An Indiscreet Debutante

by Lorelie Brown

  He drew his tongue over the seam of her lower lips. At the very top, her clitoris peeked through like a tiny pink promise. He set his lips there. Soaking and tasting. The wetness gleaming over her lips was sweet.

  Bloody hell, she was intoxicating. He wanted to take her. Fully. His thumbs rubbed up and down her damp, soft lips. Spreading her apart a teeny amount at a time. The first lick burst her flavor over his tongue like sparkling wine. He licked and sucked and took her flesh into his mouth. There was no such thing as too much of Lottie.

  And then she moaned. Good. Exactly what he was after. He wanted to make her mindless with desire.

  After all, to be on his knees as he indulged in her body, he had to be mindless. Completely so. He wanted her as wrecked as he. One way or the other.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lottie was not ignorant about sex. She couldn’t afford to be. After all, if babies had made her mother run mad, Lottie needed to avoid them like the plague. In turn she had to know how they were created. Hence several purloined scientific manuals and one rather astounding chapbook that described rather naughty scenarios.

  In none of them had there been a hint of this. Searing pleasure that left her adrift and lost in the clouds. Though her hands cupped the back of his head, somewhere along the way she’d gone wandering. Floating outside her body as shocking, tingling pleasure wound through her.

  Wet didn’t come close to describing his mouth. Nor did heat nor did the fact that he was at turns first gentle, then hard. Firm strokes. Nips that flashed sharp tingles.

  He’d found a wicked and reckless spot that made her head jerk back and strange, quiet noises come from her throat because it felt so damn amazingly good. Waves and jolts took her over.

  She caught hold of his hair. She tried to pull his head back, away. She didn’t know what to do with the bursting sensations rocking through her. But he wouldn’t be moved. He licked straight up her center.

  His thumbs stroked and circled her. Pleasure at top and bottom. His mouth stayed open and wet and sucking.

  Then she switched, pushing him closer to her body. She was not letting him go under any circumstances. She needed whatever he dangled out of reach. Her fingers twisted and tightened in his hair. She hooked her knees over his shoulders.

  He was solid. Steady. Though he looked slender and elegant in his proper suits, underneath there was a man who could take her bare heels digging into his back. He shifted in a subtle rocking rhythm that matched the way her blood surged and released.

  Her breathing locked down, slipped away. She stopped panting long enough that multicolored stars bloomed behind her eyes. She was sensation and no more, all wrought by his touch.

  She cracked open into a million sparks. The joy rocked out from her middle and washed over her. Taking over her.

  She felt good. Which seemed so unsubstantial, so insufficient, but it was true. Her body, her mind and her soul were bound together in happy joy that took her completely in a tingling surge. She was right with herself for a little while.

  She eased back into her limbs, finding herself more comfortable than she’d been in ages. Ian helped by lengthening his licks and softening his assault to gentle kisses. Her muscles and bones fit together perfectly. A draught from the badly fit window frame tickled her soles.

  He rubbed his wet mouth against the inside of her thigh, leaving a streak. “There. I don’t know about you, but I feel much calmer now.”

  Her spine melted and melted until she leaned against the wall. She giggled in a way unlike her. “I don’t see why. You were the one doing all the work.”

  “And reaping all the rewards.” His eyes were hot, fired with arctic ice.

  “I could argue that point, but I’d do myself no favors.” Her hands curled in the heaps of her petticoats, her fingers gone slightly numb. She felt less like herself than she ever had before, but also strangely more.

  “How so?” But he didn’t give her a chance to answer. He stood, leaning in toward her. His mouth tasted like something more sweet and slick than before. She realized with a tiny startle that it was her own flavor. She should have been appalled. Instead, she licked the inside of his bottom lip.

  He liked that. Or she assumed so, since he gave a throaty growl and nibbled at her top lip.

  She was smiling when she pulled back. “Because if I convince you that I’ve the best of it and you’re wrong, you may decide not to repeat the act.”

  He gripped her knees, thumbs gently rubbing over the tender flesh of her thighs. He cocked an eyebrow at her, that smile tucking up only on the left. “You could try. I’m not likely to be convinced. You taste like a lick of heaven.”

  Heat flared across her cheeks in a blush. “You’ve no need to talk so rough.”

  “This from the wild child?” He drifted close enough to brush his mouth over the column of her throat. “I feel like I’ve won a prize.”

  She pushed him and slid down from the dresser she’d perched on. She scooped up her dress and had to twist the sleeves into place from where her impatience had flipped them. As if her dedication would keep away the embarrassment, she kept her gaze pinned on the pale purple fabric. “I’m still allowed to be offended.”

  “You are. If you actually feel so.” He leaned against the dresser, watching her pull the dress on as if she were there for his amusement. His every look stoked her flames higher. “But this time at least it was only an act. And therefore a surprising one.”

  He was completely wrong, but she couldn’t make herself simply tell him. In truth, she was disappointed he didn’t already know after what they’d just shared. She presented him with her biggest, brightest smile and her wide eyes. Her fingers flew up the line of her buttons. They sealed up as if nothing had happened. As if she didn’t still tingle and the inside of her thighs weren’t damp under her petticoats. “Our whole world is one big act. It’s what makes everyone get along.”

  His head tilted. “Haven’t you anyone to whom you tell the whole truth?”

  She wanted to be able to say yes. She wasn’t without friends entirely. Sera and Victoria were her heart, her closest. But she’d never told them all of it. She’d mentioned how terrified she was and how much she worried about her mother. Certainly that.

  She’d never mentioned the anger. The guilt. The way she got almost a little relieved when her mother entered one of her sad periods, because it meant she’d take to her bed and not embarrass anyone for a while.

  And how very ugly an emotion that was.

  She held her smile up so tightly that her cheeks pinched. The corners of her eyes felt tense. “You must be a nicer person than I, if you can reveal every single thought and emotion.”

  He came close enough to trace his knuckles over her rounded cheeks. She didn’t want him to see through her. Nothing else would leave her as vulnerable. “It’s got nothing to do with how nice I am and everything to do with how much I trust my friends. My family.”

  “Tell me who you talk to.” Her voice was raw.

  “My mother.” His smile was endearing, and she wanted to taste it again, but it didn’t seem right where their conversation had wandered. “And my sister. I know, it’s unbearably saccharine, but there you have it. I’ve two close friends from school as well. I don’t see them nearly enough. Usually for hunting trips in the fall.”

  She wanted a part of that life. It spiked through her, washing away the experience he’d given her. This moment wasn’t meant to be kept. Not the miraculous things he knew. Not the kindness and gentleness with which he spoke of his family.

  She was jealous. She was so very envious she thought she might lose her grip on her senses. How close she tread, everything simmering beneath the surface. Barely in control, layered over with bright smiles. Her fingernails curled into her palms.

  She’d take him. She’d have him. Full use of his body, however she liked. Because he’d be the closest she ever got to that kind of indulgence and connection. Denying herself that taste seemed ridiculous. Sho
uld she walk alone through the difficult world without ever having experienced it once?

  She had never been the self-sacrificing type. There was no reason to start now.

  But there certainly was business to see to first. She shook her skirts smooth and peeked into a smoky mirror to tuck back her hair. Her tumbled curls hid a wealth of reckless activity, since they never looked neat and orderly. “On with it, shall we?”

  He presented his arm. “Tell me,” he said as they stepped out onto the landing. “What will we do if Patricia makes an appearance this evening?”

  A sea of heads and cawing laughter and round faces with eyes turned red by drink made up the crowd beneath the banister. Cards were shuffled, markers passed. This was the sort of world she knew and yet one she didn’t. She surveyed it all with an easy assurance that no matter what happened, she’d have the man whose arm she held at the moment. She’d feel the strength currently under her fingers turn into a force that would leave her mindless. Again.

  “At this point? Whatever is fastest, if I have my way. The better to leave quickly.”

  How strangely surreal this all was. Ian looked down on the crowd with a sense of detachment that lifted him above the rabble. Except his was pure luck. He was no better than the rest of them, but for narrow accident of birth and dint of will. Parlaying his father’s beginnings, he’d turned a fairly profitable mine into a hefty income for what remained of his family.

  What was the point if not to build more family?

  He wasn’t any better than the people who gambled and drank below. He was luckier. Throwing that away would be foolish.

  If anything, he should be looking to marry.

  Not dallying in a whore’s rented room. He hadn’t stooped so far as to play with those so much less fortunate than him. The woman on his arm was dazzling. She was an amazing example of English womanhood, including her recklessness. That edge of hers conquered nations and made the empire grand.

  Now, when she’d been an orgasmic puddle not ten minutes ago, she stood with her chin up and her spine a casual, shallow curve of attitude and arrogance in a feminine package.

  He was coming to rather like the combination.

  “Fastest,” he said, drawing the word into a slow promise. “I’m curious. Have you somewhere better to be?”

  She kept her face turned outward, toward the crowd. “Under you.”

  She’d have felt his response in the full-body jolt that wedged out from his ribs. He’d almost been able to forget his body. He was hard, yes. That became almost secondary since he knew he’d receive relief eventually. Besides, he sometimes liked the slow torture of unrequited excitement. Best to revel.

  Not this time. He wanted. Now. He folded his hand flat over hers where it curled around his biceps.

  “You think it’s so simple as that?” He kept his gaze averted as well. His lurking laughter grew in direct counterpoint to the pull of his lust. “You’ve tried me before and I turned you down.”

  “True.” She leaned enough that the side of her breasts rubbed against his fingertips. “But that was before you tasted me.”

  “True,” he echoed.

  Her mouth curved. Her neck was a white column of tendons and softness mixed together. Locks of red hair curled around her shoulders. “You see?”

  At this moment, he couldn’t remember one single reason not to indulge and take her. “You’re forgetting one thing.”

  “Am I?”

  He liked her. So damn much. “We’ve nowhere to go.”

  “Let me take care of that. I already told you my home was best.”

  He almost laughed. Because really, what in the name of God was going on here? Was he seducer or the one being seduced? Maybe a bit of both. He’d let a little slip of a girl wrap him around her finger.

  His body coiled at the memory of her under his mouth. Silken flesh. Tender skin. Her responsive moans and the way she’d clutched at his hair. “Now?” he asked hoarsely.

  “In a...” She broke off. Her eyes narrowed. “Near the front of the room. Near the faro table. Do you see?”

  A woman stood there, facing the dealer. From his angle, Ian could only see the back of her head, where her hair was twisted into a tight knot. The gaslights shined orange off what appeared to be light brown hair. He snapped from indulgence to awareness. “Is that her?”

  Lottie shook her head, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I can’t tell.”

  “Come.” He took off, dragging Lottie along behind him. His grip slid down her arm, forearm, wrapping his hand around her. Their fingers laced together as they hit the bottom of the stairs.

  The press of bodies was ridiculous. Too close. They could barely breathe, much less track the slip and slide of one person. Ian was tall enough to look above most of the crowd, but the problem was Patricia was short. The woman stepped to the side as a giant bruiser angled across Ian’s line of sight, toward the bar.

  Frustration boiled out of his throat in a rough noise. “I don’t see her.”

  Lottie muttered something as she craned upwards on the tips of her slippers. “I don’t either. I do see...” She shoved two fingers between her lips. The whistle she gave could have burst his eardrums. But it was effective.

  Heads swiveled as if spun on pikes. Their mouths were as slack as if they’d been beheaded and stuck on a stick as well. Wide eyes took in the whistling lady like she was a freak at a circus.

  She also got the attention of one of the big, burly guards near the front door. He arrowed in on her, but she pointed. “Her! Grab that one. Red shawl and the flower in her hair.”

  He darted left. With no visible regret, he strong-armed a skinny gambler to the side. As he grabbed the woman by the shoulders, he scowled fiercely, as if the task he’d been assigned were nothing less than protecting the Queen. “Got ’er,” he roared.

  There were only a dozen feet between Ian, Lottie and the guard with the woman, but it took stupidly long to get through the people who packed the space like cows. The thick smell of sweat and sticky alcohol scented the air. “Come along,” Ian said. “Clear out, clear out.”

  As soon as they were within reaching distance of the woman, Ian knew. Even before the guard turned her around.

  It wasn’t Patricia. This woman was of similar build and mannerisms, but not at all similar features. Her mouth was full and blowsy and her nose hooked. Her gaze flicked back and forth between Ian and Lottie. She said nothing, cowering in fear.

  Disappointment filled his skull with the thudding beat of his pulse. He hadn’t realized, not really, how fully wrapped up he’d allowed himself to become in the idea that this would be over quickly. That he would soon be free.

  The question remained, free to do what? He hadn’t exactly planned on devoting a whole season to displaying Etta to best advantage, but it certainly seemed more pleasant than chasing some low woman all the way across London and back. His hands fisted.

  “Damn it,” Ian muttered.

  “And we made too much fuss.” Lottie’s face pinched. She turned away, looking out at the crowd, and this time they were all staring at her.

  There was little animosity coming from them, beyond the general displeasure that they weren’t gaming at the moment. But they’d noticed. They knew Lottie and Ian as not part of their type. A tall, skinny bloke with a red kerchief tied around his neck slicked his gaze over Lottie from head to toe. An avaricious gleam dwelled in his eyes.

  Ian coiled his arm around Lottie’s shoulders. “Come on. It’s our turn to get out of here.”

  “We’re under Fletcher’s roof. Nothing will happen to us.” She came along with him anyway and liked the way she leaned into his shoulder.

  They found Sera in the back room. Her hands were filled with linen cloths and a steaming bowl of water. “Gone so soon?”

  “We made a spectacle of ourselves,” Lottie said with her usual good cheer. Ian wasn’t the only one who could see through it because Sera’s mouth knotted into a pinch. “We’ll have to be off now
.”

  The ladies said their farewells, and Sera took a moment to whisper in Lottie’s ear. Probably something about not trusting men one hardly knew or that Lottie ought to be on her guard.

  Once they climbed into the carriage and the silence wrapped around them like comfort and temptation, Lottie looked at him with a tiny smile curving her lips. “You’re coming home with me, aren’t you?”

  He shouldn’t. Not by any means. There was indulgence and then there was recklessness, and it seemed that Lottie was rubbing off on him. He let his hand delve beneath the curling, soft mass of her hair and felt the delicate dip at the base of her skull where two of his fingertips fit perfectly.

  She leaned into the touch. Her eyes drifted half-closed as she looked out at him from under her lashes. They were pale in color but thick. A study in contrasts, like her.

  The words came from some deep place that he hadn’t known he had. It was also a place that he might come to like. Especially if it came with indulgences like Lottie. “Yes. I’m coming home with you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lottie’s groomsmen knew when bringing her home from possibly non-Society-approved locales, they were to take her directly to the back of the house. From the mews, she slipped quietly through the gate and the garden.

  Night had always been Lottie’s friend.

  Even if it weren’t a matter of concealing her comings and goings, she’d always liked the way the shadows slithered around the small garden at the back of their house. Flowerbeds closed up at night, hiding away their secrets, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were less beautiful for being knotted buds. She’d spent hours there in the dark.

  It was safe. She wasn’t obligated to sit with her mother or to think about her or to be a good daughter or good friend. When alone, she was no one other than herself.

  It was easier that way.

  Walking through the garden with Ian trailing behind her like a silent wraith was different. Her steps whispered over the gravel path, but his were absolutely nonexistent. She knew he was behind her by the weight of his attention. She had absolute knowledge that he’d focused on her.