JORDAN Nicole (3 page)

“But you aren’t swayed by this delightful catalog of my attributes.”

“Not in the least.” Lily smiled faintly to soften the harshness of her observation. “No doubt you have a bevy of lovestruck admirers, but I will never join their ranks. And I have no intention of behaving like all the other flagrant husband-hunters you know. I won’t chase after you.”

“You relieve my mind, Miss Loring. I don’t enjoy being chased.” From the provocative laughter in his voice, he seemed to be enjoying himself far too much. “But I am quite curious to know why you have such a profound distaste for marriage.”

Lily drew a deep breath. Hoyden or not, she normally would never dream of discussing her personal affairs with a perfect stranger. But in this case, she was eager to be rid of him, so a liberal dose of frankness might stand her in good stead.

“In my experience marriage usually leads to unhappiness for a woman,” she said honestly.

“You speak from personal experience?”

Lily made a face. “Unfortunately, yes. My parents’ union was hostile enough to give me an aversion to matrimony for life.”

The gleaming light in Claybourne’s eyes faded as he studied her. His searching perusal was more unsettling than his amusement, however.

“I don’t need a husband,” she hurried to add, “despite what proper society decrees for young ladies. I am financially independent now, thanks to the generous settlement Marcus made me. So I can have a fulfilling life without having to marry. I mean to use the funds to travel the world and explore new and exciting places.”

“Alone?”

“I am one and twenty, old enough to take care of myself.”

“So…you won’t marry because men often make their wives unhappy,” Claybourne said slowly, as if testing the theory in his mind.

“Yes. First you make us too infatuated to think clearly, so we give over all control to you, and then you make our lives a misery. I am not about to give any man that power over me.”

To her surprise, Claybourne leaned forward and raised a hand to touch her cheek. “Who hurt you, angel?” he asked quietly.

Discomfited, Lily drew back. “No one hurtme . It was my mother and my sister who were hurt.”

He was silent for a moment. “I understand your father was a champion philanderer.”

Lily looked away, not wanting to recall the painful memories. “He was indeed. He flaunted his mistresses before my mother at every opportunity. It hurt her terribly. And Arabella’s first betrothed betrayed her almost as badly. Sheloved him, but when the scandal broke, he ended their engagement out of hand.”

“Is that why you didn’t want Marcus marrying your sister?”

“In large part.”

“You seem to harbor a strong prejudice against noblemen.”

“I won’t deny it. Noblemen can make the worst sort of husbands.”

“Then I can take heart from the fact that your aversion is not directed at me personally.”

Her brows drew together. “No, I have nothing against youpersonally , my lord. I don’t even know you.”Thankfully , she added to herself.

Claybourne remained silent for another dozen heartbeats before shifting his position to study the box’s inhabitants. “I take it this is Boots,” he murmured, reaching down to scratch the mother cat behind one ear. Surprisingly Boots didn’t object but started purring at once, rubbing her head sensuously against his fingers.

Lily found her gaze riveted on his lordship’s hands as he stroked the silky gray fur. He had strong, graceful hands, surprising in such a bold, masculine man.

“I think you are forgetting one important fact,” he said finally.

She didn’t immediately realize Lord Claybourne was speaking to her. “What fact?”

“It is true that some men can be hurtful, but they can also give women great pleasure.”

Warmth rose to her face. “Perhaps some men can, but that is beside the point.”

Just then the black kitten pounced on the lace of his cuff and started chewing his knuckle.

“Hungry little fellow, aren’t you?” he murmured with a smile. “And you as well,” he added as the gray kitten attacked his thumb.

He drew out the tiny creatures, settling them in his lap. Almost at once the black kitten crawled up his chest, digging its claws into the gold brocade of his waistcoat.

“I am sorry, my lord,” Lily said regretfully.

“It is no matter.” When the black one scampered higher, Claybourne gave a soft laugh. The low, husky sound raked across her nerve endings with undeniable potency.

“Here, let me help….” she hastened to say.

Leaning forward, Lily reached out to pluck the kitten off his chest, but the curling claws clung to the priceless lace of his cravat. She tried to extricate it without damaging the fine fabric and somehow wound up pushing the marquess back in the straw.

He lay there, looking up at her. Leaning over him, Lily froze at the expression on his face. He had gone quite still, but there was a soft fire in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.

“I am sorry,” she repeated, suddenly breathless.

“I am not.”

His fingers closing gently around the tiny black paws, he managed to free his cravat and set the kitten in the straw beside him. Immediately it bounded off toward the box, and the gray went scrambling after its litter mate.

Even so, Lily couldn’t look away from Lord Claybourne. When he reached up and slid his fingers behind her nape, her breathing faltered altogether. Then shockingly, he drew her mouth down to meet his in a featherlight contact.

She was unprepared for the rush of sensation that shot through her at that unexpected caress; his lips were warm and firm yet enticingly soft—and much too tempting.

Stifling a gasp, Lily pressed her palms against his chest and lifted her reeling head. “W-Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.

“I wanted to see if your lips were as inviting as they look.”

His reply was not what she expected. “And were they?”

“More so.”

Lily stared down at him, unable to move. Her gaze was riveted on his face. It was a strong face, arresting and beautiful in the muted glow of lamplight. His lips were chiseled and generous, and they curved now in a faint smile as he returned her regard.

“I expect you have no idea what you are missing, sweetheart. Passion between a man and a woman can be quite remarkable.”

Lily cleared her suddenly dry throat, fighting her enchanted stupor. “Even so, I don’t care to have anything to do with passion.”

“What do you know about it? Have you ever even been properly kissed?”

Her brow furrowed cautiously. “What do you mean by ‘properly’?”

His quiet chuckle was soft, husky, as he drew her face down to his again. “If you have to ask, the answer must be no. I think we should rectify the deficiency at once….”

As the warm mist of his breath caressed her mouth, Lily braced herself for the renewed shock, but when his lips began to play over hers with exquisite pressure, she felt her resistance melting.

The effect of his kiss was spellbinding. The heady sensation he roused made her lightheaded and giddy, much like the effect of the champagne.

When he left off this time, he reached up and stroked her cheek with a finger. “Did you find that pleasurable, sweeting?”

She couldn’t utter a denial for it would be a lie. His kiss had left her breathless and dazed, and she felt a strange quivering between her thighs, an restless ache low and deep in her feminine center. “Y-Yes.”

“You sound unsure.”

“It was…quite pleasant.”

His mouth curved wryly. “Merely pleasant? I think I should be insulted.”

“You know you needn’t be. You are said to be a devil with the ladies, and you have countless conquests—” She paused, shaking her head in a futile effort to clear it. “At least now I can understand why everyone says women adore you.”

Somehow she was sprawled all over Lord Claybourne, pressed against his hard, muscular body. Warmth radiated up from his chest, infusing her breasts with a delicious heaviness.

And that wasbefore he raised a finger to the hollow of her throat and lightly stroked. “I think I should demonstrate.”

“Demonstrate what?” she asked unsteadily.

His eyes smiled into hers. “The kind of pleasure a man can give a woman.”

Chapter One

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How astonishing that a gentleman would ask a perfect stranger to become his mistress without so much as an introduction.

—Letter from Miss Roslyn Loring to Fanny Irwin

London, June 1817

“They say he is a marvelous lover.”

Unable to ignore such a provocative comment, Roslyn Loring reluctantly shifted her gaze across the crowded ballroom to scrutinize the tall, lithe nobleman who had just entered.

She had never met the handsome, rakish Duke of Arden, although she’d heard countless tales about him. He was the picture of a wealthy aristocrat—his fair hair gleaming amber under the chandeliers’ light, his commanding, elegant form garbed in a black domino, the cloaklike garment his only concession to costume for the masquerade ball.

He wore no mask, so his striking features were clearly visible. And his attendance was obviously welcome to everyone buther . Immediately he became the intent focus of a bevy of beauties, all eager to attract his notice.

“What makes him so marvelous?” Roslyn asked, intrigued despite her regret at the duke’s unwanted arrival.

Her friend Fanny Irwin smiled. “His amorous skills, my dear. It is said he has the power to make women weep.”

Lifting an eyebrow behind her own mask, Roslyn pursed her lips wryly. “Why in heaven’s name would making women weep be a coveted skill?”

“Weep withrapture, my dear. Arden is extraordinary because of the exquisite pleasure he can bring a woman.”

“I cannot imagine.”

Fanny responded with the musical laugh that had helped make her one of London’s most sought-after courtesans. “I should hope not, since you have no experience with carnal matters. But it is a rare man who is concerned with his paramour’s satisfaction, or who will see to her pleasure even before his own. That kind of lover is priceless.”

Roslyn’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. She was here tonight in order to gain a measure of experience, yet she had no desire to begin with the duke. Arden was a close friend of her new guardian, the Earl of Danvers, who had recently become engaged to marry her elder sister Arabella. Roslyn didn’t wish for the duke even tosee her, since she was courting scandal attending a notorious Cyprians’ ball. She expected to make his formal acquaintance at her sister’s wedding in a fortnight, and it would never do to have him recognize her.

No doubt his grace would disapprove of her brazen excursion into the glittering realm of the demimonde. According to Arabella, Arden had been severely critical of his friend’s betrothal, skeptical that Lord Danvers could have fallen in love with the eldest Loring sister so quickly or so wholeheartedly.

Viewing the duke now, Roslyn had little trouble understanding his cynical response. His lean, chiseled features were remarkably handsome but rather proud; his bearing much as she would have expected from an aristocrat of his consequence—refined, commanding, a bit imperious. But a duke of Arden’s extensive wealth and power had the right to arrogance, Roslyn supposed.

That he was reputed to be such an extraordinary lover, however, quite surprised her.

Her musings were interrupted as Fanny continued her frank observations. “Not that I have anypersonal knowledge of the duke, I want you to know. He prefers to keep one mistress at a time. Doubtless that is why he has come tonight—to choose a new mistress.”

“What happened to his last one?” Roslyn asked, interested in learning all she could from Fanny.

“Possessiveness, my dear, which is a cardinal sin if you mean to keep your protector content. Particularly for a nobleman like Arden, who can have his pick of females.”

He did seem to be examining the merchandise, Roslyn saw as the duke casually scanned the ballroom. Just then his gaze lit on her and paused in obvious interest. Reflexively, she took a step backward, feeling the sudden urge to hide. She had come incognito, the upper half of her face concealed by a mask, her own pale gold hair covered with a powdered wig and wide-brimmed bonnet.

But perhaps it was her uniqueness itself that attracted his attention. Although her décolletage was much lower than she liked in the costume she had borrowed from Fanny, she was dressed rather modestly as a shepherdess, while most of the other females here were scantily clad in the alluring costumes of Greek goddesses or Roman slave girls or Turkish harem beauties. Fanny had come as Cleopatra, which complemented her exotic features and raven hair.

When Roslyn saw that Arden’s focus remained fixed on herself, her heart skipped a beat. Even at this distance, she could feel the impact of his penetrating gaze.

“He is looking directly at me,” she murmured, half vexed and half concerned.

“That is hardly surprising,” Fanny said in amusement. “Your combination of elegance and innocence is a novelty at a fete such as this. You are a rare English rose compared to the more exotic blooms for sale here.”

Roslyn slanted her friend an exasperated glance. “You know very well I am not for sale.”

“Buthe does not know it. Arden naturally assumes you are here to display your wares and sell your services.”

“Well, I am not. I only came to find out how your colleagues comport themselves with their patrons.”

“You should be flattered to pique his grace’s interest,” her friend remarked, teasing.

“Good heavens, I am not flattered, Fanny! Rather I am alarmed. I don’t dare let Arden discover my identity. I will have to face him across the church aisle in two weeks, and I don’t want him bearing tales about me to my new guardian. I think I should find a potted palm to hide behind. Look…he is moving this way!”

Taking another step backward, Roslyn slipped behind a marble column. Fanny joined her there, laughter lurking behind the eyeholes of her mask.

“You may cease laughing, traitor,” Roslyn muttered. “It is notyour reputation at risk.”