She waited. Very well, then. He’d play her game. He went forward and pulled her roughly into his arms. She looked up at him and parted her lips. Was she waiting for a kiss? Be damned to that. He’d sworn not to kiss her and he would not be foresworn. Ah, but that was all he’d promised. No kisses, then, but…
He leaned toward her and ran his tongue along the rim of her ear and whispered, “Will you undress for me, Bella, or shall I do it for you?”
She caught her breath and shuddered, but she did not answer. Did she think he was bluffing? Silly girl. And yet her full lips were so tempting he could barely think of anything else. A kiss—just one kiss? Of all the things he could do to her, he was most tempted by that one. But there was a way he could enjoy her without being drawn to her mouth.
He led her to the mirror and stood behind her, the only way he knew he would not have access to those lips. The light of the single lamp flickered, casting the bare expanse above her décolletage in a golden glow. Slipping his hands around her waist, he moved them upward until they were tantalizingly close to cupping her breasts. She blinked and drew a long breath, catching his gaze in the mirror.
He pulled her back against him until he knew she could feel his erection. Good heavens, he hadn’t been this aroused in years! And when she emitted a tiny gasp, it nearly pushed him over the edge. He leaned lower and nibbled one tempting earlobe, and she tilted her head to one side to accommodate him.
He could feel her heartbeat quicken beneath his palm on her rib cage. The vixen was responding. Ever so slowly, he drew his hands upward until they covered her breasts—breasts that were infinitely soft and warm. Breasts with peaks that firmed and tickled his palms through the light silk. He did not take his eyes from her as he dipped his fingers inside her gown and found the laces of her chemise. He drew them out, untied the knot and loosened the fabric.
Freed of their confines, those rosy buttons peeked above the frail white lawn of her chemise. “Beautiful,” he murmured, watching her eyes for any betrayal of anger. But she had lowered her lashes to veil her response. A fevered blush stole up her throat to her cheeks and she sagged against him. He found those firmed nipples and rolled them between his fingers and thumbs. Her eyes flew open and she grasped the edge of the console table to brace herself.
“Steady, Bella,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”
Damn! He’d meant to teach her a lesson. To put her in her place. But she’d drawn him into a web of desire so strong that nothing else mattered. Still, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—kiss her. It was far too erotic to find other ways to bring her to willing, trembling submission. Far too erotic to watch her in the mirror as he made slow, deliberate love to her. Her head fell back against his chest, a signal that she’d given herself over to the sensation and was no longer fighting her response.
He unlaced her further and pushed the fabric down to free her breasts entirely. They were perfect, those soft swells of ivory flesh. Not large. Not small. And he wondered how they would taste. How they would feel against his lips and tongue. How they would respond to his caresses.
He turned her to face him and lifted her to sit on the edge of the console table, her breasts now closer to his mouth. First he kissed the spot at the hollow of her throat where he could feel her heartbeat against his lips. He nibbled, drawing the soft flesh into his mouth for a tender nip. When her hands trembled on his shoulders, he moved lower, fastening his lips around one puckered aureole. She cried out, tangling her fingers through his hair to hold him close.
He parted her legs to move closer and then regretted it. Enclosed between those heated thighs, he could only think of one thing. No, two. He still longed to kiss her. Longed to search the honeyed sweetness of her mouth, to reach a part of her forbidden to him by his own vow, to find if her tongue was sweeter than her words. And then he longed to join with her between her legs, find her place of deepest intimacy. To drive into her in a primitive ritual claiming, a marking of his territory. His.
Holding her fast against him with one arm, he swept her skirts up with the other, finding his way between the layers of cloth to her center. He groaned when he found her hot and ready. She squirmed against his hand, tilting her hips toward him to give him deeper access.
“Andrew…” she moaned.
Hearing his given name on her tongue jolted him from his passion-muddled thinking. It was Lady Lace who toyed with him—the reason for his friend’s death. He backed away from her, nearly upsetting the lamp in his haste. He stopped at the door and spoke without turning. “You won’t have me, Bella. You won’t make me one of your fools.”
But once in the corridor, he braced himself against the wall and doubled over with the pain of his arousal until he could catch his breath. Next time, by God, if there was a next time, she would pay for this.
Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will know. You can’t escape me, Bella…. Oh, why couldn’t she think of anything else? Why did her mind keep returning to that threat? If he would not leave her alone, if her every move was reported to him, how would she ever find Cora’s killer? How could she keep her promise?
But there was more and worse that had happened to her last night. There was that private room above Thackery’s main salon. Where had her head been? What madness had possessed her to taunt Mr. Hunter so? And what foolish pride had held her immobile while he did those things to her? Had she been trying to prove he could not move her? That he had no effect on her?
Instead he had proved his point—that if he ever did such things to her, she would not soon forget them. And she wouldn’t. It was, in fact, all she could think of.
Her hand went up to her throat, to the spot where her collarbones met—the spot that Andrew Hunter had kissed. There was a tiny discoloration there now, and she had covered it with rice powder. A faint moan escaped her and she closed her eyes with the memory of the sweetness his mouth had evoked in her.
“Hush, Bella! What is wrong with you?” Gina whispered.
She came back to the present with a start. Lady Vandecamp’s voice droned on, instructing the girls on correct forms of address and how to politely ignore men to whom they had not been properly introduced—as if Belfast had been the back of beyond in terms of manners.
“N-nothing,” she lied. “I am just a bit fatigued.”
“That did not sound like a yawn, Bella. You must stop staying out so late, especially now that Lady V. is here. She has said that she will be going to considerable trouble to arrange suitable evening entertainments for us and she wants us to be most assiduous in attending.”
“Then I shall have to be just as insistent that we not stay late. I must have more time, Gina.”
“Oh, my dear.” Gina sighed and leaned her head against Bella’s. “I did not want to be the one to tell you, but you are on a fool’s errand. I thought you would have realized it by now. You will never kiss all the dark haired, dark eyed men in London.”
“In the ton, Gina. Rascals and rakes. I have narrowed it down that much, at least.”
“And still it is like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“I only have to be lucky once.”
“’Tis like asking lightning to strike.”
“Then pray for stormy weather.”
“What are you chits whispering about?” Lady Vandecamp snapped in a raised voice. “It would serve you well to attend my lecture as closely as Lillian. You will only have one chance to make a good impression.”
“Yes, madam,” Gina said in a contrite voice.
“Yes, madam.” Bella sat straighter and tried to clear her head. As loath as she was to enter society, she was determined to make a success of it for her sisters’ sake.
Lady Vandecamp gave a regal nod. “Very well. Now, as I was saying, tomorrow night will be a dinner party at my home. Arrive by seven o’clock sharp. I want you there before the other guests arrive. I sent out invitations yesterday afternoon and have received all acceptances. This is a small but select group
of people who can do you good in society. If they approve of you, they can open doors ordinarily closed to all but the haute ton.”
Lilly smiled, excitement heightening her color, and Bella was struck again by how much like Cora she was, in beauty and in spontaneity. Lilly had been born for society life. She would cause a ripple on the calm surface of the haute ton. And Gina—well, Gina would win more hearts than she would recognize. Gina had never known her effect on the people around her, most notably men. She was sublimely unaware that she left a wake of broken hearts wherever she went.
Bella, however, would be the shy one. She would hang back and hide in the shadows, lest anyone find her familiar.
“Your remade dresses will be delivered tomorrow afternoon,” Lady Vandecamp continued. “’Tis a good thing I brought my seamstress with me. The ones we order today should be ready by Monday if we pay the modiste extra. Oh, and I have hinted that your mourning is for a sister who had been afflicted with a wasting disease. Do not contradict me. A murder scandal would place you under a cloud, and all the dressing up in the world would not make you acceptable again.”
Gina dropped her gaze to the floor, but Bella was angry. This was just what she’d expected. Something that was not Cora’s fault would be held against the rest of them. She almost despised society in that instant. And she had no regrets about her course of action. Acceptable or not, Cora would have justice.
But it was clear now that she would have to change her plan. With Lady Vandecamp towing them along behind her, Bella would have to find some way to avoid recognition. Her only consolation was that Lady V. was not likely to ask rakes and rogues to her dinner parties and fetes, so she would not have to worry until she was dragged to a public event.
“Bella? Are you attending me?”
“Yes, madam. A wasting disease. Consumption?”
“Good enough, dear. Now, shall we be off to the dressmaker’s?”
“Ye gods!” Jamie shook his head and laughed. “’Tis teatime and you are yet sober! And after McPherson’s funeral this morning. What is this, Drew? Turning over a new leaf?”
Andrew glanced up from his notes and motioned to a chair across from him. “Shut up and sit down.”
“Oh, bad temper. Not a good sign. You’ll have us all clamoring to buy you whiskey tonight just to banish this beetle-browed ogre in front of me.”
Andrew gestured to the teapot on his desk. “Help yourself. Or have a sherry if it’s more to your taste.” He finished making his notations and then dropped his pen. In an attempt to keep busy after the funeral, he’d begun organizing his bits of information to see if they formed a pattern yet. They didn’t, and he was growing frustrated.
Jamie brought his sherry and took the seat across from Andrew. “Did you find your Lady Lace last night?”
“Yes, and thank you for letting me know where she was.”
“Thackery’s, by God. Not that there isn’t some damn fine female flesh there, but I expected better of Lace.”
“So did I, Jamie. Seems as if we’ve all been deceived.”
“Did you send her packing?”
“I do not own Thackery’s, so that was not one of my options. But I’m fairly certain I…ruined her evening. If she shows her face at Thackery’s again, I will be surprised.” And, unexpectedly, that prospect disturbed him. What if she took his warning to heart and he never saw her again?
“What are you doing tonight, Drew? I’ve got a taste for the exotic. Charlie said he’d be game for something different, too.”
“Exotic.” Andrew tasted the word on his tongue. He found it interesting, and a bit disconcerting, that he had become the source of exotic entertainments for his brothers. “Define exotic, Jamie.”
“Different, of course. Something we haven’t done to death. Something that titillates the senses and gets the blood pumping. Something…well, risky and a bit wicked.”
“Just a bit wicked?”
Jamie narrowed his eyes. “What’s afoot, Drew?”
“I begin to think I should ask you how to spend my evenings. What have you dabbled in whilst my back was turned?”
“What? At Bedlam? That turned ugly and we departed with haste.”
“What happened?”
“Someone—I cannot recall who—tossed a few coins to the three men who were huddled by the fire and pointed to a woman who was rocking her shawl as if it were a baby. The men laughed and dragged her closer and assaulted her. ’Twas then that Charlie and I decided to leave.”
“Assaulted, you say? Explain, Jamie.”
His brother looked away, not a good sign. “They stripped her of her clothes, and when she fought, they…”
“And what did you do, Jamie?”
“To my shame, very little. Charlie stepped forward and said, ‘Here, now, chaps, let her be,’ but he was pushed aside by someone crowding to get a better look. I shouted for the guard, but he was busy counting his money. After that, we just backed away. There must have been two dozen visitors by that time. Everyone had gathered to watch—and not just watch, but cheer the fellows on. We could not stop it, nor could we take on those odds.”
Andrew nodded. He and his brothers had taken on double their number before, but never an entire barroom, let alone a madhouse. Still, if he had stayed, he suspected he would have cracked a few heads before they put him down. Then a suspicion grew in him. “Was it someone from our group who instigated the attack, Jamie?”
“Aye. But he said he didn’t mean it to turn into a rape. Just meant to have some fun and see what would happen.”
That would be a blatant lie. One did not throw coins and set men on a woman without expecting something of the sort. Dash. It had to have been Dash. Who else had declared an interest to see man at his basest level? “Dash,” he said aloud and watched Jamie’s face.
“McPherson, actually.”
Relief swept through him. He was glad to be wrong. But McPherson? That was not in keeping with what Andrew knew of his character. Had he regretted his part in the woman’s victimization and not been able to live with it? Still, he couldn’t ignore that damning farewell to Lady Lace.
After last night in that private room at Thackery’s, he could not discount the power Bella held over mere mortal men. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to walk away and not to make abandoned love to her. Suddenly, as absurd as it was, it did not seem impossible that McPherson would rather die than spend a lifetime without her.
“Drew?”
He came back to the conversation with a start. “Sorry. I was…thinking.”
“Aye, it had me thinking, too. I did not know that McPherson had that sort of meanness in him.”
“All men are capable of all things. You know full well about man’s inhumanity to man. There is very little that separates us from animals.”
“Allowing for war—”
A chill invaded Andrew’s stomach. He glanced toward the sherry decanter. “Let us not allow for war, Jamie. That is a law unto itself and has nothing to do with civilization.”
Jamie sipped his sherry and eyed Andrew over the rim of his glass. After a moment he said, “The word is out that you’ve been asking around excitement.”
Ah, he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought. Well, perhaps that would bring him more success than discretion had. He merely shrugged and arched an eyebrow at his brother.
“Why do you chase the next thrill? The next pleasure?” Jamie asked.
“I want something different. Something I haven’t found before. I want to feel, Jamie. Anything.” That much, at least, was the truth. And again, the vision of Bella, flushed and moaning, came to his mind. Could he call that surge of lust a feeling? Or was it what Dash had called ‘man at his basest level’?
“And you do not care what it is? Good? Bad? Right or wrong? Dangerous? Self-indulgent?”
“Not in the least.” How else could he tell Jamie he was looking for evil when he’d sworn confidentiality to Lord Wycliffe?
Jamie let
out a low whistle. “You’re sporting the worst case of ennui I’ve ever encountered, Drew. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
“But if you hear of anything…”
“You will be the first to know.”
But Andrew knew he was alone in this. He needed to find the very dregs of humanity, and he did not fool himself that they would be found in the working classes.
Chapter Nine
Bella saw Andrew Hunter in a group loitering on the steps of the Royal Opera House and nearly fled. She’d thought a return to Thackery’s was not a wise idea, nor a return to Belmonde’s, so she had attached herself to group of revelers entering the theater. Heavens! Was there no escape from the man? Who had tattled on her this time?
He caught her eye as she started to turn away. He looked surprised to see her, and not particularly pleased. Well, he did not own London, and he could not keep her from a public place. She had precious little time now, with Lady Vandecamp breathing down her neck, and she could not allow Andrew Hunter to frighten her off.
She felt the heat creep into her cheeks as she remembered last night. All the way home, she had watched over her shoulder to be certain he was not following her. If he knew her entire name and where she lived…He had said, “You won’t have me, Bella. You won’t make me one of your fools.” How did he think she was trying to make a fool of him? It had seemed to her that he was the one making a fool of her.
He came toward her and she looked about for a diversion—some ploy that would spare her his company. Alas, or thank heavens, she did not see a single soul she knew. She fell back from the group as they entered the lobby and prayed he would not cause a scene.
“Looking for an escape, Bella?” he asked, taking her arm.
“Just from you, sir.” She allowed him to lead her down the front steps. “I begin to flatter myself that you are following me.”
“Not tonight. I had a previous commitment to meet friends here. And I would prefer not to have them subjected to your…presence.”
Lord Libertine Page 9
