Never Trust a Scoundrel

by Gayle Callen

  “In my limited experience—”

  She huffed in disbelief.

  “—every woman is different,” he continued, ignoring her reaction, “from the color that graces the peaks of her breasts”—he trailed a finger up the side of her breast and touched the peak, which tightened for him, even as she trembled—“to the varied fullness”—he cupped one breast gently, holding and weighing it, before beginning a slow trail down her abdomen—“to the shape of a woman’s nether lips.” He threaded his fingers through her curls, watched her stiffen, and heard her indrawn breath as he traced her damp opening. “Shall I kiss you there?”

  But he had gone too far. With a shocked gasp, she clamped her legs together. He didn’t try to withdraw his hand, still cupping her, one finger sliding inside her.

  He was trying to bring a reaction out of her, and wondered if he’d been attempting the same earlier. He’d brought her masked to Vauxhall Gardens, notorious for its mix of noblemen and commoners. She’d almost been unmasked by a woman who knew him—and would have known Grace. Scandal was something he was used to, but had he subconsciously wanted her to be a part of it? What reaction had he expected from others—from her? Caught together so blatantly, he would have been forced to marry her, or ruin her.

  He would never hurt her, so did he want to marry her?

  It was a new revelation for him, because he’d never found a woman who made him think of marriage as more than a convenience for the transfer of wealth and the continuation of the family into the next generation. Suddenly he thought about need and caring within a marriage, two emotions he had never wanted to feel, not when they could lead to so much grief. But there was joy, too.

  And now Grace was naked in his carriage, mostly at ease. How would she react if she knew the path of his thoughts? She’d had her heart broken once. He didn’t know if he could love her; wouldn’t he know such an emotion the moment he felt it? Perhaps he couldn’t feel it because he didn’t know if she trusted him.

  Yet she’d desired him so much she’d forgotten about the challenge, had given herself to him. Wasn’t that a form of trust?

  At last she eased her legs a bit, and he removed his hand. Deliberately holding her gaze, he brought to his mouth the finger that had just been inside her. When he licked it, her lips parted, and she stared at him, blinking in a dazed manner.

  He gave her a wicked grin, and at last she groaned and looked away.

  “So are you happy now?” she asked. “Is this everything you wanted?”

  Happy? What was she leading him to? He had a moment of dismay as he remembered the warnings of his family, who thought she was trying to entrap him.

  But how could there be any trust between them if he still worried about such a thing, after everything he knew about her? He had much to think about.

  But he took her words as what they were, from a woman unsure of her sexuality, a woman who’d been used by another man and abandoned. If she was too embarrassed to voluntarily reveal her secrets, perhaps he could coax her.

  “I’m happy,” he began slowly. “Are you? Your first lover did not take care of you.”

  She stiffened, and predictably found her chemise beside her on the bench and pulled it on like a blanket, covering herself and what she thought of as her shame. “So it was obvious that I’m not a virgin. I did not lie to you; I’d always said I wasn’t innocent.”

  “So you did. I just did not take the words so literally.” He paused, giving her time. “Would you tell me what happened?”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “Why do you want to know?”

  “You said he hurt you. I don’t want to do the same.”

  She smiled crookedly. “You’re not. You explained up front your motives in pursuing me, and you’ve met your goals.” She bit her lip and looked away again. “Baxter made me believe we’d fallen in love, even said the words to me as he promised to marry me.”

  “All to get you into his bed?”

  With a shrug, she said, “I think so. Maybe he was even toying with the idea of marriage.” She hesitated, and old sadness twisted her expression as she whispered, “But then I thought I might be carrying his child.”

  He took her hand and she let him, but he didn’t think she even realized he was there. She had gone back into her own pain and fear.

  “He was not overjoyed,” he said matter-of-factly.

  His tone seemed to ease her tension, for a faint smile touched her lips. “No. He accused me of trying to force his hand.”

  “He’s a bastard,” Daniel said in a low, angry voice.

  She gave him a rueful smile. “He is. That’s why I warned your cousin about him.”

  “Good of you.” When she said nothing right away, he began, “What happened next?”

  “He left me.”

  “When he thought you might be pregnant?” he asked, straightening up in outrage. Her voice was far too even, too calm, as if she’d spent a long time ridding herself of emotion.

  She nodded. “He said he would not be trapped by a woman after his fortune. He would try to send money when the time came.” Her laugh held no amusement.

  “I should have taken him apart when I had the chance,” Daniel said between gritted teeth.

  Her hand touched his arm. “No, it’s over. It was only a scare, not a true pregnancy. I had never felt so much gratitude and relief in my life when my…monthly came.”

  She glanced at him shyly, as if they weren’t naked. It was endearing.

  “But I knew I had come so close to losing my reputation, to losing…everything.” She sighed. “But now you’ve proved to me that my lack of virginity will be apparent on my wedding night. I cannot lie to a future husband. Perhaps I should just be your mistress and be done with it.”

  In the face of her controlled emotions, he asked softly, “Is that what you want, a life beholden to a man’s money?”

  Her chin lifted; her eyes shot green sparks. “No.”

  “Then I haven’t won yet.”

  “What?” she asked in confusion.

  “The challenge was for me to make you my mistress, and you’ve said you won’t be that. I’ll just have to keep trying.”

  She studied him. “But the two weeks are over.”

  “Do you want the challenge to be over?” he asked, actually feeling nervous about her response. What would he do if he couldn’t see her, try to seduce her, every day?

  In a whisper, she answered, “No.”

  The relief he felt was almost overwhelming, giving him even more to think about. “Then let’s get you home.”

  When she started to lift her chemise over her head, he took it from her and did it himself, When it was over her face, her arms upraised, he leaned over and kissed each nipple, feeling satisfied as she shivered.

  Then she took his wrinkled shirt and pulled it over his head. When he tensed, wondering what she’d do, she surprised him by touching her tongue to his navel and giggling when he jerked in surprise. He didn’t imagine she realized the effect of her hair brushing his groin.

  When he could see her bright face again, he asked, “Can you ignore the corset?”

  “Not and still fit into the gown. And am I just supposed to carry it inside?”

  “I guess not.”

  He helped her pull the garment over her head and settle it into place over her chemise. Then he used his teeth to tighten the laces at her back. Instead of laughing, she gave a low moan, and his own passion began to rise again. The game was no longer about playing.

  She helped him slide on his waistcoat. When she reached the bottom button, she leaned in and briefly kissed his mouth. She proved herself an expert in tying his cravat, and his reward for barely remaining still was another kiss, this time to his throat, and a dip of her tongue beneath his collar. He shuddered.

  She had several petticoats, and she held her balance standing in the middle of the rocking carriage and stepped into them for him. As he tied each one, he nipped at her through her garments, first
one thigh, then the other, then with his face pressed against the petticoats between her thighs. She cried out and held his head there for a moment, and he rewarded her by rubbing hard against her.

  She pushed him back onto the seat, then lifted each of his stockinged feet to slide them into his drawers. She drew the garment up his legs, her body following as he parted his thighs. Her face just above his hard erection seemed like torture, and a lock of her hair slid over him, making him inhale harshly. Dipping her head, she let her hair brush back and forth over him, until he was gripping the leather bench to keep from launching himself at her. At last she pulled his drawers all the way up, though she didn’t tighten the laces, which made him hopeful.

  When she backed away, grinning with pleased satisfaction, he tried to remember how to move. He almost groaned as he reached for her gown, then held it up until she slid her arms in. As each inch of her face appeared, he pressed kisses over and over again, taking her damp mouth in a long invasion before following the gown even lower. As it settled into place halfway down her breasts, he thrust his tongue into the valley between, inhaling lavender and the unique scent of Grace. Her skin was moist and salty, and he could have continued there for much longer until she pushed him away with shaking hands.

  “Your trousers,” she whispered.

  Once again he found himself easing backward on the seat, watching her from beneath half-closed eyes as she knelt before him and pulled the trousers up his legs. When he lifted his hips to allow her to pull them to his waist, she quickly placed a kiss on his erection through his clothing, and then pulled away as if she were embarrassed. But he would remember that innocent, curious kiss for a long time.

  “Only my drawers are left,” she said softly, not yet meeting his eyes.

  All his desperation and desire welled up within him, and the thought of letting her go back to her empty bed seemed more than he could tolerate. He fumbled to open his trousers and drawers, then with swift hands drew her up and over until she straddled him.

  “Drawers get in the way,” he said against her mouth, and thrust up inside her.

  She cried out even as her wet, hot walls accepted the length of him, sheltering him. He lifted her up and down himself until she understood what he wanted, then she rode him gracefully, wildly, feeling her way with her eyes closed. Her skirts poofed across his chest, but since he’d never buttoned the back of her gown, the bodice fell forward. It was easy to release her breasts from the low corset, and he played with them, teasing and plucking and rubbing them. She squirmed and ground herself into him, learning to feel her own pleasure as she drove him into a frenzy. It took all of his strength and control to hold back, to give her time. His breath rasped harshly in his chest, his jaw ached from gritting his teeth, his body was afire with the pleasure he held back, the summit of which he desperately wanted to reach.

  At last she stiffened and flung her head back, arching her body as her climax swept over her. He gripped her hips in both hands and surged into her over and over, letting his release overwhelm and overcome him.

  She collapsed gasping onto his chest. Weakly, she murmured, “I never imagined…that.”

  He chuckled as he swept the hair from her face and tucked some of it behind her ear. “Then there’s a lot you never imagined, and I plan to show you.”

  She sat up again, and he sighed with bliss as that drove him deeper.

  “But only if you win me as your mistress,” she said with false primness. “One night does not do that.”

  Grace watched Daniel’s harsh expression, his lowered brows, felt him move inside her. The tremors of her pleasure still rippled through her, and everything he did set off more waves of it. He filled her, stretched her. Now that they’d made love twice, she felt a little tender, but not enough to make her climb off him.

  He sat up and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “Should we continue our ride through the city?” He nuzzled her cheek and moved inside her. “And our more private ride?”

  With a sigh, she murmured, “I should return home.”

  “Then stop tempting me, woman, and let me dress.”

  She laughed as she slid off him, trying to hold all her skirts up. After they finished helping each other dress, Daniel rapped on the roof to get the coachman’s attention. When the carriage stopped, he stepped out for a moment, then came back inside.

  “I told him to take us into the alley behind your town house,” Daniel said, “just in case your brother is home.”

  “A few weeks ago he would probably still have been out, but now you never know.” She felt troubled just thinking about Edward.

  “He’s changed, Grace,” Daniel said quietly.

  “I think so, but I’ve hurt him, Daniel.”

  “We’ve hurt him.”

  She gave him a searching glance, trying to read his expression, to understand what he meant. Did he merely feel guilty for his sake—or for hers, too?

  They held hands until the carriage came to a stop, and she heard Daniel sigh when he reached for the door handle.

  She put a hand on his back, wanting to say that she wished this night would never end. But would he think she meant only as his mistress? So she said nothing.

  When he helped her down, and the coachman discreetly stepped away, she softly said, “Daniel, have you ever attempted to play my father’s violin?”

  He betrayed his surprise. Or maybe he was no longer trying to hide his emotions from her.

  “No.”

  “I know we’ve decided to keep the winning of it still between us, but…perhaps because it wasn’t really yours yet, you didn’t try to play it. I think you should.”

  He gave her a wry smile and kissed her nose. “Let me see you into the house, Grace.”

  She put her arm through his. At the kitchen door, he waited outside until she’d lit a candle from the lamp. Smiling tenderly at him, she closed the door and locked it, watching through the windowpane as he faded into the black courtyard.

  Only after she was in her room and wearing a dressing robe, Ruby already back to her own room, did Grace hear a knock.

  Hoping it would be Daniel, she flung open the door.

  Edward stood there, and he gave a sad smile when he saw her expression. “You even wish it was him.”

  She waved a hand at him, smiling. “Edward, you make too much of things.”

  He entered her room, and she noticed he was still dressed for the evening.

  “What were you doing tonight?” she asked.

  He stiffened. “I had a dinner party to go to.”

  “Who gave it?” she asked in curiosity.

  “A Mr. Hutton. You don’t know him.”

  “How do you know him?” She couldn’t help her curiosity, for his manner seemed…different.

  “He’s a director of the Southern Railway.”

  “Ah, you know him through Daniel,” she said happily. “And does he have any eligible daughters?”

  Edward sank down into a chair before her bare hearth, and she recognized his evasions.

  “Aha, so he does,” she continued. “Do you…like one of them?”

  He sighed and said gravely, “I do.”

  “Then you can thank Daniel.”

  “I know.”

  His agreement seemed most reluctant.

  Edward cocked his head as he studied her. “Did you enjoy the Gardens?”

  Now it was her turn to be evasive without appearing so. “I did. It was truly a fairyland.”

  “I know what’s happening, Grace.”

  She stiffened, but didn’t reply.

  “You think you can reform him, like you’ve always tried to do to me.”

  “It worked for you, didn’t it?” she challenged.

  “I wanted it to, but does he? No gentleman tries to seduce young maidens. I would never dream of doing so with Miss Hutton.”

  “You’re a good man, Edward,” she said kindly. But maybe she needed a man not so good.

  Yet did she deserve Dani
el? A man was threatening her, and whatever his scheme, it could cost Daniel—and his family—respect. How would she feel then, when she could have solved the Cabot problem by cutting Daniel out of her life completely?

  Should she have? Instead she’d surrendered to him, agreed to prolong their challenge because she could not imagine life without him. What was she hoping to accomplish? An offer of marriage? When she was withholding a truth from him? Was she trying to find a fairy-tale ending where there was none? Perhaps her dreams were just as false as the Gardens themselves.

  Sex with Daniel had been the ultimate gamble.

  Chapter 23

  When Daniel awoke the next morning, he discovered that the previous night his house had been invaded—by his mother and her staff.

  He stared at her in surprise as she waited for him in the breakfast parlor. With a smile, he came forward and kissed her cheek. “Mother, it has been almost twenty years since you were last in London. Did you come just to share toast with me?”

  “Sit down, Daniel, before the food gets cold. You did sleep rather late,” she added, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, pulling his chair to the table and nodding to the footman, who set a hot plate of eggs and ham before him.

  “You were out very late,” she said, buttering a piece of toast.

  “As an adult, I am allowed to.” He smiled.

  “Were you with Miss Banbury?”

  “I was.” He eyed her with speculation. “You still disapprove?”

  “I trust you to make a wise decision.”

  But she still disapproved—or a better word might be “worried,” enough so that she had braved the risks of London after so many years.

  “Her father has an antique violin, well over a hundred years old,” Daniel began slowly. “It reminds me of the one Father used to have.”

  “Is it similar to the one that’s on your library wall?”

  He’d forgotten. “She let me borrow it.”

  “I see,” she said shrewdly.

  “Why don’t you play anymore?” he suddenly asked.

  “The violin?” Her gaze moved away evasively.

  “The piano, your favorite instrument.”