Elizabeth Boyle (10 page)

Love, she knew, took time. Yet since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him in the Parker ballroom, she’d been unable to shake his image, his every word, from her mind. He’d left his impression on her as if he’d awakened some long-forgotten memory she’d always carried in her heart. A forbidden dream of passion.

“Is there something I’m missing?” Giles stood in the middle of the room, watching her warily.

Sophia brought her hand to her lips. It wouldn’t do her any good to lose control. She needed to think, she needed time. She paused in front of the drink tray.

Perhaps she still had enough of Emma’s potion in her sleeve. Her fingers twisted nervously at the cork in the vial.

Before she could open it, his hand, warm and hard, clamped down over hers.

“I’m not in the mood for a drink, so you can save the effort.”

She tried to pull her fingers free from his grip, but he held her tight.

“I’m positive I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered.

“Certainly, Lady Brazen, you know exactly what I mean.” He leaned closer until his lips were inches from her ear. “From what I hear you serve a rather potent blend of promises mixed with whiskey.”

The words teased her senses, as if he dared her to try any tricks on him, while his fingers easily pulled the vial from her fingers. Never before had she wanted anything from her victims but their money. As her control melted away she found herself wanting to truly seduce this man.

Trapped in the Marquess of Trahern’s arms, she found herself leaning closer to him, not because she wanted to dupe him, but because she
wanted
him.

There seemed to be no stopping the unexplored feelings he’d awakened the night before with only his penetrating glance and the sure touch of his hand.

He held the vial up in front of her, tipping it back and forth. “What, no denial? No witty response?”

His lips were so close, she could feel the warmth of his breath.

Shaking back the unruly emotions he brought forth, she tried to regain her composure. She’d been in similar situations with any number of her victims, but she had always been in control. She had made the rules.

“You seem to know all my secrets. What could I tell you that you don’t already know?” Sophia tried to pull away, but he moved in closer, his body brushing up against hers intimately, the strong lines of his thighs trapping her hips, the maleness of his broad chest and uncompromising stance towering over her.

Hopefully, he didn’t know how much he was affecting her, she thought wildly, looking for any avenue of escape.

“Not all of your secrets, Lady Brazen. But before dawn I intend to find out everything about you.”

Looking up, she found his mouth was curved into a wicked smile, but she knew it wasn’t from humor. From the tight line of his jaw to the arch of his brows, she could tell he was growing tired of the hunt and ready for the kill.

“Some secrets are better kept than shared,” she whispered.

His head dipped lower until his lips skimmed at the tender flesh of her neck. “Who said I intended to share you?”

Everything started to happen too fast. Sophia backed away, until she found herself trapped up against his desk. “Maybe you don’t want to know who I am. Most men don’t. I would say they would even be a little disappointed.”

He shook his head in disagreement, the wolfish look on his face saying more than words. He knew exactly what he sought and what he expected to find.

The unyielding mahogany desk held her fast; Giles’s fierce presence surrounded her.

His gaze swept over her torn bodice barely covering the full curve of her breasts. “I doubt you could disappoint any man.”

Sophia cursed Emma’s theatrical bindings, which propped her normally small breasts up into a wealth of false bounty for any man’s lustful gaze. But his statement also gave way to another irritation.

She wondered if it would it have been like this on their wedding night. Would he have been so relentless in his pursuit of her if she were his wife?

No, probably not, she realized, her passion blazing into a pique of anger. There would have been none of this for the delicate and sickly Lady Sophia.

He would have been kind and patient and quick.

The thought enraged her. She deserved more from her husband.

She deserved his passion. This hunger he was giving so freely to a perfect stranger.

Even now she felt the riveting tension between them as his fingers stroked her bare shoulders, pushing aside the remainder of her gown. She sensed the struggle within him to control himself, even as she did the same to her jangled nerves.

“What is it you want, my lord?” she said with practiced tones.

“To see you, Lady Brazen.” His fingers reached up and traced the edge of her mask.

She shook her head, breaking the contact, afraid to look into his eyes. “What? Don’t you like this costume? If I’d known you were going to extend this kind invitation to your home tonight, I would chosen something more to your taste. Something a little more daring perhaps? I venture a guess that white is hardly your color.” Sophia edged away from his grasp and studied him, her hand on her chin. “Your taste would run more toward something hooded and elusive. The colors of night. Isn’t that right, Lord Trahern? A woman of mystery and deception and moonlight?”

He stepped back as if her words had stunned him.

Moving forward, she pressed her advantage, for she had no idea how long it would last. Her fingers ran up his chest and she marveled at the hard, chiseled surface.

The sizzling connection between them returned, giving her back her daring, her bravado, her demanding need. The daring idea returned. If she could seduce him she might be able to escape. Outrageous as it seemed, it was not an idea entirely without its own appeal.

Most of her victims had been aging lotharios, whose sole purposes in life were to drink, eat, and wench. But this man’s body told of a different life—of hard work and stringent regimens. Now it was to be hers, at least for this night.

“Why did you bring me here, Lord Trahern?” She tipped up on her toes, bringing her lips almost to his, her hands pulling at his shoulders.

He looked down at her, and for a moment she could see the warring emotions in his eyes.

Desire and need.

She was getting to him.

Her triumph was short-lived. His fingers curled around her shoulders and he set her away, releasing her at arm’s reach.

She rocked back on her suddenly unsteady legs, having lost the support of his embrace.

“I can save you the time and open the strongbox. You can have all the coins you want, but I’ll have some answers first, and none of your games. I want to know whose side you are on. What cause do you believe in?” His gaze turned hard and clear.

“My cause?” Sophia said in an offhanded manner. This conversation was getting too close to the truth for her comfort. “I’ve never heard the accumulation of jewels and clothing called that.”

“Oh, my lady, you do me and yourself a disservice. We both know you care little for the things so many other women covet.” His fingers flicked at the torn shreds of her bodice. “But then, you aren’t just any woman.” His hand reached up and brushed her cheek and moved to the edge of her mask.

Sophia ducked away. “I would think a man of your experience would prefer the mask on.”

“I suppose I might,” he said, stepping closer. “And of course then I could also claim bragging rights to having had you. Such as they are.” His fingers clamped back down on her shoulders and he hauled her in close to his chest. “That is how it works, you give a man his every fantasy and he pays for it?”

His harsh tone slapped at her. Yet instead of lashing back, she smiled. “I need to know what his fantasy is first. And yours, I must admit, is quite tempting.”

Her gaze swept from his glossy ebony boots to his tight black breeches to the severe cut of his matching jacket, as if she could assess his secret desires in only a glance.

He wore no adornments, no jewels, nothing to denote his rank or wealth. Even his head was bare, without a wig, his midnight hair tied back in a middle-class queue, like the unwashed styles worn by those annoying Colonials.

This is what he’d worn to their wedding? She didn’t know why, of all things, she’d suddenly noticed this. But now that she had she couldn’t help thinking he looked more like he had been going to a funeral.

His lack of respect for their marriage annoyed her once again. Especially now that she found herself regretting what might have been between them.

She chided herself for even caring. After all, he was the one who had pressed their union, all in the name of his damned lineage.

She’d taken so many risks as the Brazen Angel, but none quite like this. She could hear Emma’s dire warnings, but they faded against her rising anger at his obvious disdain for their marriage. She wanted nothing more than to desert him a second time, but not until he truly would miss her.

“It’s not enough for me to know what you want,” she said. “It works better if you can admit it yourself.”

He met her challenge. “And if I told you what I wanted, would you give it to me?”

She swung her hips saucily. “I suppose I would have no choice.” Moving closer, she reached out with one finger and trailed a slow path along his jaw.

“The choice would always be yours to make.” His arms pulled her close, his mouth swept down toward hers. The searing kiss that followed sealed her reply, as if he knew what her body had already decided.

She tried to breathe, but there was no time. His lips encircled hers, daring them to open under his assault. When his tongue parried forward, his arms encircling her tighter, a blazing circle of passion whisked away any protests.

In that hasty moment she felt as if he’d stripped her of her mask, bared her to his sight, as if he sought to see to her very soul.

How had she ever thought herself experienced?

Gently, his hands ran over the length of her bare arms, as if he had all night to explore her body—in potent contrast to the urgency of his kiss, which demanded her immediate surrender and release.

The anger she’d felt at him blended with her passion for him, bringing an urgency to her response. His kiss teased her, challenged her to answer him. Beneath his eager touch her senses awakened, tingling and carrying their message downward to her very core.

His lips left her mouth and began trailing sweet kisses down the nape of her neck. He swept aside the remaining tatters of her bodice and chemise. The sweet pleasure of it frightened her as much as she welcomed the cool air it brought to her fevered skin.

Giles couldn’t pull himself away from the incredible woman in his arms. He had never meant for this to happen, to fall into her sensual trap. Her flirtation seemed so harmless when she’d brought her lips to his.

He knew she didn’t sleep with her victims, at least she hadn’t with Monty. And since he wasn’t about to share a glass with her, what other tricks could her sweet lips engage in?

And now those lips whispered suggestions to him, begging him to continue his exploration of her soft, silken flesh.

“Please,” she murmured, as his fingers curled around her taut nipple, her body arching into his. She sighed and melted under his touch.

And as much as it seemed he was controlling the situation, he now knew they had both lost control. He’d never felt like this for a woman, as if he had to possess her.

Wild, daring, brazen. He wanted this woman, even when he knew that one night would never be enough.

And yet this shouldn’t be happening.

Her hand skimmed up his thigh until it reached his male hardness. Almost reverently, she began to stroke him through his pants.

He tried telling himself this was no more than a test to see how far she’d carry out her deception. Now the only thing being tested was his restraint. And it was spinning wildly out of control under her shameless touch.

He brought his mouth back to hers, seeking to gain mastery over her. She kissed him back, matching him with fire and passion, as if they’d been destined to spend this evening exploring each other’s secret desires.

Pulling back, he stared at her. Her eyes glowed beneath her mask in acknowledgment of the need they shared. There could be no victor between them, for the fire engulfing their senses would only be vanquished in a mutual release.

Her breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing. His hands plied the gentle curves until his thumbs grazed back and forth over the tender tips.

He watched her lashes flutter, listened to the soft moan escaping her lips. Her hips pushed against his groin, seeking and demanding more.

Reaching for her skirts, he pulled at them, pulling them up so he could find the treasured place hidden beneath. Meanwhile her hands pulled at his breeches, anxious in their need to free him as well.

The moment he touched the silken flesh of her thighs, he stopped. His hand fell away, and he pulled himself back from her trap. “This is wrong,” he said, more for his own benefit than hers. “I will not do this.”

She stepped toward him, a wry smile on her face. “I’ll be gentle with you. There’s no need to fear me.”

No need to fear her? Was this how she’d led Webb to his death? Teasing the younger man to his own destruction. “I neither fear you, madame, nor do I want you. Not now. Not ever.”

She tipped her head and stared at him, her gaze puzzled. “I would beg to differ, and if you’ll come to your senses you’ll see I mean you no harm. Come back to me, Lord Trahern.” She held her arms out to him, beckoning him to step back into her trap.

What had he been thinking to let the situation get this far? That was just it—he hadn’t been thinking.

Somewhere outside voices rose in argument.

She glanced at the window. “You seem to have more company. Your bride perhaps?”

The interruption below continued.

“He’s taken me baby, I tell you. Give ‘um back,” a woman wailed.

Giles heard Keenan’s smooth voice trying to calm the situation.

“I assure you, madame. His Lordship does not have your baby,” the butler repeated.