Something Reckless (6 page)

But were they? Could they ever be?

“Very well, forgive me,” Jeremy said with a gallant bow. “I shall not torment you any further. If you wish to keep your counsel on the letter, I won’t force your confidence. I merely hoped
that I had ferreted out some weakness in you, my dear. If someone of your stature has one, it might give me hope that I may one day overcome my own.”

Penelope stared at him. Was he still toying with her, or was he, in some part, serious? The man was so utterly confusing, she wasn’t certain what to think of him at any given time.

“I have many weaknesses, Jeremy,” she whispered.

His smile fell. “You would not be human if you did not.”

He reached for her and caught her hand before she could draw it away. He lifted it to his lips and brushed a featherlight kiss across her knuckles. She jolted at the firm contact of his warm lips against her skin. She had a sudden urge to feel them in other places. All over her.

With a jolt, she snatched her hand away and drew it up to her suddenly heaving breast. “Good-bye, Jeremyer, Your Grace,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing.

One dark brow arched. “Until later, Lady Norman. Enjoy your letter.”

Then he released her and backed from the room. Once he was gone, Penelope sank into the nearest chair. Her legs were trembling and her stomach was doing flip-flops. It didn’t matter that it was utterly stupid or that she still wasn’t certain she could trust Jeremy Vaughn; something about him still shook her. Moved her from her foundation. Made her question herself.

Much like the letter writer did. Penelope pulled the missive from behind her back and stared at the swirling handwriting. What would he write to her tonight? What fantasies would he weave?

And would she be strong enough to resist their pull?

She already knew the answer to that question, even before she broke the wax seal and unfolded the pages. She didn’t possess that kind of strength. Before the end of the night, she knew full well she would be writhing in her bed alone, thinking of the author’s words, remembering the wicked things she’d seen at the Cyprian’s ball…

And picturing Jeremy’s face all the while.

With a sigh, she began to read:

Penelope sat on her bed, staring at a small pile of letters that she had placed there. Their presence mocked her. Tormented her.

They were all letters from
him
, her mysterious admirer who wanted to do such wicked things to her. Each night for a week, they had arrived at exactly the same hour. In fact, Penelope had become so accustomed to receiving them that when the time grew near, she found herself watching the door and waiting for the next missive. She grew restless and dull until she held the folded sheets of expensive paper in her hands.

I want to take you
,
Penelope. Hard and fast. Slow and easy…

Each one detailed more and more about the author’s fantasies about her. In truth, they had become her fantasies, as well. She’d read his pointed, poetic, and often pornographic words so many times that she could summon every sentence from memory without even trying.

And I want you to want me as desperately as I crave you…

Some of the letters had concentrated on what her admirer wished to do to her in detail. She had been forced to think about nights where this faceless man simply kissed every inch of her body. Of his hands and fingers stroking over every curve and invading every hidden, forbidden crevice. And finally, of the crescendo of him taking her in every position imaginable…and some she hadn’t even thought possible.

Would you surrender if I pressed you to a bed and opened you wide for my touch? Do you ever imagine I am doing so?

But some of the letters had been less blatant about activities. They were more about her charms. One letter had been entirely about the erotic beauty of her hair. Of his fantasies that she would take it down in front of him, let it tickle his body, wrap it around his cock…

Penelope surged to her feet and paced away from the letters. She had no illusions that those heated words weren’t altering her. Ruining her. Making her into something she didn’t understand.

She should burn them, but she couldn’t manage it. They brought her too much sinful pleasure. Haunted her nights. She had given up the pretense of resisting their erotic draw. The past week had been sleepless and restless as she brought herself to completion again and again, and yet felt less than satisfied each time.

She clenched a fist against the mantel. A deep hunger, one she had never allowed herself to feel before, had been awakened in her. A dark desire that made her thighs clench against empty wetness when she thought of the letters or the sinful things she had seen on Jeremy’s field trips.

“My lady?”

Penelope turned with a hot blush to face the door and a waiting footman. She refused to meet his eyes, fearful anyone who looked at her now would see her wicked thoughts.

“What is it Appleton?”

“The Duke of Kilgrath has arrived, my lady. He awaits you in the west parlor.”

Penelope started. Her brain was becoming so addled, she had completely lost track of time and utterly forgotten the appointment Jeremy had made to visit with her.

“Please inform him I will be down directly.”

As the servant bowed away, Penelope moved to the full-length mirror in the corner of her dressing chamber. Although she was probably silly to think her servant would read her outrageous thoughts and fantasies with a look, Jeremy was a different story. He would surely see something sinful in her demeanor if she didn’t clear her mind.

She smoothed her hair and ran her hands over the high waist of her pretty blue gown. She looked like a lady. She could behave and think like one, as well.

Slowly, she made her way down the stairs to the comfortable parlor where Jeremy waited. Drawing a calming breath, she pushed the door open.

He was not sitting, but leaning against the wall beside the fireplace when she entered, one of the books from her library in hand. She caught her breath at the sight of him. His slightly too long hair swept over his forehead, his green eyes were utterly focused on the words he was reading.

Her knees began to shake at the sight of him. If her admirer’s
words and the sinful images she’d been exposed to had haunted her, so had Jeremy’s face. How many times had she pictured him while she pleasured herself in the furtive darkness of her empty bed?

In how many dreams had it been Kilgrath who slid beneath her covers and woke her with the shattering pleasure another man wrote about in such detail?

“Byron,” he said, jolting her from her thoughts as he closed the book. “Rather sensual for a woman who leads the fight against excess.”

Penelope blinked. “I’ve always thought of Byron as romantic rather than sensual.”

He smiled as he set the book on a nearby table and approached her. “In my experience, sometimes romance and sensuality are close to the same thing.”

Penelope swallowed hard as he stopped no more than a foot in front of her. He stared at her face, then tilted his head to the side.

“Are you quite well?”

She blinked. “Of course.”

“You look…” He hesitated, as if searching for the correct word.

In the brief silence, Penelope tensed. She could think of a few to describe herself. Hypocritical. Wanton.

“Tired,” he finally finished.

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I simply lost track of time. I’m sorry if you were forced to wait overly long for me.”

“Not at all. But are you ready to depart now?”

She drew back. “Depart?”

It was the middle of the day. Where in the world could he possibly want to take her in the middle of the day? No Cyprian ball or courtesan’s bed or erotic opera could be going on now, could it? If any of those things were, she wasn’t sure she could bear them in her present state.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Will you do me the honor of riding with me? Come to my home.”

Penelope staggered away from him a step. “To your home? No, that would be utterly improper. Your reputation, our being alone together. If that were discovered…”

He frowned. “I would insure we weren’t seen, Penelope. I’ll protect you.”

Penelope sucked in a harsh breath. Protect her. That was the one thing she couldn’t afford to believe, that this man could be her protector. And she found, now that it had been said, that it was the one thing she wanted, perhaps more than anything else in the world.

She hadn’t had a true friend, a real confidante, since…since she and her sister broke faith years before. And that had been because of a man almost exactly like the one standing before her. Yet now, looking at Jeremy, she felt like she
could
whisper her most intimate secrets to him and find no judgment. She could tell him her pains and be comforted.

And no matter how much she tried to convince herself that those appearances were nothing more than an illusion, she couldn’t bring herself to break from him, as she knew she should.

“You promise that you will not let me be seen?” she whispered.

He hesitated, then nodded. “I do.”

Her head dipped. She was defeated by her own secret desires and a loneliness that felt so keen when she was near this man. “Very well. I will gather up my wrap and we can go now, if you would like.”

Jeremy glanced down surreptitiously at the hand Penelope had slipped into the crook of his arm after he snuck her into the back servant door of his opulent London estate. She seemed so-so
fragile
today. Shaken and quiet as they rode in his carriage to his estate. She had barely met his gaze the entire time they were together.

He supposed he should take pride in that fact. It was perfectly clear that he was breaking her every time he exposed her to the erotic and she responded with muted arousal. And his anonymous letters moved her, as well. He was certain of it. Now it was almost time to progress to the final stage of his plan.

And yet, he felt no pride. Looking at her, so pale and quiet, feeling her cling to his arm as if she thought he would support her, he felt…
guilty
.

And that was not an experience he’d ever had before. Certainly not associated with a woman. His life was his to lead. He’d never led it thinking much of other people. If they didn’t like him, they could move out of his way. If they were hurt by his actions, that was their failing, not his own.

But with Penelope everything was…different.

“Why did you bring me here?” Penelope asked.

Jeremy started. He’d been so tangled in his own confusing, unwelcome thoughts, he had forgotten his purpose. Well, he couldn’t allow for that. He couldn’t allow for Penelope’s strange
appeal to manipulate him into abandoning his sworn duty. He had some honor, although his promises were so dishonorable.

“I wanted to show you something,” he said, letting go of her arm. Distancing himself was best. After all, he was supposed to be her convert, not her friend.

She stared at him for a brief moment, then broke the gaze with a blush as she forced her hands behind her back. “What is it?”

“I will, of course, be ridding myself of these things shortly, but before I did, I thought you would want to see them. They represent all you fight against,” he said as he stopped in front of a door.

Penelope tilted her head in question, but before she could speak, Jeremy gave a push and the door swung open, revealing his private gallery.

Penelope stepped past him, her mouth slightly open as she moved into the large, sunny room. Jeremy shut the door behind them and leaned back against it, watching her as she stared in awe at what she saw.

Jeremy had started collecting these pieces five years ago, when a friend returned from India with a few shocking statuettes that depicted couples intertwined in blatant acts of sexual hedonism. He’d bought one from his friend and immediately set out to find more erotic art.

Over the years, he’d added paintings, some of which he had commissioned, and others that had simply caught his eye. He’d also taken an interest in other forms of art. Pottery engraved with scenes of lovemaking, silverwork whose handles depicted nude women or were phallic in nature.

In a short time, he had gathered one of the most extensive
collections of such art in London. From time to time, he even allowed tours of the work.

But this “tour,” with Penelope as his only guest, was his favorite so far. What she saw around her would have been scandalous to most women who had been raised to be “good” and “proper.” Certainly this room wasn’t one he shared with just any guest.

This kind of art took a certain kind of personality to truly appreciate. He had thought Penelope would hardly be able to look at the statues and paintings, but to his very happy surprise, she did not cower.

In fact, she stared openly. Her fists were clenched at her sides and her body was stiff as she lurched closer, but she couldn’t hide the rapt expression on her face as she moved toward the large marble statue that was the centerpiece of the room.

He had commissioned that work a year ago and paid a very pretty penny for it. It featured a woman, long hair blowing back from her enraptured face. Her nude body was wrapped around the one of her marble lover. Her legs were clasped around his waist, his stone fingers pressed into her thigh, his mouth pressed to her breast. It was beautiful and arousing all at once.

And whether she liked it or not, it was clear Penelope reacted the same way he did. She was enraptured. With a shiver, she turned toward him, her face a flaming red, her blue eyes cast anywhere but his.

“What is the purpose of showing me these-these things?” she asked. “Is this a game to you?”

Jeremy swallowed back a chuckle. Sometimes it did seem like they were playing a game. A complicated chess match where she maneuvered and he countered, but neither one gained ground.
But he could feel her defenses wavering, and it was only a matter of time before he put her in checkmate.

“Of course not,” he lied, doing his best to sound affronted. “When I approached you, I told you I could safely expose you to the underbelly of the Society that you wish to fight against. I’ve lived it for most of my life, and I am intimately acquainted with it. You agreed that you would like to see that underbelly firsthand, so that you could be better equipped to battle it. Have you changed your mind?”

She shook her head, but there was hesitation in her movements. Subtle, but undeniable. Penelope was beginning to question her fight, question
herself
.

“I cannot change my mind now,” she murmured, turning back to stare at the intertwined lovers and their passionate embrace.

“Do you wish to?” he asked, his own voice as low as her own.

She looked at him over her shoulder and his stomach clenched. Dear God, she had no idea how alluring she was in that position. Little strands of blond hair curled around her pink cheeks, framing her face. Would her face be that pink if he was gliding in and out of her slick body as he bent her over the marble statue?

Damn, how he’d like to find out.

“No,” she said, this time more firmly.

She smoothed her gown and it seemed that the questioning he had sensed in her bled away. Covered, at least temporarily, by the stern, cold exterior Penelope presented to most of the world around her.

“Tell me, does every gentleman in your position have such a gallery?” she asked, sidestepping the statue and moving to look at the paintings.

Jeremy laughed. “I know of a few collectors, but nothing as extensive as this. I have pieces that I’ve commissioned, as well as works going back thousands of years.”

Her eyes widened when she looked at him in shocked disbelief. “Thousands?”

Motioning to a glass case along the back wall, he nodded. “Yes, most of these pieces are quite old.”

She stepped up to the case like she was approaching a ready executioner, but finally she leaned over the glass and gasped. Most of the ancient items were pieces that would have had a household use. Spoons with naughty images on their handles, a tarnished mirror with mating gods and goddesses on the cracked frame, even a piece of women’s jewelry that featured a decorated gold devil pleasuring a writhing maiden with his tongue.

“Sensuality, sex, debauchery,” Jeremy said, moving a tiny bit closer to Penelope. “Those things aren’t new. They were even celebrated by some societies.”