Five Wicked Kisses - A Tasty Regency Tidbit

by Anthea Lawson

  “I hardly think - ”

  “You agreed.” He held her gaze. Flecks of amber burned in his eyes.

  There was nothing she could say to that. She was entirely at his mercy. Her lips parted, and his eyes shifted to her mouth. After a heartbeat, he shook his head.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  “My hand?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I told you we’ll continue under my terms. I choose the placement of these most-expensive kisses.”

  She should not have agreed without determining what, exactly, Robert had been planning. But even had she known, refusal would have still been impossible. He had neatly trapped her.

  “Placement of the kisses?”

  “Yes.” His gaze smoldered. “There are so many places on your body I could put my mouth. Five is hardly enough to make a beginning.”

  His words were so full of wickedness she burned from hearing them. She stared at him, her heart pounding.

  “Your hand,” he said again.

  Slowly, Juliana extended her arm. He caught her hand, holding it palm-up. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he set the fingers of his other hand at her wrist. Then, with exquisite slowness, he drew his fingers down. The movement sent sparks flickering along her nerves. His caress continued on to the warm hollow of her palm, his fingers drawing little circles that sizzled through her entire body.

  “Is this necessary?” Her voice was treacherously unsteady. “I thought you were going to kiss my hand, not tickle it.”

  “Oh, I shall.”

  He turned her hand over, his grip warm and inescapable. Bending his head, he brought the back of her hand up to his mouth. His lips were firm, and softer than she had expected, warm against her skin. Before she could adjust to the sensation, he flicked his tongue out, and she stifled a gasp.

  Where his lips were warm, his tongue was hot. He parted his mouth, his tongue echoing the circling of his fingers, so that her whole hand was engulfed in swirling fire. She swayed back against the cushions, and he glanced up, satisfaction gleaming in his golden eyes.

  It took her a moment to find her voice. “Are you quite finished, sir?”

  “No.” He turned her hand over, cupping it with his own. “Shall I read your fortune?”

  “I have no fortune, as you are well aware.”

  “You have a cruel past, though.” For a moment something almost wistful flashed across his face. Then his expression hardened. “And you will pay for it, lovely Juliana.”

  “I have paid enough, today.” She tried to pull her hand away.

  “I think not.” He kept her hand, and truly, half of her did not want him to release her.

  No matter their turbulent past, this had not changed - her body yearned for him in ways she could scarcely understand.

  Once again, he lowered his mouth to her skin. The heat of his tongue in the palm of her hand was astonishing, and incredibly intimate. He ravished her now, lacing his fingers through hers and spreading her hand wide, slipping his tongue in and out between her parted fingers.

  The tips of her breasts tightened, and sensations she could not name swirled through her - heat and a curious discomfort. Despite her efforts at control, she knew he heard her breathing grow unsteady. She felt as though her entire being was there, throbbing in the center of her palm.

  “That… was two kisses,” she managed when he finally raised his head.

  “No - merely the continuation of a kiss to your hand,” he said. He folded her fingers over her palm.

  “But…” She gazed into his eyes, seeing no room for argument. Once his mind was made up, there was no swaying him.

  “Remember,” he said. “I will return on Thursday.”

  She nodded, then cleared her throat. “The butler will see you out.”

  She did not trust herself to remain steady on her legs. Not with the aftermath of his kiss storming through her, the tangles of regret and desire knotted about her heart.

  “Farewell.” He gave the word an ironic twist as he rose and sketched her a bow. He did not look back, and the parlor door swung closed behind him.

  Once she was certain he was gone, Juliana slowly opened her hand, as though something fragile and impossible rested in her palm. Robert’s kiss, though it was not a lover’s kiss.

  She would pay a thousand times over for what she had done. If she had thought her life unbearable four years ago, after she had obeyed her mother and turned him away, how much worse would it be now?

  To see him, to kiss him, and feel her heart breaking a little more each time. It was clear now why he had taken up Father’s debts. It was to punish her. By the time the Earl of Eastbrook was finished taking his payment, their fortune would be restored.

  And she would be reduced to nothing.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

  Robert leaned back against the cushioned seats of his carriage, and smiled. That had gone very well, indeed. He’d been prepared for more opposition, but the quickness of Juliana’s capitulation was a testament to how perfectly he had played his hand. There was nothing she could do but submit.

  The first kiss had affected her just as he had planned. Though she had tried to conceal her reaction, he had been gratified to see how her body betrayed her - her rapid heartbeat, her parted lips. It was only a short distance from arousal to desire, from desire to obsession. He would not call it love, that bitter word that curdled in his mouth.

  Women and raw youths preferred to paint over the starkness of overwhelming passion, calling it by sweeter, more sentimental terms. But he knew that beneath the rosy haze lay a harder truth. Love did not exist.

  He’d learned that lesson. Juliana would, too.

  Juliana Tate. Damn, but she was still beautiful, with hair that could make any man yearn to sin. His fingers tingled at the thought of unpinning it, seeing those honeyed waves cascading over her shoulders and down her back. The fantasy of Juliana clothed only in the golden veil of her hair was delectable.

  The door of the carriage swung open, a waft of cool spring air interrupting his carnal imaginings.

  “My lord,” the footman said, setting the steps.

  Robert nodded his thanks. Before him rose the imposing façade of the Earl of Eastbrook’s town house. His house. He took little pleasure in it - the death of a good man had brought him here. The title and wealth were simply the means to an end. Juliana’s downfall.

  After she had so cruelly thrust him from her life, it had taken the better part of a year to mend his shattered heart. That year had changed him from a dreamy-eyed youth to a man. He had learned that women lusted for him, and he had honed that power. Not until his cousin had died, leaving him the title, had he begun to think he could claim revenge on Miss Juliana Tate.

  Her apology that afternoon had been unexpected. Not genuine, of course - he’d be an utter fool to believe that. Still, he’d thought it would take her longer, by the third kiss perhaps, to offer a show of remorse.

  Of course, it was on account of his new title. She’d inherited her mother’s grasping nature. Robert stalked up the stairs, not pausing as the butler opened the door. He made his way to the dark-paneled study. A fire burned on the hearth, warding the spring chill from the air.

  One of the maids had brought in a spray of apple blossoms. The sight kindled an icy rage within him. Snatching the white-petaled boughs from their vase, he threw them onto the coals. They hissed and smoked and then, at last, burst into flame.

  Just as he had burned out the memory of Juliana, white petals caught in her hair, laughing in the apple orchard.

  He would bring her low, make her suffer as he had suffered, and then he would be free. Only four kisses stood between him and the future.

  ~CHAPTER THREE~

  “Miss Tate is expecting you, my lord,” the butler said to Robert one week later, taking his hat and gloves.

  The man led him to the same room as before, a parlor with striped wallpaper and a decided lack of ornamentation. Juliana was standing behin
d the settee, her arms folded at her waist. She was wearing the same drab dress as last time.

  Did she think to put him off with unattractive clothing? Her hair spoiled the intent, however. The honeyed strands were twisted into an awkward coil at the back of her head. His fingers itched with the desire to pull her hairpins out and let that golden cascade tumble freely down.

  “Good afternoon,” he said.

  “My lord.”

  She made no other concession to his title, no dip of a curtsy, not even an inclination of her head. So proud and intractable. But he would bring her to her knees - figuratively speaking.

  When he rounded the settee, she began to move away.

  “I refuse to chase you about the room, Juliana,” he said, catching her arm. “Stand still.”

  She swallowed, and he could see her pulse fluttering at her throat. Despite her icy demeanor, she was not unmoved by him. He intended to unsettle her even more.

  “Very well.” She tilted her cheek to him, as she had done before. “Kiss me and take your leave.”

  “Dear Juliana.” He slid his hand down to the curve of her waist. “I told you, it’s not that simple. Turn around.”

  He placed his other hand on her other hip, and rotated her until she stood with her back to him.

  “Really, sir.” She tried to take a step away, but he held her firmly in place. “I don’t see -”

  “My kisses, to take as I please. As we agreed.”

  She would see soon enough. He felt a smile curve his lips.

  A shiver went through her - he felt it beneath his palms where they rested on the sweet curve of her waist. Slowly, he pulled her back until their bodies were nearly touching. Awareness thrummed through him. A delicious, scant inch of space separated them - the anticipation of touch, preceding the actual moment.

  The pale skin of her neck looked smooth as cream satin. He could hardly wait to taste it.

  He bent his head, inhaling the scent of orange-flower water drifting up from her hair. Slowly, so that she could feel the heat of his breath, he dropped his lips to hover at the delicate indentation of her nape. Feather-light, he brushed his mouth across her skin. Her stifled gasp made heat flare up in him.

  Pressing his lips more firmly to her neck, he nibbled his way to just beneath her ear. Her pulse beat wildly beneath his mouth, though the rest of her remained still as glass.

  “Delicious,” he whispered.

  He raised one hand and pulled gently at the neckline of her dress, exposing her collarbone. Just there, a tracing of the tongue, hot and smooth against her skin. He swirled delicate circles back up toward her ear, and another tremble ran through her.

  It did not take long for him to locate the hairpins restraining the glorious mass of her hair. He pulled them out, one by one, and let them land, unheeded, on the carpet. All the while, his lips mapped the arch and curve of her lovely neck.

  One strand of hair came free, landing on her shoulder. Her hand flew to the back of her head, but it was too late. Robert pulled out the last pin, and her hair tumbled down in all its golden glory.

  She whipped around, her blue eyes hot, her face flushed. “How dare you!”

  “What?” He kept his tone light, amused, though the sight of her arousal made a dark tide stir inside him. “I can ravish your neck, but woe betide any man who touches your hair?”

  It lay over her shoulder, gleaming like sunlight. He reached for it, he couldn’t help himself, and ran his fingers through the soft waves.

  Narrow-eyed, she pulled her hair out of his grasp.

  “Kisses are one thing,” she said, “but I did not give you leave to wreak havoc on my coiffure.”

  “You prefer to leave that to your lady’s maid? She’s doing a terrible job of it, I must say. That style doesn’t suit you.”

  “It’s none of your concern.” Juliana tossed her hair back behind her shoulders. “You’ve collected your payment for the day, my lord. Now I must bid you farewell.”

  She had always been beautiful when in a temper. Not that her beauty was any excuse for her past behavior. Still, he enjoyed cracking the façade of the Ice Maiden.

  Knowing it would unsettle her, he went down on one knee and swept up the errant hairpins scattered on the carpet. He glanced up and gave her his scoundrel’s smile.

  “Shall I re-pin it for you?”

  “No!” She took a step back, then held out her hand. “My hairpins, if you please.”

  He rose and considered the bits of metal in his hand. “Perhaps I’ll keep them.”

  Her eyes widened, a flash of something like desperation moving through them. “Give them back. Please.” The last word was strained.

  Was she really so destitute, that she could not afford to replace a handful of hairpins? He thought back to the magnitude of her father’s debts. Well, perhaps she was. And she deserved it.

  Truly? a voice inside him whispered, she deserves to be penniless and afraid?

  “Here.” He thrust the hairpins at her, then spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.

  Damn it.

  Juliana was cold and cruel. She deserved no sympathy from him.

  None whatsoever.

  ~CHAPTER FOUR~

  Thursdays shadowed Juliana’s entire month. Two had passed, and on the whole, she wanted the next to never come. Yet late at night, while memory kept her wakeful, she wished the days would hasten forward.

  If only her mother had not been so cruel, so fixed upon the importance of Juliana wedding a title. Then she and Robert might have married - and she would now be a countess. The irony was bitter in her mouth, and might-have-beens scorched her heart.

  On Wednesday, Henrietta paid her a visit.

  “Juliana - you look so pale! Come, ring for tea and we’ll have a cozy chat in your salon.”

  “Not the salon.” She said the words too quickly, but the air there was too full of Robert’s presence for her to be comfortable. It would be impossible to sit and talk calmly, with the memory of his kisses hot upon her skin.

  “Very well,” Henrietta said, tilting one eyebrow up.

  She handed her hat and gloves to the butler and gave Juliana a keen look. There would be no escaping Hen’s questions, and truthfully, Juliana was relieved that there was someone she could tell.

  “We’ll go up to my rooms,” Juliana said. “There’s no fire in the salon hearth today.”

  Indeed, they could barely afford coals to heat the bedrooms. She had told the remaining staff how desperate the situation was, but reassured them she was taking steps to remedy the situation. The butler, the housekeeper, and one maid were staying - at least for now. Sadly, the cook had gone to another family. The housekeeper was taking over kitchen duties, with rather dismal results.

  Henrietta settled on the window-seat in Juliana’s room, then gave her a searching look.

  “You’ve cried off all invitations this past week,” she said. “Whatever are you thinking? There’s no way you can catch a husband if you spend all your time hiding.”

  “I…” Juliana trailed her fingers down the slightly dusty curtains. “My circumstances have changed.”

  “What? How?” Her friend leaned forward and studied her. “You certainly don’t look happy about it.”

  “Father’s notes have been bought up. We’re safe from debtor’s prison.” She wet her lips and turned to stare out the window.

  “Oh?” Henrietta’s eyebrows climbed. “His debts were paid… by whom?”

  “Robert Pembroke, Earl of Eastbrook.” Juliana clutched the curtains in one hand.

  “Heavens! That certainly changes things. Let me think.” Henrietta leaned back, pursing her lips. “I presume Robert has paid you a visit?”

  Juliana nodded. How could she explain the knots of fear and desire twisting inside her?

  “He must still be in love with you!” Henrietta said. “Is that why you’ve abandoned the pursuit of a husband? Does he have intentions toward you?”

  “No. Not… in the way
you mean.”

  Her friend sat up straight, shock widening her eyes. “Never say he’s forcing you to be his mistress! What a dreadful - ”

  “Hen, stop. I am redeeming father’s debts, yes. But it is only for five kisses.”

  “Five kisses? Are you quite certain he no longer cares for you?” Henrietta shook her head. “And five kisses may seem harmless, but look at where they could lead.”

  “I know it.” All too well. “So far, I have not kissed him - he has kissed me.”

  She tried to ignore the heat that flashed through her when she thought of his lips on her skin.

  “Besides,” she added, “I’m certain his only motive is revenge.”

  Although… there had been that look on his face, after she took her hairpins back. No. She must not torture herself by imagining he still cared for her.

  “Juliana. Just because of what happened in the past, doesn’t mean - ” Henrietta clearly was about to launch into a lecture, when the maid knocked at the door.

  “Tea, mistress.”

  “Come,” Juliana called.

  She engaged Henrietta in chitchat about the balls she had attended recently as the maid set the tea things out. Finally, the girl finished and left the room.

  “Tea?” Juliana moved to the small table and poured out a cup.

  Henrietta surveyed the table dubiously.

  “Whatever are these?” She poked at a plate of lumpy brown items.

  “Scones.” Juliana tried to smile. “I know, they look dreadful, but with plenty of jam they are edible. Sadly, the housekeeper is not the best cook.”

  Henrietta took a sip of tea, then regarded Juliana steadily over the rim of her cup. “Be sensible, Juliana. You may not have creditors turning you out on the streets, but you’re certainly not out of financial difficulty. It’s imperative you find a wealthy husband.”

  “I suppose.” She dropped a lump of sugar into her cup, and stirred.

  The swirl of liquid was like her own thoughts - going round and round, leading nowhere. But Henrietta was right. Staying at home would do no good. Her father was certainly not going to be of any help, either - it was up to her to restore the family’s fortunes.