Chapter 3
Damien stood before his cheval mirror and examined his reflection critically. He nearly did not recognize himself, having been on that mission in France for so long. Scruff usually covered his cheeks and chin, and his floppy brimmed hat and long black cloak usually concealed his identity. The man who stared back at him was not the English spy, Le Chat, but a gentleman of society, the Duke of Wyndham. He looked forward to embracing his true persona. His attention, however, was not completely on the perfect fit of his wine-colored, superfine jacket and buff-colored riding breeches, nor on the soft gleam of his boots and the intricate new fashion of tying his stock. Rather he was thinking of the intriguing woman he had met at Madame du Barré’s gaming hell the previous night.
The Lady Fortuna. She was a puzzle, but the most fascinating puzzle he had ever met. He had listened to the gossip about her at Madame’s, but had not really believed any of it. Until he met her. She was obviously well-bred and cultured, but as for her being the daughter of an earl, he was doubtful. She had played cards too well. He had beaten her, but he had seen the skill with which she played. No titled gentleman would allow his daughter to gamble, and certainly not at Madame du Barré’s. The chit had to be an adventuress, albeit a very desirable one. He could still envision her sitting next to him in the coach. She had been remote and alluring. After he had left her, he could still smell her fragrance lingering in the air. She would be a delightful diversion, just the thing to make him forget the hardships he had endured. The Duke smiled to himself in anticipation.
Wilson, his valet, brushed the shoulders of his jacket and stepped back.
“If I may presume to say so, Your Grace, you are looking like your old self again,” the valet offered.
Damien’s eyes were mischievous as he caught Wilson’s in the mirror. “And what, pray, did I look like before, Wilson?” He was well aware he looked a wreck when he had appeared at the door of his London house a few days earlier.
Wilson coughed uneasily. Damien watched his man for a moment, then relented. “That bad, eh? Well, those days are gone, Wilson. Where’s my hat?” He turned, and his valet handed him a tall beaver hat, soft leather gloves, and riding crop.
“Good man.” Damien threw him a quick smile and then headed out.
As he reached the bottom of the winding staircase, Jacobs, his majordomo, was waiting for him.
“General Drayton is here, Your Grace,” the man said. “He is waiting for you in your study.”
Damien’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “General Drayton, you say? How curious. Thank you, Jacobs.” He handed the man his hat, gloves and riding crop, then headed for his study.
Upon entering the room, he was met by a gray-haired gentleman who wore his soldier’s uniform with distinction. He bowed formally to Damien. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he said.
Damien hid a smile of amusement at the man’s formality. It was strange how roles could be reversed so quickly. “Good morning, General.” He held out his hand to his former commander and smiled warmly.
The general shook Damien’s hand. “It appears that retirement agrees with you.”
“It is so much easier than living in a hovel.” Damien motioned to a chair and the two men sat.
“My visit will be brief,” the general said. He cleared his throat. “This is not a social call. We have a problem, and you are the only man who can help us.”
The Duke raised a cynical eyebrow. “I seem to remember hearing those words when you first recruited me as a spy, George.”
General Drayton smiled. “The problem is here in London,” he said, becoming serious. “Madame du Barré to be exact.”
“The Barré, you say!” Damien shook his head. “A loss to the men of London.”
“I daresay,” the general agreed dryly. “She is spying for Napoleon. We know it, but we can’t prove it. She rarely, if ever, leaves London, so we know she has someone relaying information to the coast. We captured her last courier, but the devil tried to escape on the way back to London, and he was shot by one of his guards.”
Disbelief crossed Damien’s face. “God’s blood, General, how do you expect to win this war with such numskulls?”
General Drayton’s gaze sharpened. “That was my thought exactly.”
Damien sighed. “So, you want me to find out who the Barré is using as a courier and capture him for you.”
“If you could, it would help us greatly.” The general leaned forward in his chair. “Damien, you know I would not ask this of you if there were any other way. You are known at Madame’s, and so will not arouse suspicion. My other men are not suited to this sort of thing as you are.”
“Spare me the arguments, George,” Damien said caustically. He puffed out a breath. His gaze lifted to the walnut-paneled walls, the shelves of books, the portraits, as he gave himself a moment. Coming to a decision, he said, “I will do this one more thing for you, General, but I cannot afford to spend any more of my time in the service of His Majesty. I have to see to my own affairs which I have neglected for too long. Besides, it has become too dangerous. I cannot jeopardize the lives of my men. Fouché, Napoleon’s Minister of Police, has come too close to discovering my identity and that of my men.”
General Drayton nodded. “I understand perfectly, Your Grace.” He stood to leave. “Thank you, Damien. If there is ever anything I can do for you, please let me know.”
After Drayton took his leave, Damien sank back down into his chair and stared thoughtfully after him. This assignment would not be all work. It might even be enjoyable. Although he regretted that London would lose a witty, entertaining lady in Madame’s arrest, he knew before that could take place, he would have to spend many nights at her establishment, a pleasant task. There was also a certain young lady with eyes like sapphires and hair like ebony whom he had met at Madame’s. He smiled. At least he could live in comfort and enjoy his pleasures while he accomplished his task. Whistling, he left the house for his ride.
During the week after her encounter with the Duke of Wyndham, Jessica frequented Madame du Barré’s every evening. She had won back all she had lost, plus a sizable amount more. The stipend for her stepmother was secure. She was now playing to solidify her reputation as a shrewd gambler. She would be leaving for Braeleigh on the morrow, so this would be the last time she would be at Madame’s for several days.
The gown Jessica was wearing this evening was of blue silk, the same color as Jessica’s eyes. The bodice was cut low and the skirt was composed of tiny, vertical pleats which rippled and clung to her body as she walked. It was a sensuous dress, made to cause heads to turn and keep men’s minds from the cards in their hands.
Jessica arrived at Madame’s somewhat later than usual. After paying her respects to the woman and receiving her approval, she went to the private room where she would be playing cards. A game was already in progress when she arrived. One chair was empty, its back to the door. She recognized all of the players but one, who was in the chair to her right. Before she had time to speculate on the identity of the man, however, the round ended, and her presence was noted. The men stood as she approached the table.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” She smiled as she glanced around at them. She turned to the man to her right to introduce herself. Her smile froze on her face as she recognized the green eyes watching her. She nodded a greeting. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
“Ah, good show!” Lord Patterson exclaimed. “You two children have met.”
“Yes,” Wyndham said. “The lady and I spent a most interesting evening together.”
Jessica did not miss the interested glances that were passed about the table at the Duke’s remark. Not wishing to cause more gossip, she remained silent. To her dismay, Wyndham held her chair, not Lord Hoxly who was to her left. Jessica fumed. Why did the Duke have to be here tonight of all nights? One more evening and she would have been gone for several days. He could have come to Madame’s then. Besides that, he was sitting next to her. Fate was not being fair.
As Jessica waited while the cards were being dealt, she noticed there was a considerable pile of money before His Grace. Did he never lose? Well, tonight, she was ready for him. Tonight, she would win.
Play continued for several hours. Except for an occasional witty or charming remark from the other players at the table, the time seemed to drag on forever for Jessica. The pile of money before her became smaller and smaller, while that before the Duke grew. Becoming desperate, Jessica decided to do something she had never done. She decided to cheat. Her father had taught her how to do this when he had taught her to play cards, only because he wanted her to know when other people were doing it. She had become so proficient at it that even her father had been unable to tell when she had dealt from the bottom of the deck. She doubted that the Duke, who was her only target, would be able to catch her.
It was Jessica’s turn to deal. She held her breath as she dealt the cards around the table. The Duke said nothing. He merely picked up the cards before him. Bets were placed, and play went on. Jessica won the hand. The Duke lost.
The turn to deal traveled around the table twice more. Each time she dealt, she won, and the Duke lost. She was convinced he did not realize what she was doing. It was so easy. Perhaps she should have tried this before.
It was her turn to deal again. She picked up the cards, shuffled them. Just as she was about to deal them out, a darkly tanned hand snaked out and grabbed her by the wrist. With wide, frightened eyes, she looked up into twin shards of green ice.
“It would seem that the lady is dealing from the bottom of the deck,” the Duke said. His voice was quiet, menacing.
Jessica blinked, but hid the fear that slithered through her. “What are you accusing me of, Your Grace?” she asked innocently.
“I think that is quite evident,” he said. “I believe it is called cheating.”
“How dare you, sir!” she demanded. The only thing to do was bluff. She jumped up, knocking over her chair. She hoped he would release her wrist, but his grip became even tighter as he remained seated—bad manners as well as an insult.
“But I do dare, my lady,” he answered, his tone deadly quiet. “You see, I have been watching you. It is only to me that the cards come from the bottom of the deck. Would you care for a demonstration?”
One of the other men at the table cleared his throat and tentatively suggested, “I really don’t think that is necessary, Your Grace.”
The Duke acted as if he had not heard. Never taking his eyes from Jessica’s face, he turned the deck of cards face-up and began to recite each card as he took it from the top of the pile. “Four of hearts. Seven of spades. Jack of spades. Trey of diamonds. Shall I go on?”
Jessica’s eyes closed, and she felt the blood drain from her face. Suddenly, he was on his feet. He seemed to tower over her.
“If you were a man, I would demand satisfaction with weapons tomorrow at dawn,” he told her roughly. “But since you are a woman, there will have to be another way.” He paused for a moment, then his voice became silky. “I believe I have just the solution.” One arm went about her waist and pulled her close against his unyielding body. He forced her head back with a thumb under her chin as if he meant to kiss her. “Perhaps Madame would not be pleased to discover that one of her patrons has been cheating in her house.”
Jessica’s eyes widened in fright. She tried to wriggle away from his hard body. “No, please!” she gasped.
His arm tightened around her, preventing her escape. “Then you will have to convince me otherwise,” he said coldly.
Lord Hoxly leapt to his feet. “This has gone far enough, Your Grace,” he said stiffly. “I demand that you leave the lady alone.”
The Duke’s chilling glance fell on the man. “You demand, sir?”
“Yes.” Lord Hoxly stood tall. “If you require satisfaction from this young lady, I will gladly stand for her.”
Jessica glanced from one man to the other in uncertainty. She was relieved that someone at the table saw fit to protect her from the rogue who held her, but she did not wish anyone harmed because of her. Before she could gather her wits enough to speak, she saw the Duke’s eyes narrow dangerously.
“This does not concern you, Hoxly, nor any of the other gentlemen present. If you value your life, I would suggest you remain silent. You know I do not speak idly if I tell you that I will call out every man at this table if there is a hint of rumor concerning this night. The insult was to me and me alone, and the satisfaction I demand will come only from this lady. I presume I make myself clear, gentlemen?” His glance swept around the table.
The men either nodded or lowered their eyes. Even Lord Hoxly sank back into his chair.
The Duke turned back to Jessica. His thumb casually caressed her cheek as he murmured, “Remember, my sweet, persuade me.” He released her without warning and strode from the room.
Deathly silence fell after his departure. Jessica’s head swam, and she swayed. Lord Hoxly steadied her, as everyone began talking at once, and Hoxly helped her into a chair.
“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked solicitously.
Jessica managed a weak smile for him. “Yes, thank you. It was merely a slight dizzy spell. The man frightened me.”
“He is, indeed, a very frightening man,” Hoxly agreed. “Allow me to get you something to drink.”
Jessica nodded her agreement.
As he was occupied, Jessica saw a servant slip into the room and gather up the Duke’s winnings along with her own. Before she could stop him, he left. By the time Lord Hoxly had returned with a glass of brandy, her mind was racing. She had to recover what remained of her winnings. And she had to get out of there and speak to the Duke. She could not allow him to tell Madame about the cheating.
She took a small sip of the brandy, sighed deeply, and stood up. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I bid you good night. Thank you for your kindness, Lord Hoxly.”
“Of course, my dear, not at all,” Hoxly said with fatherly concern. “May I escort you to the door? Or perhaps to your home?”
“No, please don’t trouble yourself,” she told him, not wanting any witness to what she intended to do. “I feel much stronger now, and I am sure the Duke will not bother me again this evening. Good night, sir.” The other gentlemen were deep in conversation, so she was able to slip out unnoticed.
She walked quickly to the door and collected her cloak, but before leaving, she asked Jacques if he was acquainted with the address of the Duke of Wyndham. When she explained her intention was to return something the Duke had left behind that evening, the majordomo gave her the address. Then she went out into the night. Her hackney-coach was there waiting. She gave the driver the address, and they sped off.
As the coach drove up to the house, Jessica saw it was in darkness. Perhaps he had not come straight home, after all. Well, she was prepared to wait for him all night if necessary. She dismissed the hackney and walked up to the front door. It was slightly ajar. She thought that a bit strange, but terribly convenient. At least she could wait for him inside without waking the household. It did not occur to her that there might be others, like parents or siblings, living in the house who might discover her.
Without another thought, she pushed open the door and walked in. She was in a large foyer, but it was dark, and she could not see any of its details, yet she could feel its size extend above her head and stretch out before her. Looking about, she spied an open door into one of the rooms. After a brief hesitation, she decided to wait in there. Discovery of her creeping about a strange man’s house in the middle of the night would be the ruination of whatever shred of a decent reputation she had, but her desperation to set things right overrode everything else.
The room was dark as well, but a fire blazed on the hearth. She thought it odd that a fire would have been lit in a deserted house, but the warmth of the flames beckoned to her. She went to stand before it and held out her cold hands to soak up its heat.
“I’m glad you came, Jessica,” a voice she recognized too well spoke from her right.
Gasping, she spun around. He was there, sitting in a chair, a brandy in his hand. He had been there all the time. Waiting for her. She felt like a small child who had been discovered with a hand in the jar of sweets.
To give herself time to regain her composure, she asked, “How did you know my name?”
The Duke shrugged. “A simple matter of asking Madame. She enjoys making love-matches.”
Jessica opened her mouth to protest his term for their relationship, then decided she had better keep silent. This was not the time to argue about insignificant things. Turning back to the fire, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
“I…I had to talk to you,” she said.
He said nothing.
Swallowing, she pressed on. “Please, you mustn’t tell Madame that I cheated. I have never done it before, and I will never do it again. Please.” She turned back to him and tried to read his expression, but his face was in the shadows.
Finally, he spoke. “How do I know that you will never cheat again? You appear to be quite expert at it, which leads me to believe it is something which you do quite often. Since I have been wronged, you seem to be asking rather much.”
Jessica could see this was going to be quite a bit more difficult than she had originally thought. The Duke was not one to be easily swayed by a coquettish smile or a pouting lip. He was not a man who would forgive easily. She was not going to be able to charm her way out of this predicament. Nor could she tell him the truth and risk her stepmother finding out, giving Margaret the leverage to force her into marriage with Sir Percival.
“What else can I say, Your Grace, except that I am sorry?” she asked.
He merely raised an eyebrow.
“What do you want of me?” she whispered desperately. “I will do anything you ask.”
Carefully, he placed his glass on the table beside him. In one graceful movement, he rose from his chair and came to stand before her. Jessica forced herself not to back away. A strange tension enveloped her with his nearness. She fought to keep her feet planted where they were. He gazed down at her a long moment before he spoke.
“Anything, Jessica?” he queried softly.
She looked up into those green eyes, darkened from the shadows. The firelight played across his face and made it appear demonic and handsome in turns. She knew what he wanted, what she would have to pay to keep his silence. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. Was the price really too high to continue in her current existence? The memory of Sir Percival floated before her eyes. There was only one answer to his question.
“Yes,” she said. “Anything.”
He watched her plead with him. And submit. He was torn between his righteous anger and his foolish desire for her. He had never met such a beautiful creature. She was an enigma, one minute seductive and alluring, the next cold and aloof, the next naïve and innocent. He did not believe her ploy of innocence. She was an adventuress, playing the odds for her own gain. But this time, she had overreached. She had played him for the fool, and for that she would pay.
He untied her mask and slowly removed it. Her beauty was completely revealed. She had not been hiding ugliness, but rather a perfection that would cause the angels to be jealous. The blood raced in his veins. He needed to see more.
He unclasped her cloak and pushed it from her shoulders. A tremor ran through her when his hands brushed her skin. Faked or real? He stood gazing at her a moment, drinking in her loveliness. He did not care if her innocence was a sham. He wanted her, despite her deception. Pulling her to him, wrapping his arms about her, he brought his lips down on hers, searing them with his passion.
This was Jessica’s first taste of a man’s kiss. It was pleasant at first. She enjoyed the strong feel of his arms holding her, the hardness of his body against hers, the warmth that enveloped her. Then the kiss became more demanding. Jessica felt as if she were being smothered. He took her breath, and still he did not stop. She began to panic. She had never felt this way before. She pushed against his chest.
“No,” she murmured. “Please, stop.”
When he released her, a puzzled expression crossed his face, but he did not move away.
She gave a small, nervous laugh. “I…,” she started, then realized she could not explain herself. She was too embarrassed to admit she had never been kissed by a man. Besides, she was supposed to be worldly. That was part of her persona at Madame’s.
“I’ll not force you, Jessica,” he said, his words matter-of-fact. “It is your decision. You know the cost of my silence. If you wish to pay the price, you’ll find me upstairs.”
Jessica watched him move with controlled strength and feline grace to the door and out into the foyer. His footsteps echoed in the dark as he crossed to the stairway. She heard him begin to climb the stairs.
She turned back to the fire as she worried her lower lip between her teeth. His touch had been exciting, his kiss frightening. Jessica had known no man intimately, and the prospect of making love with this stranger, handsome and intriguing though he was, struck fear into her heart. Not only that, she would be ruined, losing the one thing which she could bring to her husband should she ever marry—the fact that she had saved herself only for him.
Jessica closed her eyes and sighed. It had not been easy living by her wits these last several months. She had been very cautious about becoming too friendly with anyone—male or female. Self-preservation prompted her to react with coolness toward everyone. Being a lone female in a place like Madame’s, without the benefit of protector or benefactor, she had been fair game for any man who wished to try his luck at seducing her. Only Madame’s very thin blanket of guardianship had saved her on several occasions. What would happen now if she succumbed to the Duke? Could she pay his price and still remain aloof?
She glanced sideways to the door. She could not allow him to inform Madame of her cheating. Even though Madame was the one person with whom she had a close relationship, she could not impinge on that friendship. Madame did not countenance any form of dishonesty in her establishment. Jessica would be barred from ever playing there again, and she did not have entrance to any other gaming house. She would be unable to pay Margaret. She would be forced to wed Sir Percival.
Jessica came to her decision. There was no recourse but to climb the stairs and go to the Duke. Taking a deep breath, she started on her journey.
As she came to the top of the stairs, she wondered if he often had women guests in his bed. Thinking back on the gossip she had heard about him since his arrival, she thought it very probable that he did. Although not the usual course for a gentleman to entertain his paramours under his own roof, the Duke did not seem to be the usual sort of gentleman. The absence of any servants in the house was quite noticeable. They were probably accustomed to his late-night assignations.
One door stood ajar at the end of the hall. Firelight flickered through the opening. She turned in that direction. When she arrived at the dark-paneled door, she hesitated, her heart pounding a nervous tattoo. She swallowed once, trying to beat down her fear. Placing her hand on the door, she slowly pushed it open.
The interior was dark and masculine, subtly lit by a group of candles in one corner on a table. A fire crackled warmly in the hearth. A large, four-poster bed with simple, but elegant, blue velvet hangings dominated the room.
The Duke was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He’d removed his jacket and waistcoat and untied his stock. His shirt was open halfway down his chest. He’d drawn up one knee and rested a casual arm across it. The other long, muscular leg hung over the edge of the bed, his bare foot on the floor. Jessica had never encountered any pirates, but she thought they would resemble Damien Trevor, Duke of Wyndham, as he looked this moment.
She stopped just inside the door. A chill ran down her spine. It had been a mistake to come to the Duke’s bedroom. It was still not too late to turn and run, but she felt rooted to the spot. Her eyes were riveted on the lean figure who relaxed on the bed.
“Come here, Jessica,” he said softly from the dimness.
His voice was like a crack of thunder in the silence of the room. Jessica jumped. Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible string, she moved forward, closer and closer, until she reached the foot of the bed. Another few steps and she would be standing right next to him.
“Closer,” he said.
Gulping, she stepped forward.
“That is far enough.” Although his words were quiet, his eyes reflected the candlelight and made him appear like the Devil incarnate.
Jessica drew in a shaky breath. Her hands trembled. Her heart pounded. She did not know what this man meant to do. He was a Duke, arrogant and powerful, and in comparison, she was no one. If he hurt her—or worse—no one would question it. Margaret would not care, and Jason was too young to do anything about it.
“Undress,” he commanded.
Jessica hesitated. She had never been unclothed before any man.
“Take off your clothes, Jessica.” The Duke’s tone was firm, allowing no disobedience.
She pulled the dress from her shoulders. It fell to the floor with a sigh. Her petticoat followed. Blushing hotly, she stood clad only in her stays, chemise, stockings and shoes. She fought the desire to cover herself.
The Duke indicated her shoes and stockings. “Remove those,” he ordered.
She did as she was told.
“Take down your hair.” Another order, spoken with authority.
Slowly, one by one, she pulled the pins from her hair and allowed it to cascade about her shoulders and down her back to her waist.
Finally, she was able to find her voice. “Please,” she whispered, “do not hurt me.”
At her words, the Duke stood swiftly. Jessica took a step backward. The Duke’s teeth flashed white in a smile.
“Contrary to what you may have heard, I do not make a practice of harming women,” he said as he advanced. “You need not be afraid.”
His hand landed lightly on her arm. Then slid down to her hand. The caress made her shiver. He tugged her easily toward him. Cupping her face in his hands, he softly brushed her mouth with his lips. This kiss was near to Jessica’s idea of love-making. She decided that it was rather pleasant. Perhaps this would not be so terrible, after all.
Damien was stirred by her more than by any other woman. She was an entrancing vision as she stood nearly naked before him. The swell of her breasts, her tiny waist, the curve of her hips created a perfect picture. Her thick lashes shaded her clear blue eyes, making them dark in her pale face. Her softly shaped lips had parted slightly. Whether she knew it or not, her whole being beckoned to be loved, softly, gently. So, his kiss had been tender.
He was vaguely aware of her apparent inexperienced response. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was surprised. At Madame’s, she had been self-possessed and assured. He assumed she was experienced in intimate relations with men. But if not, she played the charade well, pretending to be an innocent. He did not dwell on the thought. He was too intent on the sensuous creature in his grasp.
His fingers tangled in the mysterious depths of her hair, holding her in just the right position as he deepened the kiss. He drank in the soft feel of her and the faint scent of jasmine surrounding her like an aura. He traced one hand down her back to her perfectly rounded bottom and pressed her close. His desire for her tipped on the verge of madness. He wanted to ravage her. But something warned him to go gently.
Her arms crept around his neck and she squirmed against him. It was not the move of an innocent. But he would play her game. She was too delicious to deny. When he raised his head, her eyes had darkened from her arousal.
His hand slipped from the tangle of her tresses, down the slim column of her neck, over her shoulder, to one rounded breast. He teased its rosy tip as he kept her gaze locked in his. Her breath came quickly through her parted lips. Her lids drooped languidly over her eyes.
He unlaced the strings of her stays and whipped them away. Then he pulled at the ribbons holding her chemise closed over her breasts and allowed them to come free. Glorious. His hand brushed across her softness as he pushed the thin material away. He leaned her back on his arm, and kissed his way down her throat, across her shoulder, to her breast. As his mouth closed on its tip and his tongue flicked at it playfully, her breath caught in her throat. Gratified at her response, he kissed his way back to her mouth. Her lips parted, allowing his tongue to ravage the sweetness within. She gave a little moan. Raising his head, with a little smile, he released her. She was his now. He stripped off his shirt and breeches.
Jessica felt bereft when he let her go. The feelings he had awakened in her were intoxicating. She wanted more, much more. As he discarded his clothes, she watched him in a trance. She swayed slightly as if she were drunk, because she was—drunk on the passion and desire he had aroused in her. Her body tingled all over. Her skin had come alive, responding to his every touch. She had never realized that the touch of a man could feel so magical.
His body was magnificent, even to her naïve eyes. Broad shoulders tapered down to narrow waist and hips. The muscles in his arms and legs were hard and sinuous, and rippled under his skin when he moved. In spite of her embarrassment, she could not look away. She wanted to watch his every move.
When he turned back to her, her eyes caught on the thatch of golden fur covering his chest. A thin, white line, from shoulder to breastbone, marred the symmetrical beauty of it. Without thinking, she reached out and traced the scar. The soft, dark gold hair on his chest tickled her and she drew her hand down to his flat stomach almost to his— She jerked away, appalled at her boldness.
He huffed a laugh. “Don’t be shy, my sweet.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I…” Words failed her. She could not tell him she had never even kissed a man, and certainly never touched one there.
With a smile, he took her hand and kissed her palm. The feel of his lips made her melt. Then scooping her up, he deposited her gently on the bed.
He straddled her on his knees, leaned over her and kissed her again. His mouth made her insides fluttery and tingly. She held on to his shoulders, warm and firm beneath her hands. His tongue traced a line down her throat, between her breasts and over her stomach. His fingers intimately stroked her inner thigh. A sigh of pleasure escaped her when his tongue branded a tattoo in the same spot. But when he came too close to her secret place, she pressed her legs together. Fear made her stiffen.
Damien raised his head. That niggling voice came again questioning her innocence. He wanted to taste her desperately, but he would not force her. She would have to give herself freely. He stretched out beside her on the bed and nibbled at her ear. His hand claimed her breast and he rubbed his thumb across its rosy tip.
“Are you still willing to pay my price, Jessica?” he asked and swirled his tongue below her ear. He would give her every opportunity to back down, but he would persuade with every weapon he had.
Her lashes swept down. “Yes,” she whispered on a sigh.
Jessica did not allow herself to think beyond the immediate present. The Duke, so far, had been gentle, and what he had done to her made her feel wonderful. She had come this far. There was no turning back now. Surprisingly, she found the sensations he aroused far from horrible. In fact, she rather wished they could go on forever.
His hands and mouth roamed over her body. They teased and caressed, creating sensations deep inside her she had never felt before. She opened herself to him like a budding flower. She found herself moaning with pleasure, squirming and wriggling so his fingers touched here, his mouth sucked there. And then he lay on top of her, covering her body, pressing her into the bed. She marveled at the way their bodies fit together so intimately. His skin against hers made her tingle and want. She held him close and ran her hands over his back. He buried his face in her hair.
“You are a witch, Jessica,” he whispered.
Then he drove into her.
The sudden pain made her arch up and cry out. Confused, she froze, her eyes squeezed shut. She had been told she would feel pain her first time, but the Duke had aroused such exquisite sensations, she had forgotten. Now, the truth frightened her. Would she feel more pain if he continued? Would she feel pain every time? But perhaps, she would never lie with a man again after this night. Whatever the answers, she prayed this encounter would be over soon.
Damien, surprised at the barrier he’d broken through, waited for her pain to subside. Her nervousness and shyness and unpracticed naïveté had not been an act. A pang of guilt surged through him. He’d seduced a virgin. Why had she said nothing? But perhaps the game she played was bigger than he first thought. Was she trying to entrap him? Was she out for herself, or was she connected to Fouché through Madame? Whatever her reasons, she’d made a fool of him, had cheated at the card table. His injured pride reared up. He had not forced her. And he wanted her. Something primal made him glad he’d been her first. He would make her remember this night.
His thumb found the hardened peak of her breast and he stroked it gently. Slowly, she relaxed. When his mouth took his thumb’s place and he sucked, she breathed out a moan. Hesitantly, she moved against him. He smiled. She might have been an innocent virgin when this night began, but she was becoming a vixen. Her wriggles and sighs fanned his need. Holding her hips, he thrust into her, savoring her hot sweetness.
Jessica gave herself up to the insistent, driving desire that engulfed her. Her mind reeled, and she lost all sense of reality. There was only the man above her in her world. She felt as if she were in a whirlpool, being drawn deeper and deeper into the vortex. Down, down, they fell, clinging to each other, until the bottom gave way and the sudden, great release came. Never in her life had Jessica experienced anything like it. She thought she was going to die. As if he were her only lifeline, she grabbed at the man who held her.
As the waves of sensation receded, her world came back into focus. What had she just done? Tears threatened, and she strangled the sobs that constricted her throat. The Duke rolled off her and held her close. Despite her best efforts, those tears spilled down her cheeks and wet his chest.
His hand rubbed soothingly up and down her back. “Why didn’t you tell me you had never been with a man, Jessica?” he asked softly.
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “You would not have believed me if I had.” She sat up quickly and pulled away from him. As if she did not care, she shrugged one shoulder. “What difference does it make now, anyway? The deed is done. You have your payment, Your Grace.”
He sat up next to her and with a finger beneath her chin, made her look at him. “Was it so bad, my sweet? Did you not enjoy giving payment as much as I enjoyed taking it?”
She had enjoyed it. Too much. But his arrogance made her furious. “You are despicable!” she spat at him.
He laughed. “And you are beautiful.” He pulled her down and rolled over her, balancing himself above her.
Jessica glared up at him. “Have you not had enough, Your Grace? You have deflowered a virgin and avenged your honor at the same time. Not every man can make that claim.”
Damien winced. “You are very blunt.”
“I am only speaking the truth,” she said. “You forced me into your bed.”
“I did not force you. I asked you. And I did this.” He swirled his tongue in the hollow of her throat. “And this.” His hand slowly caressed her breast. “And this.” He sucked gently where his hand had been.
In spite of herself, Jessica moaned as once more he began to fan the fires of her passion. A part of her brain told her she was crazy to succumb to him again, while the rest of it decidedly ignored its warnings. What this man did to her was exciting beyond belief, and she wanted more of it.
He made love to her again. And she let him. He brought her alive in a way she had never felt before. When it was over, she sighed, exhausted, contented, and fell asleep in his arms.
Jessica dreamt of green fields and her mother and father playing with her. She was a young girl again, and there was Braeleigh, and everything was right. But, then she was alone, and it was dark. She was lost. Her stepmother’s face floated before her. She was smiling cruelly. Her stepmother turned into Sir Percival. He was surrounded by faces she did not know. She was at Madame’s, and the faces were yelling at her. Get out! Cheater! Liar! Get out! A pair of mocking green eyes stared at her. She tried to run away, but she fell. Hands grabbed at her.
“Jessica. Jessica.”
Those eyes. His eyes.
She realized she was awake, and he was looking at her. Then she remembered where she was.
“Are you all right?” the Duke asked. “You’re shivering.” He pulled her close and smoothed her hair until her tremors stopped.
His warmth and gentleness comforted. In his embrace, she felt safe from Margaret and her cruel demands. But his protection was an illusion. He was a threat to her and her precarious existence. Slowly, her shivers stopped.
“I’m all right now,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. She felt foolish for being so afraid of a dream. She pulled away from him, turned in the bed, and glanced out the window. The sky had begun to brighten. “I have to go.”
“Go where?” he demanded. “Why do you have to go?”
She sat up, arching her brow. “I have to go where all creatures of the night go, Your Grace. Back to my lair. You did call me a witch, didn’t you?” She gave him a wry smile. “Or was I mistaken? Perhaps it was the Devil whispering in my ear.”
He ran his hand up her back under her hair and laughed. “It was not the Devil, my sweet, only a man bedeviled by your beauty.”
“Truly, sir, you are the Devil, for no mere mortal man could seduce a witch such as I so easily.” She slid out of the bed before she succumbed to his touch again and gathered her clothes.
Jessica glanced up to find his eyes on her. She wore not a stitch of clothing, and she quickly donned her chemise. Her dress was slipped from her grasp before she could put it on. The Duke stood with the ripple of blue silk dangling from his hand.
She held out her hand. “Please, Your Grace. My dress.”
His eyes held determination. She was just as determined that he would not have his way with her again.
He held her dress away from her. “Not until you stop calling me ‘Your Grace’. My name is Damien. Say it.” His arrogant command allowed no disobedience.
Jessica’s eyes widened. Even after a night of love-making, he still intimidated her. He was the powerful Duke of Wyndham.
“Say it, Jessica,” he said in a softer tone.
She swallowed. “Damien,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Was that so difficult?”
When he smiled at her like that, her resolve melted. Then she remembered how she had come to be where she was. She meant nothing to him beyond a single night’s enjoyment.
With her emotions well under control, she allowed him to slip her dress over her head. He turned her around to fasten the back. Pushing her hair aside, he brushed his lips across her nape. At his caress, she moved away, but was stopped by his hand on her arm.
“Don’t be so skittish.” He laughed softly. “I promise to behave.”
When he finished doing up her dress, she thanked him and walked to the mirror. Her hair was a riot of tangles.
“Will this help?” he asked as he held his brush out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured shyly and began brushing her hair. Using his brush seemed very intimate, even after their night of love-making, but she could not leave looking like a wild woman.
While she was occupied, Damien dressed quickly. When she had finished, he held the door for her. They descended the stairs in silence. He collected her cloak from the floor of the salon.
As he placed it about her shoulders, he asked, “Will you come again tonight?”
Jessica stepped away and whirled to face him. He had received double his due for the injury she had done to him. His pride should have been soothed many times over. She was not about to pay any more.
Her fists clenched at her sides. “Do you think because you have stolen my maidenhood that I will come meekly to you whenever you ask? I have paid your price for silence. I am not your whore.”
Surprise flashed through his eyes. His tone was level as he said, “I am not asking you to be a whore. I am asking you to be my mistress, my lover.”
Her chin went up proudly. “It is the same thing. I will be no man’s mistress.”
“An adventuress has few options.” His words whipped at her. “What man will have you for wife when he finds out that you are no longer a virgin? Or did you plan to never marry and become an old maid, to sit at home and knit for no one but yourself?”
“Who would know that my maidenhood has been taken?” she demanded. “I would not be stupid enough to let on.”
The Duke’s answer was merely the lift of an eyebrow.
Jessica felt as if she had been struck. He would not, could not ruin what little reputation she had. He could not possibly be so cruel to gossip about what had occurred in his house this night. Fighting back the tears, she struggled to answer in a level tone.
“I cannot keep you from speaking about this night if you wish to do so. I will not beg you to keep silent. I have given you my most precious possession in payment for your silence on another matter. I cannot give you anything more.”
“Give me yourself, Jessica,” he said softly.
His words tugged at her. But she would never become any man’s mistress. “I cannot. Why do you want me? There must be hundreds of women in London who would gladly tumble into bed with the powerful Duke of Wyndham. Please, let me be—”
“I do not want hundreds of women,” he interrupted, “I want you.”
“No.”
“I will have you, whether you want it now or not,” he went on as if she had not spoken. “Jessica, the Lady Fortuna, will be the sole property of Damien Trevor, Duke of Wyndham. I will make you want it.”
His arrogance made her furious. First, he wanted her as his mistress, and now she was chattel, his property. The man was unbearable. What would he ask of her next? She decided not to wait to find out.
“You presume too much, Your Grace,” she answered haughtily. “You know nothing of my life, nor why I came to you tonight. But I will be considered the property of no one—not even you. Now, if you will excuse me, I will be leaving. I am taking an early coach out of London, and I have much to do.”
She turned and stalked to the door, into the foyer, and across the floor to the front entrance. At each step, she expected a hand on her arm, detaining her. She did not take a complete breath until she was outside.
Jessica walked down the steps and out to the street. There were no carriages in sight. She resigned herself to a long and possibly dangerous walk back to her rooms.
After several minutes, she heard the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones of the street behind her. They slowed as they came abreast. In the dim light of dawn, she saw a rider on a magnificent black stallion. Of course, he would come after her. She began to walk more quickly.
“It’s a long walk back to the Green Dragon,” Damien said. “May I offer the lady a ride?”
“The lady would prefer to walk, thank you,” Jessica answered coldly. She pulled her cloak closer about her and lengthened her stride.
An arm went about her waist, and she was lifted off the ground. Jessica found herself seated on the horse in front of the Duke.
“As I said, it is a long walk, and I will have nothing of mine abused,” he stated sternly.
“Nothing of yours?” Jessica repeated incredulously as she twisted about to face him. “I told you, I will not be owned like a piece of furniture. You have no right.”
Her words were cut off by his mouth. Jessica fumed and tried to wriggle free, but his hold was too tight. Silently, she called him every foul name she could think of, and she even made up a few new ones. He had no right to do this to her.
He finally raised his head. Jessica’s temper exploded. She whipped out to strike his arrogant face. Just as fast, the Duke caught her wrist, his gaze cool and amused. She was so furious she could have spit. Realizing that it would do no good to struggle or berate him, she jerked her arm out of his grasp and faced forward, trying to ignore the fact that she sat intimately between his thighs.
They rode in silence until they came to the Green Dragon. Before she could slip from the horse, he turned her face to him and lowered his lips to hers again, this time with more gentleness. Possessively, he cupped her breast. It took every ounce of Jessica’s will not to melt against him. His touch was devastating. His kisses could make her forget who she was. Instead, she held herself stiffly away.
“You will be mine, my sweet. Sooner or later, you will be mine,” he whispered against her mouth.
Jessica jerked away and glared. He gazed back at her, those green eyes dancing, then he guided her as she slipped from the horse. She straightened her cloak, and stalked away, past the door of the inn, with as much dignity as she could muster.
After only a few steps, something landed with a clink in front of her. A pouch lay just beyond the toe of her shoe, and the shine of coins peeked through its opening. She scooped it up and swung around to face the Duke as he sat smugly upon his horse.
Her cheeks flamed in indignation. “I will not accept payment for anything I did this past evening. You may keep your money.” She lifted her arm to fling the pouch back at him, but his words stopped her.
He shrugged. “You may throw it back at me if you wish, but I would discover exactly what it is you throw away.”
Jessica lowered her arm and narrowed her eyes.
“The pouch contains your winnings from this past evening at Madame’s. It seems I collected them by mistake,” he said with a grin.
“By mistake!” She remembered the servant, obviously following orders, who had collected both her winnings and those of the Duke. Words failed her. She spun on her heel and stalked away. She never wanted to see the overbearing, cocksure devil again.