by Cara Elliott
“Giving you a lesson in lovemaking,” he replied in a silky-soft voice. “It’s called foreplay, my dear. Suggestion can be very stimulating.”
“Lord Hadley—”
He kept talking. “Have you any idea how very desirable you look tonight? I would love to see you naked, your glorious body bathed in shimmering starlight. I would place my palms on the inside of your thighs and gently—ever so gently—coax your legs apart. Imagine your skin sliding over a petal-soft bedsheet, and my caress growing…
intimate.”
She squirmed. No wonder the man had seduced half the ladies in London. That silvery tongue…
“Remember our little discussion on the Grotto of Venus?” His smile stretched wider. “Have you thought about what it would feel like to be kissed there?”
Mesmerized by his mouth, Ciara found it impossible to utter a further protest. Its shape was supremely sensual. Sinuous. Sinful.
Oh, Lord, she wanted his lips on her, doing all the delicious things he was describing.
Was that wicked?
He turned abruptly. “But you are right, we had better go back in.”
Strangely enough, disappointment coursed through her. She felt overwhelmed by a fierce longing, though, of course, even so much as a fleeting kiss was out of the question. Too risky. Their behavior in public must be above reproach.
But would he renew his lascivious advances in the privacy of the carriage ride home? Ciara wasn’t sure whether to be eager or afraid.
Lucas escorted her back to the ballroom, exchanging polite small talk with acquaintances along the way. His manners were perfectly proper, and for one moment she wondered whether she had merely imagined his naughty whispers.
No, never in her wildest dreams could she have made up such words, such longings.
After handing her off to the next name on her dance card, Lucas seemed to ignore her. Without so much as a backward look, he moved along the perimeter of the dance floor, flirting shamelessly with every lady he encountered.
Ciara maintained an outward show of indifference, but she couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of her eye. She found herself feeling strangely sorry that she knew so little about wielding her womanly wiles. How was it that some women seemed to have an intuitive understanding of the art of attracting a man—the subtle play of a laugh, a look, a gesture?
Was she jealous? The thought took her aback.
How absurd. She was not jealous of Hadley. Indeed, she ought to be annoyed that he had been playing such wanton games with her. He was incorrigible.
Incapable of acting responsibly.
The last little interlude had been a graphic illustration of his faults.
“Er, the set seems to be forming, Lady Sheffield. Shall we dance?” Ciara’s current partner, a colonel serving with General Burrand’s staff, offered his arm with a formal bow.
Chin up. Alessandra’s exhortation echoed once again in her ears. Determined to appear unmoved by the earl’s desertion, Ciara made a concerted effort to engage the colonel in an animated conversation.
“What an impressive array of medals, sir. You must explain to me what they all mean,” she said archly, repeating a line she had overheard a lady use earlier in the evening.
Obviously flattered by her interest, the colonel flashed a smile that was nearly as bright as the bits of gleaming brass.
As he launched into a detailed explanation, Ciara realized with a start that this was easier than she had ever thought possible. It was not hard to figure out that people liked to talk about themselves.
Growing more confident with every step, she relaxed and began to enjoy the dance. Why, a little flirting was actually fun. The colonel, an acquaintance of Lord Haddan, turned out to be a pleasant fellow who possessed a dry wit and engaging manner. And a gaze that was frankly admiring. She was almost sorry when the music ended.
“Thank you for a delightful dance, Lady Sheffield.” He brushed a kiss to her glove. “I look forward to the pleasure of partnering you again.”
“I would welcome it, sir,” she replied truthfully.
“Then allow me to pencil my name in for later.” He angled a peek at her dance card. “I had better move fast, for it appears you have only a few spots left for the rest of the evening.”
The statement took her by surprise. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the scribbles, but it seemed that the colonel was right. If Lucas didn’t hurry…
She stole a surreptitious glance around the room.
And quickly discovered she need not have bothered. He was still busy flirting with a trio of lovely ladies.
Lifting her head with what she hoped was regal indifference, Ciara moved on to her next partner.
Wretch, she muttered to herself as she spun by him.
The rest of the ball passed by in a blur, and by the end of the evening she had caught only one other glance of him—waltzing with a young Yorkshire heiress who seemed to be hanging on his every word.
“What a pleasant time,” remarked Lucas as he helped her on with her wrap. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Quite,” she replied a little coolly.
He didn’t appear to notice.
The carriage ride home was equally annoying. Lucas was polite but distant, both in body and spirit. The space between them seemed to be a yawning chasm, growing deeper with every turn of the wheel.
Rake’s rules. Whatever his game, she was in the dark as to how it was played. She knew she ought to ignore him, but try as she might, Ciara found that her limbs were taut and her mood unaccountably irritated as the horses came to a halt in Pont Street.
Why? She couldn’t explain it, save to say that the earl had somehow gotten under her skin with his hot and cold teasings. In spite of herself, a shiver coursed through her limbs as she thought over his suggestive words on the terrace.
“You had better hurry inside, before you catch a chill.” Lucas made no move to help her descend from the carriage. Nor did he offer his arm for the short walk up the front steps of her townhouse. “Sleep well,” he murmured with a bow. “I shall see you tomorrow for our scheduled lesson.”
“Be prepared for a quiz on the first chapter of the textbook,” she warned. “Despite all the recent distractions, I don’t mean to let you off lightly from our wager.”
“I confess, I am curious to see how I shall perform on the test.”
“So am I, Lord Hadley.” Ciara restrained the urge to bang the door shut in his face. “So am I.”
The scratch of the pen seemed unnaturally loud in the scholarly silence of the laboratory. Lucas finished writing out his last answer and glanced up. Ciara was standing across the room, her back to him as she carefully measured out portions of powder from the array of jars above her gas burner.
To his surprise, the test had been easy. The answers had flowed smoothly, like a nightingale’s song, from his head. Strange how much interesting information could be stored in his brainbox when it wasn’t overflowing with brandy.
And the truth was, he found the subject quite fascinating. As a boy, he had spent countless hours in solitary rambles along the seaside cliffs near Henry’s country estate. Observing all the different birds had been a source of constant wonder. But now, as he was beginning to understand some of the scientific reasons for the different appearances and behaviors—things like feather patterns, wing shape, migratory habits—he felt an even greater appreciation for their beauty.
Perhaps Henry had not been exaggerating in saying that knowledge enriched the experiences of life. It definitely had a certain allure, reflected Lucas. Over the last week, he had spent several nights at home reading about gulls and fish hawks rather than joining his friends in carousing with ladybirds. Lud, his comrades-in-revelry would laugh themselves sick if they knew.
Lucas was feeling rather virtuous for studying so hard… but all thoughts of virtue flew out the window as Ciara turned slightly and bent over the table.
Hell. Fire lit in his loins on se
eing the figured muslin stretch across her shapely derriere. Think of ornithology, not zoology, chided the voice of Reason.
Too late.
It was not his intellect being put to the test, it was his sanity. She looked so achingly lovely, so damnably desirable.
And he was Mad, Bad Had-ley—a man not used to resisting his baser urges.
Before he could get hold of himself, Lucas had moved out of his chair and past the bookshelves. The oilcloth floor covering muffled his approach. Intent on her task, Ciara was unaware of his presence until he tickled the goose quill pen against her neck.
“Hadley!”
He caught the glass vial in midair. “Sorry. Did I surprise you?”
“By now, nothing you do should come as a shock.” However, she appeared a little flustered.
Lucas set the container down on the counter. “Not even the fact that I’ve finished my written examination ahead of schedule?”
“I wouldn’t crow quite yet, sir.” Ciara carefully wiped her fingers on her apron. “I have yet to read over your answers.”
He traced the feathered tip along the shell of her ear. “Oh, I think you’ll find yourself quite satisfied with my efforts.”
Her cheeks flushed, and the pulse at her throat seemed to grow a little erratic. “Well then, if you are done, you are dismissed from the classroom early. I have some tests for my upcoming meeting of the Circle that I need to get finished.”
“Actually, I have another suggestion for how we could use the time.”
Ciara tried to evade his tickling touch. “Which is?”
“I thought we might switch roles,” he replied. “You be the student, and I’ll be the teacher for a change.”
“Please, Hadley. I have serious work to do.” She flicked the feather from his fingers. “And you are distracting me.”
“Afraid of learning something new?”
Her hands shook slightly as she added a teaspoon of vermilion powder to her cauldron. “What lesson do you have in mind?”
“An elemental experiment in chemistry.”
“A subject about which you know absolutely nothing,” she pointed out.
“On the contrary, I know a great deal about certain aspects,” he said, moving in close enough that his coat brushed her shoulder blades. “Like what effect heat and friction have on a volatile substance.”
The scent of perfume rose up from her blush-warmed flesh, enveloping him in a cloud of longing. All semblance of self-control dissolved into a need too strong to keep bottled up. Lucas reached out his hands.
She went very still.
“Yes, that’s it,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Just feel.” He pressed his palms to her hips and drew them back slowly. “You’ve a lovely arse, Ciara. So smooth, so shapely.”
He heard her breath quicken as he caressed her curves. So far, so good.
A hitch of his hands raised her skirts to her knees.
Ciara made a sound somewhere deep in her throat.
“Pay attention to the teacher.” He touched his lips to the nape of her neck, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin. “Be still, darling.”
The whisper of lace ruffled softly as he skimmed his palms up the front of her thighs.
“Hadley—”
“Lucas,” he corrected.
“L-Luc—” She sucked in her breath. “Lud!”
Lucas rubbed his rigid shaft against her derriere and began a slow, rhythmic massaging of her lithe legs, coaxing her body into a sensual, swaying slide of arousal.
Her hands were braced on the countertop, her knuckles white against the dark-grained wood.
“Steady, steady,” he crooned, watching the whirl of wonderment spasm across her profile. Tendrils of steam wafted up from the cauldron. Her face was turning rosy, the rising heat of her flesh intensifying her scent. The sweetness of verbena mixed with the earthy essence of her womanly passion.
Inhaling deeply, he nearly came undone.
Hell’s teeth. He pulled her a little roughly against him as pure primal lust threatened to overwhelm all rational thought. But much as he wanted to rip open his trousers and sheath himself in her heat, he held himself in check. As she turned her head in profile, a flutter of her gold-tipped lashes reminded him that this was not about his own selfish satisfaction.
Perhaps it was a paltry gift, but he wanted to give her pleasure.
She moaned, her body softening as she arched herself into him.
“Yes, sweetheart, spread your legs a little wider.”
Her slippers slid over the painted floorcloth.
“Let me touch you here.” A scrim of delicate lace tickled against his fingertips. “And now here.”
The sound that slipped from her lips was neither a yes nor a no. It was something far more elemental. Lucas sensed the need quivering through every fiber of her being, though she feared to let herself give voice to it.
Ciara was too strong, too unselfish to ask for anything for herself. He suddenly longed to free her from fear, to sweep her into sweet oblivion. A special place where for a few precious moments she could feel herself at the very center of the universe.
What else could a rakehell rogue give her?
Skimming his hands up over her legs, Lucas found the fastenings of her garters. The knots yielded to a tug, and the silky stockings slipped down from his probing touch.
She flinched ever so slightly as he found the slit in her drawers.
Skirts frothing against his legs, Lucas turned her to face him. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised, never meaning anything as much in his life.
Slowly, hesitantly, Ciara lifted her hips in answer.
Easing through the finespun cotton, he found her folds of feminine flesh flooded with a pulsing, honeyed heat. The sensation was sweet beyond his wildest words. With a low groan, he stroked through the dampened curls, feeling his fingers grow slick with her essence.
She sucked in her breath.
Willing himself to go slowly, he centered a circling swirl on her pearl.
Ciara gasped, the rush of air hot against his cheek.
Oh, yes, oh, yes.
Lucas kissed her, teasing his tongue in and out of her mouth to match the quickening tempo of his touch. Her lips parted—hungrily, it seemed to him—allowing his thrusts to go deeper and deeper. Moving his free hand to her breast, he felt her nipple harden against his palm. The sensation of her intimate flesh peaking with pleasure was intensely erotic.
A growl—or was it a groan?—rumbled in his throat. Lucas had thought himself an expert in every nuance of sexual play, but this feeling spiraling through his belly was something utterly new. Something utterly different. Just who was teaching whom?
A little dizzy at the thought, he paused for an instant to catch his breath and steady his stance. Making sense of his reaction could wait. Suddenly the only thing that mattered was to make the moment one that she would never forget. A memory etched indelibly on her mind and her body.
“Oh, please.” Her eyes widened and winked with a luminous light. “Don’t stop.”
“Lucifer and a legion of his dark angels could not drag me away, sweetheart.” Lucas parted her petals and probed at the entrance to her passage. “Do you like this?” he asked, his voice oddly urgent.
Ciara clenched around him. “Y-yes.”
He withdrew and then thrust his finger inside her again, a little bit deeper.
Burying her face in the folds of his cravat, she sank her teeth into the knotted linen. He heard her whimper and gulp for air.
His own breath was a little ragged. “Have you any idea how beautiful you are, Ciara?” he whispered against her hair.
Her body tightened. “N-not me—”
“Yes, you, sweetheart.”
She twisted against him, squirming, sliding, seeking release from the coiling tautness that had taken possession of her body.
So close, so close.
She arched back, knocking a glass to the floor.
<
br /> Though he felt the urge to shatter into a thousand tiny shards, Lucas kept a grip on his self-control. Uttering her name, he delved into her depth with another stroking caress.
She came undone with a shuddering cry.
Lucas covered her mouth with his, sucking in the lush, liquid sound of her climax.
She clutched weakly at his shoulders. Only the weight of his body holding her hard to the edge of the counter kept her from slipping to the floor. With her hair loosened, her lips lush with his kisses, she looked wildly, wantonly, womanly…
Wonderful.
He held her close, allowing her heartbeat to come back to normal before attempting to speak. Perhaps in a moment he would think of a clever quip, but for now he was bereft of words. Strangely enough, he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say.
“Mama?” The silence was suddenly broken by a knock on the door. “May I come in? Is Lord Hadley here?”
In an instant, the dreamy glow was gone from Ciara’s eyes, replaced by a flare of fear. “Oh, dear God.” Slumping against the counter, she looked around in a blind panic.
“Aye, lad. Give me just a moment—I’m finishing up the last part of my lesson.” Lucas quickly helped her shake out her skirts into place and then tugged his coat in place to hide his arousal. After running a hand through his hair, he hurried to the door. It took several tries for his fumbling fingers to work the latch open.
“What a fine afternoon, lad,” he said with a forced heartiness. “I’ve been cooped up here long enough. What say you to getting some fresh air? Shall we practice our hitting skills?”
To his relief, the boy was too delighted with the suggestion to notice that anything was amiss. “Hooray! I’ll fetch the bat and ball, sir!”
“Excellent, excellent! I’ll meet you in the garden.” He glanced back at Ciara, who had already begun sweeping up the powdered pigments that had spilled to the floor.
She didn’t look up.
Lucas hesitated for a fraction, then turned and quietly closed the door.
Chapter Eighteen
