by Lavinia Kent
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the stage. Loud and staccato. And then a second set, lighter and more fluid.
She eased herself back into the shadow, sliding behind a hanging curtain.
Damnation. She could not be found here.
“Please wait, Colt. Please wait,” a high feminine voice called.
The loud steps echoed again, the distinct ring of boots. They strode about the edge of the stage. A cold, unmistakable voice filled the room, as clear as any actor’s monologue. “Really, Vanessa. I do not have time for this. I have said my piece and it is time for me to leave. You have made it very clear that we are not in agreement about the future.”
Her entire being froze. She knew that voice, had heard it whispering in her ear the night before.
The feminine voice persisted: “But, Colt, my sweet Colt, you know I never mean what I say. It’s merely my hot temper. Slow down a moment and I will make it up to you.”
This could not be happening. Colton could not be here. He could not be. There must be some mistake.
His voice sounded again. “I doubt that is possible.”
“Are you challenging me?” The mysterious Vanessa’s voice rose in flirtation.
“No.” That sounded very definite.
Even in that single word, there was no denying that it was Colton’s voice, but she had to see. She leaned forward, peeking out from behind the curtain. It was hard to see anything in the dim light.
Perhaps she should slip out now, before she knew for sure. If she didn’t know, then she could pretend it had never happened.
“Well, you still must give me a chance to persuade you. Perhaps a private performance, right here on the stage? I could practice my flute playing.”
Flute playing?
“Flutes are quite thin, I believe,” Colton’s voice answered.
“You know I didn’t mean that,” Vanessa answered. “I am quite aware that you are anything but thin—although perhaps the length is about right. Come, give me another chance.”
“I’ve already given you several extra chances.”
“And I’ve deserved every one. Let me show you how I deserve one more.”
“I really do not have the time, Vanessa. I was not joking.” But the footsteps moved back toward the center of the stage.
And suddenly she could see, dusty light falling from some half-covered window above. Long black boots. Fawn inexpressibles over firm thighs. A deep-navy tailcoat. Very nice. Broad shoulders. Dark wavy hair above angled features barely visible in the dim light. And the harsh planes of that face. She could not mistake that face.
Her already frozen stomach dropped. There could be no pretense, no mistake: Lord Colton—her Colton—stood center stage.
And then her heart stopped. It actually stopped. She could feel the break in the beat, the pain radiating through her.
And when it beat again, the agony only magnified, filling her, eating through her. Killing her.
Never in a million years would she have imagined this. He’d been courting her last night, flirting with her—he had kissed her for the first time, kissed her with all the answers she’d ever dreamed of—and now, now he was with…The woman, Vanessa, was naked, or at least nearly so. Only the thinnest of dressing gowns draped her body, long pale legs flashing with each step she took, large breasts pressing against the silk, working to be free.
And then in a blink she was naked, the robe falling in a puddle of silk behind her, her elegant pale body posing and arching. In one supple motion she slipped to her knees before Colton, her lips parting in clear invitation. “I really do need some practice, Coltie. Come let me give you my very best performance.”
“I’ve asked you not to call me that. I am not a puppy,” he stated flatly, but he did take a step toward her, stopping a mere handbreadth away.
Vanessa smiled, her hands rising to the band of Colton’s breeches. She caressed downward, causing him to jerk.
Angela wanted to close her eyes, to duck away, but she could not. She wanted to run crying from the hall, but she dared not. She wanted to scream, to yell, to release all the pain and hurt that filled her soul.
Vanessa slipped a hand inside the fold of Colton’s breeches, her smile growing.
Colton stood without moving.
The flap that covered him came loose.
Angela shut her eyes, unable to watch further.
Chapter 3
“I am leaving.” Colton’s voice was flat and measured. “Do not follow. Accept that we are done.”
Angela’s head lifted, bringing her back to the present, to the autumnal garden and the man who stood before her. The man she had thought loved her.
She swallowed, letting the pain of the memory fill her.
She could not fail again. Could not let him win again.
She pulled in a deep, deliberate breath, feeling her breast swell and press once again. The heat of his gaze hit her. He might not believe she would do this thing, but he did want it. Strength began to fill her. “I will do it. I will show you my breasts.” She raised her hands and placed them at the top of her gown, covering the rising swells.
“Then do,” he dared.
She could hear his lack of faith.
The gown presented more of a difficulty than she had expected. Her usual dresses were slightly looser, and it would have been a simple matter to push the bodice down and then lift her breasts out of her chemise. This dress was tighter, more fitted. She could not just push it down. Could she lift her breasts out? She didn’t think so. The neckline was low but not that low.
She trailed her fingers across the bare skin of her upper chest, pausing to trace the long line and hollow of her collarbone. His eyes followed.
An odd buzz began to fill her. There was a strange power in this. Colton was a good dozen feet away, and yet she could feel his heat as if he were next to her. She rested her fingers at the deep ruffle that brushed the top of her shoulder and ran all about the neckline. She pushed it down an inch. She could do this.
Colton stood, took a step forward, and then eased back.
She was aware of the draw of what she did but also his reluctance. If she were caught being indiscreet, he would undoubtedly fade in the darkness, leaving her alone to face the consequences.
Danger tingled through her. Alive. She felt so alive.
She pushed the ruffle down over her shoulder, baring it, feeling the brush of her own fingers against her hot skin.
Colton took another step forward, then with a sigh went and leaned again against the low wall rimming the terrace. He positioned his body to project relaxation and indifference, but with the light shining on him she could see the tension in his cheeks and shoulders. He was not half as indifferent as he wished to appear.
Do not hurry—slow and teasing. She could almost hear Ruby’s voice whispering in her ear. Pushing the ruffle lower, she stopped when it hung loose. Brushing her fingers across her chest, slowly, enjoying her own touch, she moved to the other side. The heavy silk was cool and sensuous beneath her fingers, and with slow precision she eased that side down as well. The high waist of the gown still kept it from slipping below her breasts, but that would not be hard to change.
She wrapped her arms about herself, pressing her breasts higher, the swell almost revealed but not quite.
His gaze burned into her, heating her, making strange little tingles run through her.
A soft breeze caressed her, and the scent of late-blooming roses filled the air, making her very aware that she was standing at the edge of the garden, only footsteps away from the milling crowd.
How much was she willing to risk for this man? For vengeance?
And why was it so exhilarating? Why did it make her want more? This was supposed to be about justice—why was she all a-tingle?
It had all seemed so easy mere minutes ago, and now she stood at a point of no escape.
She brought her hands together between her breasts and held them there for a moment, her heartbeat s
peeding, her arms still pressing up. Then slowly she separated them, cupping each breast, holding them out as if in offering.
She saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple moving in a swift jerk. His legs shifted and he crossed one over the other.
Did he feel it too, that tightness there, just at the apex of his thighs? She looked closer, trying to see in the dim light. Yes, he was definitely feeling a tightness, although perhaps slightly different from her own. Ruby had explained the male body to her, told her what to look for, but even so this was a bit startling.
She could actually see his cock—she repeated the forbidden word in her mind—move and grow. She couldn’t quite picture it without clothing, but it seemed to bear little relation to the Greek statues she’d sometimes caught peeks of.
Clearly sensing her glance, Colton rested against the wall, his eyes shifting down to his lap and then back to her. There was no mistaking the knowing smirk that marked his lips. He obviously saw her feelings mirrored on her face and must suspect just how unfamiliar she was with this whole situation. He was daring her to play his game, to swim from the shallows into the deep waters way over her head.
Well, he was in for a surprise. Angela had always been a strong swimmer.
And she never refused a dare—at least not until recently.
But that time was past. She had already determined not to be timid, not to be afraid.
Tilting her chin up slightly, she slipped the fingers of one hand under the ruffled neckline, and with great care she eased it slowly down, pausing only as it caught on the tip of her hard nipple. A pulse raced through her. She had not expected to feel pleasure in this—although Ruby had advised that the more she enjoyed it, the more Colton would. Apparently, a woman’s enjoyment always increased a man’s, or at least any man worth considering.
The skin of her upper curves was warm and soft, inviting. She brushed the darker edge of her nipple, feeling the rougher skin, the heightened sensation. She ran her finger across the tip, still hidden by her dress. Had it ever been so hard? She didn’t think so, not even when she’d been caught in a cold and windy rain.
For a moment she ignored him. She stared down at herself, admiring how the deep-red silk highlighted her pale skin. In the pastels she normally wore, she sometimes felt faded, but this dark shade made her almost glow, and the flush that was rapidly rising added an extra something. She let her finger graze her nipple again, let the shiver that ran through her show.
Glancing back at Colton, she met his gaze, felt the heat and power. It was like a jolt of lightning, that little shimmer that ran through one on a hot summer day when you reached out and touched something and then, ping, every hair was on end. There was no ping, but the sensation was there, that strange breathlessness and building anticipation.
“Push it down,” he commanded—there was no other possible word for that tone except “command.”
She swallowed and pushed the fabric down over her left nipple, baring the whole breast. The dress was tight enough about the waist that she could not push it farther, and it acted almost like a corset, pushing her breast up beyond all natural means.
The chill of the evening air was startling, and without thought her hand rose to cover herself, to warm herself.
“No, let me see.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she forced her fingers away, brought them down to her waist, although her right hand still cupped her covered breast.
His whole focus was on her bare breast now—his eyes dark and heavy, the lids half closed, but there was nothing sleepy or tired about the man. He was all intent, a wolf ready to pounce.
She curled her left hand into a fist, trying to keep back the urge to cover herself.
A loud laugh sounded from the ballroom and she jumped slightly, her fingers again longing to hide and cover.
“No,” he said again. “Now show me the other.”
Why was this one harder? It should have been easier. She’d done this once—why was it so difficult?
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the fabric down, experiencing the tingle as it brushed over the taut peak. She bit down on her lip harder as she positioned her dress, then forced both hands down to her sides.
Neither of them spoke. She stood and he leaned. His eyes traveled over her slowly and carefully, as if examining a piece of great art. It was almost like being touched: Every time his gaze moved, she could feel a little stroke, the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing against her flesh. Her already hard nipples grew tighter and tighter. It was almost painful—and yet also intensely enjoyable, the sensation moving through her to settle between her legs. She was damp there; she could feel it at the top of her thighs as the cool breeze swept by her, wrapping her full skirts against her and then causing them to dance in the wind. She shivered again, whether from cold or sensation she could not have said.
“Do you enjoy this?” he asked, his eyes focused on the rigid tips.
“I…” She actually didn’t know the answer, didn’t understand all the things she was feeling. She did know she was not ready to stop.
“Do you enjoy having a man stare at your bare breasts? At knowing he takes pleasure in it? Do you like the knowledge that at any moment somebody could come and catch you? Or that maybe eyes you do not see stare at you out of the dark?”
Somebody else could be out there? She hadn’t considered that. And yet it didn’t frighten her. If anything, the tingle between her legs grew greater. An unknown watcher. There was something almost erotic in the thought, no matter how wrong that seemed.
“You like that?”
“Yes.” She forced the words out. “Yes, I like it. I like all of it.”
A genuine smile played about his lips. Ruby was right. He did like it when she enjoyed. “I am glad you did not lie to me. I do not like lies.”
“I will always be honest.”
“That would be a first with a woman.”
She did not like the cynical note his voice took on. “I have never lied to you.” Although perhaps this current charade was nothing but a lie.
He did not answer her statement, but neither did he refute it. A slight shake of his head. “Play with your breasts for me. Let me see your pleasure.” The note of command was back.
Her hands actually shook as she brought them up and placed them over her breasts, her fingers almost icy. Play with herself? She didn’t know quite what that meant. “What would you like me to do?”
“Trace circles about your breasts, starting large and getting smaller as you near the tips. Pretend it is me touching you, my hands, my mouth. Imagine my tongue trailing over your flesh, lapping at you.”
It was hard to breathe. Slowly, carefully, she followed his direction. And it did feel good, so good. They were his hands; it was his mouth. She could almost feel the dampness of his breath, smell the smoke of his cheroot. Her breaths were shallow now, her fingers nearing the nipples.
“Now take your nipples between your fingers. Press tight. Roll them. Yes, just like that. Let me see your feelings on your face. Yes. Yes. Now squeeze tighter. Tighter. Make your nipples red, make them pout for me, make them beg for my lips, for my teeth.”
She pinched tight and then tighter, sensation racing between breasts and groin. She was beginning to pant, her whole body coiling, sensations she had never known coursing through her.
“Even tighter. Pinch them hard.”
“That hurts.”
“Do it for me,” he growled.
And she did. If this was what he needed, she would do it for him, just as she had promised. She would do anything to win this game. But it did sting. It did hurt. Yet the sting, the hurt, the pain, sped through her, heightening every sensation, making her whole body one big ache of need—making her want more and yet still more.
And she was not the only one feeling the need. She could see it in his every movement, his every breath, in the stiffness of his body. He wanted her. He wanted her badly.
She continued to squeeze, feeling the zing of
the pain.
She bit down on her lip, teeth sinking into tender flesh.
Colton stood, took a step forward.
Then stopped.
A current flowed between them, one over which she had no control.
“Let go,” he said. The words sounded torn from him.
Waiting a second, she released the rigid peaks. Blood rushed into them.
“God, you look so pretty, all red and swollen. You make me want to suck you, to nip you with my teeth. To feel your whole body tense at my touch.”
She could almost feel his touch. Her legs quivered and it was hard to stand still. What would happen if she walked toward him? Would he be able to resist? But what then? Despite the urges coursing through her, she must remember that they were in a garden and could be disturbed at any moment.
And she must remember that this was vengeance. Her vengeance.
She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder at the bright lights of the ball. What would someone see if they looked out the window? Could they see only dark, or could one tell from the back that her dress was lowered? The thought filled her with fear but also with something else, something deeper and harder to define.
The breeze suddenly gusted, causing her skirts to dance about her and the trees to whistle loudly.
She turned back to Colton—only he was no longer there. The terrace was empty of all but her and the blowing wind.
—
Colton stared hard at the back wall of the small garden. London gardens were all the same: They gave the illusion of vast space until you hit the wall and realized that you were only feet away from the busy streets. If Angela had bothered to follow him, she would have had no trouble.
Hell, it would have been impossible not to find him. Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, he contemplated climbing the wall. His jacket and breeches were certainly not designed for such an activity, and he’d probably scratch the polished leather of his slippers. Not that either of these factors actually worried him. Anders would be irate, but Colton had never been one to let his valet dictate his decisions. He was not a man to run from a fight.
So why was he standing here trying to puzzle out the best way to escape a ball?
