by Eloisa James
“Really? With whom?” She looked interested but unworried.
“Gina!”
Esme snorted. “He’ll find no success there.”
“Of course he won’t!” Carola snapped. “No one but me would want him, that disgusting, depraved reprobate.” Then her face crumpled again. “It’s because I’m so stupid. He’s not even interested in me because I don’t know anything about trout.”
“About trout,” Esme repeated, rather stunned.
“I read a book about newts because he used to talk about them.” She pointed to it on the table. “Cooke’s Guide to Newts, Frogs and Lizards. He didn’t even mention newts. Instead, Gina started discussing the life cycle of the trout—did you know that she had spent the last few years restocking the trout streams at Girton?”
“The subject has never come up.”
“Well, she has. Apparently the fish died because of mining runoff or something. If I was dramatic-looking, and I knew about trout, I might have a chance,” Carola wailed. “I was ready to talk about newts. But he didn’t even mention lizards!”
“You’re not being fair to yourself. You have beautiful, creamy skin. And lovely curls.” Esme wound a soft lock of hair around her finger. “Look at this! You’re a hairdresser’s dream. Gina would love to have short hair. You look like a cherub.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said morosely. “He doesn’t even notice me. After Gina left all he could talk about was how intelligent she was. I’m boring! I’m wallpaper.”
Tears started to well in her eyes. “I walked all the way across that room just to speak to him. Just so that I could listen to his tiresome stories about newts! And what does he do? Lust after my friend! Fiend!” she repeated furiously.
“They’re all fiends.”
Tears snaked down Carola’s face. “But I love him! He’s a boring, fiendish—”
“—newt-discussing,” Esme interjected.
“—newt-discussing man, but he’s mine. And I want him back!”
“Then you must attend meals. Lady Troubridge shuffled the seating, and I sat across from the poor man. An empty seat next to him will not increase his affection.”
“I tried to have a conversation in the salon. But all he could talk about was how interesting Gina was because she knows about trout ponds, and I ended up slapping him!”
“I’ve been wondering…so why did you slap him?”
Her jaw set. “He insulted me.”
“What did he say?”
“First he talked about Gina. And then, as if that wasn’t insult enough, he made a horrible remark.”
“What was it?”
“He asked me if I had cut my hair. I said yes, and he said that Gina’s hair was one of the most beautiful things about her.”
Esme frowned. “That was certainly inconsiderate.”
“Then he asked me whether I had gained weight.”
“You haven’t gained any weight, have you?”
“I don’t think so. But he was looking at my bosom. Now I think about it, it’s your fault. Because you told me to wear the crimson gown, and obviously it exposed too much of my f-f-fat!” Tears poured down her face.
“He looked at your chest, did he? And then asked whether you’d gained weight?”
“Yes,” Carola choked. “I said no, I hadn’t gained any weight. And he said that it must be that I was changing my shape as I grew older!”
Esme took a deep breath. “You behaved correctly, Carola. The man deserved to be slapped.”
“I should have kicked him. I should have slapped him and then kicked him!”
“I wonder what he was thinking.” Esme’s eyes narrowed into thoughtful chips. “It’s out of character for Tuppy to be so rude.”
“He probably just blurted out the truth. I am getting old. And dried up like a prune. And fat too.”
“That’s enough! Those things he said are nonsense. You’re no prune. You’re like a luscious plum, all sweet and curly.” Esme pulled out one of Carola’s curls and let it go again. “I wish I had your lovely hair.”
“I would rather look like you. You stand a good head taller than I do, and it makes you look so elegant. I look like a dumpling. I think I’d better give up hope. He obviously doesn’t give a rat’s ass for me.”
“Carola Perwinkle!” Esme said, grinning.
“A rat’s ass,” she repeated firmly.
“In fact, I think we’re making progress. Tomorrow I want you to flirt with another man while wearing an even lower bodice, if you have one. And be sure to stand directly in front of Tuppy.”
“I don’t want to,” Carola said. “I’m not very good at flirting.”
“Of course you are good at flirting. It’s an innate female trait. Who would you like to flirt with?”
“No one.” Then she brightened up. “Perhaps Gina’s husband. He’s rather handsome, don’t you think?”
“I suppose. He has a nice laugh.”
“Oh, Esme,” Carola said with disgust. “I don’t know how you got that reputation! You don’t seem to notice a thing about a man except the width of his arms.”
“I have found a man’s arms to be prophetic of the rest of him,” Esme said with a wicked twinkle. “Would you like me to lend you Bernie? He responds to flirtation about as well as a piece of firewood, but he is a sweetheart, and you can depend on him not to take you too seriously.”
“Isn’t he yours?”
“At the moment, Bernie thinks quite correctly that he is far too foolish for me to consider as a sexual partner.” Esme paused. “That is, if he thinks at all. Bernie is definitely limited in his mental abilities.”
“I’ll flirt with Neville. After all, he already knows about the plot. I’ll send him a note directly, and we can begin at breakfast.” Carola looked marginally more cheerful.
Esme kissed her cheek. “Mmm, you smell like peaches.” She walked to the door.
“Thank you!”
“My pleasure,” she called back, and stepped into the hall.
She bumped directly into a large male body.
“Excuse me,” came a steely voice just over her head.
Esme steadied herself against the wall. Then she pushed herself upright and dropped a slight curtsy. “There’s no need to apologize, my lord. I should have paid attention to where I was going.” Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer and looked up.
Why did he have to have such beautiful eyes? They were cobalt blue. Too beautiful for a man.
“Whose room is that?” he snarled. “Was it a great pleasure?”
Esme had an icy stare that had held her in good stead over the years. “A great, great pleasure.” She let a little kindness leak into her tone. “I only wish that you might experience such happiness some day.” She started to edge around his large body.
But he put an arm out to stop her passage.
“Lord Bonnington?” She had perfected the art of the withering glance and she gave him the full treatment.
But Sebastian had never shown the slightest sign of being cowed by her, and he didn’t now.
“You should stop visiting men’s rooms. What if someone other than myself had caught you emerging from a man’s bedchamber? Your reputation is already hanging by a thread.”
Fury was building in the back of her throat. But it was against her code of ethics to betray anger—or any other genuine feeling—to a man. So she fluttered her eyelashes instead. “A man or a woman?” she cooed.
“What?”
“Am I discovered by a man or a woman?”
He visibly ground his teeth. “A man!”
She looked at him for a moment, counting silently to forty. Then she rearranged her low bodice with an easy, lazy movement of her shoulders so that it slid even lower, just barely covering the tips of her breasts.
“You needn’t bother to answer,” Sebastian said, his voice grating. “I gather you would buy your way out of trouble. A lucky gentleman indeed.”
She gave him a seductive
smile. “I always pay my debts.” Her stomach was seething but not a flicker of anger crossed her face. She gave him a slow smile and was trying to think of another provocative comment when he reached his hand out and touched her face, just for a moment.
“Don’t.”
There was a stark moment of silence in the corridor.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that. It’s not necessary.”
The sexy air fell away from her like a heavy cloak. “You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear, my lord. You need not fear that I will try to seduce you.”
Damn those blue eyes. They were pleading with her now, trying to take away her anger.
And then he reached out, grabbed her shoulders, and slowly, slowly drew her toward him. He looked in her eyes the whole time. And she went. Heaven help her, she drifted toward him like a rabbit in the glare of a snake.
His mouth was gentle but her mouth opened, and then their tongues met, and then his mouth wasn’t so gentle anymore. And it wasn’t until some time later that Esme felt his hands on her breasts, and realized that she had just moaned into his mouth and that she was shaking—
Finally her common sense reasserted itself. She pulled back so sharply that her head rapped against the wall. “If you will excuse me.”
Something faded from his eyes and they were just blue again. “I should apologize.”
She paused.
“For detaining you,” he finished.
A fillip of rage replaced the pounding in her heart. “May I take it that you consider my debt canceled, my lord?”
She made a deep curtsy, making certain that her breasts were entirely visible as she swept down. Only she knew how much her knees were trembling. She could only hope she was smiling. It seemed to be hard to control her mouth.
“Please, don’t.” His voice was unsteady and low, and their eyes met.
There was that strange feeling again, as if all the sound in the world had been swallowed up.
“I must go,” Esme said, not at all seductively. And she pushed past him without another glance and ran down the corridor.
17
In Which Desire Comes to the Forefront
Her throat was dry. She curled her fingers around the belled shape of her empty brandy glass.
“As it happens,” said her husband, “I do see something that I like. Very much.”
The fire crackled behind them, and he stepped closer, so he was standing just before her.
“May I take it?”
For a moment she didn’t understand his question. He wore no scent, just a smell of himself, an open-air, woodsy smell with a touch of chalk.
“Why do you smell like chalk?” she asked, stalling for time.
“Before I start a sculpture, I work on paper.”
“So you’ve been sketching goddesses,” Gina said, desperately trying not to think about his question. “Does Esme—”
But he took the words from her mouth and kissed her, his mouth sweet against her lips. Large hands gently uncurled her fingers from the brandy glass. She relaxed into his arms thinking: Yes, take what you want. But she didn’t say it out loud. It would be too easy to add: Please, please, please.
He seemed to have forgotten the question altogether. He was running his fingers through the long strands of her hair, brushing his lips gently across hers. “You have lovely hair,” he whispered. “It shines in the firelight like fire itself.”
“Very poetic,” she said, trying to lean closer against his body.
He kissed her again, his lips soft and coaxing.
“I didn’t sketch a goddess. I found myself sketching you,” he remarked, with just a shade of surprise in his voice.
“Well, I’m no goddess,” Gina admitted. That truth took a bit of the enjoyment out of her.
“You’re better,” he said, rather thickly. Enjoyment flowed right back into the pit of her stomach. He was kissing her neck as worshipfully as if she were a goddess.
But it wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t—wasn’t the same. So she took her arms from where they were docilely slung around his neck and let them slide down his back.
He was delicately kissing the side of her cheek. He started kissing her ear.
She trembled, spreading her fingers against the lean muscles of his back. Then she pulled, sharply, snapping his body against hers.
He was muscled, Cam was. She could feel muscles all over his back, through the thin linen of his shirt. The feeling made her heart pound in her chest, and made her press closer and closer to his body.
“If you won’t take it,” she said huskily, “I will.” She twisted her head to capture his mouth and licked his lips so that he had to open them and kiss her, kiss her the way he had yesterday. He tasted dark and delicious and like Cam.
Finally his mouth lunged against hers. He licked her lips, great stroking, predatory kisses that made heat surge through her legs. It was a kiss that let time pass, a lazy, impassioned, heartbreaking kiss.
His hands slid over her breasts. She cried out, soundlessly, against his mouth and arched into his hands. But he couldn’t get any closer.
“Cam!” she choked. She opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her, laughing eyes looking as depraved as ever.
“Were you wishing to experiment, lady wife?” he whispered.
His hair was standing on end, dark eyes, dark lashes that made her feel dizzy with desire. She nodded, hearing the ocean pound in her ears.
But he waited, eyebrow raised. His hand kept up a lazy sweep over her breast until she pulled him to her again. She held him as tightly as she could. It couldn’t be called a caress since she had the grasp of a drowning woman.
“Damn you,” she whispered, “kiss me.”
“The duchess is swearing,” laughed the duke. His eyes searched hers. “Kisses only?” Why did his voice sound so calm when hers was raw with desire?
She nodded.
He swept an arm under her legs and cradled her against his chest. Then he took her to the bed and yanked at her bodice. It came down, and his mouth closed on her breast. Gina cried out loud.
She couldn’t seem to stop herself. Every time, every single time he suckled at her breast, she cried out again and arched up against the weight of his knee as it parted her legs.
He wrenched at her gown and it ripped neatly down the seam between lace and silk.
Then he bent his head again, and she sank her fingers into that wild black hair and writhed under him, clutching at his shoulders.
Suddenly he moved and lay on top of her, with only the cloth of his pantaloons and the frail silk of her ruined gown between them, and rocked downward hard. Without conscious thought she pushed back, rubbing against his hips. He made a hoarse sound and opened his mouth over hers, great throbbing, tormenting kisses. She closed her eyes and begged silently. Begged that he would know what she wanted without her having to say something so humiliating.
He stopped. Took his hands away.
“No,” she gasped.
She closed her eyes tight against what she saw on his face.
“Gina.”
She pretended not to hear.
“Gina. We have to stop now.” His voice was far too controlled.
“No!” she said sharply.
He laughed, and she opened her eyes.
“How can you laugh?” she demanded.
“Not for want of desire, if that’s what you’re asking.” Even a novice could hear the rasp in his voice. He pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed.
Every inch of her body was quivering with pleasure and frustration and desire, all mixed together. She glanced down at the rip in her nightrail. Yellow silk was pushed to the side and a round, plump breast with a pale pink nipple lay open to the air, rising and falling with her breath. It was beautiful; it looked different, felt different, than an hour ago.
She looked up to meet her husband’s eyes. A moment later a dark hand curved around the firm weight of her breast.
/> She sighed and arched her back, just a little, so she plumped into his hand.
“Damn it, Gina,” he said, his voice strangled in his throat. “You’re driving me insane—” And he bent his head.
It seemed to be some kind of involuntary reaction, she thought shakily, hearing her own cry echo a second later. He kissed her and she…again. And again.
He had both breasts now, and she twisted up against his hands, his mouth; soft hair brushed her skin and he suckled hard, harder. Cries flew from her lips until a large hand covered her mouth. She bit it.
He rolled away, breathing hard. Gina followed him, enjoying the way her ravished nightrail fell in shreds over her creamy skin.
She came up on her knees before him. “Men have nipples too, don’t they?”
He seemed to be trying to catch his breath, so she pulled up his shirt. He did have nipples, beautiful and flat, like ha’penny pieces on his muscled chest. She ran a finger experimentally around one and he shivered, as if she’d touched the surface of a lake.
“If I kiss you there, will you moan?”
“Absolutely not,” Cam said, staring at the ceiling. She guessed he was trying to ignore her until he got control of his breathing.
So she dipped her head and continued on her experimental way.
Somewhat to her disappointment, he didn’t make a sound. But his body quivered and one hand came up to her shoulder, slipped under the ruined lace and ran a delicate caress over her naked skin. She could hear the air shudder in his chest. It was sound enough.
She came up for air and he pushed her away. His breathing was wild and his eyes were wilder.
“Damn it, Gina!”
“The duke is swearing!” she mocked. “Call out the army! Summon the militia!”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Be still.”
She bent over, green eyes alight with mischief, cradled his face in her hands, and pursed her lips into an exaggerated kiss. “Mayn’t a wife kiss her husband?”
Her lips were full, cherry red, swollen, luscious.
Cam could feel a headache coming on.
“We have to stop this nonsense,” he said woodenly. “Enough. Another few moments and your marquess will find himself cheated.”
“He would be cheated if I lost my virginity,” Gina said.
