Mary Jo Putney (17 page)

Dizzily Diana decided that she must be getting the knack of kissing, for the depth and intimacy grew between them every time they embraced. Her eyes closed and she lost herself in the warm interchange of lips and tongues. It seemed entirely natural to explore his mouth just as he was discovering hers, and it was a whole universe of tender, wild touching.

They sank to their knees, their bodies pressed together. He brushed a light trail of kisses across her cheek, finding an exquisitely sensitive spot below her left ear. Sliding his hands down the gentle curves of her back, he caressed her buttocks, hips, and thighs, molding her against him. Her hips began pulsing in a primitive rhythm and she was shocked by her own response.

I shouldn't have had so much wine.
Diana realized that if he wanted to take her here, in a public park, she would have no will to stop him. A seductive thought, to have this first encounter take place right now, with no time for her to worry about her limited experience and skill.

But even through the haze of wine and desire, she knew that this was not how she wanted to begin. Gervase Brandelin was already too important in her life for casual coupling on the forest floor. She must use her mind, establish control as Madeline had taught her, not slide into submission like a love-struck dairy maid.

Besides, she was unprepared to prevent pregnancy. Much as she loved Geoffrey, she had no intention of giving him a younger brother or sister in such a casual, heedless way.

She broke free of Gervase's embrace and sank back on her heels, her knees touching his, her breathing uneven. Before he could embrace her again, she said softly, her voice as unsteady as her breath, "What do you want from me, my lord?"

He hesitated and she continued, unable to resist a smile, "Apart from the obvious, that is."

Realizing that he faced another test, Gervase also sat back on his heels, his hands spread on his thighs as he thought about her question. First he had to cool the fire she raised, no mean feat when just kissing her made the blood shout in his veins.

What did he want of Diana Lindsay, apart from the opportunity to bury himself in her, to lose all his dark memories and regrets in the immediacy of passion?

An excellent question, one that deserved an honest answer. After his breathing had steadied, he replied, groping for the right words, "I like order in my life, so I want a regular mistress. I would like to know that you would be available when I want you, and would act no angry scenes about my neglect."

She nodded calmly, her lovely face showing no hint of whether she approved or disapproved of his statement. "And what do you wish for me? Long-term sexual intimacy is complicated, as you must know. What pattern would you wish ours to take?"

She had a knack for disconcerting questions. He'd never considered how matters should look from her point of view. Gervase set his teeth in his lower lip as he thought about the answer. While their relationship was rooted in commerce, if Diana became his mistress there would be more between them than simple business.

The question was, how much more? Slowly he replied, "I want you to be free of financial worries. And I hope you would find our liaison physically satisfying."

Blandly she asked, "And if you don't satisfy me, shall I pretend that you do?"

Stung in his male pride, Gervase retorted, "If you lie, you will have only yourself to blame for dissatisfaction. Even the most skilled of lovers can't read thoughts."

His gaze brushed the lush curves discreetly displayed by her prim dark blue riding habit, then returned to her flawless heart-shaped face, serene in quiet listening. There was too much sensuality in every line of Diana's body to imagine that she would be impossible to satisfy, Her response to his kisses showed that under her ladylike demeanor lay a passionate nature.

Having reached that conclusion, he said more evenly, "I know that it is one of a courtesan's skills to convince a man that he is the greatest lover in the history of mankind, but I prefer to think that you will not have to be an actress with me."

Two could play the game of questions, so he continued, "What do you wish of me? You have made it clear that any number of men are willing to pay your price. What more will it take for you to single me out above your other suitors?"

"I never said I would single you out."

Her musical voice was so matter-of-fact that it took a moment for him to absorb the sense of what she was saying. As angry color rose in his face, he snapped, "You prefer to operate a one-woman bawdy house? That is quite unacceptable to me. I want your exclusive services, and I am willing to pay more than generously for that privilege."

Her wide eyes were still serene, but steel showed in the dark blue depths. "I have no desire to accept all offers, but neither will I promise to be exclusive." After a moment she added, "I do not make promises that I am unsure I can keep."

Gervase stood, his body taut as he brushed leaf mold from the knees of his riding breeches. "If that is how you wish it, then we have nothing further to discuss. I have no intention of waiting in line outside your bedroom door."

Trained to be courteous even in anger, he offered his hand to help her rise even as his mouth set in tight, angry lines. Sharing his woman with any rake or footman who took her fancy was insupportable.

Quite intolerable... and yet his resolve began to waver the moment she laid her hand in his. Her weight was light as she came to her feet with the grace of a forest dryad. She did not release his hand, and the delicate-boned fingers lay within his grasp, radiating a calm that spread through him and soothed his anger.

She stood so close that her breasts almost touched his chest, and he caught the elusive scent of lilac. Her wide innocent gaze lifted to hold his as she asked, "Are you so inflexible that only your way will do? If I am always there when you desire me, why should it matter what I might possibly—only possibly—do in some other hour? What will you lose by that?"

He wanted to say that he was indeed that inflexible. Compromise might be necessary in his public work, but he had found no need for it in his personal life.

Not until now. Just how much did he want this woman with her exquisite face, intoxicating body, and gentle manners?

Too much. Too bloody damned much.

His words were cool, but the edge was gone from his voice as he said, "I find it quite unacceptable that you might make sport of me behind my back with other lovers."

She gave a slight shake of her head. "Either you can trust me to be discreet and honorable, or you cannot—that has nothing to do with how many lovers I might have. I promise that what is between us will always be private, yet if I am not honorable, the promise itself means nothing."

An impossible argument to refute: only time would prove if she was worthy of trust. He wanted to repeat that he would never accept her terms, but against his will, reluctant words formed. "I shall consider what you have said."

In spite of the curtness of his answer, in his heart he knew that it was just a matter of time until he capitulated, and from the slight smile that curved her full lips, Diana Lindsay knew that too. If there had been even the faintest glint of triumph in her eyes, he would have wrenched his hand free and turned his back on her forever rather than place his pride in hands that might prove unreliable.

Instead she turned his hand in hers and pressed a kiss onto it, her lips velvet-warm against his fingers. There was a tenderness in the gesture that he'd never known before. Her shining hair fell away from her graceful neck, and the sweetness and vulnerability of that exposed creamy nape struck him so intensely that the shock was physical. It was unlike any emotion he had ever known, an ache dearer than mere sexual pleasure.

Gervase's grip tightened and he lifted her hand and held it against his cheek, rubbing his face against her fingers as she gazed at him with deep lapis eyes. In that moment he would have agreed to anything she asked.

 
Bleakly he wondered where this weakness would lead.

Chapter 7

A distant church bell was striking four o'clock when they reined in their horses in the stableyard behind Diana's house, having ridden back to London in near-total silence. Since he doubted that any whore—or any other woman, for that matter—could be as honest as Diana Lindsay pretended to be, Gervase was suspicious that under her honeyed words she was mocking him.

Diana had been equally quiet on the ride, and as he helped her from her horse he saw signs of tension in her face. Perhaps she feared that she had gone too far in her demands and had lost him. The thought was a satisfying one.

She stood in front of him, her hands lightly touching his arms for balance after her slide from Phaedra's back. "You wondered when. If you still desire me, you may call tomorrow evening. I will receive you privately."

Gervase relaxed, feeling that the initiative was once more in his hands. Her invitation was unmistakable, and there was no surer cure for sexual fascination than to dispel the mystery. He had known other beautiful women, and shorn of her riding habit and her innocent air, Diana Lindsay would be no different from the others. After they had made love a few times, it wouldn't be difficult to walk away from her if she proved more trouble than she was worth.

He made a perfunctory bow over her hand, avoiding any closer embrace. "Very well. Will nine o'clock suit you?"

"Perfectly, my lord. I shall await you then."

He escorted her to the back door of the house, then mounted and rode out of the yard. Diana watched his departure as she waited for the footman to open the door. A prickly man, Lord St. Aubyn, accustomed to having his own way. And why shouldn't he be? As a wealthy nobleman, he could do almost anything he chose.

With wry amusement, she recognized the similarity between him and the Count de Veseul. Both of them were intense, commanding, and they desired her. The difference lay in the fact that the Frenchman wished to plunder her and cared nothing for her consent. In contrast, St. Aubyn, though he might be unused to consider anyone's convenience but his own, seemed willing to learn. He had... possibilities. Thank God.

As the footman admitted her to the house, she gave an unladylike snort and lifted her skirts across the threshold. It wasn't anything so abstract as his "possibilities" that attracted her. No, it was other things, such as his controlled strength and rock-ribbed integrity. And, of course, that beautiful, panther-lean body. She wanted to learn the mysteries of love, and his lordship of St. Aubyn should be a most rewarding teacher.

* * *

Having taken a full day for personal pleasure, Gervase spent the evening working in the study of St. Aubyn House. In the last two years he had become a key man in the British government, though few people knew what he did. In theory, he held a minor post in the Foreign Office, a sinecure where he worked only the hours he chose and dabbled in dispatches and communications.

In actuality, he coordinated information from different British intelligence gathering organization. During his years in the India, Gervase had displayed an uncanny talent for weaving fragments of information together to create a larger picture.
 
Prime Minister Pitt had personally asked Gervase to turn that ability to the critical European theater of war, where Britain had been fighting France for too many years.

Because the existing intelligence groups were jealous of their information, it was tedious and frustrating work.
 
A combination of tact and firmness was required to convince them to share what they knew.

Gervase also worked with agents and informants on the Continent, evaluating their information and deciding whether their special projects were worthwhile. Spies frequently offered glorious plans that would require them to handle large amounts of British money.

Less tedious and infinitely more dangerous were the occasional trips he made to the Continent when he felt that only his own judgment could be trusted. Since Napoleon had closed all ports to the British, Gervase slipped in with smugglers. Like most of his class, he had been raised to speak French as naturally as English, and he could pass as a Frenchman when necessary. Even so, there was always the chance that his cousin Francis would inherit the title much sooner than expected.

It was an unglamorous business, but vital, and Gervase found it both rewarding and absorbing. Tonight, however, his usual concentration was lacking and everything took twice the time it should.