Temptress in Training

by Susan Gee Heino

  Her silent form suddenly came to life in his arms, writhing and kicking against him. He was nearly beside himself with relief. She would survive.

  He held her tighter and whispered into her ear, “You’re fine. Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

  For a moment the writhing and kicking stopped. He was about to lay her gently back onto the pillow when it started up again. She kneed him roundly in the ribs.

  “Sophie, it’s me!” he protested, dropping her and leaning back so she might see him clearly.

  “I know it’s you! Who else would it be?” she said, scrambling to pull the thin covers back over herself.

  Damn, but he’d hardly got more than a glimpse of luscious bosom and youthful flesh.

  “But I…Are you unhurt? Did they harm you?” he asked, reaching for the covers and then thinking better of it when he caught the look of murder simmering in her eyes.

  “Did who harm me?”

  “Whoever came in here and, er, removed your clothing.”

  “I removed my clothing, my lord,” she replied.

  “You? So, you were not attacked?”

  “Not until you came in here.”

  He sat back on his heels and glared up at her. “I did not attack you. I was afraid you’d been molested.”

  “Not yet, my lord.”

  “But you knew I was coming back. Why on earth would you take your clothes off and leave them scattered around the room?”

  Now she lowered her eyes and a charming flush of color stole over her. He suspected she was every inch the blushing maiden. He suspected, too, that he must indeed be an absolute ogre for the way he was, even now as she was so obviously embarrassed, wishing to devour her with his eyes. And other parts as well.

  “I felt sorry for the way we parted,” she said, not looking at him. “I thought perhaps we could…er, that I could…that we should make friends, my lord.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes, or something like that.”

  He could make little sense of this. What on earth was the girl up to?

  “Friends?”

  “I thought if we had to, er, pass the night together, we might as well be friends.”

  She didn’t speak but kept her eyes pasted on a spot at the end of the bed. So she wasn’t going to explain herself? Well, someone needed to speak to distract him from following his instinct and leaping back up onto that bed with her. For both their sakes, he stayed where he was and forced himself to be annoyed.

  “Yes, Miss Darshaw, clearly waiting naked in my bed is the best way to make friends. I’m shocked it isn’t much more utilized in polite society. ‘Miss Dalrymple, have you met my Great Aunt Agatha?’ ‘Why yes, she was waiting naked in my bed just yesterday. We’re lovely friends now.’ We hear that all the time, don’t we, Miss Darshaw?”

  “Don’t mock me, sir.”

  “Then don’t show up naked in my bed and expect me to wish for anything akin to mere friendship.”

  “I’m not naked in your bed, my lord,” she said as prim as a schoolmistress.

  “You certainly looked naked a moment ago,” he growled back. “And here is your gown, and your shift, and your stockings…so I’d like to know just how, then, you manage to be anything other than naked in my bed.”

  She tipped her chin defiantly and turned her eyes away from him. “I had a few items in my pack.”

  “Now you have my curiosity. It was a rather small pack, Miss Darshaw.”

  She didn’t reply, so he decided to see for himself. He reached to pull her covers back, angry that she should think to toy with him this way. Could she possibly not feel any of the same passion he felt toward her? Did she sense none of the tension that crackled through the air between them? Was she truly unaffected by…

  Great Jupiter in the sky. The hellcat was right—she was not naked. Not quite.

  But what the devil was it that she wore? He’d dragged the covers from her grasp and now stood in awed silence as his eyes raked over her, ravenous for the sight but not entirely sure what it was they saw.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s what I’m wearing.”

  “I can see it’s what you’re wearing, or very nearly wearing. What is it?”

  “Er, I’m not certain it has a name, sir.”

  He swallowed. No, he supposed a costume like this really had no use for a name. One was hardly likely to be discussing it in polite company after the fact, and right now, gazing at it, conversation was the very last thing to cross Lindley’s mind.

  He cleared his throat, swallowed again, and pretended he could think straight.

  “So, Miss Darshaw, this is what you wear to sleep in?”

  The article was pink. A fresh, vibrant pink that made him think of cherry pastries. Or the inviting flush on Miss Darshaw’s cheeks. Or Miss Darshaw’s lips. Or Miss Darshaw’s, er, other lips.

  And the article was silk, which glistened in the candle glow and made his hands reach out for the softness of it. Or Miss Darshaw’s silky warm skin. Or her lips. Or her, er, other lips.

  And the article hardly covered any of these. It was nothing more than a mesh, a woven lace of glistening silk cords, knotted artfully together around the enticing framework of stays. Stays that accentuated her curves and hoisted her delectable breasts up and held them on display, offered them up as a feast for his animal lust. He had to forcibly hold himself back from taking the woman up on that offer.

  Halfway down, the silky mesh was woven into a band. It wrapped around to highlight her slender waist. The way the various cords of silk interlaced gave an effect somewhere between fishing net and Grandmamma’s tatting. Never in a hundred years would he have expected either to send his blood pounding as if he’d just run a marathon.

  As if he weren’t affected enough, the tantalizing costume did not end at the waistband. No, cords of this vibrant pink silk ran from the band down over her thighs, knotting into a wider mesh. The taut, ivory skin of her rounded bottom pressed against the cords and puckered, like the flesh of ripened fruit. He was drooling to take a bite.

  Never had he encountered such a garment. Never had he felt such powerful desire for any woman. The effect this deadly combination had on his self-control was terrifying. Damn it all, but Miss Darshaw looked like every heated fantasy he’d ever had. How on earth was he supposed to keep himself away from her tonight?

  “I thought if I wore this, my lord, you might be more inclined toward, er, friendship,” she said.

  His addled brain struggled to make sense of her words. It was no use. There was no sense to those words.

  “Look at you, Miss Darshaw,” he said, half choked by his carnal hunger. “What on earth would make you think we might strike up a polite friendship after this?”

  “Perhaps friendship is not exactly the right word for it, my lord,” she said, her voice shrinking. “But I don’t know quite what else to call it.”

  He knew what he’d call it, but he decided “plugging her like a raging beast” would probably sound like a bad thing to Miss Darshaw. It didn’t sound like such a bad thing to him. No, not at all. Still, he was a gentleman. He drew a deep breath, took his eyes off of her, and stood.

  “Be careful for drafts, Miss Darshaw,” he said, yanking the thin coverlet and tossing it over her. Damn, but he hated to cover that view.

  She clutched the blanket to her and pouted. “But don’t you…can’t we…wouldn’t it be…”

  “What are you trying to say, Miss Darshaw? Spit it out.”

  “If I knew how to say it, sir, I would! I’m trying to suggest that we should, er, well…”

  “I think you should go to sleep and get some rest.”

  “Well!” She slapped the bed beside her, muttering under her breath. “Thickheaded, mutton-brained man…I can’t believe I even considered it with you!”

  He was beyond patience. “Considered what, for God’s sake, Miss Darshaw?”

  “Shagging, of course! Honestly, why on earth else would I be lying here s
hivering in this uncomfortable contrivance?”

  He could scarce believe his ears. “You were waiting here for me so we could…?” Hell, but he couldn’t even say it.

  “Start swiving. Yes, prigging and docking and pumping the well, my lord. I’d heard rumors you might be of an inclination to do such things.” She glared at him as if he’d just insulted her mother. “Apparently, though, I was mistaken.”

  “Apparently you were…? Damn it all, Miss Darshaw! A lady doesn’t just strip off her clothes and fall asleep in a man’s bed like this! And, good lord, a lady would never be caught dead wearing that!”

  “Since when has anyone mistaken me for a lady?” she said with a disgruntled snort. “And I’ll have you know I worked very hard creating this costume. Madame says my work is exciting and unique.”

  “Hellfire, Eudora encourages you to create things like this?”

  “She’s very proud of the work I do! But I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, my lord. Apparently my skills at seduction are hardly up to your standards.”

  She was sitting now, holding the coverlet around her. He could just make out the silhouette of her breasts, still perfectly exhibited by the provocative garment. They were firm and round and just the perfect size for…Hell, if her seduction skills were any more up to his “standards” he would probably explode where he stood.

  “If you were waiting here to seduce me, then why did you kick me…again?” he asked.

  She pulled the coverlet tighter and snuggled it around her body. Her lush body. Her young body. Her alluring body. Her body that he could still see vividly in his mind’s eye even though the damned blanket now covered it—mostly.

  “You startled me!” she replied. “I didn’t expect it to take you so very long to check on your precious carriage. I suppose I fell asleep.”

  Even when she behaved as a petulant child he still wanted her. This was not at all a good thing. He knew, of course, she didn’t want him. Not really. This seduction ruse was simply a return to her first intent, to keep him here as long as possible to give her father greater chance at escape. Apparently she was willing to go to any end for that goal, even so far as wearing this monstrosity and shagging someone she hated.

  Well, then. How relieved she would be when he told her they would be staying here tonight and she need not have gone to all this trouble.

  Not that he didn’t appreciate it, though! On the contrary. Should things get a bit chilly later in the night, one thought of Miss Darshaw wriggling her body into—or out of—that astonishing costume, and he’d warm right up. He’d not sleep much, though, and he had to admit he was dead tired after his travels and restless night watching D’Archaud.

  But what was he to do then? He didn’t dare leave her alone—she’d take the locket and disappear, probably going off to get herself killed. He had to stay right here, where he could keep an eye on her. He must remember, though, that an eye was all he could keep on her, despite those alluring peaks teasing him beneath that thin cover. By hell, he supposed he’d just have to find a way to make himself comfortable in a chair and leave Miss Darshaw alone in the bed.

  That, he knew, was the only way he’d ever manage to…well, leave her alone.

  “I will sleep here and you will remain in the bed,” he announced, feeling rather noble as he propped the one spindly chair they had against the door just in case she might have any notion of leaving.

  “You can’t sleep in a chair,” she said.

  “You seemed to survive it last night,” he replied.

  “That was a much larger chair. And it was horrible.”

  “You just worry about yourself. Go to sleep, Miss Darshaw.”

  “So you can leave?”

  “No, I’m not leaving.”

  “Your darling carriage is still not repaired?”

  “It is, and it has been returned. Finally.”

  “So of course you are eager to leave.”

  No, right now he was eager for something else. He only wished he could leave.

  “It’s too dangerous. We will stay here and leave tomorrow,” he said.

  “We?”

  “I told you I will make some sort of arrangement for you. Do you wish to remain here? I will see if the innkeeper has a respectable position for you.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. He adjusted himself in the chair, leaned back against the door, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. It did nothing to remove that tantalizing image of her from his mind.

  “And what will you do?”

  “I will go to find your father,” he said. “With or without that locket.”

  “Without, then.”

  “You’ve hidden it?”

  “I have.”

  “Good. I was afraid someone came in here, abused you, and stole it.”

  She was silent a moment. He refused to look at her to judge her thoughts.

  “You thought that?” she asked at last.

  He nodded. “I’m glad I was mistaken.”

  Another silence. This stretched on so long he began to think perhaps she’d taken his advice and dropped off to sleep. Finally she spoke again.

  “Do you really think the locket will help you find Papa?”

  “I will find him eventually.”

  “But it would be easier with the locket.”

  “Yes. If it indeed contains that list of conspirators, it’s only logical to expect that he will go to one of them now. It’s why he left the locket with you, I’m quite certain. He hoped you would use it to follow him.”

  “So naturally you hope you can use it to follow him.”

  “I do. Those men must be brought to justice.”

  “I could simply give it to you, you know.”

  “I know you could. And I could just as easily force you to tell me where you hid it, then just take it for myself.”

  “But you’re a gentleman.”

  “No, I’m tired. Now go to sleep, Miss Darshaw.”

  There was another pause before she spoke again.

  “I will give it to you if you take me with you to find my father.”

  “No. You’d only get in the way. On purpose.”

  “If you’re only going to find him eventually, then I’d rather it be sooner and with me present. Take me with you and I’ll provide the locket.”

  “No. Go to sleep now.”

  “And will you be going to sleep now?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Sleeping in a chair isn’t very comfortable, is it?”

  “It will do.”

  “It will not. You’ll be miserable. Promise to take me with you and I’ll give you the locket and I’ll invite you to share this nice comfortable bed.”

  Hell, it had been all he could do not to take her up on her offer the first time she made it. Now he was nearly lost. But her offer came with a price. Could he possibly consider it, consider taking her with him? No, of course not. For her own sake he couldn’t.

  Still, she was right about it being dashed uncomfortable in this damn chair. He certainly would not mind climbing into that rented bed, and the fact that she was in it only made the notion that much harder to ignore. Did he dare?

  All she asked was that he promise to take her. Promises were easy to make, and passing the night in bed with the luscious—and practically naked—Miss Darshaw would be just as easy. A man with only half a brain would have no trouble taking her offer and even less trouble breaking his promise in the morning.

  He could only hope that after one night in Miss Darshaw’s bed he’d still have half a brain left.

  SHE KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING. AT LEAST, SHE HOPED she did. Lord Lindley was not someone to be trifled with. It had taken quite a Herculean effort on her part, but she was almost convinced she had not failed. He was going to take her offer and make use of her tonight.

  He wanted her—she hoped to heaven she had read that right in his eyes. Perhaps it was the pink stays. Perhaps it was that he finally decided he’d get no better offer elsewhere to
night. Perhaps he simply felt some measure of pity for her.

  She hoped that last was not the case. How mortifying that would be to have the man realize how much she truly did want him. She was appalled to even admit it to herself.

  But it was true; she wanted him. She was anxious about the whole thing, of course, but she wanted him. She had never felt actual desire for anyone before, and she found this new sensation exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Lindley would initiate her into the ways of the world, and she wanted that so very badly.

  She just hoped Madame was right and that Lindley would make this first encounter endurable. She would hate to begin her career as a whore with a man who turned out to be a brute. It was foolishness, of course, to hope for a night that would give her fond memories she could smile at long after daylight dawned and harsh reality took over. But that’s what she wanted with Lindley. It seemed somehow quite wrong to pray for such a thing, but she did anyway.

  Madame had indicated Sophie could count on the man giving in to sleep after a certain measure of exertion. She was not naive enough to pretend she did not comprehend what that meant; she would have to be a very active participant if she were to ensure that this level of exertion was attained. And she doubted Lindley would be content to get there by simply chasing her around the room. Heavens, but she had no idea what it would truly take to satisfy Lord Lindley.

  Well, she had a vague notion of what it entailed, of course. But beyond the basic understanding of parts involved, however, her education was still a bit incomplete. She hoped that would not prove a fatal hindrance to her plan. Just as she was hoping for a satisfactory reaction to tonight’s efforts, she couldn’t help but wish he might end up with fond memories of her, as well.

  The front two chair legs thumped down onto the floor, and her eyes shot up to meet his. Lindley was staring at her. Oh heavens, he was like a wild animal that had been hunting all its life. She was a pet rabbit left alone in the woods. She shuddered.