by Jenny Brown
After a decent interval, he headed to the alcove. After a longer wait, she followed him in. He wished he wasn’t so delighted at finding her again. The point of this interview was to rid himself of his obsession. But he couldn’t stop his heartbeat from quickening. He would have her to himself, even if for only the length of another dance.
“You’re losing your touch.”
Temperance flinched at the unmistakable tone of triumph in the officer’s voice.
Except he no longer was an officer. He wore the luxurious garb of a sultan. Folds of rich silk the color of lapis lazuli drifted over the rigid musculature of his chest, deepening even further the blue of his mocking eyes. The blood red jewel in his turban—could it be real?—sparkled with inner fire as the light from the candles overhead glanced off it, though not as brightly as did his eyes. They burned with a disturbing brilliance above his silken mask.
“You hold your life cheap,” he said.
“I don’t.”
“Then why keep doing something so risky?”
His question might have irked her except he asked from curiosity, not reproach. She shrugged. “Why do you ride into battle? But I put it all back.”
“Why?”
“Why d’you think? I want my locket.”
His gaze remained inscrutable. “Good.”
His eyes were the color of the sky of a moonlit midnight, and they stared into hers. She wondered what he’d make her do before he’d give it back. She hadn’t expected it to be easy. She’d have to give him something. She’d known that when she’d made up her mind to go to the masquerade.
But she’d forgotten how disturbing he was. She’d thought she’d be safe meeting him in a public place, trusting that the presence of the crowd would limit what he could do to her. The managers of the masquerade were tolerant of lust but not of rape. But it wasn’t rape she feared now but seduction, and no one would raise a hand to stop that here—it was the whole purpose of the masquerade.
Now that she found herself closeted with him again, the power that emanated from him seemed to fill the small space between them, stronger than the intoxicating scent of oriental spice that rose from his garments. It dwarfed the flutter of yearning in her belly, so like that of a moth drawn to a flame and just as likely to prove fatal.
“Take off that ridiculous mask,” he commanded, tearing off his own.
She’d forgotten how brutal his cheekbones were and how alluring his lips despite the white scar that slashed through his smile. If what he wanted in exchange for the locket was what he’d wanted in the alleyway, it would be no punishment to give it to him.
His soft silk shirt hung open at the neck, revealing a thick tuft of silky black hair. Making love with him would be like embracing an otter. He was so sleek and confident. Something within her wanted to swim up to meet him. She fought it.
She was nothing to him. A woman to be used and discarded. She was here only to retrieve her locket. Recalled to her task, she used a trick she knew men found so stimulating, letting her tongue slide over her upper lip, then slowly withdrawing it into the shelter of her mouth.
When she knew she had his attention, she raised one hand to her mask and slowly slipped it off. Very slowly, to make him think of other things being slipped off, other parts of her body being revealed. She tossed the mask at him when it was free. He caught it and let it dangle, not taking his eyes off her.
“I’m in your debt once more,” she said with a laugh. “You profit again from my crime.”
“You were in my debt already,” he said in a mocking tone. “But I’ve already learned how you pay your debts.”
She dropped her eyes as if admitting wrongdoing, then, with her head still bent, she looked up at him again. “You frightened me.”
“With the intensity of my passion?” His question held no tinge of irony. He was awaiting her answer, his whole body alert.
“Does it often frighten women?”
“Other women don’t matter. Only you. I want your answer.”
He stood stock-still, awaiting her reply, as stationary as a pointer scenting prey.
She gave in. “No. It wasn’t your passion that frightened me.”
“Then what did?”
“My own. My heart is given to another.”
His eyes betrayed no hint of how that struck him. “The man whose portrait is in the locket?”
“Yes.”
“Would he beat you if he found you with me?”
“No.”
“Shoot me?”
She shook her head.”
“He’s a fool then. Were you mine, I’d call out any man who kissed you as I did that night.”
“The man is dead. Only his ghost could be jealous. He doesn’t care now what I do with my body.”
He flinched. When he spoke again, his tone had lost its edge. He said, “I see.” And she had the sudden sense that he did see. Far too much. She had never before been stripped naked like this—not just her body but her innermost self, as if he sensed her feelings, all of them, even the most disturbing.
“I’d been with him for more than two years when he died,” she said, answering his unasked question. “And I’ll never give my heart to another. Never.”
“Good,” he said.
“Good?”
“I don’t want your heart.”
Something dropped out of the bottom of her stomach. “What do you want?” she whispered.
His indigo eyes met hers, frank and hiding nothing, though she had not the courage to explore them. She dropped her gaze.
“A woman whose passions are strong enough to meet mine,” he said. “A woman who doesn’t need me but who wants me. For a little while. A very little while.”
“A night?” What was she negotiating?
“Perhaps, or a week. At most a month. I can offer nothing more. I’m to be married this summer, and I won’t shame my wife by breaking my vows.”
She sneered. “How noble of you to offer me your body when you’ve already given your heart to your chosen bride.”
“I have chosen no bride,” he said. “Nor do I look forward to doing so. I marry to fulfill my obligations to my family, and have no more wish to give my heart to a bride than I do to you. But whoever she turns out to be, you may take comfort from knowing she is not likely to please me nearly as much as you could.”
She had never heard a man speak this way. They all promised her more—far more—though they were always lying.
This man wasn’t lying. Strange as his words were, he spoke the truth. His voice dropped, and he raised his forefinger to his ruined mouth, stroking the edge of the scar. His tongue flicked out, echoing her earlier seductive gesture.
“But it needn’t be you,” he said dismissively. “Indeed, it’s perhaps best if it isn’t you. Your lack of self-control doesn’t bode well.”
Her lack of self-control? She prided herself upon it. She opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. Don’t let him see that he’d struck a nerve. He already had far too much power over her.
“The handkerchief,” he reminded her. “And the watch.”
“I chose to take them for a good reason. I could stop if I wanted.”
“I wonder if you could. It would make all the difference.”
In what? What did this man want from her? Why did he make her feel as if she’d been thrown into the sea and was struggling to keep her head above the water?
“It’s no concern of yours what I choose to do,” she said. “I came only to retrieve the locket. It’s the only thing I have to remind me of my beloved.”
“What would you give me for restoring it to you?”
How little would he settle for? “A kiss?”
“Now?” He drew closer, enveloping her in the spicy scent of his costume and the subtle musk of his body. Then he glanced down at her breeches, letting his glance linger just a bit too long on her crotch.
“You’re dressed as a boy,” he said.
“Does that di
sturb you?”
“Was it supposed to?” His eyebrows rose. “Would it excite you more if it did?”
His question startled her. She had dressed as a boy for safety, to keep from being recognized if the Watch was still hunting for her—and to make it harder for him to discover her. She had wanted to be in control of the situation when she revealed herself to him. But had that been all there was to it?
Had she also chosen the boy’s outfit to excite him with its hint of perversity? Her hand tightened into a fist, despite herself. She had known what he would want of her and that her choice of disguise would make it more exciting.
Mercifully, he did not press her for an answer but merely gave his own. “Transgression may add something to the strength of a man’s passion—a certain kind of man’s. But I need no pepper to stimulate me. And I know full well you are a woman.”
“These others don’t.” She gestured toward the crowd. “It’s a crime for a man to embrace a boy.”
“It’s a crime to pick pockets,” he said. “And it would be a crime, too, not to kiss you.”
In the bright glow of the candles she was even more beautiful than he remembered. His hope that confronting her again would free him of his desire for her had been a dangerous delusion. Her skin was flawless, her lips so red, her tongue so pink. But it was her eyes, so defiant and tempting, that made her irresistible. There were women all around him with stronger curves and larger breasts, but the complexity of her nature—her mix of perverseness, honesty, and alertness—that he would find nowhere else.
She was daring him now. She had taken a step closer, her lips parted. Her small, even teeth were sparkling white, and the moisture on her mouth’s inner surface was exceptionally alluring. She knew exactly how much he wanted her, aware, as only a beautiful woman could be, of the power of her beauty and, as only an experienced woman could be, of the tricks that might inflame him.
But to give in to her blatant seduction would be to lose her. He must make her want him as much as he wanted her before he could take what she was pretending to offer. He must hold back and fan the faint spark of need he had aroused in her until it flared into a flame. He must not let himself be seduced but tease and tempt her. He must play the same game she played with him better than she played it—though she played it so very skillfully.
He bent over her lips to deliver his answer to their invitation, allowing himself to take a single kiss. As their tongues met, he inhaled the scent of oranges. He clasped her in his arms. Her small firm breasts flattened as he crushed them against the thin silk of his Mughal shirt. With his other arm, he reached down to grasp her rump, so scandalously clothed in a man’s breeches. She thrust her hips against him to excite him further. And yet, for all that she was employing seductive wiles, she was not unmoved herself. She had meant to stay in control, but the hunger he was arousing in her confused her.
Good.
Brutally, he terminated the kiss and pushed her away. She gasped, her breathing coming harsh and fast.
“We are in character, are we not?” he taunted her. “The love of the potentates of the East for beautiful boys is well known. But I tire of the masquerade.”
At the coldness in his voice, she flinched. She’d thought it would be easy to master him again, but it was dawning on her that he wasn’t as gullible as she’d hoped. This time, he wouldn’t let her play on his lust as she had in their first meeting. He gave her a moment to contemplate her failure.
She rebounded quickly. “Give me the locket,” she said. “You know what it means to me. A man of honor would return it to me out of respect for that.”
“Why should I defend my honor to you, a thief, and a woman who kisses strange men—though most deliciously?”
Her shoulders sagged. He’d won this round. Relenting, he added, “But I will give you your locket back.”
She held out her hand, in a gesture surprisingly childlike, as if she were waiting for a sweet. She looked so obscenely young in that instant, he couldn’t help but ask, “Were you telling the truth when you said you were just eighteen?”
“Of course. I always tell the truth—when I can.”
So very young. Her air of sophistication had made him think she was lying about her age that first night. But he believed her now and felt a twinge at having played so roughly with her. Perhaps she was not up to his weight, after all, despite her willingness to engage with him in combat.
In a gentler voice, he said, “I would gladly give you back your locket, but, alas, I feared that once you had it, you would flee as you did before. I didn’t want to lose you that quickly, so I didn’t bring it. I regret my stratagem. Now that I know why you value it, I should like to restore it to you.”
A calculating look came into her eyes. “Bring it to me tonight, then. Where I live. You’ll be well rewarded.” She stroked his stubbled cheek, her message as unmistakable as was her duplicity.
“Alas, it must be tomorrow,” he countered. “At noon.” He would not risk becoming the victim of some bully in a dark alley. She calculated her next move, swiftly, and said, “Noon, then.”
“And your direction?”
She gave him an address in a neighborhood he recognized as being made up mostly of the ancient homes of nobility. What was she doing there? She was clearly not a servant, and there was only one other reason why a woman of her sort might dwell in such a neighborhood—an association with one of the more discreet bagnios, mixed in among the noble homes, that catered to the needs of wealthy men. He had not taken her for that kind of woman, but he had made more than one mistake so far in his evaluation of her.
“How did you come to dwell in such a neighborhood?” he asked. “Are you under the protection of an abbess?”
A furtive look crossed her face. “I removed there since we first met.”
Was his new supposition right? “Whose house is it?”
“A woman as goes by the name Lady Lightning.”
What a name for a bawd! The girl must have fled to her for protection after he had almost taken her there on the street. Perhaps she hoped that, with such backing, she might wrest more profit from her next encounter with him.
If so, she had made a clever move, for whatever she was, he could not resist her.
“I shall be there at noon,” he said. “Don’t disappoint me. If I don’t find you then, that will be an end to the matter, and you won’t get your locket back.”
“Don’t disappoint me, cully,” she countered. “I’ll be waiting for you. And when you bring me my locket, you won’t be disappointed. You’ll get your reward.”
“I’ll be a good boy until then,” he said. Adding to himself, And then I shall have cake.
The crafty look she gave him in response made him glad he had remembered why he must not trust.
She took a step closer to him, confident now that she had achieved her objective, hoping to seal her victory with the kiss that would draw him deeper into her toils. For a moment, he contemplated giving in to her and drawing her into another intoxicating embrace. Why wait until tomorrow if he could have her now, tonight?
But he remembered why as her long, strong fingers, so skilled at removing valuables from the pockets of the unwary, reached toward the thin silk of his shirtfront and touched him lightly, making gooseflesh rise. Best to find out first what this adventure was likely to cost him before he allowed her to enchant him further. If she were under the protection of a high-class madam, it could be a lot.
He pulled away. “Tomorrow then,” he said, turning on his heel and striding off, leaving her behind in the alcove, openmouthed.
The evening had gone well. This time, she was the one left all a-tingle. Let her wonder how much desire she had roused in him and spend her morning worrying if he’d show up. He’d held his own with her and kept things manageable. Tomorrow, he would have her and be done with her. It would be a relief when it was over.
But it wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot.
Chapter 6
He was a cheeky bastard, and too clever by half. Temperance’s body was still tingling with the craving he’d aroused in her. But he’d bested her this time, turning on his heel that way and dashing for the exit. He was a quick study, just like her. She had to admire how he’d got back at her for the way she’d left him standing at attention there in the alley. A fine sight she must have been when he took off just now, leaving her puckered up, as hot for him as a bitch in heat.
It would have been funny if it weren’t so disturbing. Once again he’d made her forget everything but the magic of his kiss. Made her betray Randall. Made her want to throw herself at him and cling to him and let him carry her away, just as he’d done when he’d dragged her away from the brutal shoemaker. He was so strong. So resolute. So impossible to dominate.
But he wouldn’t be carrying her away anytime soon. She’d made sure of that. She might be weak and lustful, but she would be damned if she’d turn herself into the whore he took her for. At the last moment, she’d seen how she could keep herself from giving in to him, and in a way, too, that didn’t depend on the strength of her own resolution.
When he came after her tomorrow at the Refuge, all cock-swollen, thinking he’d be meeting her in a fine bawdy ken, Matron would send him packing. With luck, there’d be some way to get her locket back, first. She hoped so. But even if she couldn’t, her latest trick should ensure he’d leave her alone in the future, and she’d no longer have to fight the shameful urges he aroused in her. That couldn’t happen too soon.
It was only then that she noticed the ring of bystanders who had gathered at a polite distance, their smirks making it clear how much they’d enjoyed watching a lusty boy embrace a man in public. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. But, of course, that had been the point, to make folk watch. She’d thought their scrutiny would keep her safe from the captain if he had plans to harm her. But all that had gone out of her head when she’d found herself once again confronted with his sheer animal magnetism.
