Debra Mullins (2 page)

“Rose,” he coaxed, his voice low and soothing. He swept his thumb along the inside of her wrist, then brought her palm to his lips. His gentle kiss made her knees buckle, and she struggled for reason.

Heavens, but what had ever given her the wild notion to pass herself off as a demirep? She could have followed the group of young bucks and claimed to be lost while still maintaining her identity as a gently bred lady. Instead, she had mingled with the crowd and allowed them all to think her a harlot.

But the madness that had grabbed hold of her when she had seen that ring had ended up leading her down the right path. She had learned from the evening’s conversation that the crossed rose and sword was the symbol of the Black Rose Society, a club of swordsmen who dueled one another for sport. Her masquerade had proven a worthy sacrifice to discover the truth.

She just hadn’t expected anyone to take her up on her implied profession.

“Have you forgotten me?” He tugged her against him again, and she could feel the hardness of him pressing against the juncture of her thighs. She had never felt such a thing before, but she’d had a brother and knew what it meant. Heat flooded her system, making her skin tingle and her breath catch.

Think, Anna! How could she get what she needed and still escape unscathed? “I do not know what to say,” she murmured, her mind scrambling for a solution.

“Say yes.” He nuzzled her temple with his lips. “I’m not young and foolish like the rest of these lads. If you came here to find a man for your bed, you’ve got one.”

Aha. She pulled back enough to look in his eyes. “But I came here in search of a certain kind of man. How do I know you are the one I want?”

“Take my word on it.”

She managed a flirtatious laugh. “I have specific tastes, sir. I like a dangerous man, one who can protect a woman.” She leaned in, toyed with the lapel of his coat. “I overheard this evening that this is a society of swordsmen.”

“I’ve a sword for you, my sweet.” He pressed his hardness more firmly against her. She struggled to back away, but this time he wouldn’t let her. “No,” he murmured near her ear. “Stay. I like the feel of you against me.”

“That’s not at all the kind of sword I meant,”
she choked out. “I understood this to be a dueling club. Do you duel?”

He grinned. “Yes, I have fought a duel or two in my time.”

Her heart pounding, she asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

A burst of surprised laughter escaped his lips. “Bloodthirsty wench! Yes, I’ve killed men. Is that what it takes to excite you?”

Dear God. He admitted it! “Recently?” she whispered.

“If I tell you I have not killed a man since last year, will that weaken my chances of getting you in my bed?”

Last year? Had he been the one who’d dealt Anthony his death blow? “Who was the last man you killed?”

“I usually don’t know their names.” He frowned down at her. “Why all the questions?”

“I’m curious. As you said, swordplay excites me.”

His expression cleared. “I am an accomplished swordsman, my dear, probably more so than the young pups at yonder table.” He took her hand and nipped the palm, edging her more firmly against his erection. Ripples of pleasure coursed through her at the double assault.

This was wrong, so wrong. This man might know something about her brother’s death. Might even be the cause of it!

But he touched her, and rational thought flew from her mind. Was this not proof of his wickedness? Could she really be so attracted to a man who might be connected to her brother’s death?

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered, her voice breaking. He rubbed against her like a cat, and her eyes drifted closed on a wave of pleasure. “We can’t…you can’t…” She struggled to remember her purpose, to ignore the burning in her blood.

“Oh?” Amusement softened the growl of desire in his voice. “I assure you we can.” He cupped the back of her head and drew her closer for another hungry kiss. Her insides melted, then her stomach seemed to flip over as he urged her lips apart with his tongue.

His experience devastated her. Good Lord, to be taken by a man like this…The thought alone made her burn in parts she had never considered.

He rocked his hips against hers, setting a rhythm that her body seemed to recognize. His mouth seduced her, his hands stroking over her body with the knowledge of a man of experience. No boy was this, stealing kisses in the garden. This man had every intention of calling her bluff and making her body his.

And she wanted him to, with a passion that shook her to the core. Right or wrong, she wanted what he could teach her.

“You won’t tell me your price,” he murmured.
“Perhaps you need to see what I can give you. That I am worthy of the valuable treasure you possess.”

Before she could gather her scattered wits, he’d swept her off her feet and set her down on a stone planter nearby. The edge was narrow, and she started to topple backwards into the shrubbery. He stopped her by bracing his arm behind her.

She remained carefully balanced between the narrow strip of stone and his warm, hard arm, completely at the mercy of his whim. He loomed above her, blocking the light from the lanterns, a tall, broad-shouldered man with thick dark hair and sharp features that managed to be attractive even as they were not handsome. His simple black mask only added to the allure of danger.

“Easy, sweetness.” His voice soothed her in the darkness, the calm timbre of it playing against her nerves like silk against skin. His fingers brushed her ankle, glided along her calf.

“What are you doing?” Scandalized, she wanted to lean forward and push away his hand—that clever, tantalizing hand that made her feel things no respectable lady should feel. But her balance was precarious; she depended completely on him to hold her steady.

“I’m showing you how it can be between us. I am a generous lover, Rose.” He caressed the inside of her thigh, then tenderly squeezed it.

Sensations rippled along her nerve endings,
and her eyes slid closed at the intensity. She didn’t doubt his words, not for an instant.

“Trust me.” He trailed his fingers up, up, up until he was
there
, slipping past all barriers to press his palm against her mound.

She gave a startled whimper.

“Easy. It’s all right. I won’t take what’s not freely given.” He rubbed his hand in a circle against her most intimate place, sending heat bursting through her. “But I want to show you what can be, if you let it.”

“Dear heavens,” she breathed, barely able to inhale properly.

“I can make you feel so good, sweet Rose.” He stroked her sensitive flesh with his fingers, so lightly it didn’t alarm her, but with such skill that she could barely remember her name when he touched her. “Just let me. Let me make you feel good.” He slid a finger partway inside her and at the same time found a spot with his thumb that made her see stars.

“Oh my.” She arched her back and would have fallen off the planter except for his arm around her. All the while his fingers never stopped, his thumb stroking that one place that drove her wild.

“That’s it. Yes, you like that, don’t you?” His voice encouraged her to give herself over, to enjoy the sensations bursting between her thighs. It was wrong, so wrong. She shouldn’t be doing this.

But it was so delicious. So irresistible.

“That’s it, my sweet. Let me make you feel good,” he crooned.

Time lost all meaning. Her entire world became his hand between her legs, his fingers bringing forth amazing sensations that dazzled her. Her body became a creature she didn’t recognize, reacting to his touch and seeming to know how to respond when her mind had no idea.

Her thighs fell open wider, and she pressed herself against his hand, desperate for something elusive that only he could give her. It was there, just beyond her reach. She would catch a glimpse, then it was gone. Then it was there again, offered to her, and taken away.

The burst came out of nowhere. One moment she was swept along by arousal, and the next, pleasure shot through her, bowing her back and dragging a keening cry from her lips. All the while she heard his voice encouraging her, complimenting her. His fingers slowed and finally stopped, leaving her shuddering in his arms.

He pulled her upright and pressed her face into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “Dear God. Sweet Rose.”

Anna. Her name was Anna. She nearly said it, then remembered there were reasons why she couldn’t.

She wanted to hear her name on his lips—her real name. But Anna Rosewood would never be
caught here in a man’s arms. No, only Rose was so bold. Rose, who would cease to exist after this night…

“Now you see,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We are good together.”

She didn’t answer, merely concentrated on calming her breathing. Her body hummed with some new energy, and she was surprised her heart didn’t jump right out of her chest. He continued to hold her against him, stroking her hair.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as reality slowly came back into focus. Good Lord, what had she done?

He was hard as a rock and dying to be inside her.

The slender woman in his arms still trembled from the force of her climax, her face buried in his chest. He patted her back, waiting for her to collect herself. He
would
have her, this delicate female who so excited his senses. No matter what her price, he would be the first man to make love to her. And perhaps their relationship would not end there.

He could put her up in a modest house, provide fine clothes and a carriage. He would visit her at his leisure, bury himself in that sweet young body whenever the whim took him, and no one else would have her.

She would be his…completely.

She tried to pull away. Confused, he tightened
his grip and frowned down into her face. Her mask had shifted a bit, revealing an elegant cheekbone. “Where are you going? That was just the aperitif, my dear.”

“No.” She pushed at his chest.

“No?” Flabbergasted, he let her go. “After that, you refuse me?”

She stumbled back a step and grabbed the edge of the planter to steady herself, raising one trembling hand to straighten her mask. “I told you before, I think I made a mistake.”

“You’re simply overset. It’s to be expected. But if you are to make a success of this business, my girl, you can’t turn away eager patrons like myself.”

She gave a little shrug and glanced away. “Apparently I am doomed to failure as a courtesan.”

“Not from what I saw.” He stepped closer and took her free hand, then pressed it against his erection. She gave a startled gasp, her eyes wide with surprise. Her fingers fluttered helplessly beneath his ruthless grip. “I want you, Rose. You’ve gotten me so aroused that I can think of nothing but having you.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“This…” He moved her hand over his hardness, shuddering at the pleasure of it. “This is all we need to know about each other. Name your price, Rose, and I promise I will initiate you into your new occupation with gentleness and pleasure.”

She stared up into his face, her eyes flickering
with a combination of longing, curiosity, and something else. Something that held her back. Then she jerked her hand from his grasp. “Please don’t.”

“Blast it, woman!” He ripped the mask from his face and threw it aside. “Don’t you realize how dangerous it is to lead a man on like that, then cut the strings? Not all men are gentlemen.”

“Are you?” she threw back.

He stiffened. “I am.”

“I’ve changed my mind about my profession,” she said.

“Have you?” He came closer. “I can tell you are gently bred, Rose. The circumstances must have been dire to force you to this turn.”

“They were,” she agreed quietly.

“Then can you afford to change your mind so easily?” He tilted her chin up so she faced him squarely. “Am I really so horrible?”

Her soft brown gaze swept over his face. “No,” she whispered.

“Then come home with me.” He stroked the backs of his fingers down her pale throat. “Let me be the man who teaches you about loving.”

She gave a quick, sharp laugh. “We’re not talking about love.”

“Perhaps.” He fingered the chain of the cameo locket around her throat. “But we could bring each other much pleasure.”

A crash erupted from the main dining room.
Rose jerked away from him, the chain of her necklace snapping with the movement. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Her broken locket dangling from his fingers, Rome edged over to the shrubbery and peered past the leaves to see into the main dining area.

A man had interrupted the party. He wore a black domino and mask that in no way hid the contemptuous sneer he turned on the young people. The sword in his hand gleamed in the flickering light, and a platter of sweetmeats lay in shambles at his feet.

“This,” the stranger said scathingly, “is a disgrace.” A swipe of his sword sent more plates flying from the table to smash against the stone floor.

Cries of alarm rose from female throats. “Be gone,” the newcomer ordered, and the doxies turned without hesitation and fled into the night. The protests of the males fell away as the swordsman turned his hard gaze back to them. “Are you, all of you, mad?”

“Are you?” one of the youths demanded.

The stranger simply held up a hand to reveal a ring. A small ruby glittered from the middle of the crossed sword and rose pattern that Rome had seen others at the party wear. The petulant murmurs ceased at once, and a hush fell over the group.

“I am your judgment, boy,” the swordsman said
to the one who had spoken. “I bring punishment to those who would put our order in danger.”

The young man who had spoken dropped his gaze to the ground.

“What is it?” Rose whispered, creeping up beside him. Her small hand curled around his arm as she struggled to see through the shrubbery.

“Be very quiet,” Rome murmured. His instincts urged him to disarm the swordsman, but his intellect prevailed. He was unarmed. Observation was needed at the moment.

But should this fellow use his sword on anything but china, he would act. He would protect Peter. And Rose.