He had been expecting her to receive him in the bed he had bought for her, so he was surprised to find her reclining on a chaise in a hidden alcove near a tall window.
Another surprise also awaited him. Any other courtesan would’ve greeted him naked, but not the exceptional Régine. She wore the jeweled headdress he’d given her and a shimmering Japanese silk robe that fell in graceful folds along every one of her luscious curves. His imagination did the rest.
He stood before her and bowed, overwhelmed. He could’ve composed a sonnet to her beauty, but settled on, “You look as regal as a queen, and your beauty leaves me breathless.”
Her warm gaze slid down to the treacherous arousal tightening his trousers. “And you are very handsome, monsieur.” She patted the chaise. “Won’t you join me?”
The room suddenly turned hot. His head felt ready to explode, so he tore off his cravat, flung it on the floor and undid the top studs of his shirt so he could breathe. He sat on the edge of the chaise and just stared at the lovely, intelligent face that had bewitched him from the first moment he saw her. By soft, glowing candlelight, her eyes looked as dark and mysterious as sapphires filled with promise, and something else—trepidation?
He reached out, sliding his hand beneath the strings of pearls dangling from the crown so he could cup her velvet cheek and stare deeply into her eyes, seeking to capture her very soul. She turned her head so she could press her warm, smooth lips against his palm. The tender gesture touched his heart and made his eager cock twitch.
He removed the heavy crown and rose, placing it on a nearby table alongside a bottle of chilling champagne and two crystal flutes. When he turned back, she was already removing her hairpins.
He sat down. “Allow me.”
When he successfully filled his palm with every pin, Régine said, “I can see you’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice.”
She tossed her head, sending that glorious mane cascading down past her shoulders.
He set her hairpins on the small table at the head of the chaise. “You look like one of Rossetti’s Pre-Raphaelite muses.”
She leaned toward him, her robe gaping to reveal the swell of one tantalizing breast. “Enough talk of art,” she whispered in a husky voice. “Kiss me.”
He pulled her into his arms and sought her willing, open mouth with his own. She tasted faintly of brandy, and when he claimed her with his tongue, she whimpered and groped for his stiff cock.
He pulled away with superhuman effort and stayed her hand. “Not yet. I promised that your pleasure would always be paramount, so you must place your trust in me and allow me to please you.”
She stared at him, and her hand fell away.
He held her head still so he could rain light, dancing kisses across her forehead, her cheeks and her delicate, rounded chin. He trailed them down her neck, quick and light, delighted to feel her shiver at his touch.
He unknotted her robe’s sash and pushed aside the folds of silk, baring her body to his hungry gaze, pausing to study her panties.
“We can dispense with these.” He pulled them off with one fluid motion and tossed them on the floor near his cravat.
He kissed her flat, ivory belly, flicking the tip of his tongue into the shallow cup of her navel, causing her to catch her breath. He noticed that her thick thatch of pubic hair was the same dark auburn as her crowning glory. Though he was dying to part those sweet hidden lips and give his aching prick relief, he fought the impulse and concentrated on Régine instead.
“Why don’t you take off your clothes?” she asked. “They must feel so hot and heavy.”
“Not yet.” He reached for her breasts and began fondling them in the way that she enjoyed, lightly stroking, causing Régine to sigh and sag back against the chaise. He would never tire of filling his hands with their bountiful softness. He squeezed and tugged at both erect nipples until her groans of delight grew louder and more encouraging. He slipped his right hand between her thighs, cupping her mons and seeking her clit with one finger.
Régine jerked in surprise at his intimate touch and her closed eyes flew open. “The bed…”
“Shhh.” His questing finger found the hard little nubbin he would torment to bring her to orgasm. His bold caresses began slowly at first, working faster and faster.
Régine’s face reflected her growing sexual transport. She threw her head back against the tall arm of the chaise, a frown of intense concentration on her forehead, her lovely mouth slack with bliss. As her passion rose, so did her groans, turning into urgent cries demanding release.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Surrender to me.”
Despite the sweat rising beneath his clothes and his own spiraling desire, Darius lowered his head to her breasts and suckled her hard, while frigging her even harder.
Suddenly Régine reared up, grabbed his shoulders tightly and cried out, “Dear God!” her whole body shuddering in glorious ecstasy again and again and again.
Darius sat back, feeling as powerful as a god himself. When her sharp, loud cries subsided into soft whimpers, he gathered her into his arms and cradled her like a sleepy child, breathing deeply the spicy scent of her heated flesh.
Satisfaction buoyed his spirits. He’d taken another step closer to making up for the destruction his father had caused.
Régine lay encircled by Darius’s sheltering arms for what seemed like hours, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath his shirt as she savored the aftershocks of the climax rippling through her sated body.
She gave him a slow, drowsy smile. “That was lovely.” She stretched against him like a cat. “But very one-sided, monsieur.”
He kissed the tip of her nose, his winter eyes spring warm. “That was just an hors d’oeuvre, my dear. Wait until you partake of the entrée.”
“I’m sure it will be very, very tasty.”
“The night is just beginning, and I’m wide awake.”
“I’d like to see you naked before the sun rises,” she said softly.
“That would please you?”
“Very much.”
He released her and swung around to remove his shoes and stockings before standing up to face her. “Then undress me.”
She stood and started by pulling his shirt out of his trousers’ waistband, and removing the pearl shirt studs one by one, which she collected and set near her hairpins. She slid her hands beneath his open shirt, across his hard chest and up his shoulder so she could push the bothersome garment down to his elbows. Then she tugged the cuffs and the shirt fell to the floor.
His bare torso was just as fine as she imagined the first time she’d seen him in Odile’s apartment for the auction. She’d compared him to his father then, but in truth, Penbry couldn’t hold a candle to his younger son.
Darius’s eyes narrowed. “You look troubled. Does my body disappoint you?”
The man missed nothing. She placed her hands on his chest, which was covered with dark, crisp hairs that felt like rough silk beneath her questing fingers, and let her gaze drift down to his groin. “I was just wondering how I’m going to get your trousers off with such a large, obvious obstruction.”
He laughed. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
With a bit of tugging and struggle, she did soon have his trousers and underwear down around his ankles. He stepped out of them, picked them up and placed them on the chaise.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Clarridge was as well-endowed as a stallion, his erect penis long and so thick she wondered if her fingers could even come together if they circled him. Again, she compared him to his father, and found the marquess literally coming up very short in all respects.
“Oh, my.” She ran her fingers lightly along the shaft’s velvet length, tracing one of the prominent blue veins. After not knowing a man for a year, could she even accommodate him?
Darius closed his eyes and groaned.
Unlike Luc, Darius’s waist and hips were pleasingly narrow
. Also as she suspected, his legs were strong and shapely.
“Would you like some champagne?” she asked.
“Later.” His eyes darkened with desire, and he pushed the kimono from her body so she stood as proudly naked as he. His scorching gaze roved possessively over every inch of her, as palpable as a physical caress. “You are so beautiful, Régine.”
Many men had said those very same words to her over the years, including his father, but they all now seemed hollow and insincere by comparison.
She thanked him, adding softly, “So are you, monsieur.”
He smiled, and in one graceful movement, swept her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a sheet of paper, and carried her over to Odile’s bed. He set her down as gently as if she were a delicate piece of porcelain.
When he leaped and tumbled over her, she squealed in surprise, and he rolled onto the other side, where he propped himself up on one elbow and feasted on her with his eyes. He collected a handful of the rose petals she had scattered on the sheet and sprinkled them over her body.
She did likewise, only she strewed them over his erection, where the silken petals caught in his wiry hairs.
He inspected her handiwork with a bemused stare. “The Granger family jewels have never looked so…festive.”
Such disarming playfulness pleased her. She rolled over on her side and removed one petal. “He loves me.” She took another. “He loves me not.”
His lightheartedness vanished like smoke in a wind. “Don’t walk down that particular path, Régine.”
“It’s just a silly child’s game to amuse you,” she replied. “Don’t worry. Your heart is safe. I never fall in love.”
“The time for games is over,” he growled, reaching for her and pulling her against him.
His kisses grew deep, hotter, more insistent, and Régine matched his ardor, nipping his chin when his mouth left hers to trail a burning line down her arched throat. As always, his hand and mouth went straight to her breasts, his skillful ministrations sending a jolt of pleasure that made her vagina throb and ache. Her sharp intake of breath became one long hiss of desire, and she arched her back to make herself more accessible in surrender before sifting her fingers through his thick, silken hair.
She clutched his shoulders, kneading the tight, straining muscles, making him groan as he sucked her harder. Wicked, wicked pleasure sizzled deeply along her nerve endings like a trail of white-hot fire, collecting between her legs, turning her wet and receptive, even though he’d made her come once already on the chaise.
He raked her nipple with his teeth as he pulled back, causing an almost painful stab of erotic delight. That did it. She couldn’t wait. Neither could he. She raised her knees and parted her thighs wide in blatant invitation. He settled himself between her legs and placed the head of his straining cock against her slit. With a quick thrust of his hips, he pushed.
Panic banished delight. He was too big and she was too tight, even though she was wet and willing for her body to receive his invasion.
Just when she thought she would scream in frustration, the painful tightness gave like a dam bursting. Mindless passion claimed her, and she was being swept up in a whirlwind. She locked her heels around the backs of his knees to hold him in place, and settled in for the ride.
He drew back slowly, paused to tease her, and then thrust, back and forth, in and out. Régine closed her eyes and flung her head back against the pillows, raising her hips to meet his every thrust.
“Look at me,” he rasped.
She did as he commanded, losing herself in the stormy, passion-filled depths of his eyes as the whirlwind roared in her ears and spun her higher and higher.
Finally, her self-control shattered. Her mind emptied of all thought. She and Darius were the only two people in the world. This moment of time was the only one that existed.
Her keening cries demolished the quiet of the boudoir. A fine film of cooling sweat rose on her burning flesh, and Darius’s skin felt slick beneath her fingers. His thick brows knotted in concentration, and his parted lips uttered one guttural groan as the tempo of his thrusts increased.
In one sudden, powerful surge, an orgasm rocked her body so hard and violently that she feared she would die from its primal force.
The climax seemed to go on forever, and when it reluctantly wound down and tapered off, Darius flung back his head and roared just before pulling out of her body. His cock pounded against her thigh as if it were alive, shooting his seed onto the sheets rather than into her womb.
When his own lengthy release ended, he sagged against the pillows, breathing hard.
Régine let the lassitude wash over her like a soft morning rain. When she was with Luc, she’d forgotten the simple joy and wonder of physical lovemaking with a skilled, considerate partner. Some experiences were worth more than mere money.
Darius rolled over on his side to face her and propped his head on his hand. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t expect you to be so tight.”
She positioned her body to avoid the damp spot and looked deeply into his eyes. “There is a simple explanation. Luc never made love to me.”
His brows rose. “Never? Is the man blind as well as stupid?”
She smiled, touched by the compliment. “Luc required another method of physical release.” And she told him exactly what Luc had paid her so well to do.
She braced herself, expecting Darius to regard her with disgust and contempt, but his startled expression softened with compassion instead. He reached out to tenderly brush a damp lock of hair off her cheek. “Those days are over.”
His words caused tears of deep emotion to burn her eyes.
He pulled her against him so her head rested on his chest and she could hide her tears. “You’re with me now. You’ll never have to debase yourself again.”
She stared at the burning candles by the bedside, their flickering flames mesmerizing her. True, she was with him now. But for how long?
Chapter Twelve
Darius had just finished dressing and was getting ready to meet Régine at three o’clock for a carriage ride through the Bois de Boulogne, when a barrage of loud, insistent knocking sent him hurrying to open his hotel-room door.
His father charged in and whirled around, bristling like an enraged wild boar. He glared at Darius, his gray eyes as dark as a November Surrey sky at dusk, his face as red as if he’d spent several hours in a steam bath.
He flung a newspaper at him. “You lied to me!”
The paper hit Darius in the chest. “And good afternoon to you.” He caught it before it could slide down to the floor.
Le Figaro. He suspected Anatole Beaucaire’s column was to blame for his sire’s wrath. Sure enough. Blackwall had folded the paper so the column leaped off the page.
The patrons of Maxim’s have wondered why Régine Laflamme’s table was unoccupied last night. Truth of the matter is that a new gentleman has captured the heart of our Queen of Fire. Frenchmen will weep in their champagne when they learn that alas, he is no native Parisian, but from our rival England. I have met Darius Granger, the Earl of Clarridge, and am pleased to report that he is a charming, witty fellow, truly worthy of our queen. Mademoiselle Laflamme’s table will once again be occupied, and all will rejoice.
Beaucaire had promised not to report that Luc Valendry had stolen Régine’s money, but hadn’t agreed to keep silent about her acquiring a new protector.
Now Darius wished he’d made the journalist promise not to report his name when he wrote of Régine.
“Well?” The marquess stood there belligerently with hands on his hips. “Is it true that you’re her new paramour?”
Darius folded the paper and calmly set it on the nearest table. “Every word of it. Régine and I are lovers.” Several times over, as of last night.
“My own son. You sneaky little bastard. When I asked if you had found her, you looked me straight in the eye and denied it, and all the time you knew she was here in Paris.”
/> “I have my exceptional inquiry agent to thank for finding her before you did,” he said blandly.
“You knew I was looking for her, and you deliberately lied to me. You wanted her for yourself.”
“Guilty as charged. I’ve wanted her since I came home from Oxford and met her in Kate and Emma’s schoolroom. Now she’s mine.”
Wrath rolled off his father in waves. “Damn you! I saw her first.”
Darius tried to keep his own temper in check. “You forfeited any claim to her when you threw her away.”
“I deeply regret that now. I realized what a horrendous mistake I made. Where is she? I must go to her and explain, and make her see reason.”
Darius jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from strangling the man. “She wants nothing to do with you.”
“I was her first love. She will forgive me because I know she still cares for me.”
Did the man’s audacity know no bounds? Darius studied his father in growing disgust. “Do you know what Regina has been doing since you betrayed her and your wife sent her packing?”
“This article implies she’s a…a courtesan.”
“She’s survived by selling herself to very wealthy men. And she’s one of the most highly regarded and sought after grand horizontals in all of France.”
Blackwall’s face fell, and he turned pale. “Penelope swore to me that Regina found another position as governess up in the wilds of Yorkshire. Besides, she’s a respectable young lady of impeccable breeding. She’d never lower herself to be a—a common whore.”
“There is nothing common about her.” Darius made an exasperated noise. “Penelope lied to you.” And he told his father everything that had happened to Regina since his wife so heartlessly threw her out without a reference.
His father stared at him, slack-jawed and dumbfounded.
“I was right,” Darius said. “You didn’t know, because you didn’t care. You never thought about her at all until your wife died, did you, and now suddenly you want Régine back.” He rose, trying to keep from shaking. “Well, you can’t have her, because she’s mine now.”
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