The Seduction of an English Scoundrel (26 page)

“Why are we standing here like a pair of wallflowers?” she inquired in an innocent voice. “Shouldn't we be more sociable?”

“I am not in a sociable mood,” he bit out.

“Well, no one can see us standing here.”

“Which was my objective, Jane.” His face darkened as he glanced down at her. “There is a little too much of you to be seen tonight.”

“Perhaps you would like to play cards,” she suggested.

“Perhaps I would,” he drawled. “If I were not busy guarding you from all the lascivious aristocrats in Brighton.”

She peered around him, refusing to meet his angry stare. “Oh, look. Isn't that your old friend, Mrs. Watson?”

“So it is.”

“Would it not be polite to acknowledge her?”

“I am not in the mood for that either,” he said, clenching his teeth.

“Well, what are you in the mood for?”

He refused to reply, but the answer was infuriatingly simple: her. Along with most of the eligible men in the room, he was imagining her without the dress, Jane on the altar of their lust with her luscious body and honey-gold hair spilling loose over her soft white shoulders. Like an unattainable goddess, she had challenged the mortals around her to prove themselves worthy of her attention. Well, Heath had warned him. The dark Jane was having her day.

On impulse he took her by the elbow and led her toward the side door. “Is this the way to the refreshment room?” she asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

“No.” He gave her a meaningful look. “We're going home.”

“Why?”

“To have that discussion you mentioned.”

“What about Chloe and Simon? And Uncle Giles? We cannot just leave them here.”

“I'll send the carriage back for them later.”

She glanced back into the crowded, candlelit ballroom. Audrey gave her a tiny nod of approval; their objective had been to disarm a certain scoundrel, but suddenly Jane had her doubts—doubts that escalated as she found herself captured against a steel chest in an unlit corridor, Grayson's firm mouth inches from hers.

“Are you trying to drive me insane?” he asked quietly. “If so, it has worked.”

Held in his muscular arms, she could easily forget that the man had arranged her entire future without asking her consent. Or that she would have to deal with this sort of behavior for the rest of her life. She knew only that she already belonged to him, her fate sealed by a single look across a crowded wedding chapel a short time ago. On the day she had been meant to pledge herself to another. And Sedgecroft had appeared in his place, proving himself to be the best ally and worst threat a woman could ever face.

“What has happened?” Chloe demanded behind them.

“Jane is feeling rather”—Grayson's gaze swept her willowy form—“chilled.”

Chloe's blue eyes danced with devilish amusement as she approached Jane. “Oh, dear. Then you will have to take her home, Grayson. Audrey shall keep me in her guard.”

If the remark seemed strange to Grayson, he was too distracted by the events of the evening to question it. Jane, of course, knew exactly what Chloe meant, and she did not appreciate the reminder—that the second part of her plan had to be implemented as soon as possible.

She could still hear Audrey's voice in her mind.
Take him off guard, darling. A man is never more vulnerable than in the boudoir.

But was a woman any less vulnerable? Jane wondered suddenly, wishing she could bring Audrey along to give her moment-to-moment advice. It was one thing to discuss seducing a marquess in the safety of a drawing room. It was quite another to put proposed seduction into action when facing that marquess in the flesh. When exposing his flesh. When breaking past his anger to arouse him.

Yes, Audrey was an expert in such matters, having revealed to her student techniques that would have made a brothel master blush. But Grayson was an expert, too. And Jane was not.

She looked at him, feeling the floor tilting beneath her. Would it be possible for anyone to render such a man helpless?

“Stay out of trouble,” he told his sister curtly, his arm firmly guiding Jane away. “I appear to have enough of a problem on my hands for a night.”

“Wait,” Chloe cried. “She's forgotten her wrap.”

“Then hurry and fetch it for her.”

And as he turned, she whispered in Jane's ear: “I shall be thinking of Congreve rockets the entire night. Be brave. And tell me everything in the morning.”

If she lived to tell of it, Jane thought, shuddering in anticipation of the seduction she would undertake.

Chapter 23

Jane was spared the full brunt of Grayson's displeasure during the short ride back to the villa by her uncle's sudden decision to leave the ball with the two of them. Never before had she felt such icy disapproval in Grayson's manner toward her. Never had she tested the depths of his feelings to this degree before. She could only hope Uncle Giles would provide a buffer between her and a very angry marquess.

“At my age,” the older man explained as he followed them to the carriage, “I am more of an embarrassment than an entertainment at these affairs. My eyesight isn't what it used to be. Here I was playing cards with a charming young viscount, or so I thought, until a footman kindly took me aside to tell me my opponent was a viscountess. Wouldn't know it from that costume. Epaulets and military buttons on the Hussar jacket. You always look like a lady, Jane. Don't you agree, Sedgecroft?”

Grayson turned his gaze from the window, his voice laden with irony. “No one would argue that.”

Jane shivered inside the safety of her pelisse. Had she ever heard that razor-sharp edge in his tone before?

“You are catching a chill, my dear,” Uncle Giles said in concern. “Go right to your bed when we get in.”

Jane was only too glad to take his advice, grateful for her brief respite when her uncle trapped Grayson in the entrance hall to discuss the following day's race. A true gentleman, Grayson stayed to politely answer the man's questions. But there was nothing polite in his heavy-lidded gaze as he watched Jane escape upstairs to her room. His expression warned her she would not evade his anger for long.

Audrey's voice mocked her cowardly retreat.

Take him off guard, darling. A man is never more vulnerable than in the boudoir.

“I cannot do this,” she muttered. “I cannot, cannot, cannot. . . . I'm not proving a point. I am making a spectacle of myself.”

What had she done tonight? Taught him a lesson or unleashed a beast? One would think she had learned from her wedding scandal that schemes did not play out without unexpected repercussions.

She heard him less than twenty minutes later in the room that adjoined hers. Her heart pounding in anxiety, she sat down at her dressing table in her rose silk robe and began to brush her hair. The door to the room opened. She saw his tall figure in the mirror. Her fingers gripped the handle of her silver-backed hair brush. The chilliness in his eyes seemed to lower the temperature in the room several degrees.

“You haven't changed out of your evening clothes,” she said, her breathing suspended as he took a step toward her.

He stood behind her, his shoulders as rigid as a soldier's. “Shall we discuss that dress?”

“It—it was only a dress.”

“On another woman perhaps.” His voice curled around her like the soft warning stroke of a whip. “On you it is a scandal.”

“I was under the impression that you liked me in . . . what were your words at the modiste's? ‘A minimum of fuss.' ”

His lips tightened at the corners. “That does not mean I wish you to flaunt your charms to the world.”

“We can hardly keep our relationship a secret, Grayson.”

“Perhaps not. But I am a private man, and I do not intend to share you either.”

She pulled the brush down the length of her hair. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she swallowed at what she saw. Why had she dared to challenge a master at his game?

“What did you really hope to gain?” he asked, taking the brush from her hand, continuing its downward strokes with a slow, steady hand. “What . . .”

She stood and removed her dressing robe, utterly naked except for his diamond pendant as the garment slithered to her feet in a sibilant whisper of silk. “The dress offended you. I took it off. Is this better?”

Grayson paused, not quite certain he could believe his eyes. His dark Jane had made another dramatic appearance.

He tossed the brush onto the dressing table, his gaze moving slowly down her body, her rouged nipples, her rounded belly and the triangle of fluff beneath. His heart pounded against his chest. Another step ahead of him, was she? Well, he was a good sport and a man who liked to gamble. If the lady desired him, no matter her motives, who was he to deny her? In fact, he could not refuse.

“The matter of your behavior tonight is not closed.” He began to untie his cravat, his eyes darkening with desire. “A discussion can, however, wait until later.”

She slid her hands up around his neck. “Undressing you is my job as a mistress. Let me.”

“As you like, but—heavens above, Jane, slow down a moment. You're ripping my shirt.”

Her lips formed a pout. “Can I help it if I'm eager to worship my wonderful protector?”

He looked down at the floor in mild astonishment. “That was a button. You tore a button off my shirt.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not personally, but my tailor might.”

She clasped his face in her hands and kissed him for all she was worth, her tongue thrusting against his until his arms went around her waist and crushed her to him. At that point Grayson took the initiative and walked her backward to the bed. She fell against him, her nude body trapped securely between his thighs.

He lay back, still a little puzzled but receptive to what she was doing as she balanced on her knees to undress him. “Not that I'm objecting, but I am curious,” he murmured. “What
is
this about?”

She threw his shirt over her shoulder and went to work unbuttoning his breeches. “Seduction.”

“What did you and Chloe do today?”

“Let's not bring your sister into the boudoir, Grayson.”

“Did you say boudoir?”

“It's more of a mistress word than bedchamber, don't you think? Do you mind if I tie you to the bed?”

With his sensual mouth curling into a grin, his muscular body bare to the hips, he looked like sin incarnate. “What brought this on?”

“Just something I saw in a book.”

“Ah. A book.” He ran his hands up her rib cage to her breasts, cupping their weight in his palms. “Not a book from the circulating library, I take it?”

She gave him a taunting smile, reaching over him to the nightstand. “No.”

“Then—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes as she took his hands, her stockings in her mouth, and deftly bound his wrists to the bedposts. “Interesting reversal of fortune,” he murmured. “Tying me up in a pretty package, eh?”

“Those are not mere bows, Grayson. Those are the Belshire Knots of Annihilation. My sisters and I perfected them on Simon during our childhood. They work particularly well on the male who prides himself on subjugating others.”

He strained experimentally, shoulders and biceps flexing to test the bonds. “Very nice. Please continue.”

To her surprise Jane found she enjoyed the sense of power over him. She could feel all the pulse points of her body quickening as she remembered Audrey's instructions. With a decadent smile she slowly removed his breeches and ran her fingers up the insides of his thighs to the dense triangle of hair that cradled his thick male organ.

“Now don't move a muscle.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he muttered, his hips coming off the bed as her fingers closed around the base of his engorged penis.

“Darling, do hold still,” she murmured wickedly.

Somewhere in the swelter of sensations that assailed him, he realized there was more to her aggressive sensuality than met the eye. As always she surprised him, challenged him to plan several moves ahead, but for this . . . well, whatever she was up to, there really was no strategy but to submit. He didn't give a damn what she had planned as long as she did not stop.

Her fingertips stroked his pulsing shaft, in light, tantalizing flutters. “Don't try to get away. Those knots are very secure. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself.”

Gentleman that he was, he didn't bother to point out he could have freed himself and tossed her onto her back with a minimum of effort. In this case, turnabout was definitely fair play, and when she bent with her soft hair brushing his groin, when her moist pink tongue traced the root of his organ to the tip, he nearly exploded, his body straining in a sweet agony of restraint and sexual excitement.

“How does that feel?” she whispered.

“I—”

Her mouth closed over the bulbous knob of his sex, and he jerked upward, a groan bursting from him. “Get on top of me,” he muttered, flexing his spine.

“But I haven't finished—”

He tore his wrists free of her bonds, surging upward to catch her under the arms and settle her on top of him. “Show me what else you learned today at Audrey's.”

She stared down into his face, stricken. “How did you know?”

“Do you think I would allow you to trick me again, Jane?”

“Perhaps I ought to leave.”

“You must be joking. You're finally right where I have wanted you.”

Several awful moments passed before Jane could manage to move, captured by her tormentor with his large hands clamped around her hips. Unfortunately, learning that her beloved was a sneakier scoundrel than she had guessed did not dampen her helpless attraction to him.

To the contrary. Her body was already acutely sensitive to his touch. When he pulled her gently downward to suckle her breasts, she weakened and felt herself grow wet in anticipation.

“I'm a better reference than any book, Jane,” he whispered, turning her onto her back. “There are some things that really have to be experienced firsthand.”

She could hardly argue that. Not when he hooked her legs over his strong shoulders and buried his face between her legs. Not when she climaxed within seconds, awash in shame and sensual enjoyment, her heart beating wildly.

“What else did you learn today?” he asked, his eyes burning into her, challenging her.

“Let me show you,” she said softly, disentangling herself.

“I'm all yours.”

She straddled him, easing herself onto his swollen rod, taking his full length inside her. For a moment she actually believed she would be able to control him. He gave a low growl and shifted, caressing her breasts with his hands and mouth. Arching her back, her hair falling to her belly, she began to move. To experiment with pleasing him. He allowed this for a while then gripped her hips and flexed upward, penetrating deeper than she had dreamed possible.

She thought she would dissolve on the spot. “Grayson . . . oh, my God.”

He arched, his voice uneven. “You're doing a good job. Don't stop now.”

“I'm going—”

“More, Jane.”

“It's . . . I—”

“More.”

She moaned, moving in the rhythm he set, riding him up and down, her inner muscles stretching to absorb him until the moment came when she could not move at all. His hands steadied her by the hips as her body buckled in the throes of another powerful climax.

“Grayson . . . have mercy.”

Even then he kept up the tempo, kneading her breasts and buttocks, pounding at her until the very moment his own release came, his muscular frame shaking in pleasure.

“I have never had sex like that before,” he admitted in a husky voice when he could finally speak.

Jane could not find words herself, thinking she must remember to send Audrey a thank-you note in the morning. Not that this was the sort of thing one could easily put into words. She closed her eyes and slid bonelessly to his side, a beguiling blackness beckoning her. Until his sardonic voice penetrated her daze and she realized that her hour of reckoning had finally come.

“Now, Jane, do you think it is time for our confessional?”

She sighed and opened her eyes to stare up at his hard candlelit face, both of them finally unmasked, the last of their secrets revealed. She gave a sigh of surrender. “I'd say it was well past time.”