Never Trust a Scoundrel (10 page)

“You'd been hoping I wouldn't bring a maid to the picnic this afternoon.”

“Daylight in a carriage can reveal so much. But I'm good in the dark, too.”

Her mouth went dry, and she stumbled.

A carriage loomed above them in the shadows of the alley. Even the coachman was dressed all in black. Grace felt a thrill of excitement, knowing that she would be alone with Daniel in a close, private—dark—space.

He helped her up inside, and she was relieved to see a lantern swinging gently over her head. He stepped up, the carriage rocked with his weight, but instead of sitting beside her, he sat across. She told herself to feel relieved.

But he spread his legs so that her wide skirt would fall between.

She wouldn't have to counter his advances for long. But she had a good sense of direction, and the coachman turned the wrong way out of the alley.

“Surely you're taking me home,” she said into the tense silence.

“Of course.”

His voice was smooth and low. He was again the dangerous Daniel of the night. During the day, she often thought she was beginning to know him, but not at night.

“But the traffic will be less congested on a different route,” he added.

She didn't believe him.

But what did it matter? She had his word that he would not damage her reputation. She would be home soon enough. And until then, she would prove to him how easily she could resist him.

He said nothing more. With the lantern above, his eyes were in shadow. He was obviously watching her, but she couldn't tell where, and it made her feel shivery all over.

Again, he slipped one boot beneath her skirts. Short of climbing onto the bench, she had nowhere else to go, so she let him toy with her. In
the weak light, she could see the bump in her gown from his boot, and followed it as it moved to the center of her skirt. And then the bump came higher, toward her, as if he would lift her skirt high enough to peer beneath. She quickly held it down at her knees and glared at him.

His smile was devilish and disarming, but he lifted his boot no higher. She felt a draft of air on her knees, the bare skin between her drawers and stockings. When the lump of his boot started to recede, she felt a wave of relief, which came to an abrupt halt when she realized that on the way back down, his boot brushed her calf. She waited, uncertain if it was a mistake, but then he casually slid it down the length of her leg.

She squirmed, unable to help herself. It was as if her skin were coming alive, and if she didn't move, she might burst right out of it.

She kicked him, and he laughed softly.

“You have me at your mercy, Daniel,” she said. “It seems unfair because I cannot retreat.”

“Knock on the ceiling whenever you'd like. My coachman will stop to see what we want. He'll save you.”

Knowing that she had a way to protect herself suddenly made everything seem different. It was a new challenge, to see who would break first here in the darkness and privacy. What would she let him do before she'd admit defeat by summoning the coachman? Kiss her? Touch her?

Her trembling returned.

Or would she even be able to stop herself?

Daniel must have seen the panic cross her face, but he said nothing, did nothing, only watched her, his look full of challenge—and eventual victory.

She straightened as her courage returned. He would be waiting a long time.

Then he sat forward, opened the lantern, and blew out the wick.

The plunge into blackness made her gasp. She could hear and feel her own frantic breathing—and at last she realized that the blinds were open, and every minute or so they passed a gaslight, which shone dim illumination between them.

But not on Daniel, who was a vague, lighter shadow in the darkness.

He reached both hands out, arms spread wide, and closed the blinds. She could see nothing.

She thought he would pounce on her then, but the silence remained unbroken. Instead of feeling relieved, her tension and excitement only increased. What was he doing?

She heard the creak of his leather-covered bench, and she flinched.

He was at the bottom of her skirt again, and though she was prepared to hold it down, she didn't feel it lifting. His hands were skimming her legs on the outside of her garments, moving steadily upward as if he were looking for something. His fingers pushed down on the fabric to brush between her thighs, and without thinking, she moved her legs apart to escape his touch, which teased and burned.

And then she heard his weight shift and realized too late that he'd come off his bench and dropped to his knees on the carriage floor.

Between her spread legs.

She tried to close them, and felt his thighs, his body, blocking her. He wasn't pressing himself up against her, but just the thought of him looming over her, positioned to do anything he wanted, should have made her panic and fight him and knock on the ceiling.

But she did none of those things. She had never imagined a challenge would make her risk as much as she'd risked once before.

She would not let him defeat her.

And a dark part of her wanted to feel the pleasure he could give her. Just a touch, a kiss, that's all she wanted. She would stop there.

She waited there in the darkness. He was so close, she could hear his breathing now, too, and to her delight, it was as fast and shallow as hers. Would he kiss her? Would she feel his lips tugging at hers, opening her to him, pushing inside—

His hands suddenly clasped her waist. She jerked in his arms and he waited. Did he think she would push him away? Then he didn't know her.

She leaned back on the bench, looking up to where she thought his face was. She was growing so desperate for his kiss that she almost reached for him.

But that would be a form of surrender, and she couldn't do that.

His hands slowly began to move up her sides. She stopped breathing. She felt his fingers trace the lower curves of her breasts, meet in the center, and move up over her bodice, so gentle, barely touching. When they brushed over her nipples, even through the corset she felt like she was seared by him. She drew in a breath on a gasp, her body tense, her head thrown back.

And then she felt the warm brush of his hair against her cheek, and the wetness of his mouth on her bare shoulder. She groaned, fisting her hands in her skirts so that she wouldn't touch him. He still wasn't touching her with anything but his mouth and hands, and it took everything in her not to arch up, to meet his body with hers, to use her legs to pull him against her.

His tongue licked a path along the bare skin above her neckline. At her cleavage, he dipped down inside, leaving her shuddering. His hands slid behind her back, molding her flesh, pushing her up as if bringing her breasts to a feast.

To her surprise, she felt her dress loosen, a tugging on her corset from behind, and then with sudden impatience he pulled down on her corset at her waist, and her breasts slid free. Only a chemise covered them now, soft linen that brushed against her erotically.

And then through her chemise, Daniel took her nipple into his mouth, wetting the fabric, sucking on her. She cried out and lost the battle to withhold herself from him. Her hands slid up his back, through his tousled hair to hold him against her,
where his lips and tongue brought her such exquisite pleasure. With his tongue he circled and teased, and at last he used his teeth to pull the chemise away from her bare skin. His hands cupped and kneaded her, lifting her breasts to his mouth to continue his sensual exploration.

S
he tasted like the sweetest fruit, strawberries and honey and the warmth of summer. Daniel feasted on the moistness of her, reveled in the way her nipples hardened just for him. Her little cries of passion maddened him, and he finally pressed his hips into hers, though his garments and layers of her skirts separated them. He turned her until she was leaning back across the bench, letting him push harder. He rolled his erection against the depths of her, lingering, circling in a way he knew she would like. He groaned when he felt one of her legs circle him, clutching him. As he moved his attentions between her breasts, kissing and licking, he slid his hands higher beneath her skirts, reaching for the drawstring of her drawers.

And then suddenly she was sitting up, knocking him sideways and almost off her. He heard her frantic knocking on the ceiling and felt the carriage slow to a halt.

He muttered a curse and drew back onto his own bench, feeling as stiff and awkward as an old
man. He could hear her fumbling with her clothing and the occasional muttered word.

“Can I be of assistance?” he asked, glad that his voice only sounded a little husky. He was amazed he could even get the words out, so lost was he in what he wanted to do to her—with her.

“I think you've assisted enough,” she responded tartly.

But not angrily. She was a fair woman, and had been enjoying him just as much as he'd been enjoying her.

“Oh—hook my dress, please,” she said primly, as the carriage slowed to a stop.

He reached forward and found her back already presented to him. He laced the corset, and fastened the last two hooks.

“So you
are
good for something in the dark,” she said.

He laughed.

In silence, they felt the carriage sway as the coachman descended. When he opened the door, faint light from the street washed in. To Daniel's surprise, Grace looked almost normal. She was watching him expectantly, and he realized he was supposed to come up with a reason why they'd summoned the coachman.

“Tyler, our lantern went out,” Daniel said. “Can you light it from yours?”

He handed out the lantern, and when she remained silent, he said, “I'm surprised I could think so quickly on my feet.”

“Why?”

He stared at her curious expression, her intelligent green eyes. “Because all I can think about is you, and what we have yet to finish.”

She ducked her pretty chin, slanting her glance away from him. “We are not finishing.”

“No? That was a close call.”

She gave him a pointed look. “A close call would have been nudity.”

“Are you offering?”

She rolled her eyes and let her breath out on a sigh, just as the coachman handed back in their lantern. When they were on their way again, Daniel didn't talk; he found himself brooding as he watched her, more disappointed than he'd anticipated. It wasn't as if he thought she'd freely give in to him so soon in their challenge. But she'd granted him enough that he was frustrated.

And he couldn't help but remember the way her leg had circled him. It had seemed…unusual, for a woman as innocent as she.

Or perhaps she was just a natural.

The thought alone made him close his eyes and take a deep breath.

“You are in pain?” she murmured.

He opened his eyes and smiled. “No, just…thwarted.”

“I'm told it hurts for a man to stop.”

He stared at her. “And where would you hear something like that?”

“One of my female friends,” she said.

He was surprised to discover that women talked of such things.

He leaned forward and tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. Even by lanternlight, he could see how red her face was. “If we were naked together, and I was almost inside you—”

She turned away.

“—it would be terribly difficult to stop.”

“But would you, if I told you to?”

She was staring at him now, her green eyes serious and wary. This was about trust, and to his surprise, he wanted that from her. Since when did he ever care about that with a woman?

“I would,” he said.

She looked at him a few moments more, and then nodded.

“You know I want you in my bed,” he said after a pause.

She glanced at him. “After all of this, I would assume so.”

“You have friends who've told you about men. Have they also told you what happens between a man and a woman in bed?”

She nodded quickly, biting her lip as she looked away.

Daniel was glad. One less impediment between him and fulfillment.

A while later, when the carriage slowed again, he opened the blinds and peered outside.

“Are we at my town house?” she asked.

He didn't correct her as to the house's owner. “We are.”

“Then stay in here, please.”

He frowned.

“If my brother is looking for me, I don't want him to see you.”

“I understand.”

She slid forward in the seat, waiting expectantly for the door to be opened. Without thinking about it, Daniel cupped her head and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. When he pulled back, she stared at him, eyes unfocused, lips moist and parted with surprise.

Then the door opened, and she descended quickly.

He slid back in his seat with a sigh, opened the other blinds and looked out into the night, away from the town house. Just seeing those lit windows would make him think of joining her there.

So he stared out at the park in the center of the houses—and saw a man standing just beyond the light from a gas lamp. Daniel couldn't see his features, for he wore a hat and dark clothing. He was looking at Grace's house, and at the carriage. He stilled, as if he somehow realized that he was being watched.

And then he started to run.

Tyler chose that moment to urge the horses forward, but Daniel slammed open the door and vaulted into the street. The startled coachman gaped at him, but Daniel only lifted his hand to bid him wait. Running, he chased the stranger down the street, but the man had too much of a lead. He reached the far block, ducking between two houses. Daniel finally came to a stop in an
alley. He had no idea which way the man had gone. He swore under his breath and turned back the way he'd come.

 

That same night, Grace sat in the bathing tub until her skin grew wrinkly and the water chilled, yet still her mind whirled around from one thought to another. She could still hear the words she'd used to convince herself to accept his seduction. She'd told herself she would just go a bit further, that she could stop whenever she wanted.

That sounded just like what her mother used to say about a game of faro.

Grace shuddered and closed her eyes. So she had stopped herself before Daniel could take things too far. Her mother had once been able to stop her compulsions, too.

Grace was gambling now, gambling on her own control. And she was gambling with her only future: possession of the violin and the chance to rent another house.

Was losing that worth experiencing Daniel's kiss, his touch? So he made her burn—hadn't she done this before? And it had almost led to her ruin. She had trusted Baxter Wells, too, and he'd proved unworthy of it.

She knew she was letting her sympathy for Daniel's history affect her. She wanted to help him get over the trauma of his youth.

But couldn't she just behave like his friend instead of a woman auditioning for the part of his mistress?

For just a moment, she imagined being his mistress in truth. She would have security and a place to live, the attention of a handsome man, and certainly she could help her brother.

But having a notorious sister would further harm Edward's chances at a decent marriage. And Daniel would eventually tire of her. She realized that she could never live with the uncertainty of a mistress's life.

 

Grace had had a difficult time falling asleep, and then slept in late in the morning. She didn't want to think about her next step in Daniel's “education.” She needed to forget about him, for at least the day, because she had a dinner invitation for the evening, and she had a suspicion that he might be there.

After a solitary luncheon, she tried to read a book in the library, but kept reading the same paragraph over and over again. Then she heard the front bell, and everything inside her stilled.

Woodley found her, bowed, and said, “Lady Standish to see you, Miss Banbury.”

“Show her in.” She sank back on the sofa bone-lessly, which was how Beverly found her.

Hands on her hips, Beverly looked about the library, and Grace realized that her friend was seeing for the first time the bare walls and empty tables. There were even some empty shelves, as if Edward had sold a rare book collection.

Grace smiled. “Good afternoon, Beverly. It's so good to see you.”

“You might not think so. I want to know what is going on.”

“About what?” Grace patted the sofa beside her, but Beverly didn't sit down.

“The condition of your home, for one.”

“You know I don't regularly live here,” Grace said evasively.

“But Edward does. And it seems he's in trouble.”

“Strangely, not too bad,” Grace said, wearing a rueful smile.

“Then it's you who's in trouble.”

When Grace hesitated, Beverly took her hand and brought her to her feet.

“We can't talk in here,” Beverly said. “Let's go outside.”

Realizing that she was not going to escape this time, Grace followed her outside into the little flowering courtyard, to a bench past the fountain but not all the way to the stables.

Beverly looked at her expectantly. “Well? And don't try to lie. Your freckles stand out in your red face when you do. That hasn't changed since we were girls.”

Looking into Beverly's sympathetic eyes, Grace found herself telling her everything, from her mother's gambling and losing their homes and Grace's hand in marriage, to the challenge over her seduction.

Beverly's mouth fell farther open with each revelation. Grace was so embarrassed that she couldn't even look at her after a while and had to
stare into the fountain. But its peaceful gurgling wasn't helping her. Was Beverly disgusted? Had Grace lost her only friend?

Suddenly she was wrapped in Beverly's arms, her breath almost choked from her.

“You poor dear,” Beverly murmured, patting Grace's back as if she were her child.

Grace let out a relieved sigh. “It's all right, but thank you.”

Beverly held her by the upper arms and stared at her. “How dreadful that that man thinks he can just seduce you—an innocent!”

“I can resist him.” Grace was convincing herself as well as Beverly. “He's playing by the rules we set down, and he stops when I tell him to.”

“And all you have to do is resist for how much longer?”

“Eight days.”

“And then the violin is yours.”

“And it's worth so much money, Beverly,” Grace said in a low voice. “I can rent us a home, give Edward something with which he can approach a woman in marriage. And it's not costing me much.”

“Ah, but your pride, my dear,” Beverly whispered.

To her surprise, Grace found herself blinking back tears. “When I found out what my mother had done…when I realized that we meant so little to her that she'd wager our homes…”

Beverly nodded, holding Grace's hand, sniffing.

“She lost our only place to live,” Grace continued, pulling her handkerchief from her sleeve.

“There is no excuse for her behavior, Grace. Thank goodness that Mr. Throckmorten did not try to force you into marriage.”

“How could he? I would have resisted, and he would have embarrassed us both. He's not like that.”

“This is a man who wants to take you to his bed,” Beverly said doubtfully, “though you're a virginal miss.”

Grace looked away. She couldn't reveal everything about her past. It was too humiliating.

“So it's simple. You resist him, and you win.”

“Don't forget about the redemption.”

Beverly groaned. “You made this so much more complicated than it needed to be.”

“I had to! What else was I going to tell Edward? He would—
challenge
Daniel! And I can imagine who's the better shot. That's all I need.”

“Now I understand why Mr. Throckmorten appeared at a charity picnic. The ladies are still atwitter. Don't be surprised to hear about it at dinner tonight.”

“Don't worry. It will work perfectly, I promise you. With some guidance, he'll fit right back into Society. Maybe he'll even find a woman to marry someday.”

Beverly eyed her doubtfully. “Not you?”

“Oh no!” Grace said too quickly. “He's only considering me as a mistress. And I would never want to marry him. I was raised by a gambler and
watched her make my brother into one as well. Daniel is a man who finds life so boring that he needs to take risks. No, I need a quiet man whose only compulsion in his life is books—or me. Until then, all I have to do is resist.”

Beverly frowned. “You don't seem so certain.”

“You don't know how well he kisses.”

“Oh, my dear, it is a good thing you explained everything to me. You need my help in the worst way.”

Grace smiled. “And how will you do that?”

“He needs to marry, does he not?”

“He's his cousin's heir, at least until the duke marries and has a son of his own.”

“Then I shall make sure he has so many ladies to choose from that he'll be too busy escaping them to have time for you. It'll all be over by the annual Madingley Ball, you mark my words.”

Obviously, Beverly didn't know Daniel very well, but Grace refrained from telling her so.

 

That evening, Daniel stood in Lord Cheston's drawing room before dinner, speaking with his lordship about a bill to be read before the House of Commons. His cousin Madingley was also there, watching Daniel too closely. No one else would recognize the suspicion in his gaze. Daniel knew he wasn't exactly behaving the way his family expected of him. They, too, must have heard about Daniel's good deed for charity. He didn't want to answer Chris's questions, so he avoided talking alone with his cousin—at least for now.