My Fair Temptress (22 page)

As the footmen dimmed the lights, Jude sat behind her again. He watched her profile against the light from the stage, and by her rigid posture, the way she held her head, and the way she ignored him, it was clear that she was livid.

Mum suspected nothing, but chatted in a whisper for the first few minutes of the opera.

Caroline answered without enthusiasm.

Mum slumped in her seat. Within ten minutes, her head bobbed. She caught herself, focused on the stage once more, then nodded again.

It was exactly the opportunity which he’d anticipated. Lightly he touched her on the shoulder. “Mum, do you want to sit in back?”

“Hm?” Blinking, she looked around. Standing, she shook out her skirt. “No, I’m going to the retiring room.”

He was the luckiest man in the world.

“There’ll be other women there who are bored and want to gossip. Be good, children.” Mum quit the box…

…Leaving an ever-deepening pool of silence. In the chair in front of him, Caroline sat stiffly. Placing his hands on her bare shoulders, he whispered, “Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry.” Her voice was too loud and very firm.

“I think you are,” he purred in her ear. “I think you want me to finish what I started.”

“Your
affairs
are of total indifference to me—as long as you keep your hands off me.” She shrugged her shoulders trying to dislodge him.

He leaned close to her ear. “Really?” Gently he bit the lobe.

She swung around to face him. “Don’t…do that!”

He couldn’t distinguish her features, but he heard aggravation and something else in her voice—arousal. And her arousal brought his body back to full attention. His heart thumped in his chest; his cock strained against his buttons. “If we were where we could be assured of privacy,” he declared with brutal candor, “I would take you here on the floor.”

“Nonsense,” she said crisply, “you’re in total control of yourself.”

A challenge.

He didn’t pause to think. With his hands on both her elbows, he lifted her from her chair and propelled her ahead of him into the darkest corner. She tried to jerk herself free, but her words burned along his nerves. He’d show her control. He’d take her where she’d never been before.

Catching a chair with his toe, he pulled it toward them and pressed her into the seat.

She tried to get up.

With his hand on her waist, he pushed her back.

She whispered heatedly, “I don’t know what you’re doing, but—”

“I agree. You have no idea what I’m doing.” Snatching up another chair, he stuck it under the doorknob and wedged it tightly. No one would come through that door.

He didn’t wait. He showed no finesse, bothered with no foreplay. Lifting her skirt, he slid underneath and between her legs. He heard her gasp muffled by petticoats and silks. He smelled the warm, sweet scent of woman. Of Caroline. She tried to shove at him, but he paid no heed. He was done teasing. She wanted satisfaction. He would give it to her.

If he’d thought about it, he would have realized how uncharacteristically he was behaving. He didn’t think about being caught, didn’t care whether his stepmother rattled the doorknob and demanded entrance. A part of himself he’d never before met now directed him, and he would do as he wished with the woman of his dreams.

He was already familiar with the lace and the make of her drawers, and unerringly he found the gap that covered her feminine parts.

She tried to kick him away.

He laughed, loving the danger and the excitement, knowing that she wouldn’t fight him. Or not very much, anyway, for her antagonism was based on need, desperate, fiery need. With his fingers he opened lips still swollen with desire. When he put his mouth against her, he experienced the same jolt that went through her. She froze as if she didn’t dare move again, as if a single motion would take her over the cliff.

She didn’t yet know…he intended to push her over the cliff.

She tasted like desire, sweet and glorious, and his passion rose as she trembled. He hadn’t much time. Soon someone would notice the blocked door. So he pushed her toward her climax, licking her in small, tantalizing motions.

Her trembling grew greater.

He probed her with his tongue, savoring her passion. He pushed into her, withdrew, pushed into her, withdrew.

Her body arched in the chair. Her thighs flexed as she struggled to control her reactions.

As if he would allow that. Taking her most intimate bud between his lips, he delicately sucked while at the same time he slid his finger in her.

Her inner muscles clamped down. Her body convulsed in a long rush of need. Climax swept her, and at last he heard it, the sound she could no longer contain—a sweet, reckless groan of completion.

He loved taking her to orgasm there, with the crowd all around and the music soaring. He loved knowing he forced her to explore a sensuality she had never imagined. So he drew out her pleasure, plunging his finger inside the warm, tight sheath, using his tongue in every wonderful way he’d ever learned. But at last she slumped, exhausted, her passion depleted…for the moment.

And he knew they had to return to their chairs. Swiftly he arranged her drawers to propriety, withdrew from under her skirt, and removed the chair from under the doorknob.

Helping her to her feet, he smiled at the dazed expression on her shadowed face. He seated her facing the stage, and seated himself beside her. Taking her hand, he kissed it, and when she turned her stunned gaze on him, he murmured, “Revenge has never tasted so sweet.”

“M
iss Ritter, ye’re home!” Daisy rose from her chair before the fire where she dozed and bustled through Caroline’s bedroom to light the candles. “How was the opera?”

“It was inspiring,” Caroline said. More than that, it was embarrassing, revealing—and arousing.

“I’ve heard the Italian Opera House is all painted pretty.” Daisy helped Caroline off with her mantle.

“It’s beautiful.” Caroline discarded her outer garments into Daisy’s hands and stood, dazed, in the middle of her bedroom while the maid put them away. Caroline had never felt like this before, as if her skin stretched across bones and veins and nerves all clamoring for possession. Jude’s possession.

“Ye must have had a good time. Yer cheeks are all flushed pink and rosy. Ah, I’ll wager the gentlemen fought to sit next to ye.”

“Behind me.”
And under my skirt.
Caroline stumbled on the fringe of the rug in her bedroom.

“Careful, Miss,” Daisy warned. “Are ye tired?”

“I suppose I must be.” But that wasn’t the problem. Caroline’s muscles didn’t work. She could scarcely walk, had to think how to unclench her fingers to set her reticule on the dressing table.

“Then we’ll get ye right to bed.” Moving behind her, Daisy opened the long line of buttons down Caroline’s back.

“Thank you.” But bed wouldn’t help. It would probably make things worse, to rest there, staring up at the canopy and thinking of
him.

“There ye go, Miss. And yer jewelry.”

As Daisy unfastened the intricate necklace and earrings, Caroline instructed, “Those must go back to Her Grace tonight.” Nothing would ease this need…except Jude inside her, on top of her, beneath her.

“Aye, Miss. I’ll see to it myself.”

During intermission, Caroline had imagined that if she could simply experience one of those marvelous sensations of…of completion such as she’d experienced that night at Jude’s apartment, she would feel fulfilled. But Jude
had
brought her to completion, and still she wanted. She ached. If she had Jude there, she would once again tie him to the bed and use him to her own satisfaction.

“Ye have such an odd expression on yer face.” Daisy studied Caroline. “Do ye have the headache, Miss?”

“No, not a headache.” Most definitely it was not her head that ached.

Obviously Daisy didn’t believe her, for she asked, “When ye’ve donned yer nightgown, do ye want me to brush yer hair?”

“No, thank you.” Caroline’s voice held an unusual bite, and she softened it with, “Really, I am quite fine.” She walked around the dressing screen in the corner, holding her dress around her shoulders.

It was dim back there. A row of hooks hung on the wall, with her nightgown on one and her nightcap on another. There was a small table with a bowl where she could set her pins and whatever other small objects she discarded, and a straight-backed chair—

She leaped back, stifling a scream.

Jude sat there, his shirt a blot of white against the dark wood, his teeth gleaming as he keenly smiled, his eyes observing every disheveled inch of her. He was as immobile as a statue…except for the long, sharp, thin-bladed knife he flipped over and over.

“Miss, are ye all right?” Daisy called anxiously.

Caroline clutched her gown in suddenly damp palms.

While he nodded, he continued to flip the knife, twirling it, spinning it with the expertise of a magician. His command was clear.
Answer her. Say yes.

“I…I’m fine.” Caroline’s heart beat in her chest, her wrists, her neck. “I saw a rat,” she murmured so quietly she knew Daisy couldn’t hear her. She watched, rapt, as the spinning blade came to an abrupt halt.

His free hand reached toward her.

Her heartbeat accelerated.

He caught the loose neckline and tugged at it.

She swallowed. She knew this was a game, a sensuous game, but a thrill akin to fear slithered up her spine.

How ridiculous. Caroline could hear the sounds as Daisy busied herself in the open space just beyond the screen. Caroline had only to tell her that Jude was there, and he would be removed.

But she didn’t want anyone to know that he dared enter her room, didn’t want anyone involved in the affair between them. In the dark recesses of her soul she relished the secrecy and was flattered by his daring. To sneak into his father’s house, into her bedchamber, and wait for her there…it was the act of a buccaneer and a lover.

So she said nothing to Daisy. But this was dangerous; she couldn’t play without calamitous consequences, so she shook her head
no
to Jude.

His lips grew taut. A look developed in his shadowed eyes, a dangerous glint that promised retribution, peril and pleasure.

Without a word, he made his demand again.

And she realized she was frightened. Not that he would hurt her, but that he would change her from the woman she had been to the woman he would force her to become.

Yet irresistibly, she rose to his challenge and lowered the gown.

It caught on her wide petticoats, and he gestured.
Remove them.

She stared at him—indeed, she didn’t dare glance away. Jude looked as dangerous and as sharp as the knife he held. Reaching behind her, she untied the bows, one after the other, that held up her petticoats. Then she hesitated.

Without them, she would be clad in her corset and chemise, her drawers, her garters, her stockings, and her shoes. She would be covered, yet…she would feel nude. Why that bothered her, she didn’t know. Only a day ago she’d been naked atop him, riding him as if he were a stallion, using his body in every way she could imagine. Doing what
she
wanted. But to disrobe there, now, stripping deliberately for him under his command, knowing what he ultimately would demand…somehow that was different.

He had no patience with her qualms. With brusque impatience, he reached for the gown and the petticoats.

With a rustle of starch and cambric, she dropped them into a rich pool of blue velvet and white lace.

He stared at her body, stared with a hunger so stark and fierce she felt like Aphrodite rising from a pool. There were only the two of them united in silence and precarious intimacy. Caroline didn’t hear Daisy humming as she thrust the bed warmer between the sheets, didn’t know anything beyond the world of Jude and Caroline. With audacious boldness, she slid her hands down the sides of her corset to her hips, outlining her curves for Jude.

She heard the hard pull of his breath. With the toe of his boot, he hooked the gown and the petticoats and dragged them toward him.

She stepped free.

He examined the swell of her breasts over the top of her corset, the lace trim on her chemise, her cambric unmentionables. The silence between them pulsed like a living being while she waited, trembling, for his next command—

When across the screen, Daisy’s cheerful voice said, “So, Miss Ritter, I’ll come and take yer clothes, then.”

Caroline jumped. She looked between Jude and the gap that opened into the bedchamber.
Escape!
Without volition, her muscles bunched to run.

“Send her away.” His voice barely reached Caroline’s ears.

She shook her head.

He smiled, but he wasn’t in any way amused. His eyes were cold, fixed on her, determined to bend her to his will, and the knife made a lazy arc in the air before he caught it again. “Send her away.” His voice was a rasp and a threat.

“Miss?” Daisy called.

This was not the fop. Not the tender kisser. Not the amusing companion. This man commanded his world—and Caroline had tied his hands and used him. If she didn’t do as he bid now, he would come for her another time, and she would never know when or how he would take his revenge. Her courage failed her…or perhaps her passion overcame prudence. “D…daisy?” Caroline kept her gazed fixed on that wicked blade. “You may go. I can finish by myself.”

“Oh, Miss, you don’t want to do that. You’re tired.” Daisy bustled toward the screen. “Let me assist you.”

“No!” Caroline snapped. Gathering her composure, in a determinedly normal tone, she said, “No. Truly. I want to be alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Aye, Miss, in the morning,” Daisy said, her tone puzzled.

Caroline stared stiffly at Jude until the door closed behind her maid. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a whisper. “How did you get in?”

“Take off your clothes.” It was not a request; nor was it an answer. “Take them off until I tell you to stop.”

“Why would I do that?” She toyed with the lace at her bosom.

“Because you don’t have a choice. If you don’t, I won’t give you what you want.”

“And what, good sir, is that?” The heat of his gaze made a sheen of perspiration break out all over her body.

“Me.” The knife started its casual arcs in the air again. “You came tonight. When I was under your skirt, licking you, you came against my tongue. I tasted it, felt it, heard the noises you made.”

She couldn’t believe he would speak aloud of an event that caused her such mortification…and such satisfaction. Every nerve leaped to arousal. “Shut up.”

He paid no heed to her words, but watched her expression like a lion on the prowl. “But that wasn’t enough. You want me to take you, to make you come again and again. You want the stroke of my cock inside you, probing deep, touching your womb, sliding out—”

“Stop.” Her nipples were so hard they chafed against her corset. Her legs trembled. Deep inside, she ached with need.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What? No.” She put her hands on her hips, but thought that pose looked provocative. She put them on her stomach, then let them dangle…when had her own hands become objects that could so easily provoke a man? “Do you think you can sit there and demand whatever you want?”

“Strip slowly,” he whispered, his voice rasping along her nerves. “Seduce me.”

“I don’t want to.” She wiped her palms down the cambric legs of her drawers.

“Tonight isn’t about what you want. Tonight is about what I want.” He chuckled with moody amusement. “Strip…slowly.”

She stood there in the dim little corner of the room. She was too warm. She was nervous. She breathed in short pants. She wanted to run away almost as much as she wanted to stay. And in some primal corner of her mind, she knew if she did run, he would spring after her, chase her, catch her…and that aroused her past bearing. This should have been her worst nightmare. Instead it was an opulent dream that existed in a secret corner of her mind—and Jude had discovered it. Jude was making it come true.

She didn’t know where to start. Her corset was pink, laced at the back, and very useful in keeping her upright. Her drawers covered her legs and, more important, the feminine mound between them. She could take off her shoes…

“Start with”—he used the tip of the knife to point—“those.”

Her drawers. “But then I’ll be…”

“Revealed. Yes. I want to see your legs. I’ve been thinking about them, how I want to cup your thighs in my hands and spread them, step between them and glide inside you…”

For a single heartbeat, she envisioned that—and capitulated. One by one, she stepped out of her heeled shoes. With clumsy fingers, she untied her drawers and slid them slowly down her legs. Her legs, bare and so long. Too long, she’d always thought. Her stockings were tied with a garter at the knee, a pretty garter in shades of blue. Caroline remembered asking Daisy what difference it made if her garters matched her dress, for no one was going to see them. And Daisy said, “Now Miss Ritter, when ye’re pretty all over, you’re cheerier, that’s all.”

Cheery, Caroline decided, was the wrong word entirely. She was not cheery, especially as she slowly straightened, sliding her hands up her own legs and cupping them over her exposed mound.

She didn’t dare look up, but she could feel the strength and the power of Jude’s gaze on her.

“Take down your hair.”

To take down her hair would require that she lift her arms and display herself, all her long length, to him. She didn’t think she could do it.

“Take it down,” he said, before she could shake her head. “I want to hold the silkiness in my hands when I’m inside you.”

She wanted that, too. He painted pictures in her mind, each one more graphic and glorious than the last. Yearning weighed on her like a lover until she was desperate and embarrassed and aching with desire.

But it took all her nerve to lift her hands away from her body and up to her head.

Jude flinched as she did, as if the sight lashed at him.

While he sprawled in the chair watching like a sultan entertained by his dancing girl, Caroline removed each pin from her hair and one by one dropped them on the floor. As she did, her gaze lowered to his lap.

His manhood strained at the buttons of his trousers.

She thought she was discreet, but he chuckled, a noise so rough it almost sounded like anguish. “Yes,” he said, “I’m so damned desperate I could take you here and now right on the floor.”

“And why don’t you?” she dared.

He half rose in his chair, the knife clutched in his grip.

Her eyes widened, her heart thumped.

Then he subsided. “No, you shan’t taunt me into taking you. This time, you’re performing on my command. Finish taking down your hair.”

So he balanced on the edge of passion. One move on her part could move him to action.

As she pulled the last pin, the strands slipped into her cupped hands and she brought the shining mass over her shoulder. Releasing it, she let it tumble over her bosom in perfumed profusion. She tossed her head. The chestnut curls danced across the pale skin of her bare chest. She leaned down to put on her shoes, and as she did her breasts slid free from the support of her corset. Her chemise scarcely covered her nipples, and she heard the rough intake of his breath. She straightened, taller in her heels and feeling oddly victorious. With her foot, she pushed her gown aside and stepped between his knees. Grasping his shirt near his waist, she pulled the tails free of his trousers. “Let me…” she whispered.

He lifted his arms, and she pulled the fine linen off over his head, leaving his chest bare. The bullet scars were round and red, breaking the symmetry of the muscles. Yet the scars lent him a toughness that put her on notice; this man could rescue her when she faced peril…then place her in peril with a single triumphant smile.