“Why the hell else would you be off in a bedchamber during a ball?”
“Can we please discuss this another time?” She had no idea what she would tell him, but would figure that one out later. Moving forward, she grabbed his arm, trying to propel him toward the outer sitting room. His muscles beneath her hands were knotted with tension, and she felt as if she were trying to push hardened cement. “You have to get out of here.”
“Why? So you can meet your lover uninterrupted?”
“Don’t be a dolt. I’m not meeting anyone.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Hush!” Tess froze. Female voices could be heard nearing the chamber. The countess! “We’ve got to move, now!”
His fists curled. “I’m not going anywhere until I—”
“Don’t say another word!” Her eyes scanned the room searching for an escape.
The voices drew closer.
“I should have that Lady Mares tossed out on her bottom for ruining my new gown!” The countess’s tone was incensed.
“Calm yourself, we’ll go to the dressing room and I’ll help you change.” It was Miss Gammon’s voice, rock steady.
Grabbing Heath’s chin and pulling his face down to hers, Tess met his gaze. “If you have any care for me whatsoever, pray keep quiet and follow my lead!”
His brow furrowed as the realization dawned that there might be more to this than he’d considered. At last there was some sense in his thick head!
Hooking her arm through Heath’s, Tess dragged him in the direction opposite the entry door, deeper into the chamber.
His cocoa brown eyes flashed with anger and inquiry, but blessedly he held his tongue.
They moved into a room bursting with colorful gowns, lace, petticoats, and shoes. The heavy scent of eau de carnation perfume filled the air. The dressing room to which the countess was headed! Tess’s grip on Heath’s arm tightened. Could this fix get any worse?
Tess spied another door, veiled behind the armoire. She threw it open and shoved Heath inside, falling in on top of him and closing the door just as a voice called from within the dressing room, “Which would you prefer—the white or the green?”
“The one I’m wearing!” the countess cried, entering the chamber. “This is all your fault, telling me to butter up that buffoon Mares and his bitch of a wife!”
Tess held her breath; her heart was racing. She was a puddle of fear on the floor of a dark tiny closet. A stream of light came in from around the casing, and the door was thin enough for her to hear Miss Gammon command, “Lower your voice.”
“There’s no one here, not even the stupid maid! Why are you always so suspicious? It doesn’t become you.”
Tess relaxed, barely releasing a tiny breath. They had no idea that she and Heath were here.
Heath.
Tess suddenly realized that she sat flanked by Heath’s muscular legs with her buttocks pressing deeply into the juncture between his thighs! She was glad for the darkness and for the fact that she was facing the door, as her face had to be as red as a tomato!
She swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
If she’d had any doubt that he was sensitive to her shocking position, she only had to feel the evidence of his awareness pressing like a tipstaff into her lower back!
Her shoulders pressed against his hard, broad chest, his arms encasing her in a cocoon. She was overly warm, burning up from the intimate contact, achingly aware of every inch of his virile form. With his every heavy breath skating across her ear, she felt the desire rising up in her like a torrent. Her own breath felt locked in her throat as she tried to suppress her passion.
But she was overwhelmed.
She closed her eyes, suddenly unable to concentrate on the words being spoken outside the thin door. In the darkness, there was only Heath’s body pressing enticingly against hers, the air heady with the earthy scent of him. Every hair on her body rose up with excruciating awareness of his maleness and his heat, igniting a desire in her she hadn’t felt in years. It was a mind-scrambling honing of the senses that left her pulsing with need.
Oh God. She didn’t know whether to be mortified or delighted that he was aroused, too. Or perhaps it was an involuntary reaction on his part? It was simply the situation, being pressed so close in a small space…
His hand slowly crept to encircle her waist, hugging her possessively. Her eyes flew open as her heart skipped a beat, and then thundered to a gallop.
Could he…?
Listening to his heavy breathing, and feeling the heat he emanated, she knew that he desired her. Perhaps as much as she wanted him!
His warm hand slid up her gown and cupped her breast. She bit her lip to quiet the cry aching to escape. Part of her was shocked. Part of her prayed that he would be bolder.
His hand kneaded the soft flesh of her breast. Her head fell back against his shoulder. She shifted against him, licking her lips and tasting desire.
His other hand moved to her thigh, singeing her with the contact. Of their own volition, her hips rocked, barely an inch, but his body tensed to iron and his member jolted with urgency.
His lips nibbled her ear, igniting a wave of yearning rushing through her. She sucked in a breath, the scent of desire thick in the air.
His fingers curled, clawing her gown upward, exposing her foot. Then her calf. Then her thigh. She swallowed, desperate for air. Her heart was pounding, her body aroused to a fevered pitch.
If that door opened, she would be discovered exposed on the floor of a darkened closet with a man she’d sworn would never touch her. But she couldn’t think of that now. She closed her eyes and her mind to all thought.
With his fingers clawing the gown up, he was rewarded by the touch of silken stocking. She felt his breath seize in his chest. All her senses were focused on those roving hands.
His fingers skimmed up her calf, then over her thigh to the private place between her legs. Her heart was hammering, her body flushed with desire, the crevice between her thighs wet with wanting. He stopped, his hand big and warm, cupping her with urgent persuasion. She knew that he could feel her desire and know how desperately she wanted him.
Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
Gently his fingers slipped past her undergarments and between the folds of her womanhood. Her back arched and she bit back a groan as her body flamed like tinder.
His fingers delved into her sensitive flesh, stroking, gliding, playing, driving her mad…
She was on fire. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her world coalesced into a swirl of colors, a plethora of sensations centered in her core.
Lost, she gripped his arms, holding on for dear life. Then she let go, falling, falling, falling…
“Did you hear something?” a voice called from very far away.
Heath tensed, halting his fingers.
Dazed, Tess opened her eyes in the darkness.
“You’re so suspicious. There’s no one here.” It was the countess.
Tess’s heart skipped a beat as realization dawned. Instinctively she closed her thighs, intimately wedging his hand between them. Her head swam and she bit her lip, trying to leash the desire surging through her.
“But I thought I heard something. From over there.” A movement drawing closer. “What’s in this closet?”
“My gardening gowns, the ones I won’t be seen in. Why?”
“I thought—”
“You were the one insisting we make it back to the party posthaste, what are you going on about now?”
“Mistress!” a young woman’s voice cried.
“Where have you been, Jane?” the countess demanded.
“I was helping downstairs like you’d instruct—”
“Oh, enough of this. I have a ball to host. See if you can repair this gown immediately.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Come along, Miss Gammon. You’re going to make nice with Lord Mares while I work on Lo
rd Huntington. We’ve lost enough time as it is!”
Sounds of movement, then silence.
Tess exhaled, sagging against him.
“What now?” he whispered in her ear, his breath hinting of champagne.
Unable to speak, she didn’t answer. Her body was still flaming, and she wanted him so badly, she ached.
“We…we should probably see if the coast is clear,” he whispered.
She nodded, forcing her ardor to cool. At least he was keeping a clear head; there was still the possibility of being discovered.
Carefully Tess reached up and turned the knob, easing the door open a crack. Cool air rushed into the hot closet.
“They’re gone,” she murmured.
Heath’s hands lifted her waist, helping her rise to her feet and dropping her skirts.
He stood, adjusting his breeches. “I think there’s a lady’s shoe up my arse.”
“Was that what I was feeling?” She raised a brow.
“Much better—and bigger—than any lady’s shoe…” His smile was wicked and his eyes blazed with passionate intent.
Hugging her waist, Tess withheld the wild laugh bubbling up inside her. She felt so good, so sinful, and the desire in his gaze was more intoxicating than any libation.
“The mistress wants the gown repaired posthaste!” a young feminine voice declared from the adjacent bedroom.
Footsteps neared.
“She wants everything posthaste. It’s the only way she knows!”
Tess moved back toward the closet, but Heath had other ideas in mind.
Quickly Heath grabbed a voluminous shawl hanging on a peg and tossed it over their heads, covering them both. “Come on!” He pulled her out the dressing room door.
“What the—!” a female shrieked as they charged into the bedroom.
Tess spied something white flash as they ran. My gloves! My reticule! Partway under the bed!
Tess grabbed Heath’s arm, making him stop and move back as she snatched up her gloves and reticule. All the while he kept them covered.
Had the countess seen her possessions? Probably not, or she would have searched the room.
“I’ll give ’em credit for nerve, whoever those two are,” the servant commented, seemingly unconcerned. “Having at it in the hostess’s bedroom.”
The rest of her words vanished as Tess and Heath raced out the door and down the corridor.
Tess giggled. Heath chuckled. Together they laughed, carefree and giddy, running as if the devil himself was at their heels.
Chapter 13
Heath was laughing and out of breath as he and Tess approached the ballroom once more. The sounds of the orchestra and the buzz of the crowd grew louder with each footstep.
As Heath dropped the shawl on a nearby table, he realized that joining the throng was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Tess’s nearness was a heady reminder of the intensity of her passion and the desire she inspired. And his member still throbbed with unrequited need. So instead of heading back into the very public ballroom, Heath steered Tess down a carpeted hallway away from the crowds.
Tess’s blue gaze was questioning, but she silently followed his lead.
Heath opened the first door they came to. Upon seeing that the drawing room was empty, he gently propelled her inside. He closed the door, instantly muting the sounds of the orchestra and the hum of the crowd.
In the quiet room he turned to her.
Tess’s skin was flushed, her blue eyes sparkling. Her hair was a wild mess of crimson curls and haphazard white pearls. Her peach-colored lips were parted, and her luscious breasts rose and fell with each breathless pant. She couldn’t have looked more delectable.
He wanted her. Badly. More than any other woman, ever. He wanted to take Tess and make her his. The need was so great, he had little thought for anything else. He knew that he should be demanding answers about what she was doing in the countess’s bedroom, knew that he shouldn’t be allowing his passion to rule him. But she was so achingly close and the honeyed scent of her was so overwhelming.
He needed to touch her, taste her, feel her…
Tess stared up at him, wonder in her eyes, soon replaced by a hint of apprehension in the tense silence. Blinking, she turned away, scanning the room. “I must look a fright.”
She moved to stand before the window and using the reflection, raised her arms to fix her hair.
Striding up behind her, Heath gently grasped her hands. “Don’t.”
Her hands stilled, coiled in his.
He could feel her confusion in her every intake of breath.
“Heath.” She swallowed. “What happened back there…I think—”
“Don’t.” Spinning her to face him, he grabbed her waist and drew her body to him. She was soft in all the right places. The scents of lavender and desire beckoned.
His lips curled into a smile. She was incredible. And she was about to be his.
His mouth lowered, but he hovered a mere inch from her lips, savoring the moment. The anticipation was almost as heady as touching her. Their breaths mixed and he inhaled her sweet scent.
Slowly his head lowered and he savored the taste of her. She was like wine: heady, sweet, and intoxicating. His tongue delved deeper, making love to her mouth as he’d so desperately wanted to do in that little closet moments before.
She clung to him, groaning slightly as her body melted into his.
Triumph surged through him. She’s mine!
His hands roved, relishing the strength of her back, the lushness of her bottom. He kneaded the soft flesh, desire spiking through him, its urgency overpowering him. He had to have her. Now.
“Mr. Bartlett!” a distant voice called.
“Mr. Bartlett!” There it was again, nagging.
“Heath!”
Blinking, Heath opened his eyes. He tore his lips from Tess’s, gasping for breath.
Solicitor-General Dagwood stood in the threshold, his face a dark mask of fury. “Finally! I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to call for the fire brigade!” Dagwood was incensed. His brows were lowered, his square jaw locked into a disapproving line, but it was his eyes that were most unsettling—they blazed like black coals of rage.
“Sir!” Heath’s voice was a rasp.
“Remove yourself from that woman, at once!”
Heath was torn over what to do, but his respect for Dagwood and concern for Tess’s reputation won out.
He slowly disengaged, unwrapping his arms from her but grasping her silky shoulders. She was a bit wobbly on her feet, but the sight of Dagwood glaring at her stiffened her spine. She went from supple softness to rigid iron in mere seconds. She was no longer the fiery woman he’d been kissing; her face closed and her lids hooded and she became as icy as her diamonds. If he weren’t so shocked he would have been fascinated.
She moved away from Heath. His hand on her shoulders slid off with obvious reluctance. She gave Dagwood a long, hard stare, as if to say, I’m not the least bit afraid of you, then turned and stepped over to a side door. Not speaking a word, she opened the entry and slipped out without a second glance. The exit closed with a resounding thud behind her.
“Have you gone mad?” Dagwood stepped deeper into the room and jabbed his cane like a sword.
Straightening his clothing, Heath swallowed.
“Have you lost sight of everything we’ve worked for?” Spinning on his heel, Dagwood began to pace. “I thought more of you, man!”
Mortification washed through Heath; Dagwood’s good opinion meant the world to him. And how could he explain? He knew better, but when Tess was near, it seemed hard to care.
Mayhap she was an enchantress.
Dagwood paced, his heels clicking on the hard wooden floors. “Granted, with a face like that and a shape like hers, she could charm the devil…but lust is not love, and it is no foundation for a marriage. For it will fail.”
“Sir, I—”
“You’ve got a respectable, g
ood girl to court, a chance at a real marriage with a strong future.”
“I know. But—”
Shaking his head, Dagwood opened his hands. “Have you no thought for what that chit could cost you? She wears scandal like a second skin! She’s trouble, through and through!”
From the other side of the doorway, Tess listened, and tears burned her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. But she wiped away the tears with the backs of her hands, impatient with her agony. She deserved it. She’d opened up to Heath, oh God, she’d been his for the taking. She was a stupid little fool. Scandal clung to her like rotten leaves in mud. She would forever be tarnished by her husband and all that society painted her to be.
“Start thinking with your other head, man!” Dagwood charged. “She’ll only soil you and your reputation. Word is she caused Lord Berber’s death and then her husband’s.”
Tess seethed with impotent anger at the terrible lie that wouldn’t die.
“But even if the gossip isn’t to be believed, the reality is that her husband was a double-dealing, cheating knave, and she had to know what kind of character he was when she married him.”
Tess felt the mortification burn in its usual spot between her breasts. It lived there like a viper, ready to strike her at any moment. Yet at times like these the acuteness of its bite stole the breath from her throat. Dagwood was right: Tess should have known better. She should have been more discerning in choosing her mate. She’s been so swept up in passion, so blind to Quentin’s true character, so passively accepting of all that was happening to her…
She swallowed, angry with herself and Dagwood and…
Why wasn’t Heath defending her? Or at least saying something useful? His silence was beginning to feel like condemnation.
Dagwood went on relentlessly, “Obviously she and her husband deserved each other. But for you to get trapped in her web like a greenhorn! Where’s your sense, man? You’re begging for a scandal! And at a time when you must preserve your reputation most assiduously!”
Leaning back against the hard wooden door, Tess tried to fathom what Heath might be thinking. He hadn’t intended it to happen, any more than she. They were innocent really, if one considered good intentions. And they hadn’t really gone that far…
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