“My, my, my, your lordship. What would your papa say to his son and heir possessing his former lover?”
His jaw tightened. “Blackwall’s opinion means nothing to me. I call on him infrequently, and only to see my sisters. Otherwise, we have little to say to each other.”
His father’s singular lack of concern for the young woman he’d so callously ruined had so infuriated Darius that he’d grabbed him by the neck and flung him against the study’s paneled wall.
“Still, I hardly think your family would approve of such a scandalous liaison.”
“I’ve been out of short pants for a long time. Like you, I—not my family—control my destiny.”
“Shouldn’t you be thinking of marrying some woman of impeccable lineage and breeding your heir and a spare, not consorting with a notorious courtesan?”
She was a realist and obviously didn’t assume he was offering her marriage.
“Those women don’t interest me. You do.”
“Don’t mistake me for the dewy-eyed innocent you met all those years ago. I am a hardheaded, practical businesswoman. I don’t fall in love, and I don’t expect marriage. I provide a service for my lovers—stimulating conversation, beautiful surroundings and access to my considerable amatory skills.”
He folded his arms. “And what do they do for you?”
His question took her aback, but only for a moment. “They provide me with plenty of money, shower me with extravagant gifts and ensure my financial security. It’s a fair exchange. At least, I’ve never heard any complaints.”
She radiated a strong-willed confidence that Darius found intoxicating. Life would never be dull or predictable with this woman. He wanted her more than any other, but he also knew he had to offer her more than any other lover.
He rounded the chair and walked over to the settee, where she looked up at him warily. “They provide for you materially, but do they satisfy your womanly needs? Your emotions? Your heart’s desire? Your body’s cravings?”
“My needs are unimportant. I am paid—and paid well—to attend to theirs.”
“That’s what I would do differently, my dear Miss Willett.” He caught her hand, surprised at the coolness of her fingers. “I would please you both in and out of your boudoir.”
To his satisfaction, a shiver rippled through her arm. He pitched his voice low. “Especially in the boudoir.”
Interest flickered in the depths of her eyes. “What a novel idea.”
He released her hand and gave her his most winning smile. “Does this Valendry fellow please you? He seems rather old for the task at hand.”
“Men of a certain age have their own special charms.”
But he suspected she was not being entirely truthful.
He took his seat. “Do you find me pleasing enough to lie naked with me and make love to me?”
A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “Oh, you are a very handsome, charming fellow, Clarridge, I’ll grant you that. And yes, it would be no hardship to make love to you. But I don’t judge a man on good looks alone. I once had a protector who was quite homely, but whose wealth and winning personality made him very attractive indeed.”
Again, that shot of jealousy at her nameless, homely lover made him clench his teeth in envy.
“And I find myself quite bewitched by every facet of you, mademoiselle,” he said. “You are like one of those diamonds in Dragomilov’s necklace, sparkling, with many facets and complexity.”
She laughed again. “You have such a silver tongue, monsieur.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Kate and Emma worshiped you, and that has much to recommend it.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a very upstanding fellow. I don’t gamble or drink to excess, and I’m an excellent horseman and a crack shot, though I’ve never fought a duel. I’m educated and can converse on a wide variety of subjects. My many friends from all walks of life find me witty and good company. Oh, yes, and I’m wealthy, which I suppose I should’ve mentioned first, since we are to have a business arrangement.” A business arrangement that would evolve into much more.
A silence filled the room.
Darius could tell by the furrow in her brow that she was seriously considering his offer.
Finally, he said, “I’m not asking you to marry me, Régine. We will stay together until one of us tires of the other.” Though he doubted he could ever tire of her. “And then it’s farewell, and no hard feelings.”
“What would be your terms?”
He threw out a monthly stipend that made her swallow hard, added a generous clothing allowance that surpassed that of a certain profligate duchess of his acquaintance, and assured her he was known to most of the jewelers in London.
She smiled seductively. “And what are your requirements in the boudoir, monsieur?”
He returned her smile. “As often as you like, and I promise you will want me often. But if there are days you wish a respite, that will be fine too.”
A faint flush warmed her cheeks. “You’re very confident.”
“It’s one of my finer attributes.”
She smiled, obviously amused.
“So,” he said, staring deeply into those expressive eyes, “do we have an agreement?”
“There is much to consider.”
He let his gaze rove over her face like a slow, soft caress, settling on her delectable mouth. “Perhaps a kiss would convince you of the seriousness of my intentions.”
She stared boldly at his lips and patted the place next to her on the settee. “By all means, monsieur.”
He sat down, angling his body so he faced her, and draped one arm across the back of the settee just behind her shoulders. She leaned toward him, willingly turning her head. He raised his hand and gently traced the line of her jaw with his fingertips. Her skin was as dewy and silken as a rose petal in the morning. When he reached her chin, he tilted her head and leaned over to reach her voluptuous, inviting mouth with his own.
He kissed her lightly at first, a mere pressing of the lips to both soothe and arouse her.
She responded with a sigh and the parting of her soft, sweet lips for an open-mouthed kiss that tasted faintly of brandy. Then he deepened his kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She moaned softly and stroked his tongue with her own, sending a tremor of desire rocking through his body, straight to his prick.
She raised her hand to his cheek, and he thought he’d melt at her tender touch. He slipped his hand around her waist and drew her even closer, needing to feel her warmth, pleased that he’d caused such a response.
When they parted, breathless and panting, Regina purred, “You kiss very well, Clarridge.”
Then she undid the top three buttons of her gown in blatant invitation.
He stayed her hand. “That’s not necessary.” At least, not yet.
Her expression turned perplexed. “But I thought you wished to please me.”
“I do.”
“Well, it would please me if you’d touch my breasts.”
Ah, so she was testing him to see how far he’d go. He hadn’t expected her to move so fast, or talk so frankly, but she was experienced and accustomed to being intimate with strangers without preamble or coyness.
He grinned. “Touching your beautiful breasts would certainly please me.”
He caressed the long column of her ivory neck, causing her to tremble beneath his fingers. But rather than undoing the rest of the buttons, parting the fine silk fabric and burrowing for the Promised Land of her bare breasts, he practiced the art of gradual arousal, which he knew from long experience that most women appreciated. He placed his hand on her left breast, feeling its soft fullness beneath the layer of cloth.
Regina closed her eyes with a gentle sigh, and her head fell back against his arm.
Darius squeezed gently, and her nipple hardened provocatively. Regina’s lips parted. He teased the rigid nubbin with his thumb, and then moved to the other breast for the same tender ministrati
ons.
“Do you like the way I touch you?” He certainly relished his own reaction to touching her, the warm fullness that swelled his cock and made his heart race with dizzying speed.
She caught her breath and murmured a ragged, “Oh, yes,” when he raked her tender earlobe with his teeth.
He worked her nipple harder with his thumb, and when she made a satisfied whimper at the abrading fabric, he swiftly undid the buttons so he could slip his hand beneath the silk and touch her warm, bare flesh, which overflowed his hand as he cupped it possessively.
Her sharp intake of breath at his intimate touch heightened his own arousal.
She was like absinthe, one color until another ingredient transformed it. And he just wanted to drink and drink and drink until he went mad.
He caught the straining bud between his thumb and forefinger, and squeezed gently. She cried out. He smiled, pleased that he could coax such a reaction out of her.
He increased the intensity of his caresses while trying to maintain his own fragile self-control, moving from one tempting breast to the other. He felt a heady sense of triumph and power when her groans grew louder.
For one second he wondered if her response was genuine or the pretense of a calculating courtesan seeking to give her protector his money’s worth.
Her eyes flew open. They were drowsy with passion and delight that couldn’t be faked. She pouted prettily. “You are cruel to torment me so.”
“How ungentlemanly of me. I shall have to remedy that failure.”
He opened the bodice to bare her breasts. They were perfect, round and heavy, full enough for him to bury his face in their ivory softness and lose himself in their sweet scent. He thought both his cock and his head would explode.
“Your beauty leaves me breathless.” His exhaling breath warmed her large, rosy nipples. He teased them with the tip of his tongue, wetting first one, and then the other. He lifted his gaze to Regina’s face, pleased to see her closed eyes, an expression of transported bliss giving her ivory complexion a luminous glow. He had demolished her reservations and her misgivings with his persistence.
He waited until her breathing grew more uneven and impatient before he grasped the breast to steady it, took the inviting puckered tip into his mouth and sucked, gently at first, then harder, with the eagerness of a starving man too long denied.
Régine’s high-pitched cry filled the drawing room, and she arched her back, offering herself to him in an ageless gesture of female surrender.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and held him in place, demanding his touch.
Now he pleasured her right breast with his eager mouth and the other moist nipple with his fingers, driving her wild with abandon. If she reacted so strongly to just having her breasts caressed, he was willing to bet the earth would shudder and shake when he brought her to orgasm.
He reluctantly raised his head, gently stroking her to ease the abruptness of his withdrawal.
Regina’s eyes flew open. “Why did you stop?”
He drew the bodice together to cover her. “Because if I keep going, I’ll make love to you right here, right now.”
She looked confused. “But I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Not for our first time.”
She raised her brows. “You surprise me. You are so different from the other men I’ve known.”
He smiled and drew her hand to his lips, lightly brushing her knuckles. “You’ll find me to be a very surprising fellow.”
She buttoned her bodice with crisp efficiency. “I’m looking forward to discovering all your secrets.”
“So, did my kiss convince you to agree to accept my protection?”
Her smile shone as radiant as a thousand candles. “Your clever mouth was very persuasive.”
“And I will be your sole protector?”
Her smile died, taking the light with it. “Do not insult me, monsieur.”
So the old gent would be sent packing. “That was not my intention. I had heard that certain members of the demimonde do not restrict themselves to one lover.”
“Well, I am not like many of the demimonde.”
He nodded, content that he would be the only one.
She rose. “And if I agree to your terms, when would you come to my bed?”
“Tomorrow night. I’m a patient man, but not that patient.” He gave her one last swift, possessive kiss.
When they parted, she said, “I agree to your terms and accept your protection. Where are you staying?”
“The Hotel Continental.”
“A fine establishment.”
“I can show myself out.”
But she followed him to the drawing room door. “I have one more question.”
He paused. “Yes?”
“Why did you buy Odile de la Montaigne’s bed at the auction?”
“I bought it for you, of course. And I’ll have it delivered as soon as I return to my hotel.”
Chapter Seven
After Clarridge left, Régine staggered back to the settee and collapsed in a soft swish of silk. She cradled her face in her hands, her cheeks hot against her palms.
What have I done?
She had just agreed to become Clarridge’s mistress.
The son of the man who had robbed her of her innocence.
She dropped her hands and leaned back, each thought moving torpidly through her mind.
I never should’ve received him today.
I never should’ve let him kiss me.
I never should’ve agreed to this madness.
So why had she?
She stared at the ceiling as if the answer were written there. Causing Luc such pain had grown distasteful, degrading, and left her feeling melancholy, guilty and emotionally bereft.
And even though she’d told Clarridge her own needs didn’t matter in a relationship, they did. After having had so many men over the years, when she’d first met Luc, she’d welcomed the break from a lover’s constant sexual demands, but Clarridge’s skillful touch showed her how much she missed the physical pleasure, the heating of her skin and blood, the pounding of her heart, the dizzying and breathless abandon.
She could still taste Clarridge’s sweet mouth. Her hard nipples still tingled from his fervent sucking and tugging. She inhaled deeply, suddenly filled with a sharp awareness of her unacknowledged need. She would’ve lifted her skirts and invited him to explore the most sensitive parts of her womanhood, still damp and frustrated, ready for conquest that never happened. When he reluctantly stopped of his own volition, he’d left her primed and wanting more. Much more.
Her body’s yearning was the reason she’d rashly agreed to become his mistress.
There came a knock at the drawing room door and Molly entered, looking quite pleased with herself.
“Monsieur de Groument told me you’d refused Dragomilov’s very expensive diamond necklace.” She chuckled. “I’ll wager that sets the cocky bastard back on his heels.”
Régine rose. “I found the gesture most satisfying. However, the count will not be pleased with me.”
“Too bad,” the maid sneered. “That one thinks he owns the world and everyone in it.”
“He is a nobleman, accustomed to getting his own way. Not so different from any other of that ilk.” She recalled Clarridge’s assessment and warning. “He will be furious with me and may try to avenge the insult.”
Molly’s brow creased. “You don’t think he’ll try to harm you, do you?”
“He can’t force me to accept his gifts or become his mistress.” She looked at the Toulouse-Lautrec portrait of her late friend. “I have no desire to endure his perversions or to wind up in the Père Lachaise Cemetery, like my poor Odile.”
Molly wrung her hands. “But who will protect you?”
Not exactly another vote of confidence for Luc. “I shall soon be under Viscount Clarridge’s very able protection.” Didn’t he boast that he was a crack shot?
“Clarridge? The son
of the man you hate for ruining you?”
“The very same.” She yawned. “Monsieur Valendry was becoming very stodgy and predictable. I crave excitement and variety in my lovers.”
Molly chuckled and shook her head. “That is true.” The mirth fled from her face. “But what will his father think?”
“His son is a grown man who can do as he pleases. And I certainly don’t care what the marquess thinks.” Actually, deep down inside, she harbored a hope that Blackwall would be furious with his only son and heir. What perfect revenge. “I don’t intend to marry Clarridge, so why should his father care if his son has a liaison with a notorious cocotte? It’s a rite of passage for young lordlings.”
“True, but the marquess had you first. He may feel that entitles him to keep his son away from you.”
Régine’s jaw tightened. “Since he treated me so shabbily, I have no reservations about taking his son to my bed.”
“Well, he certainly is a handsome, virile young fellow, miss.”
If his seduction technique was any indication, Régine knew they’d suit each other quite well in the boudoir.
“When will you tell Monsieur Valendry that he is being replaced?” Molly asked.
“I shall make a clean break as soon as possible.”
When Régine ended a liaison, she returned one of her protector’s gifts with a brief, regretful note. Some had refused to accept their dismissal and became bothersome and embarrassing, while others graciously moved on and remained loyal friends. She didn’t know how Luc would react, but she hoped he would accept her decision gracefully.
She would send him Odile’s riding crop. That would surely tell him their association was over. Let his new mistress use it on him with her blessing.
She walked over to the drinks table and poured two glasses of sherry. She gave one to Molly and raised her own. “To a prosperous and pleasurable liaison.”
Molly touched her glass to Régine’s. “Cheers, miss.” She took a sip. “All of Paris will be agog over the Queen of Fire taking a new lover.”
She grinned. “Oh, how tongues will wag.” She suddenly felt giddy at the prospect of causing a sensation in the City of Light. “Clarridge and I must appear together at Maxim’s. Then all of Paris will know that I’ve taken a new lover.” She savored the mellowness of her sherry. “Today I learned why he outbid Luc for Odile’s bed at the auction.” She smiled smugly. “He bought it to please me.”
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