Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle

by Stephanie Laurens

  It was not a gentle kiss, but in her innocence, Lenore didn’t care, held in thrall by the turbulent passion behind it. Her wits, already half seduced by her own dangerous imaginings, were swept away by the reality. Untutored, she sought to appease the hard demand of his lips, her lips instinctively softening, then parting under his.

  Any vague idea Jason had possessed of a single, short, salutory kiss—to appease his demons and to demonstrate unequivocally the unwisdom of her looking at him with desire in her eyes—disappeared, drowned beneath the tide of passion her unexpected invitation evoked. He took instant advantage, slanting his lips over hers, confidently taking possession of her soft mouth with a slow, plundering relentlessness that shook him as much as it shook her.

  Lenore shuddered, her senses reeling. She felt his hands leave hers, his arms lifting to enclose her, drawing her against him. His strength surrounded her, seducing her more completely than his kiss. Free, her hands lifted, hovering uncertainly before settling on his shoulders. She felt the muscles beneath his coat shift restlessly at her touch. Immediately she splayed her fingers, gripping hard, amazed and then enthralled by the response she drew forth, the tension that wound suddenly tighter, tautening the muscles of his large frame. Hesitantly, she kissed him back, thrilled to feel his soaring response, startled to find a similar reaction coursing her veins.

  The sensation was addictive. Her senses, so long reliably content, revelled in the magic they wove. Like pagans, they swirled to the rhythm and demanded more. Wantonly she leaned into his embrace, delighting when his arms tightened, crushing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest. Cast into a realm beyond reality, Lenore had no defence against the power that engulfed her, no reason to fight the tide. Instead, blinded to the tenets of wisdom, her upbringing and society’s mores, she followed where her senses led, freely responding, meeting every demand he made of her and wanting more.

  Which was considerably more encouragement than Jason’s frayed control could resist. He shifted his hold, one hand dropping to the small of her back, drawing her hips against his. Lenore shivered in his arms, her body pressing against his in flagrant invitation. The last vestiges of Jason’s once vaunted control cindered. He felt her fingers tangle in the soft hair at his nape. Slowly, he eased her back, bringing one hand up to cup her breast.

  Shivery pleasure cascaded down Lenore’s spine; heat swelled her breasts. She responded immediately, her kisses more urgent, her mind, her body eager to experience more. Infuriatingly slow and patient, Jason’s long fingers caressed her, drawing forth a gamut of sensations she had never felt before. As her nipples tightened to painful little buds, Lenore felt a curious heat unfurl deep inside. Entranced, she made no demur when Jason’s fingers slid down the row of pearly buttons closing her blouse. It felt deliciously right when he brushed aside the fine material, searching for the ribbons of her chemise. A gentle tug and the bows were undone. If she had not been kissing him, she would have caught her breath. As it was, she felt her senses slide over some invisible precipice as her silk chemise slithered to her waist. The cool caress of the air on her naked breasts was dispelled by his fiery touch.

  Desire streaked through Lenore. She gasped and broke free of their kiss. Her head fell back, her lids fell as pure sensation raced along her nerves. Time and place were no more—her whole being was alive in a world of sensuous pleasure. As Jason leaned nearer, she shifted her hands from his shoulders to thread her fingers through his rich chestnut hair, fascinated by the silky texture and the thick, tumbling locks.

  Jason drew a ragged breath, struggling to retrieve his will from the web she had lured it into. But her allure was too strong for even him to break. He could no more stop breathing than deny his fingers the right to caress the creamy mounds bared to his sight. The feel of her satiny skin seared his fingertips, burning itself into his memories. She was even more beautiful than he had imagined, her breasts a perfect fit for his large hands, their peaks pink crests, puckered with passion. Passion he had aroused. The realisation shook him, but her soft murmur as his fingers gently teased, knowingly tantalised, was like a siren’s song, dispelling reservations, dispelling all thought. Even as he lowered his head, part of him marveled at that fact.

  Trapped in a world of sensual delight, Lenore revelled in all she could feel. His subtle caresses sent her senses spinning. Then his hands left her; one tactile sensation was replaced with another. She gasped, then whimpered with desire as his lips caressed her, his tongue gently rasping one tightly budded nipple. Lenore’s fingers tightened convulsively, tangling in his hair as wave after wave of desire crashed through her.

  As she felt her bones melt under the onslaught, she was conscious of only one thought. She didn’t want him to stop.

  Enthralled in desire, neither heard the approaching footsteps nor the click as the latch lifted.

  “Here we are! The library. Knew it had to be somewhere. Plenty of books—” Lord Percy came to an abrupt halt as his gaze came to rest, goggling, on the pair behind the desk.

  At Lord Percy’s first word, Jason disengaged, pulling Lenore to him, crushing her protectively against his chest. As he took in the stunned looks on the faces of the three ladies crowding behind Lord Percy—Mrs. Whitticombe, her daughter and Lady Henslaw—he knew that nothing would erase the image they must have beheld as the door had swung open.

  Prevented from seeing what had befallen, her cheek pressed against Eversleigh’s coat, his heart thundering in her ear, Lenore struggled to recall her wits from the deep haze still engulfing them.

  To everyone’s surprise, it was Lord Percy who rescued them all. Abruptly turning, he threw out his arms, flapping to usher the ladies out. “Go and see the succession houses. I’m told they’re very fine.”

  Without a single backward glance, he herded the ladies into the corridor and firmly shut the door.

  The sound of the latch dropping home, a cold clang, jolted Lenore back to reality. Slowly, she eased herself from Eversleigh’s embrace, aware of a sense of loss as she left its comfort. She steeled herself against it, dragging in breath after breath. Her mind raced, picking up the threads, trying to weave them into a cohesive picture as her fingers automatically fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. Suddenly, she felt very cold.

  Wrapping her arms about her, she stepped back, blinking as she fought to regain her composure. Slowly, she brought her head up to stare at Eversleigh’s face. The angular planes seemed softer, but she couldn’t be sure. He was breathing rapidly. She saw him blink, as if he, too, was as affected as she. But that couldn’t be so.

  “You tricked me.” She made the statement coldly, a deliberate indictment.

  Jason blinked again, a frown gathering. Collecting his wits was proving a strain. Not only did he have to shackle his desire, now rampant, and assimilate the shock of their discovery, together with its attendant ramifications, but he had yet to succeed in convincing himself that what had occurred was real. Too much of it seemed like a dream. Never before had any woman undermined his control as Lenore had so effortlessly done. Dazed, he scrambled to catch up with her thoughts.

  Unaware of his difficulties, Lenore drifted around the desk, pacing back and forth before it, her features hardening, her entire body stiffening as all that had occurred crystallised in her brain. “I wouldn’t agree to marry you, so you arranged this!” Her voice gained in force “This farce!” Gesturing dramatically, she flung a glance loaded with scorn at the man standing still and silent behind the desk. “When I would not agree willingly, you sought to trap me into marriage. Tell me, Your Grace,” she asked with awful disdain, contempt filling her eyes, “did Lord Percy make his entrance too soon? How far were you prepared to go in compromising my honour to gain your ends?” To her horror, her voice broke as a damning self-pity rose beneath her fury.

  Abruptly, Lenore swung to face her nemesis over the desk. Head high, she looked him straight in the eye. “You, Your Grace, are undoubtedly the most despicable rogue it has ever been my misf
ortune to meet! Regardless of what might transpire, regardless of what whispers and scandal you call down upon me, I will not marry you!”

  Her denunciation ended on a high, quavering note.

  Her fury was nothing to his. With a superhuman effort, Jason forced himself to stand, silent, expressionless, and let her words hit him. His face felt like marble—cold and hard.

  When he said nothing, made no attempt to defend himself against her wild accusations, Lenore’s composure crumbled. Catching her breath on a hysterical sob, she turned blindly for the door and fled, her heart twisting painfully with every step.

  In a feat bordering on the miraculous, Jason succeeded in forcing himself to remain still and silent behind the desk. Inside, his rage, a cold and deadly flame, seared him. As the danger peaked, every muscle in his body clenching in the effort to contain the explosive emotion, he forced himself to recall that Lenore had been upset, hysterical, not in command of herself.

  The rationalisation did not ease the sting of her words. Gradually, the danger passed, leaving mere anger in its wake. Even so, Jason refused to give in to the impulse to go after her; he had sufficient knowledge of his own temperament to know that if he found her, her dignity would not survive intact. Instead, dragging in a deep breath, he focused his mind on what needed to be done, first to remove the threat to her reputation, secondly to secure her hand in marriage.

  For one fact was now written in stone. Lenore Lester was his. He would not leave Lester Hall without her promise to marry him.

  Not after that kiss.

  His eyes grey coals, his expression like stone, His Grace of Eversleigh stalked from the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AT FIVE-THIRTY, despite the dull throbbing in her temples and the sickening disillusion that had her in its grip, Lenore entered the drawing-room prepared to greet her father’s guests. In honour of the ball, she had allowed her maid to dress her hair high, with large soft curls falling in drifts about her ears and throat. Her lustring sack of magenta silk glowed richly, cream lace filling in the expanse from its square neckline to the base of her throat, her long sleeves fashioned from the same material. She hoped the gown would underline her status; tonight she had every intention of courting the title of ape-leader.

  Jack was waiting for her, strikingly handsome in a dark blue coat over ivory inexpressibles. He winked at her. “Ready to greet the hordes?”

  “Hardly hordes,” Lenore replied absent-mindedly. “If you recall, we agreed to invite only six couples to join us for dinner. The rest won’t arrive until eight.”

  Jack threw her a sharp look, then offered, “Took a gander at the ballroom. Doing us proud, Lennie.”

  Taking his arm, Lenore summoned a smile. Leading him towards the main doors where they would take up their stance, she tried to deflect the concern she saw in his blue eyes. It was prompted, she knew, by the harried expression she was only just managing to conceal. “I’m sure everything will turn out splendidly, just as long as you and Harry toe the line. The staff have worked like slaves and the guests have thrown themselves into the spirit of things with abandon. There’s been such demand for the crimping tongs, the maids are well nigh dead on their feet.”

  Jack laughed. To Lenore’s relief, he said no more.

  A bare two hours had elapsed since her dramatic meeting with Eversleigh; she had yet to regain her calm. She had fled the library to immediately fall victim to her hostessly chores. Mrs. Hobbs had caught her in the front hall. After she had given her blessing to the substitution of pheasant pie for the roasted grouse, Smithers had come up, wanting her opinion on the positioning of the heavy épergné in the centre of the table. Next, it had been Harris with a request for guidance in the matter of how many footmen should be stationed in the supper-room. A succession of similar questions and difficulties had kept her from the sanctuary of her room, from giving way to temper and tears in equal measure.

  Whenever she thought of what had happened, her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Knowing she could not afford to be distracted, not tonight, with so many eyes to see, she pushed the jumble of outrage, guilt and hurt betrayal to the back of her mind. With a smile firmly in place, her serenity to the fore, she stood beside her brother and prepared to greet their neighbours.

  As the first of the house-guests drifted into the room, chatting easily, Lenore heard the clang of the front doorbell. She turned to Jack. “Papa isn’t down yet.”

  Jack grimaced. “Doubt that he’ll show, not till later.” When Lenore gazed at him, bewildered, he said, “Never one for doing the pretty, you know that.”

  Lenore sighed. Retrieving her smile, she turned as Smithers announced Major and Mrs. Holthorpe. Their other neighbours arrived in good time, the ladies making the most of this opportunity to brush shoulders with their London sisters and catch up on both fashion and the latest on-dits. Conversation buzzed, punctuated by gay laughter. When the time to announce dinner was at hand and her father had yet to appear, Lenore cast a questioning glance at Harriet. Her aunt shrugged. Wondering if perhaps her father had been taken ill, Lenore started for the door.

  She had cleared the crush of the guests and was but a few yards from the double doors when they swung inwards, propelled by two footmen. Her father entered, Harris pushing his chair. Beside it walked Eversleigh.

  Lenore froze, presentiment dropping like a cold cloak about her shoulders.

  “Friends!” Archibald Lester, wreathed in smiles, waved a lordly hand at his guests. He saw Lenore, too distant for her face to be properly in focus, and his smile grew brighter still. As the guests, as a body, turned to face him, he continued, his old voice carrying easily over the last shreds of dying conversations. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you to Lester Hall. Doubly so for I’ve an announcement to make!”

  Jason, standing alongside, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Lenore, stiffened. He turned to Archibald Lester, only to hear his host declaim, “I have today given my blessing to a union between my daughter, Lenore, and Jason Montgomery, Duke of Eversleigh.”

  A buzz of excited comment rolled through the room. Archibald Lester beamed with pride and gratification.

  All expression leaching from her face, Lenore stood as if turned to stone.

  Two strides brought Jason to her side. His face lit by a charming smile, his eyes filled with concern, he caught her icy fingers in his and smoothly raised them to his lips. “Don’t faint.” He searched her large eyes, wide and empty, for a glimmer of consciousness.

  The warmth of his lips on her fingers tugged Lenore back to reality. Dazed and utterly undone, she blinked up at him. “I never faint,” she murmured, her mind completely overwhelmed.

  Jason bit his lip and glanced over her head; they had mere seconds before the hordes descended. “Smile, Lenore.” His voice held the unmistakable if muted tones of command. “You are not going to break down and embarrass yourself and your family.”

  Vaguely, Lenore’s eyes rose to his, slowly focusing as his words sank in. He was right. Whatever he had done, however hurt she might feel, now was no time for hysterics.

  To Jason’s relief she straightened slightly, a little of her rigidity falling away. A smile, a travesty of her usual calm confidence, appeared on her lips. But panic shadowed her eyes.

  “You can weather this, Lenore. Trust me.” His whispered words were loaded with reassurance. Placing her hand on his sleeve and covering it with his, he turned her to meet their well-wishers. “I won’t leave you.”

  He didn’t. Strangely, it seemed to Lenore that his support was the only thing that kept her functioning throughout that interminable evening. She should have been too furious to accept his help, to trust him, yet she knew instinctively that he would not fail her. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean on his strength.

  Luckily, Amelia reached her first, throwing her arms about her and hugging her with joy. As her cousin disengaged, casting a puzzled glance at her weak smile, Lenore dragged and bullied and goaded her wits into
action, forcing her features to her bidding. The muscles of her face relaxed into a gay if brittle smile. She got no chance to thank Amelia, nor to respond to her, “Good luck!” as the other guests pressed forward, none wishing to appear backward in congratulating the next Duchess of Eversleigh. She responded as best she could to their felicitations, thankful for Eversleigh’s presence, a solid prop to sanity by her side. He kept his fingers entwined with hers, imparting calm strength even as his ready tongue deflected the more ribald comments.

  Dinner was delayed. When Smithers eventually interrupted the chorus, Eversleigh drew her free of the throng, leading her in advance of them all as was his right. As usual, he sat beside her, an unnerving but unshakeable protection against any untoward questions. But by that time Lenore had herself in hand. Clamping an iron lid over the turmoil within allowed her to respond to both conversation and organisational queries with something approaching her usual calm grace. As long as she did not allow herself to think of what had occurred, she could cope.

  Her father had ordered champagne to be served. As she took an invigorating sip of the bubbly liquid, Lenore caught Eversleigh’s eye. To the casual observer his expression was exactly what one would expect—gratified, proud, confident in his triumph. As she studied the concern, the real worry etched in the grey eyes, Lenore wondered if only she could see past his mask. Allowing her lids to fall, she glanced away. Seconds later, she was startled to feel the gentle touch of his fingers on hers, then shocked when her fingers automatically returned the brief caress.

  Firmly resettling the iron lid over her treacherous emotions, Lenore threw herself into the conversation.

  They rose from the table just before eight, the gentlemen escorting the ladies into the huge ballroom. With long windows and high ceiling, it filled the entire ground floor of one wing. “Oohs” and “aahs” came from all sides as the guests took in the massed spring blooms and the first of the summer roses, tumbling in profusion from every available site. Draped in garlands from the musicians gallery, looped around every pillar, frothing from vases and urns, the flowers scented the warm air and lifted spirits to new heights.