confess, but she lay stock-still and silent.
Curse the stubborn women of the world.
He reached forward until his fingertips touched the edges of her gown. She jerked in response, an obvious sign she was not used to a man’s touch, but no protestations came from her. When he slid her gown up, gooseflesh covered her slender legs and she curled her toes, and after a minute, she gave an appropriate, though comical, moan. She sounded like a dying cat, not an aroused mistress. He had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. The higher he raised her gown, the more rapid her eyes moved under her lids, and the quicker his pulse became. He allowed it. This was not losing control. This was enjoying the game.
He paused at her waist with her gown bunched in his hands and laid the material there. Underneath she wore very French, very appropriately demirep-style unmentionables. “Ah, Arabella,” he murmured, as he contemplated what to do next. Touch her thighs? Part them? How far did this have to proceed, damn it? As much as he hated to admit it, he was aroused.
“Er, yes, Justin?”
He frowned. He’d never allowed any woman—hell, no one since his father—to call him by his Christian name, but it might seem odd for him to correct her now. “No more talking,” he said instead and set his hands to the inside of each of her thighs. She gasped as a tremor vibrated under his fingers, and his own body went painfully hard. For a moment, his mission slid away, and all he knew was the woman underneath him.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered as he parted her legs and traced the delicate skin on the inside, first with his fingers and then with his tongue. Jesus Christ. He knew it was wicked, but he could not stop himself. Her soft, heated skin spun him out of control for the barest of seconds. Blood pounded through his veins and made his body throb with need for her.
He gritted his teeth and brought himself back under control, his ears humming. When he became aware of her again, he realized she was moaning sensually and wiggling her hips in his face. “Do you have anything you want to confess?” he ground out, his lust making even his throat ache.
“No,” she squeaked. “No, I don’t.”
Stubborn, stubborn wench. She was not going to relent, so neither could he. Carefully, he slid her unmentionables down until they were off. When he looked at her again, her legs appeared rigid. He ran his hands back up her smooth thighs, parted them once more, and rubbed slowly and purposely up over the dark hair that covered her sex. The second he hit the spot that would bring her the most pleasure her eyes flew wide and she blurted, “Oh my God.”
What happened after that, he couldn’t damn well say. Something—a leg? No, hell, a knee—came into his peripheral vision. He threw his arm up and deflected the oncoming knee, but he saw the other one in the air too late. It rammed into his nose with a sickening crack that sent his vision momentarily black and left him breathless and speechless. A Viking from days of old could not have offered a more lethal blow.
“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness,” she cried out and scrambled—at least he thought she was scrambling, as his vision was now spotty—toward him. Her thin arm slid around his shoulder and her hand came to press against his cheek. “I’m so sorry! Are you hurt terribly?”
The pain in his nose sent vibrations int
o his bones and up to his head, and it pulsed with an immediate and painful woman-induced headache. He gave his head a quick shake. A colossally bad idea. Blood flew out of his nose like a crimson stream. He let out a crazy bark of laughter, yet with his nose bleeding it sounded very odd. He was grimly amused that such a slight woman had almost taken him down. Women were most assuredly nothing but trouble, as his father had said time and again after his mother had left.
“I am not all right. You’ve broken my nose.”
“No!” she exclaimed.
He forced his head up and leaned it back while giving her a sidelong glance. Warm rivulets of blood ran down either side of his face. “I’ve broken my nose enough times to know that it has, indeed, once again occurred. Give me a cloth.”
Tight-lipped, she scrambled off the bed, then reappeared with a rag that she held as she hovered over him. “What shall I do for you?”
“You’ve done quite enough,” he ground out, aware his temper had slipped. “Simply give me the cloth,” he intoned with forced calm.
“I want to help.”
“Arabella,” he snapped, his temper slipping again. “I have to set my nose. You cannot help.”
She nodded, yet hovered even closer. “I can. I reset my brother’s nose three times. If you’ll just let me, I can reset yours. It’s a simple matter, and I really think it’s better when someone else does it.”
“No. Thank. You. I do not take help.” His bloody nose throbbed with every word.
She scowled at him. “You are really very obstinate.”
“I could say the same of you,” he barked, jerked the cloth from her hand, and held it under his chin as he snapped his nose back into place. A long hiss of breath escaped him, and after counting to five in four languages, he managed to unclench his teeth and focus on her. “You are no demirep,” he clipped, ground his teeth and offered in an attempt at cordialness, “madam.”
The Dangerous Duke of Dinnisfree Page 7
