To Pleasure a Prince (17 page)

She tugged at Marcus, and he started to go along, not wanting her to endure a repetition of Whitmore’s accusations of a few nights ago.

“So what did
you
get out of the wager, Draker?” Whitmore called out.

That arrested Marcus. Especially when he caught sight of the panic in Regina’s eyes. Extricating himself from her now-fierce grip, he faced Whitmore. “What wager?”

“Between her and her brother. You know, the one where Foxmoor wagered that Regina could not clean you up and make you presentable for society.”

When Regina didn’t deny it outright, Marcus went numb. “Oh,
that
wager.”

Judging from the satisfied smile on Whitmore’s face, the man had guessed that Marcus was unaware of any “wager.” He saluted Regina with his glass. “So tell me, what incentive did Foxmoor offer to get you to take Draker on as your charitable project?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Henry,” Regina said hastily. “Lord Draker is not my ‘charitable project.’ ”

“Wager, charitable project—it’s all the same. You transformed Draker into a gentleman. And judging from how everyone’s talking about him this evening, you’ve won the wager by a mile.”

The words
wager
and
charitable project
thundered in Marcus’s ears as he stared at Whitmore’s gloating expression.

Whitmore sipped his lemonade. “So what did you win, Regina?”

“Nothing…I mean, it wasn’t about money,” Regina whispered.

Marcus’s stomach roiled. Until she’d said that, he’d hoped Whitmore was mistaken. But no, she really had made some damned wager with her brother over him. It made perfect sense. Why else would she tolerate their insane bargain? And here he’d been inventing fictions with the two of them cozily ensconced at Castlemaine—

What an idiot he was. He should have listened to his instincts instead of letting her wind her spell about him, tempting him to dive right into the treacherous ocean. He should have known she would never truly be interested in the likes of him. Why had he thought she would? Because she’d given in to a kiss or two? Let him caress her? That was probably just one tactic she’d used to win her wager.

And she’d definitely won it, oh yes. Now everyone knew he was the pathetic creature who’d allowed her sly remarks and other temptations to turn him into a slobbering lapdog like all her others. Foxmoor must be laughing his ass off.

This is where you belong, you know. I don’t understand why you fight it so.

God, how could he have been such a fool?

Well, no more. But he’d be damned if he’d let her or Whitmore know how far he’d sunk. “I’ll tell you what she won.” Setting down his glass, he offered Regina his arm, although what he really wanted was to wring her sophisticated little neck. “Apparently, Foxmoor didn’t explain the whole of it. He refused to approve a courtship between us, citing my rough ways as the reason. So their wager was that if she could ‘clean me up,’ as you put it, he would give us his blessing. And how could I resist going along for such a prize?”

Whitmore paled as Regina took Marcus’s arm. “Courtship?” Whitmore said, his gaze shifting from Marcus to Regina and back.

“Yes.” Marcus forced a smile, although it felt as if his face might crack. “You see, Regina doesn’t refuse
my
proposals of marriage.” As Whitmore’s face turned to ash and Regina groaned, he added smoothly, “Now if you’ll excuse us, we really were headed off to dance.”

Then he turned and stalked off toward the dance floor. Thankfully, she went with him willingly, for if she hadn’t, he might have dragged her off forcibly.

And he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how Whitmore’s revelations had affected him. Already she was undoubtedly congratulating herself for her success at winning her wager. That was all the satisfaction he meant to give her.

“You handled that very well,” she said in a low voice.

Her praise burned in his gut like hot acid. Somehow he managed to sound nonchalant. “Glad to know you approve,” he said tightly.

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Marcus, it was not what you think—”

She broke off at the approach of a young gentleman with whom Marcus had seen her earlier.

“Lady Regina!” the fellow exclaimed. “You promised me this next dance.”

For once, Marcus was glad she was so popular. He didn’t think he could manage a dance with her right now, knowing she was assessing his performance and congratulating herself on the effectiveness of her labors.

She glanced from the young man to Marcus. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jerrold, but I forgot about it, and accepted a dance with his lordship.”

“No problem,” Marcus said. “You have a previous engagement. I’ll wait until the next dance.”

“But—”

Before she could say more, he released her arm, bowed to the other gentleman, and walked off.

He headed for the door, forcing himself to nod here and there, to behave as if nothing were amiss. He hated the pretense, but he wasn’t about to throw away what he’d gained tonight. He had Louisa to consider. And since he fully intended never to set foot within ten feet of Lady Regina again, he must hold his own. So he squelched his urge to roar his anger at every man, woman, and child within hearing, even if it taxed his control to the limit.

Still, he’d be damned if he’d stay here to watch her gloat over her brilliant success. Thankfully he could leave if he wanted—he’d come here alone, so no one would think it strange if he departed alone.

He was halfway down the grand staircase when a voice hailed him from behind. He did not need to turn to recognize it as hers. Gritting his teeth, he pretended not to have heard and quickened his march toward the foyer.

The swish of her ball slippers behind him on the stairs quickened as well. Unfortunately, once he reached the foyer, he had to wait while the footman summoned his carriage, making it easy for her to catch up to him.

As she came up beside him, she said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He snatched his hat and greatcoat from the footman without even bothering to put them on. “Not that it concerns you, but I’m going home. I’ve had all of Almack’s I can stomach for one night.”

“You can’t leave until we have a chance to talk,” she protested.

“Did you wager with Simon that you could turn me into a gentleman?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about. You won the wager.” He spotted his carriage arriving and walked down the outer steps to meet it.

She followed him. “Marcus, please listen to me.”

Without bothering to answer, he leaped into his coach and tossed his coat and hat onto the other seat. But before the footman could close the door after him, she clambered in and sat down, right on top of his coat.

He glared at her. “I would advise you to get out of my coach, madam. I’m leaving now, so unless you plan to go for a ride—”

“You wouldn’t drive off with me in your coach,” she said stoutly. “You know it would ruin me. Come back to Almack’s so—”

“John!” he called up. “Drive on!” As the carriage rumbled off, he scowled at her. “Now’s your chance. I’ll tell him to halt, but only so you can get out.”

She swallowed and nervously glanced out at the rapidly receding lights of Almack’s. Then a stubborn look came over her face, and her gaze shot back to him. Thrusting out her chin, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll have to throw me out then. Because I’m not leaving this coach until we talk.”

Damn her. The fact that she had cared enough to come after him was already assuaging his anger, but if she started spouting excuses…

No, it didn’t matter what she said. She wanted to bring him to his knees—that’s what she always did with men. Whatever she’d won in her wager would be the last winnings she’d get at his expense. He would make sure of it.

Be warned that men are waiting to ruin your charge the moment your back is turned.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

“S
uit yourself,” Marcus retorted. “Stay in the coach if you please. I don’t give a damn.”

Regina winced at the vitriol in his voice. Her impulsive act would surely come back to haunt her, but if she let him go now, she would almost certainly never see him again. She simply couldn’t bear that prospect.

After witnessing his expression of betrayal when Henry mentioned the wager, she refused to let Marcus continue thinking that she had used him so abominably. She couldn’t blame him for his reaction, but that didn’t mean she would let him shut her out of his life for it.

“Now
can we talk about this?” she asked.

“Nothing to talk about,” he grunted, shifting his gaze to the window.

Drat him. The dragon was back, protecting himself with scaly armor and fiery breath while he retreated to his cave.

She didn’t have time for that. Even a duke’s daughter could not ride off unchaperoned with a gentleman. She would be compromised if anyone discovered it, which they were sure to do if she didn’t resolve the situation swiftly.

“I think there’s plenty to talk about.” Somehow she must provoke him into discussing this. “For one thing, you as good as told my cousin that I’d accepted an offer of marriage from you. And we both know that was a blatant lie.”

Though he stiffened, her words didn’t get the rise out of him that she’d hoped for. “Feel free to set your cousin straight. I don’t care what you tell him.”

The man was so stubborn! “And if I tell him that he misunderstood about the wager? That you were never my ‘charitable project’?”

“Tell him whatever you please.”

“Drat it, Marcus, you know I don’t see you that way.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I know how you see me, madam. I just don’t care.”

Oh yes, he did, the sullen devil. No amount of his new-found formal correctness could hide that. “How can you think I would agree to a courtship just so I could take on some sort of ‘charitable project’? Surely you realize I have better things to do with my time than try to mold a man as stubborn and surly as you into my image of a gentleman.”

“Ah, but you had the wager to make it worth your while, didn’t you?”

That cursed wager. “Just so you’ll know, Simon was the one who suggested the wager
after
he found out I’d agreed to let you court me. He assumed I was doing it so I could ‘improve’ you, so he thought to put conditions on it. I nearly refused. Until he said what the terms were, and I saw an opportunity to determine if he truly intended to marry Louisa.”

“There’s no need for this explanation,” he ground out. “I don’t care about your wager.”

“Stuff and nonsense. You think all this has been about some silly wager that I barely thought of. Don’t you even want to know what our terms were?”

He turned even more stiffly formal. “Not really, Lady Regina. Whether you won a new harp or gown or piece of jewelry is of no consequence to me. You’ve said your piece. Shall I turn the coach around?”

“No, you shall not!” The arrogant fool clearly didn’t believe a word she’d said. “If Simon won, I was to stop interfering in his courtship with Louisa. And if
I
won, he was to ask you formally for her hand and
abide
by your decision. It was not about a new harp, drat you! It was about making sure Simon was not using Louisa! I figured if he agreed to the wager, then he was sincere. That’s the
only
reason I agreed to it.”

For a moment, she thought she’d reached him. His jaw seemed to soften. But then he sucked in a shuddering breath and turned a cold gaze on her. “There’s no need for you to invent something you think might soothe my pride. I don’t really care why you made the wager. We both used each other, and we both got what we wanted. So we’re done now.”

“The devil we are! And what do you mean, ‘we both used each other’?”

His expression grew shuttered. “Whitmore was right—I needed a way to enter society again, and you provided that, even if you only meant to win your wager. But now that I know I can enter society on my own, I don’t need you anymore. So I thank you, but I have no more use for you.”

The cruel words took the breath from her. Had he truly shown an interest in her only because she could help him reenter society?

No, she couldn’t believe it. His pride was wounded, and he was striking back. She wouldn’t let him. “So our kisses and caresses meant nothing to you except as a means to an end?”

He shrugged. “You were bored and wanted an adventure; I obliged you. It was the only way to make sure you kept helping me.”

“I see.” Oh yes, she saw, all right. Saw that she had him cold. If he’d claimed to have lost interest in her, she might—
might,
mind you—have believed him. But she didn’t believe for one minute that he’d never desired her. Even the Dragon Viscount was not
that
good at hiding his feelings.

She unbuttoned her gloves, first one, then the other. When she stripped the first one off, she thought she saw him tense. “And I guess now that you have what you really wanted from me, you can stop pretending to desire me. Is that what you’re saying?”

He hesitated a fraction of a second, his eyes riveted to her hand removing her other glove. “Right.”

Setting her gloves aside, she leaned down as if to readjust her slipper, but really so she could display her bosom to fine advantage. She tried not to roll her eyes at the way his gaze swung unerringly to her low décolletage. Men could be so predictable. “You mean that you are not attracted to me in the least.”

“Not in the least,” he echoed hoarsely.

Taking him by surprise, she changed seats to sit beside him. Then while he was still caught off guard, she laid her bare hand on his thigh. “So you are not affected when I do this.”

He swallowed. “No, indeed.”

Reaching up with her other hand, she caressed his smoothly shaven cheek. “And this does not move you.”

“It…no…I am not moved.”

She pressed her mouth to his ear. “I don’t believe you.” Then she kissed his ear. And his close-cropped hair. And his cheek that still smelled of shaving oil.

His breath came now in harsh gasps. “Only because you’re…not used to…having a man resist you.”

“I don’t believe you, because it’s not true. And we both know it.”

Continuing to stroke his opposite cheek with her fingers, she kissed a path to his mouth. He swore under his breath. When she nibbled his lower lip, he jerked back from her. “Stop that,” he said in a low rasp.

“Why? I thought you didn’t desire me?”

“I didn’t…I don’t. You’re making a fool of yourself for nothing.”

“I certainly hope not.” Cupping his cheek in her hand, she turned his head toward her until he couldn’t avoid looking at her. “Since I will probably be ruined after riding off with you like this, I would hate to think it was all for naught.”

She kissed him squarely on the mouth. Though a shudder rocked him, he kept still, every inch of him hard and resistant. Until she ran the tip of her tongue along the firmly closed seam of his lips, eliciting a growl from somewhere low in his throat.

He jerked back to stare at her, his features carved into a mask of sheer raw hunger, his eyes hot. “Damn you,” he swore as he dragged her onto his lap. “Damn you,” he bit out as he caught her head in his hands. “Damn you to hell,” he groaned, seconds before his mouth took hers.

It was the most glorious kiss of her life, so powerful she would have swooned if she’d been the swooning sort. She threw her arms about his neck and gave herself up to the intoxicating pleasure.

She’d won at last. She wasn’t sure
what
she’d won—after this, she could no more return to holding him at arm’s length than she could stop breathing. But she didn’t care about that. Marcus was kissing her with all the passion and fervor that made her feel alive, and nothing else mattered.

After endless moments of his mouth consuming hers and his hands roaming freely over her waist and hips, he tore his lips from hers. “Are you happy now?” he growled as he scattered feverish kisses over her cheeks and chin and throat.

“Because I proved that you still want me?” She arched her neck to give him better access. “Yes, deliriously happy.”

He sucked hard on her neck. “Haughty witch. Impudent siren.” Lifting his mouth to her ear, he nipped the lobe. “You couldn’t rest until you reduced me to the same slobbering lapdog state as all your other suitors.”

“If this is you being a lapdog, I shudder to think how you would be as a mastiff. I assure you, I have never allowed any slobbering lapdog suitors to carry me off in their carriages alone.”

He drew back to stare at her solemnly. “If you stay here with me much longer, you’ll be ruined.”

“I know.”

“Don’t you care?”

The strange thing was, she didn’t. Not right now. “No.”

“You’ve won your wager, you know. You don’t have to keep at your charitable project now.”

She jerked back. “You are
not
a project,” she cried, wounded to the heart. “And if you could still think I see you that way, I want nothing to do with you!”

She tried to scramble free of him, but he wouldn’t let her. “Too late for that,” he murmured in her ear, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Now that I’ve carried you off, dearling, I fully intend to take advantage of the situation.”

His use of the endearment mollified her. So did the idea of his taking advantage of her. Still, color rose in her cheeks when he very deliberately began to unfasten the ties of her bodice. “You…you mean to ruin me in truth?”

“No.” He tugged her bodice down so he could untie her filmy chemise. “But if you’ll remember, I told you earlier I would expect a reward for my gentlemanly efforts.” Opening the neck of her chemise, he bared one of her breasts to his ravening gaze. “And I intend to take it now.”

Before she could even protest, he was easing her back over his arm so he could seize her breast with his mouth. Heaven help her, it was just like the last time…utterly…sweetly…delicious.

As her eyes slid shut and her hands clutched at his arms, his mouth seduced her breast, teasing her nipple until it hardened into an aching knot that only the swaths of his hot tongue could soothe.

Then he turned his sinful attentions to her other breast, caressing it with his mouth so expertly that he soon had her arching up against his mouth, wanting more, needing more.

That was probably why she didn’t notice his free hand sliding her gown up her legs until he had it midthigh, and his fingers brushed her drawers.

“Marcus?” she whispered. “Do you really think you should—”

“Yes,” he dragged his mouth from her breast to rasp. “If you don’t let me touch you, dearling, I’ll go mad.”

“And
I’ll
go mad if you touch me there,” she said tartly, struggling to sit up.

“I certainly hope so.” He smiled down at her, shifting her so that she was half-sitting, half-lying across his lap. His hand—his devilishly clever hand—continued its scandalous exploration until it found the slit in her drawers. “I want to drive you as insane as you’ve driven me for the past week.”

She should protest. Instead, she waited impatiently to see how he intended to do that. Parting the linen with his fingers, he combed through her curls until he found a sensitive bit of hidden flesh. When he pressed his thumb to it in a most outrageous caress, she nearly hit the roof of his carriage.

So that was how he meant to do it…oh, Lord. He stroked it again, and she jumped. “Sweet heaven!”

“Not yet,” he said, eyes gleaming with humor. “But I promise it will be.”

He was as good as his word. While still mercilessly rubbing and teasing that one tender spot until she writhed against his thumb in search of more, he slid a finger lower to part her delicate folds, then slip inside her.

Her eyes widened at the shock of such a sinful intimacy. But even as she dug her fingernails into his coat and prepared to protest, his finger withdrew. Only to thrust inside her again. And again. And again, in firm, silken strokes that drove all the breath right out of her.

She’d heard enough about lovemaking to know how it worked, but she’d never heard about
this.
Having his finger inside her was perfectly appalling. She wanted it never to end.

Her eyes slid shut so she could focus on that treacherously wicked hand of his, doing amazing things to her, making her twist and turn and yearn for more…

“How’s that for an impertinence?” he growled.

“Marvelous,” she whispered, then groaned to hear her own blatant wantonness. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Why not, if it’s the truth?” His low voice was a smoky seduction in itself. “Never be ashamed of enjoying this. God knows I love watching you enjoy it.”

His labored breathing confirmed that. So did the bulge swelling beneath her bottom. That ought to have worried her, but she was beyond being worried about anything right now. Not when that same excitement she’d felt in the opera box was rising in her, higher, higher—

“Tell me the truth, Regina,” he commanded as his strokes grew faster and bolder. He slid another finger inside her and she groaned, arching up into his hand like a virgin rising toward the glory of the dragon’s flames. “When Foxmoor asked why you’d agreed to my bargain, did you tell him I was your charitable project?”

“No.” She groaned as she struggled toward the fiery breath. “I told you…no…”

“But you didn’t deny it when
he
claimed I was,” he prodded.

“No,” she whispered, her focus divided between his dratted questions and the heat building and building down low…

His strokes grew fiercer, rougher. “Why not?”

“I didn’t want…him to guess…the real reason I agreed.”

“What was that?”

“Because…in spite of the beard…and your churlish manner and your obstinacy…” She trailed off, hardly able to speak for the thrilling sensations coursing through her, fogging her brain, consuming her senses.

His motions abruptly turned teasing…too soft…too gentle.

“Marcus, please…” she begged him shamelessly, knowing instinctively that some release had lain just beyond her reach before he’d turned gentle.