The Trouble With Being Wicked (29 page)

“Lord Trestin to see you, Miss Gray.” Gordo waited expectantly, meaty hands clasped behind him as though he were a respectable butler in a respectable house.

“Thank you, Gordo. You may have Hildegard send in the tray.”

The manservant loped from the room. Celeste stayed the urge to call him back. Her heart pounded as Trestin approached and bent over her bare hand. “My lord,” she said, offering him a shallow curtsey, “please be seated. My maid will be around with a tray shortly. I trust you are hungry after your evening?” Goodness, she sounded formal.

He nodded stiffly, eyes unreadable, and extended his arm. Her keen awareness of him, of what they were about to do, made her head light. She allowed him to lead her to a sofa only large enough for two. “Dessert would be divine,” he said in a voice roughened by arousal, “but I admit there are other things in this room I find far more…delectable.”

He infused the air with the scent of starched linen, shaving soap, and the faint trace of brandy. Mixed with her lighter perfume and the familiar, comforting scent of her drawing room, it was intoxicating. She found herself leaning in…brushing her arm against his…tilting her head until a curl escaped and fell across her face.

No.
It couldn’t happen this way. “Truffle?” she squeaked, reaching for a foil-wrapped box on her low table.

He hesitated, perhaps confused by her sudden skittishness, and she took the opportunity to busy her hands.
If he had his hands beneath her skirts without preamble… If he came in and they went straight to bed…
She lifted the box and untied its ribbons with shaking hands. His palm rose as if to decline when she proffered the confections. Then a gleam came into his eye. He plucked the largest from the box and waved the rest away. Celeste’s pulse beat wildly in her ears. It didn’t take years of experience to know what he intended next.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “My lord?”

“Ash,” he corrected, giving her leave to use his given name.
 

The cloying scent of dark chocolate suffocated her as he brought it to her lips. “I—I am not ready.”

She had his attention now. He set the chocolate on top of the box and rested his hand on his thigh. “An odd sentiment for a woman in your position.”

“I—It’s just that I would prefer if we took things slowly.” She sounded ludicrous. She was a great courtesan. She’d brought men to climax within minutes of them stepping into her receiving room. Why, then, did she feel she needed something more from Ash before she allowed him even the simple liberty of a kiss?

He leaned back against the sofa, surprising her with his easy capitulation. She instantly felt bereft without him near her. “What shall we do then, madam hostess? I’m at your mercy.”

She was momentarily at a loss. “A game of chess?” She’d become a fair player, for most men enjoyed passing a few hours in their mistress’s company. Chess usually came after they’d adjourned to her rooms, however, not before.

He shook his head. “Too much thinking.” A twinkle came into his eye. Was he laughing at her?

She indicated a gaming table nestled in the corner of the room. “Cards?”

The gleam in his eye became a glint. “Now, cards can be vastly entertaining. What shall we wager?” He slid closer to her again. “A kiss?”

She shook her head too fast.

“Hmm…” His finger traced one of the red curls framing her face. “Perhaps I can read to you.”

Oh, that sounded lovely. To hear Byron in his voice! But curling up against him, her head pressed to his shoulder, her eyes slowly closing as he lulled her to sleep… “Too intimate,” she said, aware how long it had taken her to reply.

“Ah, and now we come to the real problem. The lady does not wish to be alone with me.”

“I do…”
 

He moved suddenly and his arms came around her, bracketing her against the sofa. His thigh touched hers. He’d given her a chance. He was done with her timidity.

She pressed into the cushioned frame but it was no use. Any attempt to get away from him only brought him closer. “I simply desire time to better make your acquaintance, my lord.”

His heavy-lidded eyes swept over her, from her forehead to her cleavage, and back to her eyes. “I wasn’t aware we are strangers.”
 

His nearness was intoxicating, the game she played with her heart, perilous. She wanted to feel him inside her. Over her. Thrusting into her. She desired to be close to him in a way she’d never understood before. Yet though he was here and ready, she couldn’t take him inside her right away. That would make him exactly the same as any other man.

Her breasts rose and fell. His eyes dipped to watch them hungrily. He was humoring her by allowing her time. But he would not wait forever.

“Tell me something you know about me,” she whispered.
Pretend you care about me.

The room grew darker as another drop of candle wax pooled in the sconce in the corner. The flame would sputter out soon. What would happen when they were two bodies in the dark?

He regarded her gravely, as though trying to understand her request. “You are a woman who changes with the tide.”

“No, not that.” She touched his cheek with the very tip of her finger. She traced his skin to the corner of his eye, then to the edge of his hairline. “Something real. How old am I?”

His face broke into a handsome smile. “A man never assumes.”

She smiled back, letting her finger roam the masculine curve of his brow. “Humor me. I promise not to be angry. Prove to me you know anything at all about me.”

He lifted his body over hers and sat back on his thighs, trapping her between his knees. He leaned back to consider it, an analytical man presented with a challenge. His weight squashed her into the cushion but she didn’t care. “You can’t be very old, as I feel we’re of an age. However, you’ve lived a fuller life which adds a depth I see now. But your skin…” His eyes darkened as they studied her. “At first I presumed you to be young and innocent.”

“I’m three and thirty,” she replied stiffly, ending his too-intimate assessment of her. She’d only asked for facts. Had he really put that much thought into her age?

He ran his palms down her arms until he found her wrists and encircled them. “I knew that,” he said in the confident way men assert their superior breadth of knowledge.

She rolled her eyes. “You knew no such thing.”

“Three years, eight months and twenty-nine days.” He brought her hands together over her head. Suddenly both of her wrists were trapped in one of his hands, leaving the other free to cup her chin.

He’d seized control. She squirmed beneath him, squeezing her legs together as a burst of pleasure shot through her core.

“You’re not that much older than I.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. He tugged gently, exposing her teeth. The rough pad of his thumb slid across the pearly edge, not touching her tongue, barely touching her at all. “I find our ages suitably matched.”

“How do you know?” Her question came out as a gasp. He removed his thumb to trail his finger down her neck in a slow, torturous path to her breasts. She squirmed beneath him, but he had a firm grip on her wrists and his weight sufficiently crushed her into the cushion. “A woman’s age is
private
.”

“Are you unhappy that I inquired about your birthday?”

Her cheeks flushed. Her body ached with the slow spread of need.

“You just asked me to guess your age. You even claimed you wouldn’t be angry with me.” He drew his fingertip over the sensitive mound of her breast. “I ought to have sensed a trap.”

His eyes caught hers. In them, she saw a question.
It was a birthday. What was the harm?
But no man had ever cared, not even her father. It disconcerted her to realize Ash had taken the time to learn something about her. What else did he know?

She had to look down to see him. It suited her well, as it meant her eyes were hooded as she asked, “Who told you?”

His satisfied smile was wholly masculine. “One has only to meander to St Paul’s to understand a bit about the courtesan one is pursuing.” His first finger plunged into the tight bodice of her emerald gown. Her breasts swelled around his intruding finger. One glance toward his hips proved that wasn’t the only thing swelling. His manhood stretched his breeches.

His eyes were shrouded as he removed his finger and pushed it into her mouth. She suckled it, laving it with her tongue, and with a gasp he pulled out. Then he plunged it between her breasts again, thrusting it in and out.

She must distract him before he had her clothing off. She was already wet, and writhing her hips in anticipation of the pleasure he would give her.

“Why did you do that?” she asked weakly, because she was more than a little distracted herself.

He bent to lick the soft mounds cresting her bodice. Between flicks of his tongue he said, “I’m not sure what upsets you more. That I’m curious about you, or that I know you’re the natural child of Maggie Graven and an unnamed aristocrat.”

That brought her up cold. “My father is none of your business.” Why had she wanted him to know anything about her? The more he learned about her, the less he could respect her. She wasn’t fit to lick his boots. She’d known it from the moment she’d set eyes on him.

He released her wrists, gathered her to him, then with an onslaught of strength, tipped onto his back and pulled her down on top of him. His erection pushed into her belly, but his hands were soothing on her back. “To the contrary, if I knew who your father was, I’d have strangled him by now. What man abandons his daughter? And to that kind of life, no less?”

“Our life was fine.” But he’d hit a point.

“I doubt that. Better than most in your circumstance, perhaps.”
 

Better than his relationship with his father, perhaps. One had to love someone to be hurt by them.

She nestled her head into the crook of Ash’s neck, relaxing by degrees onto him. Their legs stuck out over the arm of the sofa. Her body ached with unfulfilled need, but he felt good this way, firm and muscular beneath her.

He traced her cheek with his fingertips. “Your fine bones indicate a drop of blue blood runs through your veins. At least he gave you that.”

She pulled away. “Am I nothing but a pretty face?”

Golden eyes bored into hers. “I didn’t say that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said shortly, wishing he hadn’t found an open wound. Without her genteel looks, she would never have risen to the great heights she had. And without her profession, she had nothing, belonged nowhere.

With deep, even breaths, she tucked her emotions back in to the neat little boxes she kept them in. As she regained control of herself, fear took root in her breast. Men had mistresses precisely to avoid the complications of emotions. And hers were a torrent, undecipherable even to her. She wouldn’t blame him if he decided bedding her wasn’t worth the effort.

But he stayed. After a while he said, “My father was unfaithful to my mother, as you well know. I watched it torment her and I vowed never to become that man. I suppose we’re both looking for that one chance to prove we’re better than the people who sired us.” His voice deepened, and her body, already yearning for him, warmed in response. “Now, I learned something else about you. You own a rather sophisticated telescope.”

The tension of the last few minutes subsided, then slowly began to build again. Goodness, if she didn’t already adore him, she must now. How did he always know what she needed?
 

Her reply came out on a staggered breath. “A Dollond, yes.”

“I should like to see it, if you don’t mind showing me.”

They untangled themselves from the sofa cushions and rose. “This way, my lord,” she murmured, leading him into the hall and up the staircase to the gallery. The corridor glowed with soft light provided by sconces along the left wall. To their right, the wall was nothing but an iron railing looking into her receiving room.

Her astronomy room was along the gallery, which wasn’t accidental. Everything about her home was designed with a man’s comfort and entertainment in mind. Only her sitting room and her private bedchamber were inaccessible to guests, safely located on the third floor.

Her hand rested on the doorknob a heartbeat too long. In the cottage in Devon, every room was hers. Might she return to it soon?

“Is something amiss?”

“N-no.” She opened the door. She scooped a candle from the entry table and used a hall sconce to ignite the wick. Armed with a healthy light, she turned and startled. Hunger glowed in Ash’s eyes, fed by the flame.

You’ve seen a man desire you before.
But her heart raced anyway. She stepped around him and entered the room. The scent of his shaving soap followed her all the way to the window. After lighting two more lamps she lifted the cover from her Dollond telescope and stepped back to allow him to inspect her equipment.

“The work of a superb master,” he complimented, lifting the heavy telescope a few inches off the table to test its weight. “I ought to have known you’d have only the best. May I?”

Too taut to do anything but nod, she watched him expertly adjust the draw to extend the scope its full length. The telescope remained upright on cabriole legs as he tilted the tube left and right.