by Cara Elliott
I should scream, I should swoon. Instead, she curled her fingers around his maleness and squeezed ever so gently.
Devlin made a sound in the back of his throat.
She tightened her hold and drew a gasp.
Thinking back to her father’s books on primitive cultures—and the lengthy late-night chats with her older sister about the mysteries of desire—Anna slowly moved her hand up and down the rigid length of him.
“Am I getting this right?”
“Exquisitely so.” Devlin circled his hand over hers. “It’s for you to set the rhythm, like so,” he added, guiding her stroke. “And adding pressure here…” A sharp exhale. “And here will drive a man mad.”
Slowly, slowly. Anna closed her eyes, intent on learning every nuance of his shape and his reaction to her caresses. Oh, Society would think her worse than wicked, worse than wanton for breaking every rule of proper behavior. But for now…
His hand fell away.
But for now, to the Devil with all rules. Acting on instinct, she quickened her strokes while watching Devlin’s face. His jaw muscles tightened and a sheen of sweat began to bead his brow.
“I like the feel of you,” she whispered. “Though no doubt I will be damned to perdition for saying so.”
His hips rocked in rhythm with her touch. “Perdition,” he said through gritted teeth, “suddenly seems a rather attractive place.”
“I imagine it’s very hot.” Anna tentatively ran her touch around the crest of his cock. “On account of all the flames.”
“Flames.” With a raspy groan, Devlin jerked her hand away.
A lick of chill air chased his warmth from her fingertips. “W-was I doing something wrong?”
It took him a moment to steady his ragged breathing. “Alas, you were doing it all too right, sweeting.”
“I—I never imagined that passion was quite so…powerful.” She pressed her palms together as he turned away to refasten his trousers, surprised by the fierce pulse of heat coming from within her own body. “It’s one thing to read about it in books and quite another to experience it in the flesh.”
“You’ve not yet experienced the pleasures of passion?” he asked in a devil-dark voice.
Anna wasn’t sure how to answer.
As Devlin turned and set his hands on her shoulders, the alcove seemed to come alive. The slanting patterns of sunlight began to dip and dance over the woodwork, and the air around them started to crackle with unseen sparks. Whirling, twirling, whirling—everything became a blur, and then suddenly Anna found her body braced against the back wall.
“Have you?” he demanded. Their bodies were locked together in an intimate embrace.
Words tangled together too tightly for speech. All she could do was shake her head.
“I did warn you that playing with fire is dangerous.” His whisper teased against her face. “Now it’s your turn.”
Go. Now.
Anna’s heart began to thud against her ribs. “I don’t think—” she began.
“That’s right,” said Devlin. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
In the next instant, Anna was overwhelmed by a swirl of sensations. His hand was skating down the curve of her thigh…her skirts were skittering against her legs…a cool draft was curling around her ankles.
Up, up the fabric inched, as if impelled by some ancient Highland spell. Lace tickled over her skin, and his hand…
She gasped. Oh, surely his hand wasn’t going to touch her there.
Her body froze, and Devlin went very still. “If you wish for me to stop, you have only to say so. I may be a rogue, but I am not a cad.”
Yes or no?
Anna hitched in a slow, shuddering breath. Against all rules, against all reason, she felt safe in his arms. “Oh, please. D-don’t stop. I want to know…I want to know…”
Know what?
Anna wasn’t quite certain how to put it into words. Her body speaking a strange language all its own.
And yet, Devlin seemed to have no trouble understanding exactly what it was saying.
“Let the tension melt away, sweeting,” he murmured.
As he traced a light kiss along the line of her jaw, Anna felt a delicious warmth radiate out through her limbs. Her legs turned a trifle unsteady, and if not for Devlin’s hold on her waist, she might well have slumped to the floor.
“Mmmm.” Letting her eyelids fall half-closed, she twined her arms around his neck. “Being ravished is really rather pleasant.”
He let out a low, husky chuckle that made her insides give a lopsided lurch. “Do pay attention. I shall lose all credibility as a rake if the object of my evil intentions should fall asleep during the seduction.”
“Are you seducing me?” Anna nuzzled the starched points of his shirtcollar. “By the by, you smell very nice.” Inhaling deeply, she held the tantalizing scent in her lungs for as long as she could. “Like spiced smoke and tawny port.” And a myriad of other intriguing pleasures that are forbidden to a lady.
“I am not quite sure who is seducing whom,” answered Devlin a little raggedly. His hand feathered higher.
And suddenly the world slipped off its axis.
Clutching at his coat, she held on for dear life as he grazed the top of her stocking, and bare flesh met bare flesh.
And then he delved into her core.
“Oh. Oh.” A fresh wave of dizziness overwhelmed her.
Devlin stilled her trembling lips with a kiss. His taste and his touch sent shiver after shiver thrumming through every fiber of her being.
I am possessed…
An unfamiliar heat, silky and liquid as sun-drizzled honey, welled up within her as he found a hidden pearl within her feminine folds.
Whatever wicked enchantment held her in thrall, Anna found herself wishing it would go on forever.
“Spread your legs, Anna,” coaxed Devlin.
With a wordless gasp, she slid her kidskin shoes over the smooth parquet.
His lips were now pressed to the hollow of her throat. He murmured something—she knew not what. The wild pounding of her pulse drowned out all else as a new surge of heat spiraled through her belly, seeking release.
Tightening her hold on his shoulders, Anna arched against his hand. Want, need. Want, need. “I want…I need…”
“Hush, sweeting,” he soothed. “I know what you need.”
His stroke quickened and she thought she might burst into flames.
Devlin shifted slightly, muffling her soft cries in the folds of his coat. And then, just when the molten heat was too much to bear, her body convulsed in a sudden burst of firegold sparks.
When at last the shuddering sensations subsided, Anna slowly opened her eyes, unsure whether she was in Heaven…
Or Hell.
No wonder young ladies were warned to stay far, far away from Temptation. The taste of Sin was far too sweet.
“Mmmm.” Like cinnamon-spiced sugar, warm and melting on the tongue.
The sound of a door opening and closing jolted her out of the languid reverie. “What was that?”
“A maid—and all too close by the sound of it.” Devlin hurriedly smoothed her skirts back in place. “Can you make it back to your rooms on your own?” he asked. “Ungentlemanly though it is to leave you in the lurch, it would be best if we are not seen together in this isolated part of the castle. I’m sure neither of us wishes to spark a scandal.”
Her body still felt a little boneless, but the word “scandal” shocked Anna back to her senses. She took a tentative step and her legs, though a trifle wobbly, kept her upright. “Yes, yes, you must go,” she hissed. “And quickly!”
The shadows rippled and the alcove was empty.
Anna pressed her forehead to the dark wood, taking just an instant to steady her heartbeat before making haste for the connecting corridor.
Chapter Ten
Anna eased her bedchamber’s latch shut and leaned back against the door, still feeling a little dazed by the lingering
fire inside her. A glance at her reflection in the cheval glass showed that her face and her figure remained unchanged.
How could that be? she wondered, when she felt like a completely different person.
Aware that her heart was still thumping erratically, she slowly drew in several deep breaths and tried to calm its beat.
No wonder the poets waxed ecstatic when they composed odes about physical love. The sensations were wildly wonderful—though lightning might strike her down for daring to think such wicked thoughts.
“I don’t regret it,” she whispered defiantly. No matter that Polite Society would brand her a harlot if they knew what she had done.
And perhaps they would be right. The blame did not lie with Davenport, conceded Anna. She had thrown herself at him, thinking it oh-so clever to use a show of sultry flirtation to tease him into revealing his secret.
Instead, the rascally rogue had taken her seductive strategy and turned it to his own advantage. She had all but surrendered her virtue. And had received precious little in return.
Save for a taste of terrible temptation.
Feeling a little foolish, Anna made a place for herself on the cushioned window seat and stared out at the mist-shrouded moors. A myriad of puzzling questions were swirling inside her head. While a myriad of whirling-dervish desires were spinning through the rest of her body.
Research. Anna grimaced at her reflection in the glass. At least the experience could be counted as research. After all, a writer must be willing to make great sacrifices in order to create a compelling story.
Though if she dared describe the scene in lurid detail, her pen might scorch the paper.
Expelling a sigh, she drew her knees to her chest. Who am I, really? Perhaps the question was sparking too many impetuous urges, too many rash explorations. Her father had reveled in journeying into the unknown—apparently she had inherited the same adventurous streak, instead of a proper dowry.
A prickling sensation suddenly danced down her arms and she chafed her palms against the pebbled flesh. In many ways, experimenting with sliding into a different skin was exciting. Exhilarating. And yet it was also terrifying.
Good and bad. Dark and light.
Nothing seemed to be making any sense—least of all her conflicting feelings. Up until now, she had been confident in her ability to plot out her own life, as well as those of her storybook characters.
So why do I feel like a puppet on a set of perversely tangled strings?
The only answer was a light knock on the door.
Her maid entered without waiting for an answer, two freshly pressed evening gowns draped over one arm.
“Alors, mademoiselle.” Josette eyed the dust and cobwebs clinging to the hem of Anna’s gown with a pained grimace. “Have my wits gone wandering?” She blew out a mournful sigh. “I am quite sure I would never have laid out your morning gown in such a shameful state.”
“No, no, once again, the fault is all mine,” assured Anna. “I did some exploring in the oldest wing of the castle, and the galleries there are rarely entered.”
“Did you discover anything interesting?”
Anna felt a hot flush rise to her cheeks. “N-not really,” she mumbled. “Just a number of ancient ancestral portraits and some fragments of Roman sculptures. It was all rather ordinary.”
“Only ordinary?” Josette smoothed a tiny wrinkle from one of the gowns and then carefully hung them in the armoire. “Yet the servants here say that Lord Dunbar has acquired a great many valuable collections.”
“Oh, yes, he has. But perhaps His Lordship’s predecessors did not possess his discerning eye.”
The maid accepted the explanation with a shrug. “Or his plump purse. One can have exquisite taste, but without money it hardly matters.”
Anna had lived enough years in genteel poverty to know Josette’s observation was in many ways true. And yet there was something a little sad about hearing someone so young express such a cynical outlook on life.
“Not all things of beauty or value can be measured in terms of money,” she said slowly.
Josette curled a faint smile. “We have an ancient proverb in French that says some people see a glass as half empty, while others see it as half full. I think that you are, at heart, an optimist, Mademoiselle Anna. While I have a more pragmatic view of the world.”
“I, too, consider myself a realist,” she protested. “I am not blinded by schoolgirl fantasies.”
Josette remained tactfully silent. Her expression, however, was eloquent in its skepticism.
“I’m not so naïve as to think that life always ends in a happily ever after,” added Anna.
“You could hardly be blamed if you did. From what I have heard, your older sister’s marriage was a fairytale come true.”
“Trust me, there were quite a few bumps along the road to happiness,” she quipped, thinking of the helter-pelter carriage chase that took Olivia and Wrexham across half of England.
“What about you, mademoiselle?” asked Josette after straightening the brushes and pinbox on the dressing table. “Do you expect to be happy in your choice of a husband?”
“I…I haven’t really given the question much thought,” she answered after a moment of hesitation.
Her maid let out a low snort. “Every woman thinks of that.”
“What I meant was, until recently, I had a duty to my family to make a good match. Happiness was not part of the equation.”
“But now you may choose whom you please?”
Anna forced a light laugh. “Perhaps things are done differently in France, but here in England, it is the gentleman who chooses, not the lady.”
“Ah, oui, it is still the same in France, no matter that Napoleon has changed many traditions. But you know what I meant.”
Rather than answer, she made a show of rising and shaking out her skirts. “I had better change out of this dusty gown. The hour is later than I thought, and I ought to begin dressing for supper. Which color would you suggest for tonight—the smoky emerald or the seafoam blue?”
“Hmmm.” Josette regarded her thoughtfully as she tapped a finger to her chin. “Your mood seems pensive, and perhaps a little dark. So I would advise you to wear the emerald.”
“You did not wish to join in the slaughter of birds today, Lord Davenport?”
Devlin turned as the Vicomte de Verdemont, Lady de Blois’s overfed brother-in-law, joined him at the head of the grand staircase. “I was feeling a trifle lazy, so I decided to spend my day doing nothing more strenuous than viewing some of the earl’s magnificent art collections.”
“Ah, yes. You are the one who so nobly offered your services as a guide to Marie-Helene.” Sarcasm further slurred Verdemont’s voice as they started down the stairs. He had already started drinking freely of their host’s vintage French brandy, judging by a whiff of his breath. “I hope the demands of my sister-in-law were not too strenuous. She can be a bit demanding.”
“I always endeavor to rise to the occasion when it presents itself,” answered Devlin with a deliberate grin. “However, la comtesse was still too distraught over the loss of her bauble to stir from her quarters.” A wink. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
Verdemont’s nostrils flared in irritation.
“You do not sound overly fond of shooting,” Devlin went on. “Are you not an avid hunter?”
“I can think of more civilized ways to pass the time.”
Like trying to seduce your wife’s sister? wondered Devlin. Aloud he responded, “So why accept the invitation? The rough-hewn moors of Scotland offer little in the way of civilized pleasures.”
“I might ask the same of you, Lord Davenport.”
“Oh, I’m a keen sportsman,” he replied. “When the moment is right, I am ready to—”
“Excellent! Then I shall expect you to join us on the morrow,” bellowed McClellan as he emerged from one of the side corridors. “We leave at first light, so as to have a full day tramping the moors.”
&
nbsp; “There may be more guests dropping dead than game birds,” observed Devlin dryly.
An evil glint momentarily lightened McClellan’s granite-gray eyes. “Nay, nay. I’m a very good shot.”
“As I said, more guests than birds might expire on the morrow.”
The baron didn’t crack a smile. “I shall be counting on your presence, too, Verdemont.”
“I had planned on taking the day to finish some correspondence—” began the vicomte.
“Letters can wait.” McClellan dismissed the excuse with a curt wave. “I need you to make up our line of fire. Several of the older gentlemen have already begged off, and Lady Dunbar would hate to disappoint the prince and his friends by not having enough shooters.”
“If you insist,” said the vicomte ungraciously.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll meet in the Gun Room at five.”
Devlin heaved a martyred sigh. “As you see, there is a reason the Scots have a reputation for being a dour, grim-minded race,” he said to Verdemont. “Rising before dawn just to shed blood is unnatural.”
“Have you never fought a duel, Davenport?” demanded McClellan.
“Good heavens, no!” he drawled. “I have no honor to defend, so why would I bother?”
The exchange of barbs was brought to an end by the appearance of their hostess, who was escorting a half dozen of the ladies to the drawing room.
“Oh, dear, is my cousin offending everyone?” the countess inquired lightly.
Verdemont shrugged in wordless answer and walked away to join his wife by the hearth.
“Oh, please don’t worry, milady,” piped up Caro, who had come down from her rooms ahead of the rest of her family. “We have all learned to ignore his ill-tempered remarks.”
Lady Dunbar laughed, but Devlin noted that McClellan did not appear at all amused.
“If you live by the proverbial sword, you must expect to die by the proverbial sword,” he murmured, as he strolled past the baron to offer his arm to Anna’s sister. “The young lady appears to have an even sharper tongue than you.”
Alec responded with a phrase in Gaelic that needed no translation.
