The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (19 page)

“I shouldn't have stayed,” he said, his voice thick.

“I know.”

And she closed her eyes as his hands slid up the sides of her gown, gently enfolding the globes of her breasts in his large palms.

“Do you know how much I wanted to do this in the theater?” he asked huskily, kissing her neck, the underside of her chin, pulling the bronze silk bodice down to bare the top of her plump breasts. “What a beautiful body you have. I want it, Jane.”

She shivered in a surge of desire and disbelief. “I thought we were going to play cards.”

“Let's play something else instead.”

He pulled her by her shoulders onto his lap, pushing her skirts up as he kissed her, her breasts wantonly pressed in his face. She felt light-headed with the flood of sensations this position unleashed, her bottom trapped between his solidly muscled thighs, his deep, wet kiss wringing a whimper from her. Her head reeled as his hand trailed up the side of her leg, and then he was touching her with an intimacy that set her nerves on fire.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, his fingers tangling in her damp patch of hair. “You're already wet. I could drown in you. I have thought about you every hour since that night in the maze.”

His deep voice came from so far away, barely penetrating the haze of desire that enshrouded her. She was overwhelmed by his strength and gentleness. She clung to his shoulders and felt his muscles ripple like hot steel beneath her fingers. Below, the most intimate recesses of her body opened to him, an erotic response beyond her control, a surrender to the elemental male who had captured his prey and now would play with her at his pleasure.

The house was so quiet. The soft intimate sounds of a man pleasuring his woman seemed amplified in the silence, absorbed by the heavy layers of damask curtains, the tapestries on the walls. The cry she gave when he pressed his forefinger deep inside her. The ormolu clock behind them that marked the passage of time. His groan of satisfaction to be touching her like this.

His eyes almost black with remorse and desire, he said roughly, “I shouldn't be here. You tempt me beyond reason. I have to leave—”

“No.” She could not believe the desperate note in her voice. She touched his cheek, fingers caressing the chiseled bone structure, and looked into his eyes. “I don't want you to leave.”

“Oh, Jane,” he whispered, turning his face into the soft palm of her hand. “Do not encourage me. I am already on the edge. I know all too well what this could lead to.”

She felt her pulse pounding in her throat. He looked like temptation incarnate with his disheveled golden mane of hair and warlord's body disguised in the elegance of his evening clothes. And he desired her, this man who had befriended her at a time when she was a social disgrace. What
would
this lead to?

“I don't care,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss his firm mouth. “I want you to stay.”

His voice was anguished. “You don't know what you're saying.” He couldn't resist her. No other woman could calm this turmoil deep inside him. And she felt the same. Or thought she did. “You haven't done this before. I have an unfair advantage.”

“Then who better to instruct me?” she whispered, twining her arms around the strong column of his neck. She heard him draw a breath. She refused to look away. His mouth glistened from her kiss. He was everything she had ever wanted. Let him do his worst.

He went as still as death, his gaze hooded and unfathomable, looking down at her lovely face. His nostrils flared, and a tingle of foreboding raced across her nerve endings. For an unbearable moment she thought she had shocked him with her question, as she had shocked herself. Shame brought color to her neck. What sort of woman asked a scoundrel to seduce her?

Then suddenly he came to life, his big body stirring beneath hers. His eyes held her a helpless captive with their intensity. Mesmerized, she did not move. There wasn't time to wonder if she'd made a mistake. His left hand worked free the bindings of her gown with such competence that she was naked to the waist before she quite realized what he'd done. Well, this was what she had wanted.

His gaze flickered down, and his wide mouth curved in a smile of sensual anticipation. Her invitation had shredded the last of his restraint. “Who better indeed?” he muttered, as he pressed another finger deep inside her damp sheath. “The answer is no one, Jane. I claim this privilege for myself, with your permission.”

She arched her spine; his skillful invasion into the most sensitive core of her body rendered her utterly powerless even as pleasure inundated her senses. He stretched and stroked her with a finesse that bordered on torture, his long fingers cool as they penetrated her warm flesh; the intensity of her arousal made her feel as if she were dissolving, going up in steam.

Grayson inhaled sharply as the spicy musk of her wrapped around his senses. The family drawing room was hardly the place to make love to her for the first time, but all he could think of was burying himself in her tight passage. She was drenching his hand in her wetness, moving against him with an unconscious sensuality that unchained the devilish side of his nature. This was what he wanted, too, had been afraid would happen. Why had he ever imagined he would be good for her?

“Grayson.” She groaned, her gaze unfocused. She was open and willing, the most desirable woman he'd ever met.

“It's nice, isn't it?” he whispered, “and I'm going to make it even nicer for you in a few moments.”

He pulled off his coat with his free hand, craving the feel of her against his chest. With her beautiful body half naked, the basic male in him threatened to throw aside what scant control he could muster. Pleasuring her would not slake the fever raging in his blood. He needed total possession. The muscles in his back and shoulders corded with the restraint it took to subdue the lust that pounded through him.

His thumb teased the tender bud of her sex until she grasped the crisp fabric of his evening shirt, her body bowed with tension. His silver-blue eyes studied her face the entire time, and his heart hammered in the hollow of his throat as she neared her peak. He glanced at the door, reassuring himself he had remembered to lock it. She was all his in that moment, and nothing was going to ruin it for him or her.

She came against his hand in a rush of sensation, struggling to breathe as he moved his fingers even deeper inside to heighten her pleasure. She felt fragmented and relieved and mortified all at once by the spasms that shook her body. And yet in the aftermath, it seemed natural to sit there with him in a comfortable tangle of arms and legs, her gown wantonly bunched up at the waist. She wanted to remain like this forever. To not think.

She stole a glance at his sculpted profile, heard his ragged intake of breath. They lay side by side, his leg hooked around the delicate arch of her foot, one arm crossed behind his head. He looked indecently tidy, and he was frowning up at the ceiling with a dark absorption that made her shiver. Where had her playful scoundrel gone? Was he upset that he had not found his own satisfaction? She could not bring herself to ask, but he did look . . . unfulfilled. Or was he lamenting the loss of his imaginary paragon? The thought brought her crashing back to earth.

“Grayson?”

“Just give me a moment, Jane. I need time.”

Time? She glanced around the darkened room. “We really ought to make an effort not to be caught wallowing in sensual guilt like Anthony and Cleopatra,” she whispered after waiting for what seemed like ages for him to move again. “All we lack is a slave fanning us with a palm frond and feeding us grapes.”

Her effort to restore his good spirits did not work. He sighed heavily. He would not sleep the rest of the night, although pleasuring her had been worth it. He and Jane had crossed a line tonight. This bore serious thought as to their future. “All right. Get up and find some cards while I light the candles. We'll look properly behaved when your family comes home.”

“Why were you frowning like that?” she asked in concern as they rose together from the sofa.

“What?” He looked away from the candelabra on the sideboard. “I was trying to control myself. And thinking. Oh, my sweet Jane, there is quite a lot to think about.”

She pulled her gown back in place, her hands not quite steady. “About—”

Candlelight framed the carved symmetry of his strong features. Frowning, he reached forward to help her settle the folds of her gown. “Heath sent word earlier today that he's coming back to meet with me. I suppose he might have news.”

She turned to the card table. A coldness settled over her, banishing all the energizing warmth she had felt only a moment before. “What sort of news?” Not that she wanted to know. To let anything ruin her illicit happiness. Her mouth went dry.

He shrugged and took the pack of cards from her hands as she returned. “I have no idea.”

They sat back together on the sofa, a discreet distance apart. Jane watched him shuffle the cards with the same casual expertise with which he had reduced her to raw pleasure on the same spot. She stared at his strong, well-manicured hands, entranced and filled with anxiety at the same time.

“He must have given you a hint,” she said.

He shook his head, his mouth firming. “His message was all very ominous and mysterious, not a hint of what, if anything, he's learned. But that comes from his intelligence background, I suppose. Of course Drake was involved in some shady business, too, or so I suspect. Yet they are entirely different.” He glanced up, grinning at her. “All I know is that I wouldn't want to be the enemy of either.”

“No,” she murmured, catching her breath as their eyes met. She glanced down at the cards he had dealt her. Red and black blurred together. He trusts me, she thought. He doesn't know yet. “What if I confessed to you that I didn't care whether Nigel ever returned?”

He couldn't hide his approval. “I wouldn't blame you one bit.”

Her throat tightened. This was even harder than she'd expected. “And what if I said that I never really wanted to marry him?”

His cool eyes searched her face. What did he see? “Hindsight always imparts the wisdom we might wish for.”

“Not hindsight,” she said quickly. “I am being truthful. I don't think I ever loved him. Except as a dear friend.”

Grayson mulled over her words as he dealt. His tight smile might be the only outward sign that her admission had pleased him, but deep inside he felt an absurd burst of relief. Imagine having to compete with Nigel. “Well, it makes things easier all around, doesn't it?” he said in an even voice.

“Things?”

“Other loves. Not mourning what we lost. I feel the same way about Helene, if you must know. I look at her now and wonder what on earth attracted me to her. Anyway, the only real question is, what will you do if Nigel comes back with his heart in his hand?”

“I don't know.” She stared down at the cards on the table. “Nothing. What—”

“Are you prepared to forgive him?” he asked, his smile fading.

She searched for the strength to clear her conscience. “We don't know yet if there's anything to forgive,” she said after hesitating.

“Oh, you are a coolheaded one, Jane, my love,” he said with a deep laugh. “And, as I noted before, exceptionally honest.”

“Please stop making me out to be a paragon,” she said in a burst of irritation. “I am a remarkably flawed person if you must know. As you
have
to know by now.”

“Well, so am I.”

“No.” She swallowed over the knot that constricted her throat. “You aren't awful at all. Not in the manner which counts.”

He grinned in an attempt to sweep aside her concerns. “I can be when I'm crossed, an event you are unlikely to personally experience unless I catch you cheating at cards.”

She picked up her hand, her mood utterly miserable. She knew she had to tell him, not merely flirt with the truth, but she was afraid. Afraid that the playful affection on his face would turn to contempt. Afraid he would walk out of this room and never return. Or that they had passed the point in this relationship when telling him what she had done could be forgiven.

“Grayson, I'm sorry. I cannot concentrate on a game of cards right now.”

“I'm sorry, Jane. I knew I should have left.”

“No, it isn't that.”

“Then what is it?” His blue eyes scanned her face. “Do you feel you have betrayed Nigel?”

“You really make me out to be far nicer than I am. Please. I don't feel like playing cards.”

“Then we can—”

The sound of voices in the entrance hall interrupted him. Grayson rose swiftly to unlock the door, sat back down, and rested his arm casually over the sofa. When the drawing room door opened, he and Jane presented a picture of innocent activity to the three people who stared at them in surprise.

“Sedgecroft.” Simon cast an experienced glance at his sister, satisfied that all was in order except for the satin pumps she had kicked under the table. “I thought the pair of you went to a play with my parents.”

“So we did.” Grayson had risen in deference to Caroline and Miranda. “And I offered to keep your sister company when we discovered you weren't home.”

Caroline stared pointedly at Grayson, as if she knew in humiliating detail what had been going on a few minutes earlier. “What a gentleman you are to protect her.”

“Isn't he, though?” Jane's cool voice cautioned her not to pursue the subject.

Simon cleared his throat. “Would you like a drink, Sedgecroft?”

Grayson glanced down at Jane. “Thank you, but I'm meeting my brother early tomorrow anyway. I should be on my way. Ladies, I wish you pleasant dreams.”

Jane stared down at the cards that had fallen across the sofa. Pleasant dreams were unlikely—she wouldn't sleep a second until she heard what else Heath had learned about Nigel.