His hand rested on her thigh. “Warm enough?” he asked as he stroked small circles on the top of her leg.
“Perfect,” she replied, trying not to shiver at the delicious sensation.
His fingers slipped beneath the domino and now there was nothing but the sheerest silk between her skin and his hand. His ungloved hand, she realized as he fluttered over skin that had been made sensitive by the few steps she’d taken in the gown.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured softly in her ear. His teeth nibbled at her lobe.
Good Lord, he was right. She was as tense as a debutante on her first drive in the park with a man. The tightness flowed away. She leaned against his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his mouth pressing little kisses on her temple, at the corner of her eye, while he caressed her legs. His stroking became firmer, more demanding. She parted her thighs and his hand eased between them, massaging and teasing the bare flesh above her stockings with the slide of soft silk. As his hand moved, the silk brushed her core. A whisper of a touch. Yet not his touch. An illicit, unintentional caress.
Heat bloomed. She gasped. He did not seem to notice, but the torment went on and on, minute by minute. Each indrawn breath became more shallow than the last, and anticipation built. Her heart raced. The feminine flesh at her core tingled and ached for a firmer touch. Tormented by the urge for release, she squirmed on the seat—she could bear it no longer. Then he stopped. She cried out a protest, widening her thighs to give him access to where she needed his hand.
“Patience,” he whispered into the hollow of her neck. “We have all night.”
She didn’t want to wait. She burrowed her hand into his lap beneath the throw, felt the evidence of his arousal in the thick swell of his member through the thickness of the domino and his trousers. She stroked his erection as he’d taught her, urging him to finish what he had started. To ease the ache clawing at her insides.
He captured her hand in his with a rueful laugh, brought it to his lips and held it there until she stopped tugging against his greater strength. She glared at him, curling her fingers into claws.
“I like this hellion side of you,” he said.
She let go a breath. “Is this your idea of punishment?”
His face grew serious. “Elizabeth, no. I bear you no enmity. Tonight is for you.”
“Then—”
“Look, we have arrived.”
The carriage turned and slowed.
She frowned. Glanced out of the window. They had not crossed the river. She always knew the sound of the wheels across the bridge and even in her heightened state of arousal, she would have noticed. They had not gone to Vauxhall. “Where are we?”
“You’ll see.”
While the coachman brought the carriage to a gentle stop, George tied on her mask then his own. He threw back the rug. The blast of cold air put paid to the heat of desire. She shivered and pulled the domino close around her as he helped her down. It was a large mansion they had arrived at, with towering columns holding a massive marble pediment decorated with cherubs above the front door. It was snowing harder now. The wind tugged at the folds of the domino. Before she could guess what he was about, he swept her up in his arms.
He mounted the steps two at a time and carried her inside a huge door that opened without the need for knocking. He lowered her to the ground, letting her slide down against his body, and heaven help her, the silky fabric began its torment all over again.
A butler, a young man with blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, bowed. “This way, if you please, sir.”
They were obviously expected. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw a footman standing staring out of a peephole set off to one side in the door. That was how he had known to open it.
“What is this place?”
“A brothel,” George said with a wicked smile. “A very select establishment.”
A flitter of fear laced with excitement ran through her body. “Have you been here before?” Oh, dear, was that jealousy she heard in her voice? How could it be, when she’d as good as sent him away? But what if he’d been coming here all along?
“Lord Robert brought me here when we were first on the town. Him and his brother Charlie. Long before I met you. I never had need to come here after that.”
She glanced around. The surroundings were opulent. Marble friezes. Paintings on the ceilings and the walls. For a moment, she didn’t quite believe what her eyes were seeing in those paintings. Two men and half a dozen women using their mouths on their male parts with obvious enjoyment. Each male was bound to a pillar, their hands high above their heads and an expression of utter bliss and submission on their faces. “Oh, my,” she said, catching sight of another painting showing women being similarly accommodated by several men.
She stopped. Turned and faced this new incarnation of a man she thought she knew. “Are we going to an orgy?” She didn’t sound quite as shocked as she should. And that horrified her.
His eyes glinted with mischief. His lips quirked in a devilish smile. “Would you like to?”
“No.” She sounded too hesitant. As if she actually wanted to say yes. It was all his fault, that toying with her beneath the rug in the carriage—she was still aroused and these pictures had renewed the assault. And the fault of this slithering, sliding gown beneath the domino. “No,” she said firmly.
He smiled more gently. “I’m glad. I am not good at sharing.”
A footman she hadn’t noticed until he opened a door bowed and gestured them inside what she assumed must be a chamber, a bedroom for orgies. She glanced up at George. He gave her an encouraging nod.
The doorway did not lead to a room. Instead, they were at the foot of a long flight of stairs.
The thought of climbing up there in this gown was almost more than she could bear. As if he understood, he once more scooped her up. He pressed a swift kiss to her lips and then ran lightly up the staircase. Another footman at the top opened the door and then scooted around them, so he could open a door into a chamber filled with the light of hundreds of candles. Dazzled, she blinked. It wasn’t hundreds of candles, because everywhere she looked she could see herself and the stranger she’d thought she’d known reflected back at her. It was a room of mirrors and gilt and, yes, candles, too.
George put her down. He threw his mask and domino on a gilt chair by the door. Beneath it, he wore a shirt of the finest white linen and trousers that hugged his slim hips and well-muscled thighs. He toed off his silver-buckled shoes and immediately attacked the buttons keeping her domino closed. While he relieved her of her costume, she realized that what she had thought was a large marble table on a dais in the center of the room was in fact a bath. The rising steam gave it away. He tossed her outer raiment over the same chair, undid the strings of her mask and took her by the hand.
Unexpectedly, he twirled her around. “How beautiful you look,” he said, his hot gaze searing her skin as it traveled from head to foot in a long, slow perusal. He made her feel beautiful still, despite her advancing age, her loss of the youthful blush that had been hers when they first met. She couldn’t help but smile.
He led her to the tub.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, shaped like a shell, colored a pearlescent pink and surrounded by carvings of frolicking mermaids and mermen. Obviously aroused mermen and very excited mermaids.
She pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress her embarrassed laughter and turned to see his reaction. Startled by the movement all around her, the black swirl of flowing silk caught in mirrors, she gasped, dizzied by the sight. George caught her and held her close against his chest, stroking her back as if soothing a frightened animal. “This is the Venus room,” he said quietly. “There are others. Each devoted to the celebration of a goddess. If this is not to your taste, we can try something else?”
“We are to bathe in here?”
“We can bathe. Or we can ask for a few nymphs and dyads and watch them disport from that couch over
there.” The couch in question was raised on several steps and would provide an excellent view into the bath. The whole idea seemed dreadfully wicked. Far beyond her experience.
“Oh, my. Why did I never hear of this place before?”
“You have. This is Madame Jouette’s.”
Gentlemen spoke of this brothel with awe in their voices, though never in front of their wives. Wives, who eventually learned of it, dismissed it out of hand as simply another place where a husband could take his pleasure without them. And thank goodness, too, they said. If they knew what it was like, they might not be so sanguine.
“I’m surprised men ever go home.”
“They’d be broke in a week. A night with the girls who work here is very expensive.”
“And if you bring your own woman?”
“It costs twice as much. Come, have some champagne while we consider our options.”
He poured the wine. “To George,” she said, smiling.
“To the most beautiful woman I know,” he replied, toasting her.
The words pierced her heart. He’d always been kind, always respectful of her feelings. Gentle, as if she’d been made of spun glass. And it seemed that in return she had hurt him. One day he would thank her, know it was for the best. She sipped at her wine to cover the pain she felt. The bubbles broke deliciously tart on her tongue. The warm perfumed steam invited. “I think we should stay here.”
A smile broke on his face, making him look more handsome than ever and twice as seductive. “I hoped you would.” He took her glass and placed it on a small table then drew her close. He lifted her chin with his knuckle. A kiss hovered on his lips and she lifted her mouth.
It was all she could have hoped. At first a gentle brush of warm dry lips. A whisper of a kiss. Her blood heated. Her body sprang to life. Not that it had been dead. It had simply been waiting, still quivering from the sensual sensations in the carriage, needing more.
He kissed her slowly and deeply, their mouths melding, their tongues tangling and dancing. She’d kissed this man hundreds of times before, but this time was different. Exciting to the point of madness. And she didn’t care. Because this time it must be goodbye.
For his sake.
Strong arms came around her, enfolding her close as if offering silent argument. Large warm hands skimmed her body, the shifting slide of silk reminding her of his earlier caresses, the torment and the desire. She opened her eyes and saw them from every angle, saw what she was feeling, his hands on her back, his lips on her mouth teasing and wooing, his thigh pressed deep between hers sending hot waves of lust through her body. It was decadent and delicious and overwhelming.
Her mind ceased to work as her body pressed against him, arching into him, with the ache of desire, while every touch seemed to set her on fire and make the ache worse.
Breathing hard and ragged, he broke the contact. “Let me bathe you, beautiful Lizzie,” he breathed. “And pleasure you.”
Dumb, unable to speak for the tension of desire gripping her unmercifully, she nodded.
“Turn around, my darling,” he murmured.
All around her, a slender goddess in black whirled about and the black silk skirts flowed like mysterious waters, catching the light and holding it as the fabric settled in sensual clinging folds. The bow in the tie at the neck pulled undone in a heartbeat. The ribbon at the waist followed. Designed just for this, it slipped down her length to puddle around her feet. He swung her around to face him, his hungry gaze skimming her body, lingering at her breasts rising stark white above the black lace edge, and then moved on to where the chemise barely covered her femininity and revealed the length of her thighs and the garters above her knee.
He knelt before her to remove her shoes with reverential movements while she kept her balance by holding on to his broad, powerful shoulders. Next came her garters, his fingers working swiftly at the silken bows she’d tied with such care. They, too, were removed. He slid his hands up her calves over her knees and gently caressed her thighs before dipping his dark head to the apex and kissing her through the muslin.
She hissed in at the sensation of hot breath and pressure on that most sensitive place.
He groaned, a sound of pleasure mingled with pain, and kissed her again. She wanted more, much more, and she curled her fingers in his dark hair, pressing him closer. Sweet pleasure. But it did not last long. Against her wishes he rose. His gray eyes smoky, eyelids heavy, he kissed the point of her chin. “Patience.”
He didn’t seem to have an awful lot of patience as he divested her of chemise and stays, leaving her naked to his hungry gaze. She could not remember when she had been so blatantly nude. Indeed, she’d always been a little prim and proper, and had never felt quite comfortable flaunting her body, though he had seen her naked in his bed many, many times.
His eyes seemed to drink her in as he followed the contours of her body with his large, warm hands. She thought she might melt into puddle, his expression contained so much longing and tenderness.
She couldn’t bear the tenderness. “Now you,” she ordered.
His nostrils flared as if he would object, but he stepped back and stripped off his own clothes, revealing he was just as aroused as she. She loved his bold shaft. The size of it and the heft of his stones. Excitement, anticipation had her trembling. Eagerly, she let him lead her up the marble steps to the dais and then up a couple more to a platform that would allow her to step down easily into the shell-like bath.
She paused to gaze down into the scented water. It smelled of roses. Just like the blooms he had given her last night. Across its surface floated yellow petals. He mounted the steps behind her, looking over her shoulder, his erection hard and warm against her buttocks. “A new beginning deserves a new color,” he murmured in her ear.
Inwardly, she winced. “What if it is an ending?”
“Oh, it is definitely that,” he replied. “It deserves its own color, too.”
Black. For mourning. Roses didn’t come in black. She stepped down. The water, perfumed with oil and just hot enough to be comfortable, reached almost to her knees and enticed her in. The air in the room was also deliciously warm, she realized. Even naked she felt not a shiver. The warm, silky water, played over her belly and breasts and she watched him step down to join her, so lithe and strong and manly. Beautiful.
She’d been fortunate to keep him for so long.
Oh, dear, now was not the time for sadness to blur her eyes and fill her throat with burning. Shaking off the sudden rush of emotion, she reached out a hand that trembled a little more than she wanted. Seeming not to notice, he took it and while the tub was wide enough for them to lie side by side, he sank down, facing her. Quite naturally, without any thought, at least on her part, their legs entwined, and they drew closer together, their genitals barely inches apart. His breaking the surface of the water, hers feeling the warm water like a hot caress. The water covered her nipples. She hummed her contentment.
“Relax and enjoy,” he said.
Behind his head, set into the marble, she noticed something strange. Metal loops. And on the edge of the bath above them red silk ropes. The picture in the hallway flashed into her mind. Her body clenched in a most delicious way at the images dancing in her head.
He half turned to see what had caught her attention. When he turned back there was a quizzical expression on his face. “Like the idea, do you?”
“No,” she said, shocked that he had read her thoughts. “Of course, not. I mean, I don’t know what you mean.” But she did. She was shocked at herself, because she did like it. Very much.
He cocked his head to one side. “Do I tie you? Or do you prefer it the other way around?”
She swallowed. The thought of this big magnificent male tied and at her mercy made her heart pound in her chest and her breathing uneven. “I tie you,” she gasped. She felt wicked, evil. “But not if you don’t want to.”
His eyes became hooded and hot.
Heat rushed t
hrough her body. “Do you?” she asked.
“Only for you, darling.”
He spoke so quietly, with such conviction and determination, she had no trouble believing this was not a liberty he had ever allowed. Certainly never with her.
Their lovemaking had been lovely, satisfying, delicious—how could she want something else?
“I don’t mind if you don’t like it.” But she did. Some madness inside her made her want this strange, inexplicably naughty act. The thought of making him submit was driving her body wild with excitement. She blushed. She who had been a mistress for years, who had ignored the slights and gossip, was actually blushing with embarrassment at her wayward thoughts.
She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose, his forehead, enjoying the way the water ran off her body and swirled around them. “No. Really. It is all right.”
He cupped her breast with his hand, gently teasing her hard budded nipple, while his other hand found her feminine folds below the water. Such a lovely sensation, hard fingers, silky warm water. She watched his erection grow and harden between them even as he gave her pleasure with his hand.
“Tie your knots well, my lady,” he said in a harsh murmur. “For if I escape, I will have my revenge.”
The words sent fire through her veins. The knot of tension low between her legs drew even tighter. A wildness entered her blood. A longing to set herself free. Be who she was. Yet there was dryness in her throat. Her heart knocked hard against her ribs. Fear. She had nothing to fear. No position to maintain. No reputation. Taking courage, she knelt, straddling his hips to capture the silken strands behind him.
His hands came to her flanks, steadying her as she reached over him. His head turned and he licked her breast, nuzzling into it with a deep rumble of pleasure. Delicious. She melted as he did the same on the other side. Distracting. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the sensations ripple across her flesh. Her hands clenched around the cords, and she recalled her purpose with a jolt of desire.
Slowly, she lowered herself onto his stomach, refusing to go where his hands tried to guide her. “Give me your hands.”
Deliciously Debauched by the Rake Page 3
