Caught up in the moment, she raised her hands to his black, curling hair, which was thick and silky. In response, his kiss only deepened; with one hand behind her nape, he held her head still so he could drink more fully of her.
He kissed like a possessive lover—or what she imagined a possessive lover to be, arousing with languorous strokes of his tongue, slowly driving, deliciously plundering. A whisper of a sigh escaped Kate. Compared to Deverill, she was an utter novice at passion, and she had no defenses against him. The sinful thrill of being captured against his hard, male body sent another hot ripple of weakness surging through her. The beguiling friction of his chest against her breasts only made her want more.
The kiss turned endless. Emotions whirled and clashed within Kate, leaving her giddy. Her head swam with drugged pleasure, her body trembled.
She was only vaguely aware of his hand molding her breast beneath the jacket of her riding habit. Shivering with aroused excitement, she gave a helpless moan and strained against his palm as he caressed the swelling mound above the confines of her corset. She could feel her nipples peak to a tingling ache—a result he seemed determined to encourage.
Still holding her entranced with his mouth, Deverill opened the front buttons of her jacket, then moved his lips lower, following the path his hand had taken.
When he tongued her breast through her shirtfront and chemise, the sweet shock of it stopped her breath. Kate inhaled sharply as a tremor shook her. And when he suckled her nipple through the fabric, she whimpered and arched against his mouth.
It was the most incredible sensation. Wicked, marvelous, irresistible. Fire streaked through her body, flooding her veins with shuddering heat. Deverill was taking full advantage of her weakness for him, leaving her dazed and swooning.
It was only when his hand moved lower, down over her skirts, between her thighs, that Kate came to her senses and realized she was sprawled inelegantly on the sofa beneath him while he pleasured her breasts.
“Deverill…” she rasped. “You must…stop.”
“Why?”
“Someone could enter…and see us.”
“So?”
“So, this is madness.”
“Yes, sweet madness….”
Sliding her arms between them, she pressed her hands hard against his chest. “I won’t be your plaything!”
Her ragged declaration made Deverill pause and lift his head. “Making you my plaything is furthest from my intentions.”
Swallowing against the dryness in her throat, Kate found her voice, albeit a weak one. “Your intentions are beside the point. I don’t need you to show me pleasure or prove your mastery over me.”
Summoning all her willpower, she pushed at him in an effort to extricate herself from his embrace.
To her vast relief, Deverill eased his body off hers and sat up. Fighting the urge to scramble off the sofa, safely out of reach, she also sat up, though more unsteadily, and turned her back to him in order to adjust her bodice.
It was impossible to act as if she hadn’t just felt a double lightning bolt annihilating her senses, or to disguise her shamefully husky voice. Yet she was proud that she managed to feign a tiny measure of aplomb when she said in a disgusted tone, “For a man who claims to be an expert lover, you have a decided lack of control.”
“Perhaps I have been at sea too long,” he murmured in a similarly husky voice.
“So you use your long voyage to excuse your randiness?”
“I could blame my randiness on your delectable charms.”
Taking a calming breath, Kate turned to face him. “When I agreed to tutor you, I did not expect to be assaulted.”
For a moment Deverill simply studied her. Then he gave a soft chuckle, amusement warring with irony in his eyes.
His nonchalance raised her hackles. “You are not taking this bride search seriously, Deverill!”
“I assure you, I am serious.”
“Then if you wish me to continue, you must make more of an effort.”
“I will try to do better.”
She didn’t trust his mild reply. “ ‘Better’ is not good enough. You will promise to behave as a gentleman, not a heathen pirate.”
“If you insist.”
“I do insist.”
Bending, Kate gathered her list, which had fallen unheeded to the floor. “What lunacy seized you?” she muttered before adding in warning, “It will never do for you to be this forward with a prospective bride. You could find yourself in a compromising position, and then you would be forced to marry her.”
“Have no fear, princess. I would never be so forward with anyone else.”
“I should hope not.” Not knowing whether to be pleased or disturbed by his reply, Kate tore her gaze from his and returned her focus to her list of marital candidates.
This had to stop! she reprimanded herself. Somehow, some way, she needed to conquer the sensual power Deverill wielded over her, but thus far she had been entirely unsuccessful.
She was very glad they would be among a large crowd tonight. And the next time she was required to meet alone with Deverill, she would insist that it not be here in her drawing room, but some other, less private setting where she wouldn’t be so damned tempted to surrender to him.
Watching Kate at the ridotto that evening, Brandon found it hard to focus on the task of interviewing bridal candidates, since he kept remembering the pleasure he’d experienced that morning. Having Kate beneath him—kissing her, fondling her—had left him hard and aching and ready to burst.
Blowing out a breath, he forcibly turned his attention to the gala. He had to admire how she’d orchestrated his debut down to the smallest detail. The Wildes had picked him up in their carriage so that he could be seen arriving with Lord and Lady Beaufort. And once there, Kate made certain he was the center of attention while watching over him protectively.
It was a gay affair, where some fifty nobles and gentry had gathered for music and dancing, a lavish entertainment that mimicked the opulent balls in Venice during the last century. Many of the guests were masked, but Kate had only permitted him a demi-mask—to give him a mysterious air without entirely concealing his features, she said, the better to tempt prospective brides.
In her own demi-mask and gold-threaded, emerald satin ball gown, Kate was pure temptation herself. If her clan navigated the glittering world of high society with ease, she was the brightest star. Her vivid coloring—fiery hair, wide expressive eyes, creamy flawless skin—set her apart from her peers. Yet those peers seemed to flock around her as if to gain some of her lively essence by sheer proximity.
An hour into the evening, they were alone long enough for Brandon to compliment her on her triumph. “It is a pleasure observing the dashing Lady Katharine in action, with all of London at her feet.”
She looked at him with slightly amused green eyes. “The ladies think you are dashing yourself. As I predicted, my acquaintances are clamoring for an introduction.”
As for her matchmaking strategy, he met the two most extreme candidates on her list, one meek, one covetous and calculating. The poor meek girl—Miss Smythe—was so tongue-tied, she couldn’t form a coherent reply to his simple greeting. Her face turned bright red, and when Kate tried to put her at ease, she finally stammered an apology, flashed a grateful look at Lady Katharine for her kindness, then fled the scene in mortification.
In another incident with a middle-aged matron who apparently was his chief detractor, Kate, rather than showing kindness, put the woman in her place with a sweetly cutting reprimand.
When later she found another private moment with him to discuss his progress, she justified her response in a tart tone. “That biddy is a terrible gossip, and I won’t have her denigrating you.”
“No, only you are permitted to denigrate me,” Brandon remarked.
She gave a rueful smile. “Yes, but never in public in front of witnesses.”
“I was touched that you came to my defense like a fierce
mother tigress.”
“I feel responsible for your success,” she said. “So what is your opinion of Miss Smythe and Miss Armitage?”
“I didn’t care for either one.”
Her smile turned victorious. “I regret saying I told you so.”
“No, you don’t.”
Kate laughed, a sound rich in pleasure. “Miss Armitage is more your style. She has already set her cap for you. It should be amusing to watch you elude her clutches.”
Still later, after supper, he found himself watching Kate from a distance as she stood on the sidelines of the dance floor, apparently bantering with a tall, dark-haired gentleman. Brandon barely stopped himself from scowling. It was clear the man admired her—a sparkling-eyed beauty who radiated charm. What red-blooded male wouldn’t?
And when her mouth twitched with a devastating smile, a flash of memory from six years ago hit Brandon—a vision of her lithe, beautiful, nude body—and he felt the impact straight in his loins.
When he next spoke to her, he asked the gentleman’s identity.
“That was Lord Gallier.”
“You seem on good terms.”
“Yes. He is a longtime friend of Quinn’s.”
“Is he the one?”
“The one?”
“Your former lover.”
For a moment, her eyes widened at the blunt question. Then her expression lightened. “Take care, Lord Valmere. One would almost think you jealous.”
He was indeed jealous, Brandon reflected, although he wasn’t ready to admit it aloud to Kate. “I am curious about how he appeals to you.”
“I am comfortable with him, and I admire his sharp wit.”
“I’ll wager he treats you like a woman.”
“Come to think of it…he does.”
When another gentleman came to solicit her hand for a dance, she left Brandon standing there, acknowledging his powerful, almost irrational feeling of possessiveness.
If he’d had any doubts about wedding Kate, his fierce reaction just then would have dispelled them. He wanted her for himself. Clearly it was time to escalate his pursuit of her.
His plan was momentarily sidetracked, however, when Lady Dalton entered the ballroom to great fanfare and made a beeline straight for him. With a seductive smile, she maneuvered him into conversing with her for nearly a quarter of an hour—an event that, curiously, Kate did not seem happy to see, Brandon noted.
He had not the least interest in Lady Dalton. Kate must have had a contentious relationship with the widow, though, judging from her flashing eyes when shortly he spied them conversing together, or perhaps even arguing.
When Kate suddenly turned and strode from the room, Brandon stared after her thoughtfully, debating his best course.
—
Although seething, Kate forced herself to take a breath and calmly exit the ballroom. Her barbed exchange with Julia Dalton still echoed in her ears. Not only had the widow thrown down the gauntlet, declaring her intention of competing for Deverill’s hand, but she had attacked Kate directly.
“You are fooling no one with your pretense at matchmaking,” she purred. “You want to capture Lord Valmere for yourself.”
Kate pasted on an icy smile. “You are mistaken, dearest Lady X. Unlike you, I needn’t rely on deceitful tricks to land a suitor.”
Her retort brought out Lady Dalton’s own lethal smile. “The larger deceit is your self-delusion, Lady Katharine. Clearly Valmere finds me far more appealing than he does you. You are too prudish and controlling to ever attract a strong, vigorous man like him.”
It was all Kate could do to step back from their confrontation without pulling out the widow’s hair. But while Julia Dalton had always rubbed her the wrong way, the cutting words stung keenly. Worse, the thought of Deverill consorting with that harlot made her stomach knot.
Needing time to cool her temper, Kate made her way to the supper room, where buffet tables were laden with domestic and imported delicacies. She gratefully accepted a glass of wine from a footman but had barely taken a sip when Deverill unexpectedly appeared beside her.
“There you are. I came to solicit your hand for a dance.”
“You should be dancing with your potential brides,” Kate pointed out.
“True, but I prefer your company to any of those tedious young misses.” He glanced down at the buffet table, where a selection of fruits and cheeses had been artfully laid out. “Are strawberries in season?”
“These were likely grown in a hothouse.”
“I haven’t had one in ages.” He picked up a plump red berry, then bit into it and made a small sound of approval. “As ripe as summer fruit. You should try it.”
“I am not particularly hungry—” Kate began, before he brought the uneaten half to her lips.
When she opened her mouth reflexively, he slipped the strawberry inside. The tart sweetness was a burst of flavor on her tongue.
His gaze fixed intently on her mouth, Deverill watched her savor the taste. Then after she’d swallowed, he brought his thumb up to stroke the corner of her bottom lip.
Caught off guard, Kate felt the contact like a lover’s caress, the pleasurable shock of it setting her pulse racing. Perhaps he was only wiping a drop of juice away, but he imbued the simple gesture with a sensuality that was unmistakable. And his eyes…How could a mere glance be so potent?
Kate shook herself. What was she doing, allowing him to feed her strawberries in public with the intimacy of a kiss? It would be safer to dance with him, she realized.
“We should return to the ballroom,” she announced, setting down her wineglass.
Deverill’s half smile suggested he had accomplished his goal. “My thought precisely.”
He accompanied her back to the ballroom and led her onto the floor just as the orchestra struck up a waltz. No sooner had they settled into the steps, though, when she saw Lady X eyeing him from across the room. Reminded of her earlier contretemps, Kate felt her lips tighten.
Deverill must have noticed, for he bent his head so that he could be heard over the music. “Was that an altercation I witnessed between you and Lady Dalton earlier?”
“Of a sort.” Peering up at him, Kate debated whether to report on the beauty’s sordid history. She was no tattletale and despised backbiting females, but Deverill deserved to be warned of the danger. “How well do you know her?”
“Thus far? Not well. Why do you ask?”
“Let us just say that she is up to her favorite sport—husband-hunting, with you as her target.”
Deverill quirked an eyebrow at her acrid tone. “Now who is jealous?”
Although coloring at being caught out, Kate resorted to denial. “It is hardly jealousy. I merely would hate to see you tangled in her web. Julia Dalton is avaricious enough to make Miss Armitage look like a perfect angel in comparison. Her aim has always been to marry a wealthy nobleman.”
“Why is that a mark against her when you’ve said that most of the unattached ladies in London have the same aim?”
A fair point, Kate silently conceded with reluctance. “Are you aware that her sobriquet is ‘Lady X’? Dallying with her will reflect poorly on the respectable image you hope to cultivate.”
“I expect my image can withstand the association,” Deverill replied mildly.
Kate bit back a retort at his nonchalance. “Very well, if you must know…She is wellborn but practically a lady of the evening. Moreover, my dislike of her is personal because she attempted to ensnare Quinn two years ago. Actually, she was his mistress for a time and caused him a great deal of grief, embroiling him in a public scandal that was the talk of the town for weeks.”
“I see” was all Deverill said.
“What do you see?” Kate asked suspiciously.
“Thank you for the warning, sweetheart. Your concern is duly noted.” When she started earnestly to explain further, however, Deverill interrupted. “Enough about Lady Dalton. What do you say we simply enjoy the dance?”
He steadily held her gaze, and when she fell silent, his faint smile of approval did strange things to her insides, reminding her vividly of his seductive kisses in her drawing room that morning.
Suddenly feeling flushed and overheated, Kate was glad to blame the exertion of the dance for her riotous physical state.
When he expertly whirled her around, she gave herself up to the music and the pleasure of having Deverill hold her. It was foolish to let that witch ruin her evening. No doubt she was the envy of every woman there, including Julia Dalton. Deverill was a swoon-worthy partner. Like everything else he attempted, he waltzed superbly.
And so Kate determinedly tamped down her jealousy and tried very, very hard to ignore the thrill of being in his arms again.
—
By the time Brandon returned to his hotel, the hour was well after midnight, but with sleep eluding him, he lay in his bed, recalling his recent encounters with Kate. Kissing her ripe lips this morning, touching her breasts, suckling her nipples, even through layers of fabric, had sent his erotic fantasies soaring. He was fortunate that he hadn’t exploded then and there.
After being so long without female companionship, he wasn’t surprised that his lust had gotten the better of him. Yet lust alone didn’t explain his physical hunger for her.
No, it was Kate herself.
Dispassionately, Brandon reached beneath his nightshirt and took his cock in his hand, determined to see to his needs so that the next time he was with her, he would be able to maintain some semblance of restraint. However, a cold, perfunctory sexual release failed to quiet his persistent thoughts of her or prevent him from reflecting on his evolution.
He relished the fiery version of Kate from this evening. The passionate free-spirited woman who was ready to challenge the world. The same lovely, vibrant girl who had captured his attention so decisively seven years ago.
My Fair Lover Page 8
