The Trouble With Seduction

by Victoria Hanlen

  A quiet knock jarred her from that provocative thought. She quickly rechecked her appearance in the mirror and hastened to open the door.

  Against the dim street lanterns, Ravenhill cut a provocative silhouette. His intoxicating presence encircled her like an aura, prickling her skin, filling her senses, and making her light-headed all at once.

  “My lady,” he rumbled in the semi-darkness.

  She gazed up and up and up to the top of his silk top hat. Then let her eyes drift down to the hastily tied cravat circling his muscular neck. His cutaway evening jacket stretched across his impossibly broad shoulders and tapered to perfectly tailored trousers hugging his slim hips and long, sinewy legs.

  “I… I’d almost given you up.” Her words came out breathless, and her hand shook as she opened the door wider to let him in.

  Ravenhill removed his top hat and entered. His robust presence filled the room, making it smaller, and somehow charged the atmosphere with his potent energy.

  “I’m sorry for the delay. I was unexpectedly detained.” He lowered his brows as he glanced down at her, and then quickly shifted his gaze down the hall. “Has everyone turned in for the night?”

  His hushed rumble flitted around the base of her skull. What did he mean by ‘turned in for the night?’ Anticipation jumbled her thoughts. She couldn’t let him see her drinking him in and resorted to quick, stealthy scans. Her skin, though, her skin had come alive, sensing his every move as he stepped around the vestibule.

  Her plan of seduction seemed to be dissolving in a pool of nerves. In her imagination, she’d seen herself a temptress, full of self-confidence. With a crook of her little finger, the gorgeous Mr Ravenhill would follow her like a puppy.

  Instead, between the time they’d left Astley’s and now, he’d changed. He barely looked at her, and when he did it was down his nose, while he strutted around the vestibule like a self-important young lord. Was this his real self, suddenly come to light?

  She gripped the handle of the small lantern off the table. “We can talk down the hall.” After a few steps, she realized he hadn’t followed. “This way,” she motioned.

  He remained standing in the vestibule with pursed lips, his brows pinched together. “Where are we going?”

  Sarah retraced a few steps and whispered, “Down the hall where we can talk without being overheard.” She swung the lantern to show him the marble corridor. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but in the dimness, even she imagined the hallway to have grown longer.

  With her heart pounding in her ears, she tried to make a joke. “It may look perilous, but it is somewhat more stable than the roof we walked across in the rookery.”

  His frown deepened.

  What was the matter with him? He acted as if she were leading him to his doom.

  “I’ve chased all the goblins and trolls home, Mr Ravenhill.”

  He finally exhaled and swaggered toward her. His quick turnabout so surprised her, her weak leg nearly wobbled out from under her. In two strides he caught her. Hot and cold prickles raced across her skin where his hands gripped her waist.

  He gently set her on her feet and wrapped her hand around his elbow, but his silence unnerved her. What was he thinking? He seemed so tense and stern and aloof – someone she didn’t know.

  He’d always been eager to explore her home. Last night they’d nearly made love. Tonight at Astley’s he’d gazed at her with such heat and longing she’d imagined him scooping her up and running down this very hall.

  He shortened his stride to accommodate her smaller steps. With their slow progress, it felt like the final walk of the condemned. His bearing resembled more of a towering oak than a man. Even though she barely touched him, her ungloved fingers sizzled with sensation. Was that his pulse pounding under the fine wool and linen covering his arm?

  After an eternity, they finally reached their destination at the end of the hall.

  She led him through an arched doorway, closed and locked the door, and set her lantern on the side table. “Now. What did you wish to talk with me about?”

  Another spike of tension crawled up her back.

  They stood in a large, elegantly appointed room. In one corner sat a chess table. Plush chairs and overstuffed sofas lounged about the deep carpet. A posh, canopied, four-poster bed occupied the far wall.

  Nothing about the room had changed since last she’d checked. It was one of the loveliest in the mansion, but the atmosphere of seduction seemed totally lost on the man at her side.

  “What is this room?” he rasped as he placed his hat, gloves, and cane next to the lantern.

  “The Merristones reserved these quarters for honored guests. Since Strathford bought the house, it’s never been used for anything but a quiet place to occasionally play chess.”

  “Good… good,” he muttered. The moment stretched while he gazed fixedly just over her head toward the far wall.

  She inched a little closer. “You said there was something you wished to discuss?” Sarah clutched her hands to keep from touching him. Her attraction to him seemed like a live thing, growing, breathing, clawing to escape her heavy chains of propriety.

  He scowled – “Right… right…” – and sniffed in a deep inhale. “I wanted to tell you what I discovered about Mary Turner.”

  “Mary Turner?” She slid her foot a few more inches toward him.

  He gazed fixedly upon the space just above her eyebrows. The intensity with which he held to the spot reminded her of a man clinging to the side of a cliff.

  He let out a shaky breath. “She was a brothel madam here in London. After the explosion in my father’s warehouse, she disappeared.”

  Bile churned through the butterflies in her stomach. “Strathford had been seeing a brothel madam?” When Edward gave Sarah the ‘special toys’, he’d winked and said, “I’ve made you some little contraptions to address your ‘special needs’.” He’d implied she was too ‘needy’ in the bedroom and taxed his tolerance – while he satisfied his ‘needs’ with a prostitute. The thought made her want to throw something. “Is she dead?”

  “I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t know. There’s no evidence of such, but that doesn’t guarantee she’s alive, either. It’s possible she left the country.” A look of distraction came over him. He seemed to be wrestling with his thoughts.

  She stepped a little closer. “Was there something else?”

  He stood taller and gazed down his nose at her. The unmistakable hauteur almost made her fall back a step. From last evening, when they’d shared such closeness, to now, he’d erected a wall around himself. What had happened in the interim?

  ***

  War waged inside Damen. Sarah had shocked him with her lovely, revealing blue gown. It transformed his angel, his gentle wren, into a seductive temptress. He exhaled an unsteady breath and felt his body go rigid with agitation.

  Every impulse he’d kept at bay threatened to overwhelm, tying his sinews into knots. His instincts warned him to leave. But when he refused to follow Sarah down the hall, her hurt expression dove straight to his heart.

  Last night he’d not slept a wink, wanting her with an insatiable hunger. The walk down that interminable hallway had weakened him further.

  He’d no right to Lady Strathford’s affections and no right to question her about them, either. No one could possibly have deceived her more than he.

  His features refused to be schooled into anything other than a tight mask, no doubt arranging themselves into their customary ‘Damen glower’. “What do you feel for Lumsley?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  “What do I feel for Lumsley?” Disbelief colored her tone. “He’s my brother’s long-time friend. Nothing more.”

  Did Lumsley truly mean nothing to her?

  It worried him the scoundrel could come and go so easily about her home. He’d a jovial, somewhat vacant-headed appearance, but Damen knew he’d an unhealthy regard for women. Would breaking a leopard’s toes chang
e his spots or merely slow him down? The way he spoke about women during their carriage ride did not engender confidence that he’d changed since the Cambridge stag party.

  He wanted to warn her – Lumsley can’t be trusted. He’s not what he seems. Deep down he’s a brute. All of which, to different degrees, could apply to himself.

  The mysterious Mrs Ivanova had reiterated the urgency of finding the plans and repeated that seducing Lady Strathford would be the quickest way to entice her into revealing their whereabouts. Tonight’s additional directive – that he make Sarah love him – had him hungering for her all the more. Even if he could accomplish such a feat, it was wrong and he knew it.

  In truth, if he wasn’t already in love with her, he was dangerously close. The temptation to fulfill his heart’s desire now burned hotter than ever.

  Cory had no trouble leaving a swath of broken hearts in his wake, but Damen knew how painful unrequited love could be. He didn’t want Sarah or himself to suffer any of the consequences.

  “What do you feel for me?” The answer suddenly seemed paramount.

  “What do I feel for you?” She swallowed audibly and gazed at his cravat. “I hold you in high esteem, Mr Ravenhill.”

  Her peaches and lavender perfume wove through his senses, tightening the muscles in his loins. On its own, his hand rose to trail down the side of her jaw. “Nothing… more, my lady?”

  Sarah’s lips parted as she closed her eyes and tilted her head into his touch. “I… I enjoy your company and friendship,” her voice quivered.

  All evening he’d yearned to be alone with her. And now that he was, his conscience riddled him with reproach. He let his hand drop.

  “I’m not good for any woman. If you were wise, you’d run as quick and as far away from—”

  Sarah rose up and covered his mouth with hers.

  Something inside him gave way. On their own, his arms coiled about her. When she drew back, he followed her down like a marionette controlled by invisible strings.

  She shuddered, melting into him, each holding the other up.

  This is what he’d dreamed of – to feel the voluptuous curves of her body press into him, to feel her soft lips move hungrily under his, and to taste the spicy flavor of her mouth.

  Small warnings sounded at the back of his mind. Not Fair. Not Fair to Sarah! He needed to stop. He raised his head, panting, “I should go.”

  Her lashes fluttered open. “What?” The dazed heat in her gaze sent his blood throbbing through his body.

  He groaned and coiled his arms tighter, capturing her lips, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Where had his good sense fled when he most needed its strength?

  Her hands curled about his neck, and she surrendered to his invasion, sliding, darting her tongue against his. Longing heated their kiss and quickly transformed to desperation. How he loved the feel and taste of her.

  She pulled off his jacket and dropped it to the floor. “I need to…” She worked furiously on the buttons of his waistcoat.

  “I’ve almost…” He grappled with the hooks on her gown, wanting to tear it off.

  They were like a team of runaway horses, barreling down a hillside, out of control.

  “These won’t give.” She’d unbuttoned his vest, but his shirt buttons resisted.

  He worked a hook loose and her gown slid to crest on the tips of her breasts.

  He needed to stop.

  Now.

  A delicious temptation won out.

  With one quick tug, her bodice and chemise slipped over their summits. His jaw dropped. “God in heaven!” he rasped, appreciatively. Her widow’s weeds had hid a bounty of womanhood.

  Sarah made a startled gasp as he lifted her breasts fully into his grasp. Two weighty handfuls overflowed his large paws. Their large nipples gazed up at him like unblinking eyes.

  He bent, circled his tongue around an ample areola, and surrounded it with his lips.

  Sarah made a high-pitched wheeze and clutched his shoulders.

  Oh, how he enjoyed the taste of her excitement. Electric chills raced along his sinews as Kama Sutra positions took form in his mind.

  He gently lifted her other breast to his lips and fitted his mouth around the soft nipple. It quickly beaded and he moaned with delight.

  Gently teasing her nipples with his thumbs, he found the pulse in her throat and caressed the spot with his lips and tongue. She bowed closer, quivering under his attentions, a willing prisoner to his hands and mouth. “Did your husbands ever kiss you like this?” he murmured.

  “No,” she exhaled in a rush, making a most gratifying little noise.

  He’d been so intent on giving her pleasure, the light touch of her nails, dragged over the front of his trousers, sent a bolt through him. A hiss escaped his lips. He’d not expected the very proper Lady Strathford to know of such provocative teasing.

  She did it again and, much to his chagrin, his cock bounced in anticipation.

  The sharp tightening in his loins reminded him of his vow not to compromise her.

  Though he was highly enjoying pleasuring Sarah, a tinge of guilt crept in. During this whole interlude he kept making and amending bargains. First he would only touch, then he would only kiss. Each new delight had him renegotiating. What harm could it do to give her joy?

  He’d always prided himself on his control. Now his dazed, clouded mind had him following a dangerous course, and he was quickly losing his strength or will to stop.

  A tug on his buttons and his aching cock sprang free into cool air and Sarah’s warm palm. “Christ!”

  She was driving him delirious – to a place where primal urges and needs of the flesh overruled all his honorable intentions.

  ***

  Sarah was beside herself. Mr Ravenhill had been so standoffish when he arrived, she thought he would repeat last night’s quick departure. Now he had her quivering with excitement, wild with anticipation and a little bit of panic. What had she unleashed?

  She’d imagined seducing him – slowly, gently building his excitement, as her husbands had taught her. Within minutes he’d shown her a realm of lovemaking they’d disparaged as libidinous.

  Ravenhill did things with his hands and tongue that drove her wild. Several times she had to bite her lip not to scream. When he touched her breasts so intimately, so skillfully, he nearly paralyzed her with pleasure. He knew exactly where to touch, to kiss, to lick, to turn her into a quivering mass of need.

  He swung her up into his arms and carried her to the far side of the room where he set her on her feet next to the bed. “These must go,” he growled, and set to work on her petticoats, corset and chemise, quickly relieving her of everything until she stood completely naked in front of him.

  This wasn’t fair; he still wore most of his clothes.

  The mattress sank beneath his weight as he sat back on the bed, taking her in. His hands gripped the counterpane while his stormy gaze combed over her like a starving man.

  Her skin prickled, raw and exposed. Neither of her husbands had looked at her like this. When they came to her, she was in her gown under the cover of blankets and darkness. Heat and moisture pooled between her legs and her hands moved to cover herself.

  “Don’t,” he commanded, his voice husky and agitated.

  This wasn’t part of her plan, but it definitely had an effect on him.

  “You. Are. So. Beautiful.” The muscles stood out on his neck, and his heavy breathing made a rasping sound in his throat.

  Everything in her quaked with alarm.

  Her Aunt Eliza had warned he was a big healthy male and might be more demanding than her husbands, with more drive and stamina than she was used to. With the enthusiasm and skill Ravenhill had already shown, she half rejoiced, half feared the possibility.

  ***

  Damen gripped the counterpane to keep from pouncing on her. Sarah stood in front of him in the dimly lit room like a goddess, a temptress, the very image of ripe womanhood. He could still taste her bre
asts in his mouth and feel their generous weight in his hands. His cock quivered at the thought of plunging into her; hearing her sighs and moans; feeling her hands roam his back and her thighs grip his hips as he drove into her slick warmth.

  She walked closer. “You’re overdressed,” she breathed.

  Thankfully, the buttons on his shirt and vest were not easy to manage. Damen didn’t dare remove his clothes. Much as his body cried out for more, sharing intimacies would be safer if he stayed in them.

  He couldn’t let her disrobe him and fell to his knees to circle his arms round her legs and rest his cheek against her warm belly. His conscience assailed him with guilt. He was a wretch. Wanting her did not justify hurting her. Lying to her, compromising her, and then leaving her were the actions of a scoundrel, not a man in love.

  But he could give her pleasure.

  His blood surged as he inhaled her sweet scent. “Did your husbands ever kiss you like this?” He trailed his tongue down her stomach and darted into the sanctuary between her soft curls.

  Sarah startled, quivering.

  He held fast, suddenly ravenous, licking, diving, stroking, caressing. He was nearly going out of his mind as she whimpered and trembled. Her little moans and noises only increased his hunger.

  He glided a hand down the inside of her lovely thighs and back up, spreading her to feast on her.

  One, two, three caresses and she came apart on a choked scream, her legs quivering.

  He held her tight until her release passed, then gently laid her on the bed.

  Stretching out beside her, he traced her shapely body with his hand – the soft texture of her skin, her graceful arms, magnificent breasts, the slight hill at her navel, the sweet indentation on either side of her waist and the rounded edges of her hips.

  He leaned down to lick a thin line across her collarbone, up her neck, and around the shell of her ear. She tasted like her perfume and soap and her own tantalizing scent.

  She kissed the side of his face. “Do you know how wonderful you are?”

  No. He wasn’t wonderful. He was a dog, scratching for scraps he knew he didn’t deserve. He wanted to make this good for her and refused to think how deceived she’d feel once she discovered the truth.