by Bec McMaster
Good lord, she was actually attempting to turn the tables on him.
He felt that touch stroke lower, as if her silken-gloved hands actually curled around the thickening length of his cock. The words, the touch, the glance—all designed to intrigue and inflame.
Adele Cavill, you little devil.
If he'd been a lesser man, she'd be wrapping him around her little finger.
"You don't want to meet that side of me," he whispered back. "He doesn't play nice."
"Doesn't he?" She took a step back, her expression alight in a way he'd never seen before. "Maybe I don't want him to play nice. Maybe... the thought of unearthing the true Duke of Malloryn intrigues me. No more masks between us. No more twisted words. No more games. It would be interesting. And I think I could trust him more."
Malloryn captured a fistful of her skirts, holding her there. His knuckles strained within his glove. "There's a reason I leash my darker instincts, Adele. That man is ruled by his passions. He's a little dangerous."
"Perhaps I like a little danger?"
Inch by inch, he tugged her closer. "Do you?"
She certainly enjoyed driving him insane.
"I must admit you had me at odds and ends yesterday in the carriage," she said. "But I have been thinking about your proposition. Why now?"
"Why not?"
"Because you've never glanced my way before."
He sensed the doubt in her words and paused to consider how to play this. "If you think I haven't glanced your way, then you should think again. Every day your laughter echoes through the house. Your perfume haunts my library. I can hear the water dripping off your skin when you bathe—"
"Even through the locked door between our rooms?"
"Especially through the locked door."
"You're the one with the key." She glanced up, and he could sense her battling arousal in her efforts to keep a clear head.
Malloryn smiled. "Maybe we should unlock that door. Maybe tonight you should wear nothing but your diamonds when you retire."
"And if I do, are you even going to make an appearance? Or am I going to be left wanting again?"
So she had awaited him last night. His smile softened, became a little dangerous. "I don't know. I think I like the idea of you waiting for me." Brushing his knuckles against her bodice, he heard her faint gasp as they rippled over the hardened edge of her nipple. "Waiting and wet. Desperate for my touch."
Adele stepped back, her eyes glittering.
"Now it begins to make sense." She circled him. "This is a game to you. It's not merely your sudden requirement for an heir."
"Everything in life is a game. It's simply a matter of who plays it best."
"You think you can make me enjoy this, don't you? Did you imagine I would surrender? Did you think I would melt beneath your touch and beg you for more? I suppose I must seem the ultimate challenge. I don't like you. You don't like me. Did you imagine you would steal my heart?"
"I didn't think you had one, Adele. Isn't that what you said once?"
He turned his head to watch her. Skirts gave a silken rustle as she came back to the front.
"But you want me to beg," she whispered, her eyes glittering with heat. "Don't you?"
For a second, he felt an answering heat swell within him too. He'd thought this would be a challenge, but no more than any other woman who guarded her heart. It had seemed a forgone conclusion. He was the Duke of Malloryn, an expert in both understanding the base desires of a person and wielding such desires with a metaphorical lash. Adele would surrender. A fun game while it lasted, but not a long one.
But the challenge in her eyes....
She'd read him too.
And she knew exactly which buttons to push to ignite his own sense of curiosity.
"Yes," he whispered as she settled directly in front of him, her shoulders squared. "I want you to beg. I want you to scream with pleasure, my dear. I want to own you."
"You couldn't," she shot back, "even if you engaged all of your prowess. My heart does not rule me. I will never allow any man to own my happiness, or my desires."
Now it was getting interesting.
He stroked the back of his gloved hand down her bodice, barely touching the silk. Adele's breasts lifted as she smothered a swift intake of breath.
But it was there.
And they both knew it.
"Are you daring me to try?"
She set one hand to his chest and pushed.
He stepped back.
"Be careful, Your Grace, that I do not consider my own attempt. I'm not the only one who can fall."
Malloryn captured her hand and held it there, where she could feel the thump of his heart. "I should like to see you try."
A breathless moment extended as they beheld each other.
Adversaries always.
But for the first time he felt something else between them. He'd been furious when she'd first trapped him into marriage, but there'd always been a tiny little part of him that had been intrigued.
Nobody got the better of the Duke of Malloryn.
But Adele had.
The constant sparring between them grated at first, and yet he had to admit it had become a little bit of a game between them. Now this....
He had a horrible feeling he might have finally met his match in this woman.
Lifting her gloved fingers to his lips, he brushed his lips there, soft and decadently slow, even as he never took his eyes from her.
"What are you suggesting?" she murmured.
"War."
"Isn't that what we've been engaging in all along?"
"Not like this." He slowly turned her wrist, mouth whispering over the thin black silk that hid her pulse point from him. "Carnal warfare. The first to surrender loses. I'll even allow you a head start. You dictate how far each encounter goes."
"That's too kind of you."
"You're the one who said you were innocent," he pointed out. "It seems I have an unfair advantage."
His cock strained against the placket of his trousers. He'd said it to give himself the luxury of extending this chase between them—to give himself time to discover if his wife was innocent or dangerous. But the flex of his cock warned him: Adele was dangerous in more ways than one.
Because he wanted her.
Here.
Now.
And desire was possibly the only thing that could undo him.
"Innocent of pleasure, perhaps. Not of men's desires. Or their arrogance. I accept your deal. You were right," she said with a devilish smile. "You did make this worthwhile."
Then she set her hand against his chest and pushed insistently.
"But since I am in control of our game, it seems I must decline tonight's advances. Tonight you can go unfulfilled."
He trapped her hand there. "You don't accept my apology?"
"I'm fairly certain I didn't hear one."
Her smile glittered as brightly as the diamonds around her throat.
"'Til tomorrow then." Malloryn couldn't deny it wasn't disappointment that filled him, but interest.
He allowed her to escape.
"Dream of me," she whispered, backing away from the folly, lantern-light gleaming on her blue skirts. "All alone, wearing nothing more than my diamonds."
Why had he ever thought inexperience took away her edge?
"I will," he promised darkly.
And then she turned and dashed away through the gardens, glancing back over her shoulder, just once, to make sure he was watching.
Malloryn felt his weight shifting forward, the predator within him drawn to chase her. To capture her. To win. Adele's silvery laughter caught his ear as she read it on his face.
And then she was gone.
He crushed his fingers into a fist and forced himself to rein his darker urges in. Every part of that act had been choreographed to an inch, designed to intrigue him. And she'd succeeded. If they'd been dueling, then she had drawn first blood.
He could p
ractically sense the jaws of her trap woven carefully around him. What a dangerous, dangerous woman.
He'd never been more convinced she was working for the enemy.
Chapter 6
Adele felt breathless as she clutched her skirts and dashed up the stairs back to the ballroom. An odd mix of victory, curiosity, and challenge filled her as she left her husband staring after her, and her cheeks ached from smiling so much.
For the first time since their wedding, she finally felt as though she held a little of the power between them.
And he'd given it to her.
Thoughts of Malloryn so distracted her that she hurried into the ballroom and slammed directly into a firm male body.
Hands caught her forearms and a husky laugh escaped her assailant. She was two seconds away from panicking when the scent of Devoncourt's familiar cologne caught her attention.
"If it isn't my favorite duchess," Lord Devoncourt mused, though his eyes flashed dark for a second, and he reached up to brush his thumb against her mouth.
Adele jerked her face away. "What are you doing here?"
Oh, God. If Malloryn followed her there'd be bloodshed.
She could still hear the chill in his voice when he cast that cursed photograph in her lap.
"This ends. Right now."
"When I saw your husband lure you into the gardens I thought all was lost, but here you are, rushing away from him as if you had the hounds of hell on your tail."
Nobody was watching them, but she couldn't afford to be seen here.
And she owed Devoncourt the truth: that while his flirtations had made her feel, for a moment, as if someone cared, they could not continue.
She grabbed his sleeve and hauled him into a nearby alcove. He wasn't even wearing a mask, as if he wanted the world to see him act so familiarly with her. "Are you trying to ruin me?"
"Trying, my dear. You've led me a merry chase."
Rough hands captured her face and his lips loomed close. Adele twisted her face away, her heart hammering as Devoncourt's mouth mushed wetly against her cheek.
"Unhand me, you idiot," she whispered, shoving against his chest. Every hint of desire she'd felt in the gardens with her husband shriveled up. What was he thinking? "My husband will kill you if he sees you."
Devoncourt staggered back, his brows drawing together. "He knows?"
The second his lips quirked, she realized he wasn't entirely displeased with the notion.
"He knows," she replied, then dragged her silk glove against her saliva-wetted cheek. Really. "He was displeased and insisted it go no further."
Devoncourt's smile held an edge she didn't like. "Malloryn can go to hell." His eyes focused on her again. "It's not as though he's ever given a damn about you, Adele."
"I'm quite aware of his feelings toward me, thank you very much." Probably more than you yourself are. Adele mimicked a smile. This needed to end. "Devoncourt, while I am fond of you, you caught me at a weak moment the other night. I owe my husband a debt I can never repay. I do not intend to cuckold him."
"So you'll play the dutiful wife, even as he flits about town with his mistress."
Her smile died. "That is between me and Malloryn."
"Did he threaten you?"
You don't have to look so happy about it. "No. He simply insisted I end this flirtation. Think what you like of him, threats are not Malloryn's style."
Though she'd never expected seduction to be his style, either.
Devoncourt took a step closer, shadows obliterating half his face. "Be careful, my cherub. You wouldn't know what your husband's style is."
"Considering I spend most of my days in his home, I would like to think I have some idea. Malloryn doesn't care for scenes. And he certainly isn't violent. Particularly with women."
Cold and distant, perhaps.
But never cruel.
She might find herself starved of affection as his wife, but she'd never outrightly fear him.
"Isn't he?" Devoncourt leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "Do you have any idea what your husband gets up to of nights?"
"I'm not an idiot. I've heard the rumors. He promised me he's ended it." And she trusted her husband's word of honor, if nothing else.
"Poor, sweet cherub. He's pulled the wool over your eyes quite neatly, hasn't he?" For a second, his smile seemed almost a sneer. "I wasn't talking about his mistress, my dear. You know nothing about the duke. You have no idea what manner of man you married. I only thought to protect you, Adele."
What on earth was he speaking of?
She wanted to look down her nose at him, but a hint of unease trickled through her. What did she really know of Malloryn? Devoncourt spoke as if he was up to something nefarious.
"Protect me from what?"
"What's coming." His eyes hardened as he brushed a finger against her mouth again. "Why don't you ask your father about Malloryn's extracurricular activities?"
"My father? What does my father have to do with any of this?"
Sir George Hamilton had been unhappy upon her engagement, to be sure, but he'd never said anything else to her.
"Just ask him."
If there was anything she disliked more than being ignored by all of the men around her, it was when they spoke over her head like this.
"If you have something to tell me about my husband, then pray tell me. I dislike innuendo, Devoncourt. It smacks too much of insubstantial rumor, and I've been the victim of said rumor in the past. I don't appreciate it. Nor do I appreciate this attempt to put doubts in my mind. What do you know of Malloryn?"
"Just... be careful, cherub. Malloryn's made many enemies in the past few years. One day that's going to return to bite him, and that day might be sooner than you'd like. I wouldn't care to see a woman as beautiful as you torn down with him."
And then he was gone, and despite her bravado she couldn't help frowning.
Just a little.
Because while she might have defended her husband, she couldn't deny the truth: Malloryn wasn't spending his nights in her bed.
"She's late," said a cold, hard voice in thickly accented English. "You should have sent me, instead."
"If I'd sent you, my dear, you'd have brought me Malloryn's head, and I'm not quite ready to take it. Death is too kind an alternative for what I have in store for him."
Lord Balfour leaned against the stone pillar in the half-ruined tower, silently surveying the night. The old church had been burned during the prince consort's reign when the consort banned the practice of any faith that condemned blue bloods as soulless monsters. From here he could see half the city, including the elegant marble tower where he'd once ruled from on high.
This city was mine. And now I am but a rat scurrying about the shadows, gnawing at the corpses.
His lips pressed thinly together as he chastised himself for the thought. Weak men gave into their emotions and played their cards too early. It was impatience that had brought him so low in the first place.
Just remember, it was a rat that brought London to its knees all those years ago, during the plague.
"The death I would grant him is not kind one," Jelena said.
There was a flicker of movement in the shadows at the base of the church. A glint of gold as someone slipped through the rubble.
"I am tired of games," Jelena continued. "I want blood."
He'd have to let her off the leash soon enough, for her temper could be dangerous once roused. A little bloodletting and she would subside, like a cat that had finally filled its belly.
But he couldn't allow the claim on Malloryn's life to go unchallenged.
Balfour looked at her.
A cold blue eye locked on him, the other shrouded behind a black leather eye patch. She'd always been his most loyal dhampir agent—fanatically loyal, if he was being honest—but ever since Malloryn escaped her clutches in Russia and turned the tables on her, Jelena had thirsted for the duke's death with a vengeance.
"Patience," he murmur
ed. "Malloryn must suffer."
"I can make him suffer. It will not be quick death."
Taking a step forward, he set his hand on her hair, gently stroking it. "He hurt you. I understand. But that sanctimonious prick has been a thorn in my side for years. I died at his hand." Balfour brushed fingertips across the corded scar across his throat, where Malloryn had cut him. "And I was reborn like a phoenix into this new life, this new body. But his death is mine. And mine alone. I owe him that. Mind you do not forget it." He grabbed a fistful of her silvery hair and forced her to look at him. "Do you understand?"
"Da, Master."
When he released his grip, Jelena bowed her head.
Footsteps echoed on the stone stairs.
Balfour patted her hair gently again, and then turned to greet his second-in-command.
"You're late." Jelena's insubordinance put a chill into his tone.
Dido swept into the tower, looking for all the world like a fairy-tale princess in her gold gown and heavy velvet cloak. Albeit one who could rip your throat out with her teeth if she willed it. "Malloryn had his little bitch at the ball. I had to extricate myself carefully, as she was watching both exits."
"Gemma Townsend?"
"Who else?"
"And?"
"It appears the duke has taken your bait." Dido tossed her glittering gold mask on the ash-scarred table in the center of the tower. "Townsend was shadowing Devoncourt, and Malloryn's attention was fully focused on his wife. He was practically panting over her."
Interesting.
From what he'd heard of the marriage, it had been an alliance and nothing else. The duke and duchess lived separate lives, and his spy in Malloryn's household reported that the duke despised her.
"Is his interest in Devoncourt or his wife?"
