MINERVA thought she must be mad to still be here, to not have removed herself from this room, this man, as soon as she realized that he wanted more from her than a romp between the sheets. On the other hand, was he truly asking for something so awful when she was willing to give him her innocence, her naïveté? An incredible intimacy was going to pass between them, and she was going to balk at a photograph? And yet to think of herself captured for all eternity … He might claim no one else would see it, but how could she be sure? How had the past six years managed to turn her into such a doubting Thomas, to not trust a man’s word?
His hand was so large, so warm, so incredibly gentle as though he feared crushing her bones. No one ever made her feel delicate. She’d been raised to stand up for herself, to know that she was beneath no one. Yet she wanted to be beneath him.
His passion for the human body was evident when he spoke of its beauty. She’d never in her life been made to feel beautiful. At least not by anyone outside the family. She was her father’s precious daughter, could do no wrong. But it wasn’t the same as being looked upon with appreciation by someone who was no relation at all.
She gave a nod, not much of one, but still he saw it, and his mouth formed a slow smile that seemed to target the very core of her womanhood. He patted his knee to alert her that he was going to place her foot there. Of its own accord to balance her, her hand went to his shoulder, to his strong, broad, sturdy shoulder. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He was an adventurer. He’d climbed mountains, explored pyramids, danced among natives. His skin was darkened by the sun.
That became apparent when his hand rested next to her pale foot. Earth beside snow, good soil beside white sands. Her toes wiggled and curled against his rock-solid thigh. Was there any aspect of this man that wasn’t firm? She imagined how it might feel to run her hands over him, to test every muscle, to find no part of him that wasn’t toned to perfection.
“Your foot is flawless,” he said in a reverent voice.
“Not certain that’s something to brag about.”
He looked up at her, and she found herself wishing for more light so she could see the blue of his eyes. “You have a fine arch, exquisite toes. The lines are good, giving you a most attractive ankle.”
“Which you wish to photograph.”
“Yes.” His hand moved up, his other joined it, to circle her ankle and to ease up toward her calf.
If she allowed him to bed her, his hand would be traveling much higher, would travel all over her. Whatever had possessed her to think she could be comfortable with a man in a situation such as this? Grace had been correct, blast her. The intimacy was too much.
She jerked her foot free, stepped back. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I’m not so bold after all.”
He unfolded his body in a way that was at once predatory, yet unthreatening. “Is this your first time alone with a man?”
She released a small scoff. “It’s that obvious, is it?”
He chuckled low, but there was no joy in the sound. Rather, it seemed to echo with disappointment. “I should have guessed.” Then his gaze homed in on her, sharp and demanding. “Why?”
“Why is it obvious?”
“No, why are you looking to be deflowered in a place of sinners by a man you—” He scoffed. “I was going to say hardly know, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. Who are you, Lady V, that this would be your recourse?”
Confessing to Grace was one thing. To bare her soul, her frustrations to this man who could have any woman he wanted, was beyond the pale. “Because I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. No one faults men for exploring their desires. Why should women not have the same consideration?”
“Because they are so much better than us.”
“Yet the carnal act equalizes us, don’t you think?”
“You are a woman of remarkable notions.”
She released a quick breath of air in frustration. “You talk about how beautiful the body is and how we shouldn’t hide it away. Why should what passes between a man and a woman be shrouded in whispers and only talked about in dark corners? Why must women repress their natural urges?”
Oh, she should be quiet now. He was studying her like she’d said something both profound and stupid.
“Do you have urges?” he asked quietly.
“Of course I do. And I don’t believe it’s wrong to have them. It’s why I’m here.”
He trailed the knuckle of his forefinger along her chin, and she almost removed the mask so he could outline the curve of her cheek.
“If I were any other man, I’d assuage your nervousness and have you on your back in a trice. Unfortunately for us both, I don’t bed virgins.”
Profound disappointment slammed into her. She should have taken comfort from the regret in his voice. Instead, she was somewhat cross. Was even her virginity to be held against her? “Why?”
“Because I prefer it hard and rough. I want women screaming from pleasure, not pain. A woman experiences discomfort the first time. You deserve someone who has a bit more patience. As a matter of fact, it should be someone who has a care for you, someone who would place your pleasures above his own. It should be someone you love; even if that love doesn’t last past the coupling, it should exist beforehand.”
“Your first time, did you love her?” She held up her hand to stay whatever response he might offer. “My apologies. It’s not my business.”
His eyes grew warm, his smile became one of fond remembrance. “I was madly in love with her, for an entire fortnight. A farmer’s daughter, with hair the color of wheat and eyes the shade of a new leaf in spring. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to please her. Nothing she wouldn’t do to please me. The moon was full the night she introduced me to the pleasures of a woman’s body. There was a new moon the night I discovered her in the hayloft doing the same for another fellow. But still, I can’t look at a full moon without thinking of long limbs, warm flesh, and the fragrance of raw sex. The first time happens only once, Lady V. Be a little in love with him.”
Dear God, she thought she might have fallen a bit in love right then. Just a little. She couldn’t help looking over at the bed with a touch of longing.
“Gra—” She stopped. No real names, nothing to give away her identity. “My friend tried to explain to me why coming here was such an awful idea. She wasn’t nearly as eloquent as you.”
“Hardly eloquent.” He returned to the sofa and begun tugging on his boots. “I’ll escort you to your carriage.”
“I took a hansom. Less chance of my adventures being discovered that way.”
He stood. “I’ll have my driver give you a lift home.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m not going to have you wandering the streets searching for a cab this time of night, and I’m too indolent to go searching with you.”
“My anonymity will be compromised.”
“I’ll have my driver swear an oath not to tell me where he took you.” He approached her. “I may be a rogue, but I respect the purpose of this place. Your secrets are safe with me.”
It was probably foolish, but she believed him. “What about your camera equipment?”
“I’ll return for it after I’ve seen you safely delivered from here.”
She strolled to the door, very much aware of his footsteps echoing behind her. She turned the key in the lock, wrapped her hand around the knob, stared at the dark wood—
“I don’t suppose you would at least kiss me?” She despised that she’d been reduced to pleading but to leave with nothing at all after all the planning, preparation, and risk seemed doubly unfair.
“Have you never been kissed?”
Mortification swamped her, but it was easier knowing that he had no idea who she was or how old or how unappealing. “Never.”
She was aware of him moving nearer, the heat of his body radiating from him, enveloping her. Swallowing hard, she was on the verge of turning around when his mouth cam
e to rest at the nape of her neck. She barely recalled that she’d wanted his lips on hers, as she became aware of dewy moisture gathering in a small circle on her skin, warmth seeping into her muscles and bones, traveling slowly yet ever so intensely through her, a delicious shiver passing in its wake. If he could create such sensations with only his mouth—
What a fool she was to have changed her mind. How ridiculous she would appear if she changed it once again. But even if she did alter her course, he wouldn’t be the one to satisfy the cravings he was stirring to life. She was still a virgin, not at all his preference.
His hand came around, his fingers brushing over her chin but settling in to turn her face back slightly, then his mouth blanketed hers with unerring accuracy. His other hand cradled the back of her head while his tongue outlined her lips, before urging them to part. He took the kiss deep, so deep, exploring her mouth as she imagined he’d explored a good deal of the world, slowly, thoroughly, giving his undivided attention to every minute detail. He savored. He worshipped.
His guttural groan echoed between them, and she felt it rumbling through his chest, pressed against her back. Moaning, she was astounded by the intimacy of this prelude to something far more primitive. This man took; he gave no quarter. In bed, he would have conquered her, and yet she could not help but believe that she would have come away the conqueror.
She almost wept with longing when he drew back and lightly stroked his thumb over her tingling, swollen, and damp lips. Too many shadows prevented her from reading his eyes, his expression.
“You make me regret that I have an aversion to virgins,” he said, his voice a low thrum that skittered through her.
“You make me regret that I turned cowardly.”
“Not cowardly. You ensured you don’t awaken in the morning with misgivings.”
She questioned if it were possible for a woman to awaken with anything other than triumph after being with him. Reaching past her, he opened the door. “Let’s get a move on, shall we, before we both change our minds?”
She wasn’t convinced that would be such a bad thing. He escorted her to the changing room. When a maid finished helping her dress, Minerva found him waiting in the hallway, his back to the wall, his gaze distant, and she wondered where his thoughts had taken him. Still wearing her mask, she was grateful that he would never know the identity of the woman who had made a fool of herself this evening.
Offering his arm, he led her out to the street where carriages were lined up. They reached the coach bearing his ducal crest. A footman and a driver were standing near the horses. They both came to attention.
“Wilkins, you’ll be taking the lady home. She’s going to give you her address. Should either of you gentlemen ever tell me or anyone where you delivered her, I shall cut out your tongue.” With an ironic twist of his lips, he looked at Minerva. “Sufficient to guard your identity?”
Even knowing it was no doubt an idle threat, and he’d simply sack the man, she said, “Yes, thank you.” She whispered her address to the driver. The footman opened the door. Ashebury handed her up.
“Good night, my lady.”
She paused in settling onto the seat. “How do you know I’m a lady?” Although she wasn’t one who should be addressed as such. Her mother was the daughter of a duke, but her father was a commoner.
“The way you hold yourself, the way you move, the way you speak. And the fact that you came here, hoping for something more than a common tupping. I hope at some point you find what you’re searching for.”
Strange how she was no longer certain that she knew precisely what it was. “I hope you get your photograph. I suppose you’ll go inside and find a willing lady.”
Slowly he shook his head. “No. You were what I wanted tonight. I never settle for substitutes.”
He slammed the door shut. With a jerk, the coach took off. Minerva removed her mask, set it on her lap, and leaned back into the plush padding of the carriage.
You were what I wanted tonight.
She wondered if he would have said the same if he’d known who she was.
Chapter 4
SHE smelled of verbena.
Lounging in a chair before the fireplace in his library long past midnight, sipping his scotch, Ashe was aware of her fragrance lingering on his fingers, her taste haunting his palate. He couldn’t determine why he’d let her go so easily, why’d he’d not worked harder to convince her to pose for him, why he’d turned away the opportunity to bed her. Granted, he’d never taken a woman’s virginity. He’d spoken true regarding his aversion to deflowering a woman, but going against his preferences seemed a small price to pay in order to uncover the secrets of such an intriguing woman.
She’d been at the Nightingale Club for more than simply determining what all the fuss was about. Something more compelling had driven her there, just as he was driven by the ghosts of his past. While he’d not been on the railway car, he might as well have been, because he felt as though he’d died alongside his parents in the fiery aftermath of the trains colliding. When they were departing for the railway station, he’d been so angry with them for leaving him yet again, that he’d shouted at their retreating backs that he hated them. His nanny had scolded him, rapped his knuckles with her ruler, and when he was still moping about by nightfall, had sent him to bed without his supper.
It was one of the last punishments he ever received.
The Marquess of Marsden seldom punished. Wandering the hallways like a wraith, he’d barely known they were there. The boys had been allowed to roam around as they pleased. The butler was too old to be much of a disciplinarian. The cook prepared meals, often containing more sweets than nourishment because they were “poor orphaned lads.” If they hadn’t spent so much time running over the moors, they’d have probably become little tubby lads who could do no more than roll over the grounds. But they had run wild, climbing trees, scrambling over ruins, and breaking more than one bone each. Ashe had once walked with a broken ankle to the nearby village to have a physician patch him up. No one could claim that they weren’t hardy although a good many had declared them uncivilized. They had a series of schoolmasters who attempted to reform them, but they were beyond reforming.
Being familiar with how easily and swiftly death could come to call, they wanted to get as much out of life as they could. So they did as they pleased.
And it would have pleased him to have bedded tonight’s mysterious woman. To have captured more than a glimpse of ankle and calf. To have focused his lens on her—
He heard a thud and rattle in the hallway as though someone had knocked into a table, followed quickly by a deep-voiced apology, probably to the object itself as there were no servants wandering the residence this time of night. Looking toward the door, he watched as Edward Alcott stumbled into the room.
“There you are,” Edward announced. “I’ve been looking for you. I’m in need of lodgings. My brother’s blasted wife has kicked me out.”
He staggered to the table housing spirits, and, with an awkward clumsiness that threatened to upend more than one decanter, poured himself a drink. “She claims I smell like a distillery, doesn’t approve of the hours I keep, and thinks I’m a bad influence.”
“Julia seems to have pegged you quite accurately.”
With a scowl, Edward dropped into the chair opposite Ashe’s. “That may be, but still I don’t know what Grey sees in that beastly woman. She’s an utter nag, no fun whatsoever. She won’t even let him go on adventures with us.”
“Why would you want him to? The two of you only argue when you’re together.” They were constantly at each other. Ashe and Locksley had learned to ignore them, not to interfere in all their little spats. Eventually, the brothers would resolve whatever the issue was and move on to another.
“Because he’s my brother.”
The simple statement seemed to carry a wealth of power and truth behind it. Ashe had no siblings, although Edward, Grey, and Locke were as close to being his broth
ers as anyone could be and not be related by blood.
“Anyway,” Edward murmured, “I was hoping you could spare a bed for a few nights. If not, I’ll make do at the club.”
“You can stay here as long as you need. I’ve no plans for the guest rooms.”
“You’re a sport.” He settled back in the chair, sipped his scotch, then lifted his glass. “It’s good to be back in London. Plenty of scotch here, gaming hells, and women. Tonight, I indulged in all three. Think I shall do the same tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to Julia’s soiree?” The countess had wanted to host a celebration of their return.
“Of course I’ll be there, but it’s not going to go on all night now, is it? She’ll leave us with plenty of hours for mischief after. So what did you do this evening?”
“I went to the Nightingale.”
Edward grinned. “You do like your women classy.”
“I don’t know how classy a woman is if she’s married and searching for a lover.”
“They’re not all married. I’ve deflowered a couple.”
Ashe’s stomach clenched with the thought that maybe Lady V had returned—
“Not tonight.” He was surprised that he sounded as though he were growling.
Edward scoffed. “No, not tonight. Too many games have to be played there, ladies protected. This evening I wanted a woman with no reputation to defend. Had two of them actually. Sweet girls.”
“And you wonder why Julia finds you offensive?”
“The woman has no spirit of adventure. She is no doubt as boring in bed as she is out of it. I’m surprised Grey hasn’t taken on a mistress.”
Although they’d been married for a little over two years, it was unlikely the length of time would matter. “He loves her. Besides, he was never quite as wild as the rest of us.”
“He thought he had to be responsible, set an example for me.” Edward shrugged. “I’m glad to be the second son and not have responsibilities. Besides, as the younger brother, I’m to be indulged.”
Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) Page 5
