And how did she feel?
She shivered again, gooseflesh rising on her skin despite the warm evening air.
“You really shouldn’t be out here alone, you know,” said a deep, smooth voice from behind her.
She spun around and found Rupert standing in the shadows.
Her pulse slowed, but not much.
Slowly, he walked forward. “Selkirk ought to have escorted you back inside, even if the two of you did have words.”
“How do you know we had words? Were you listening?” she added, aghast.
“I didn’t need to. The way he stalked off spoke volumes. He looked sorely disappointed.”
“So you were watching?”
He shrugged. “I agreed to give you privacy—I didn’t say how much. Don’t worry, I only returned in time to see the last. Neither of you looked terribly cozy.”
She linked her hands together again. “We weren’t, not that it is any of your business.”
“Oh, I think it is very much my business, particularly given what happened between us this afternoon. I presume you refused his suit.”
“So you were listening,” she accused.
“No. I just know that if he’d made you an improper proposal, rather than a marriage proposal, he would not have looked so bitter. He would just have taken it in his stride and tried importuning you again later.”
“Oh, you’re impossible.”
“But I am right, am I not?”
Her silence was her answer.
“You aren’t sorry, are you?” he asked after a moment.
“About what?”
“Turning him down. It was the correct decision. You can do far better than a lowly baron with an impoverished estate.”
“I didn’t refuse him because of those things. Material considerations do not matter to me.”
“If they do not, then you are even more foolish than I imagined.”
She fixed him with a hard look. “It is not foolish to wish for affection in a marital relationship. Love ought to have something to do with such things.”
“Perhaps, but it so rarely does.”
“Your sister married for love and is blissfully happy. And our friend Mercedes—she adores her Scotsman, even if they do live in the hinterlands. Love is not an impossible thing.”
“If you believe that, then why have you given up on finding it?”
“Who says I have given up?”
“If you had not,” he said darkly, “you wouldn’t be seeking a lover.”
Reaching out, he pulled one of her hands free and enfolded it inside his. “So, are you still seeking a man to take to your bed, or have you had second thoughts and changed your mind?”
She met his gaze, his eyes blue even in the dim light. “No, I have not changed my mind.”
Why did her voice sound so husky?
“Then have you decided about us?” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm that sent a few hundred butterflies fluttering through her stomach. “Will you be my lover?”
Would she? She knew the time had come to choose. And yet something inside her still wasn’t certain.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Is it just to keep me out of trouble or is there something else?”
Her heart thudded in her chest, afraid to hear his answer, knowing he would not lie.
“You are a handful, no doubt about it.” He curved his arm around her waist and pulled her nearer. “But it is more. Far, far more. I want you, Ariadne. And I want you to want me too. Say yes.”
She trembled and arched up on her toes to meet his kiss. “Yes.”
Chapter Eight
Ariadne closed her eyes and let herself fall, tumbling down into the dark, sensual depths of his kiss. She breathed him in—starch and spice and clean, healthy male. He tasted like wine and sin, his lips firm but smooth, almost silken. And warm, deliciously so.
“Open up,” he whispered against her trembling mouth.
She slid her arms around his neck and obeyed, parting her lips to let him claim her more deeply, ready to let him teach her all the forbidden things she so desperately longed to learn.
Her heart pounded, thrumming in her chest and even, it seemed, in her ears. She shivered with pleasure, her body arching instinctively closer to his. He gathered her nearer, pressing her against the hard planes of his silk-covered chest.
She had never really noticed how tall he was until now. As she stood in his arms, her head reached barely past his shoulders. He settled her more securely inside his powerful embrace and kissed her harder, bending so he could ravish her mouth with a thoroughness that left her dizzy.
She gasped as he caressed the length of her spine with a slow, tantalizing glide, then gasped again when he reached the curve of her buttocks and cupped her there. She shuddered, wild heat and raw chills chasing over her skin. Mercy, if he could make her feel like this fully clothed on a terrace, just imagine the wonders he would surely be able to perform in the privacy of a bedchamber.
The thought had her quivering inside.
He kissed her neck, inviting her to arch back over his arm so he could have freer access. Utterly lost, she allowed the intimacy, a soft purr reverberating low in her throat.
She felt him smile before he kissed his way up to her earlobe and caught the nub between his teeth. He gave a tiny nip.
Her eyes popped open and she moaned.
But instead of kissing her again, he straightened up.
She blinked, disappointed, and then reached to pull him back down again.
Gently, he resisted. “I think we’ve gone far enough tonight. It wouldn’t do to let matters get out of hand and be caught here together.”
No, she supposed it would not. Still, she would have liked another kiss or two. But she nodded anyway and let him ease away.
“What’s next, then?” she asked with a breathless hitch to her voice. “Will I see you later tonight? Will you . . . come to my room?”
His eyes widened momentarily; then he smiled. “You are eager, aren’t you?”
Her pulse picked up speed again as she waited for his answer.
He skimmed his thumb lightly over the crest of her cheekbone, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “I can see that having an affair with you is going to be anything but ordinary. But no, I will not come to you tonight.”
Her shoulders sank a little, revealing her disappointment.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll begin soon. I find it’s wise not to rush into these things too quickly. Anticipation, after all,” he added in a velvet voice, “only enlivens the game.”
Warm tingles spread through her chest and down low into her belly. Now that the decision was made to take him as her lover, she wanted to begin, especially after his kisses this afternoon and here now this evening. But in this matter, even she had to admit that Rupert was the experienced one. The teacher, if you will.
Then again, that didn’t mean she had lost her independent streak or her determination. She was still in charge of her own decisions, her own destiny.
“If you insist, Your Highness. Just don’t delay too long,” she challenged, “else I grow bored.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, you won’t be bored. You have my word on that.”
Another shiver raced through her because when Rupert gave his word, he never broke it.
“Allow me to escort you back inside,” he said, offering his arm. “It won’t do for you to be missed.”
Laying her hand on his sleeve, she let him lead her back into the noise and bright candlelight of the party.
• • •
“Will there be anything further this evening, Your Royal Highness?”
Rupert glanced across the dressing room to where his valet waited with polite attentiveness. “No, that will be all, thank you, Becker.”
“Good night, sir.”
“Yes, good night.”
The servant let himself out, the door closing almost soundlessly at his back.
> Tightening the tie on his dark blue silk dressing gown, Rupert strode through the connecting door that led to a sitting room and his bedchamber beyond. He stopped next to a small table where a cut-crystal decanter filled with brandy and a pair of glasses were arranged on a silver tray.
Unstoppering the decanter, he poured an inch of brandy into a snifter, then carried the drink across to a comfortable armchair that was positioned at an angle near the unlighted fireplace. A leather-bound book waited on a narrow side table, left there from his reading the previous evening.
Setting his drink down on the table, he took a seat, then picked up his book. He opened it to the marked page and began to read, taking an idle swallow of brandy as he did. But after only two paragraphs, his thoughts began to wander.
Will you come to my room tonight?
Ariadne’s words, spoken in her melodious contralto, echoed through his mind and whispered like satin over his senses. His fingers tightened against the edges of the book, a slow, warm arousal heating his blood. It would be easy, too easy, to go down the hall to her room. A little stealth, a quiet knock, and she would let him in; he knew that much without hesitation.
But now was not the right time, however much his body might assure him otherwise. This affair that he’d agreed to begin needed to be handled with care. She craved passion, but even more, he knew, what she needed most was to be seduced. Well and thoroughly seduced so that her usual defenses gave way beneath the force of her desire.
Ariadne was a strong-willed woman. Actually she was one of the strongest-willed people—man or woman—that he had ever met. Despite her stubborn insistence that she wanted to explore the sexual side of her nature, she had no true notion of what would bring her real pleasure. Had she chosen some other man to take to her bed, she would surely have ended up disappointed. He said that not out of hubris on his part, but because he knew her too well. She wouldn’t let her guard down easily, no matter how much she might believe otherwise. She trusted few people, and trust was an essential ingredient to pleasure.
That and surrender.
She would have to learn to surrender, and he had to admit that he relished the opportunity to be the one who was there to watch her let go.
He groaned and tossed back a healthy swallow of brandy.
Honestly, he was mad. He should never have agreed to this folly. Hell, he’d been the one to suggest it.
But she was determined to ruin herself, so he’d talked himself into believing it was the wisest choice.
And it was.
Anyone else would have used her, then cast her cruelly aside, leaving her abandoned and likely humiliated. She thought those things couldn’t happen to her, that she could weather such storms, that she could be infamous and live without feeling shame. But she had a softer heart than she let on. Headstrong as she might be, she did not deserve to be crushed and embittered.
He would see to it that she enjoyed their affair and came out unscathed at its inevitable end.
Really, when he thought about it in such terms, he was doing a noble thing.
Hah!
What a fraud he was.
Just admit it.
You want her.
He drank more brandy and tried not to think about Ariadne in her bedroom only just down the corridor. Forced himself not to imagine her lying against the sheets, her fiery hair spread like a molten river over her pillows, her nightgown bunched against her milky white thighs.
Groaning under his breath, he resumed his reading.
But it was a long time before any of the words actually made sense.
Chapter Nine
Ariadne covered a yawn with a hand as she walked into the breakfast room the following morning. Thanks to Rupert she hadn’t slept well—again. She’d spent the night tossing and turning beneath the sheets, her dreams filled with memories of their kisses and his promise of more to come. Part of her had waited all night, dosing off and on, in hopes that he would change his mind and come to her bedroom after all.
She’d awakened a few hours later, as morning light crept around the velvet curtains, surprised to realize she’d slept at all. Tired and irritable, she’d flung aside the bedclothes and padded barefoot into the adjoining bathing chamber.
After she took a warm bath and drank the cup of hot tea her maid brought, her spirits improved greatly, even though her weariness lingered on.
Attired now in a morning dress of spotted green muslin, with her hair pinned in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, she stepped into the breakfast room, only to stop short.
Emma and Dominic were seated at opposite ends of the breakfast table as usual, talking quietly. But this morning there was one other individual who almost never joined them. In fact, she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had.
Her pulse gave an annoying little stutter as she looked across at Rupert’s bold patrician features, his hair gleaming the color of ripe wheat in the morning sunshine. He lifted his coffee cup just then and took a sip, his midnight blue eyes moving to meet hers over the rim.
“Oh, good morning,” Emma chimed in a cheery voice, taking notice of her.
Ariadne entered the room. “Good morning.”
Nick greeted her as well, but Rupert just drank more coffee, then set his china cup into its saucer.
“Look who decided to join us this morning,” Emma continued, casting a speaking glance at her brother.
Ariadne met Rupert’s gaze again, careful to keep her own expression impassive. “Hmm, so I see.”
Emma stirred her tea. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when he came in. How long has it been since you joined us for anything other than dinner, Rupert?”
He leaned back, taking a moment to consider. “Truly, I cannot recall. Yet somehow this morning seemed like an excellent opportunity to correct my errant behavior.”
A half smile curved his lips, his eyes gleaming in a way that reminded Ariadne of the night just past. Warmth crept over her skin and she turned away abruptly. It wouldn’t do to let Emma notice anything amiss—or at least anything more than she’d already noticed was amiss. Keeping this from Emma was going to be harder than she’d imagined, particularly if Rupert continued acting out of character.
Honestly, what does he think he is doing? He was the one, after all, who was so emphatic about keeping their affair a secret. Obviously he didn’t have a proper sense of caution. Then again, maybe he’d taken a blow to the head last night, sometime between leaving the party and arriving at the breakfast table? she speculated with a bit of wry humor.
Deciding that keeping herself occupied was the best strategy for now, she crossed to the buffet and took a plate out of the warmer. She lifted the lid off the first silver chafing dish, only to quickly put it back.
Steak and kidney pie.
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. She detested offal of any kind—heart, liver, kidneys, pancreas—organ meats always sent her appetite scurrying away. She didn’t understand why anyone wanted to eat such things. Although she had to admit that in her youth, she’d been subjected to worse fare, such as pickled fish served in a variety of brines and sauces.
It was bad enough being subjected to such ghastly dishes in the evening, but for breakfast . . .
She gave another inward grimace.
“The blood sausage is quite delicious,” said a smooth, deep voice beside her. “May I offer you a serving?”
She startled. How had Rupert crept up on her without her being aware? She hadn’t even heard him approach.
She shot him a withering look. “No. You know I detest such fare.”
“Kippers, then?” he inquired blithely, even though she could see the evil glint in his eyes. “I am certain you’ll want two or three at the very least.”
“I don’t want any,” she said quietly, “as well you know. Are you deliberately trying to annoy me this morning?”
“I am only trying to shake you out of your nerves. You’re tense as a fox in a ring full of
hounds. If you keep this up, my sister will be interrogating you until you break.”
She resisted the urge to turn around and see if Emma was indeed watching them. “Well, she’s bound to wonder regardless, since you suddenly decided to grace us with your presence this morning. What were you thinking?”
“Actually, I decided it would be easier in future if we are openly seen to have laid aside the old gauntlet between us. A better rapport seems wise under the circumstances, particularly since we will be spending a great deal more time in each other’s company.”
Her brows drew close and she lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “I cannot see why that should be necessary. Nothing has to change between us except . . . well, you know.”
His lips twisted sardonically. “Ah, so you just want me to sneak into your room at night, have my way with you, and then leave, hmm?”
She held back a gasp. “Well, not precisely, but something close. We hardly need to live in each other’s pockets, I should think.”
“I’ve found that taking a lover is far more enjoyable when it’s about more than sex. Which I would be happy to teach you if you would but follow my direction.”
Before she could open her mouth to debate the point, he lifted the lid off another chafing dish. “The ham is very good,” he said in a carrying voice. “Allow me to cut you a slice.”
Aware that they had been whispering together far too long, she held out her plate and waited for him to carve.
“And a scone as well,” he suggested, indicating a cloth-covered basket nearby.
Resigned, she took a scone.
“Eggs?” he inquired, after he had laid the ham on her plate.
Her lips tightened since she knew she would never be able to eat half the food he was insisting she take.
He laughed and spooned a generous helping of golden scrambled eggs next to the rest of her meal.
The Trouble With Princesses Page 8
