A Game of Persuasion: Extended Prologue for the Art of Ruining a Rake (The Naughty Girls Book 3) (16 page)

Lucy shivered again. Not that she wished he had been in attendance that night Roman had tried to introduce them, but Lord de Winter was no milksop. The fact that he seemed intrigued by her delighted her.

“Thank you, my lord, but no.” That was all she trusted herself to say.

Lord de Winter arched a brow as if he didn’t quite believe her. “Your way, then. But should you have a change of heart, I shan’t be far.” He sketched her a perfect bow, then walked away.

She was alone with Roman. It had taken but a second, really, for him to make short work of her many admirers.

With deliberate steps, he circled around until they faced each other. Ever so slowly, he closed the remaining distance until they were toe to toe.

The top of her head scarcely met his cravat. She breathed in the scent of him, warm male and lemony soap, and promised herself she’d never forget this moment as long as she lived.

“You’re new,” he said. Without waiting for her to respond, he raised one hand and brushed the backs of his knuckles across her upper arm. Once again, gooseflesh pebbled across her skin. “What’s your name?”

Her hands shook so violently, she forced them into fists at her sides. “W-what’s yours?”

His thighs brushed her skirt as he encroached closer. “Ah, but I think you know.”

She glanced up at him. Cerulean eyes stared back. Just as inquisitive and teasing as he usually appeared, yet devoid of recognition.

An empty hollow formed in her belly. Her disguise was intentional. She’d meant to trick him into forgetting she was an innocent, into forgetting who she was. But she didn’t like the sensation that she was sharing Roman, even if it was with herself. Was this what he did at night, after he left her side? He waltzed away from their tepid entertainment and brought himself somewhere like this, into the arms of someone like her?

Of course it was. Why else would she have come? The only way to have him was on his terms. One passionate night without consequence. That was how he lived.

How he loved.

She glanced to the ballroom floor. Then, boldly, she drew one finger against the intricate gold button fitting his coat. She placed her hand flat on the superfine wool covering his chest and pitched her voice low, attempting to disguise it in velvety invitation. “One cannot help but hear gossip, my lord. Tell me, are you as talented as they claim?”

She half expected him to guffaw. Wasn’t that the most blatantly ridiculous thing she’d ever said?

But he didn’t snicker. He moved closer. Let her hand press into his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart beat steadily and his voice vibrated as he spoke.

“You could say I’m something of a professional. But what do they say about you?” He rubbed his knuckles against her arm again. Then he dipped his head and murmured in her ear. “Wait, don’t tell me. Allow me to guess. They say that you can seduce a man from twenty paces, with the back of your head, no less. That every man here wants to roll down these gloves and taste each one of your fingertips. That you make us hard with need. That we savor it.”

She inhaled sharply as lust shot through her. Dear Zeus, he was
good
. Her entire core melted into want at that statement.

She took a breath, then forced herself to look into his face. Again she was unprepared for the lack of recognition.

He smiled at her, yet his eyes were haunted. His jaw was set. As if he had single-mindedly decided he was going to have her—whoever she was—and he didn’t intend to wait.
 

She didn’t want to wait, either. “Unfortunately for them, I will only take one lover tonight,” she said coyly.

Appreciation for her cunny remark lit his eyes. “Tonight, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. Men never cease hoping their turn will come.”

While she was still reeling from that statement, he took her upper arm in his hand. Claiming her.

Her, a stranger.

Once more, she felt that flare of red-hot jealousy. For all the flirting he’d done with her as Lucy Lancester, he was here tonight to bed a complete unknown. He had no obvious compunctions against it. He even laughed about it!

She was too angry with herself to form a retort. She’d known he was a rake. Feeling disgusted by it was senseless, and detrimental to her plan. What would she remember more, that she’d found ecstasy in his arms, or that he’d proved his capriciousness in no uncertain terms?

“Don’t,” he said, his grip on her arm tightening.

The singular, familiar word impaled her like a pike through the heart. Her hand curled into the expensive, soft fabric of his sleeve, remembering the feel of him. Wanting him to remember her, and yet, almost glad he didn’t know it was she, for what use did she have for a confirmed libertine, beyond the night’s dalliance?

Gently, he tugged her. Not hard enough to cause her to stumble, but asking her to stay. With him.

Tonight.

“Don’t choose someone else,” he said quietly.

She looked again into his countenance. She couldn’t leave, not when he was quite literally within her reach. He might not be thinking about her, but she would remember him, the man she’d yearned for and dreamt of forever. For just this night, he was hers alone. Even if he didn’t know who
she
was.

His grip eased. His thumb rubbed soothingly against her skin, calming her. “I need you,” he murmured, bending so his forehead touched hers.

Their noses bumped as she turned her head slightly. Her heart leapt into her throat as their lips brushed.
This.
Dear Zeus, this was happening. They were almost locked in a kiss, and yet, not quite. He wanted her, he was holding her, but he was giving her a choice.

“You don’t know who I am,” she whispered. Despite her protest, she relished the feel of his skin against hers. This was how it should be. She wanted him. Hers, forever; hers, alone. Always.

He feathered his lips across her cheek, then against the underside of her mask. Just out of reach of where she wanted, no, needed him to kiss her.

“Pretend I do,” he said gruffly.

Her resistance was melting.
This
was what it was like to be seduced by him. It was marvelous. Surely, she would live the rest of her life in regret if she didn’t discover what other pleasures he could give her.

She leaned into him. Her left hand came up and she flattened both against his lapels. “There are no other women,” she said firmly. “Just me.”

He held her arms tightly, drawing her breasts closer to his chest, making love to her through their clothes right there on the ballroom floor. “I am your virgin.”

“Don’t mock me,” she said archly, leaning back to challenge him face to face. “You don’t know what I’ll do.”

He laughed quietly. “I have hopes.”

Then he slipped his arm around her and pressed her toward the exit.
 

They walked nonchalantly, yet with purpose. She missed his body wrapped around hers. Without the dizzying effects of his nearness, she was too aware they were leaving. This was happening.

Moments later, they slipped through the side doors and into a darkened hallway. Roman seemed to know where he was going. He held her hand as he led her through the maze of rooms, not stopping to gather his bearings for so much as a second.

She pushed the unpleasant thought away. It didn’t matter if he’d done this before, just as it didn’t matter if he thought she was someone else. They were both wanted the same thing and they wanted it now.

He’d promised to be hers for the night. What more did she need?

Finally, they entered a bedchamber lit only by the silvery cast of a streetlamp through the window. Roman closed the door behind them.

He slid the bolt home.
Click.

What was she doing? Good gods, what if she couldn’t lose herself in the moment, couldn’t forget she meant nothing to him?

What if there were consequences?

Certainly, she had concerns aplenty without adding fear of pregnancy to the list. There wouldn’t be unintended consequences and that was that. Celeste had prepared her for this; she must trust in the outcome of
some
things.

Lucy stood just inside the bedchamber door as he shrugged out of his tightfitting coat. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Desire warred with fear. She’d been so sure she was ready. But doubt had started to creep in with the first indisputable evidence he was truly,
truly
a rake. More so than she’d ever imagined.

In the darkness, his tall, shadowy form approached. He’d removed his boots, and yet still he towered over her. He reached out and searched her cheekbone with his long fingers, probing the lace edge of her demi-mask.

She’d almost forgotten it.

“You seem nervous.” His voice was low and soothing. His fingertips traced the shape of the mask. Slowly, they grazed across her cheek, then tickled the whorl of her ear. She gasped.
 

He leaned in, closing the distance between their heights. His lips hovered over hers. “I can stop.”

She shook her head. In those few seconds, he’d brought all her tumultuous desire back to the surface. Waves of it, enough to send her gasping for air. “Don’t.”

“Good.” He slipped his hand around her head and brought his lips down on hers. No modest first kiss, but a soul-consuming inferno that set her body aflame.

She wanted to do the same to him, but there was no time for her to practice moving her lips against his. He wasn’t kissing a novice, but a woman he believed to be as experienced as himself.

He ran his hands down her body so quickly, she almost missed it. Even as his hands skimmed the sides of her breasts, it seemed he pressed those same hands against her backside. Then her spine. Then her hips. In one swift motion, it seemed he touched every arc and bend hidden beneath her gown. Then he pulled her against the solid length of him until she was scarcely standing on her own two feet.

His kiss changed, so that he seemed to be asking her to open her mouth. She did so and suddenly, their tongues met in an intimate dance as wonderful as it was unexpected.

He moaned and pressed her harder against him. Arousal shot through her. He kissed her faster, more insistently. She began to roam her hands over his chest, savoring the feel of him in return. The lean muscles of his abdomen were easily discernable through his shirtwaist. She ran her palms up his sides as he’d done to her and was delighted by the hard, masculine feel of him.
 

She threw herself more completely into the kiss. This was her only chance to memorize him. There was the heat of his mouth to explore, the soft, fullness of his lips against hers. The outline of his jaw. She slid her hands into his hair and thought she might die of pleasure.
Roman.
Her sweet, beautiful Roman.

He laughed against her lips, then nuzzled her nose playfully. They were kissing again, but now he felt like Roman, and she surrendered completely to the man she’d loved as long as she’d known the meaning of the word.

He laughed again at her exuberance, then wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. He kissed her all the way to the bed before depositing her gently on the mattress.

“My lovely vixen, you must tell this poor virgin what comes next,” he said.

A bubble of horrified laughter escaped her. As if she could!

He waited patiently for her to guide him. She eyed him imperiously from behind her demi-mask, amused and nervous at the same time. There was one place she hadn’t touched him, one she desperately, desperately ached to trace. But should she?

“Go on,” he encouraged her. “I am your student.”

Seated, his buttoned fall stretched across his erection. Fortunately, the room was darkened and she was wearing her mask. He couldn’t see the blush that threatened to burn away her cheeks as she tentatively reached to stroke the distressed fabric where it bulged against him.

She snatched her hand back when he gasped. “I didn’t touch you yet,” she protested.

“You may as well have.” His voice sounded as strained as his breeches. Then he laughed. “Go on. I might die if you don’t.”

She grinned saucily at him and went back to her task. Slowly, torturously, she dragged her fingertips against the hard length of him. He moaned softly. His hands clenched at his sides. Again she caressed him.

She clamped her thighs together as her fingertips traced the warm curve of his member. Her nipples thrust against her chemise. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t move her. He’d recognize the evidence for himself.

“Remove your shirt.” She was surprised by the strength of her command.

He didn’t hesitate, but shed it immediately.

A haze of streetlight fell across his chest as she placed her hand where his lapel would have been. His bare skin, hot to the touch, was nothing like the layers of cloth he’d worn before.
 

He sucked in another breath. She was taking too long.

She didn’t want their time together to end, and so she was in no hurry. She didn’t know whether their lovemaking would last the night, or just a few moments. If it made him desire her more, then good. He deserved to wait, as she had done for years upon years.

In a slow pirouette, she turned around and presented him her laces. “Untie me.”