Chapter Five
Georgiana wove her way along the periphery of the ballroom, which was filled to its capacity with the elite of England. She’d been at the ball for less than an hour and was already restless. Her sister, Ellie, was engaged in the waltz with a very handsome and distinguished young gentleman. Georgiana smiled at her sister’s exuberance, and hoping she wouldn’t be stopped again to exchange more inane gossip, she headed to the terrace.
She was waylaid by the marchioness Lady Carlisle, another dear friend.
“How delightful you look, Georgiana. By next week we will see young ladies also wearing strands of pearls within their hair that way.”
She smiled. After two years of isolated mourning, she had thrown herself into society, carving a place for herself within the ton. Fashion had been her outlet, beautiful clothes and lavish hairstyles the armor she had hidden behind lest the world would see how adrift she was. Tonight, she was garbed in a pale-blue gown, her hair caught in a pile of curls, three strands of pearls entwining with her curls, to hover above the peak of her forehead.
“So many sought-after gentlemen approached you for dances tonight, and you’ve declined them all. I cannot credit you are still undecided on a lover,” Daphne said, arching her left brow, a mocking glint in her dark-brown eyes.
“I’m dreadfully bored,” Georgiana admitted ruefully. “The conversations are the same every night.”
“It is not like you to be so undecided. I provided you with a list of the ton’s most estimable gentlemen for an affair three days ago and—” Her friend faltered, shocked fascination settling on her face. “And who is that?”
Georgiana glanced in the direction of Daphne’s stare. Good heavens. It was Mr. Tremayne and the Earl of Mansfield. “I’m sure you’re familiar with Lord Mansfield.”
Daphne shot Georgiana a chiding glance. “I was referring to that wonderful specimen with him. The man whom our prime minister just approached. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Hmm,” she responded noncommittally, hating the quickening beat of her heart. Why was he here? She hadn’t thought after seeing him in the park a few days ago she would chance upon him within society again. It did not escape her awareness that until two weeks ago she had never met the man before and now he seemed to be everywhere.
A quadrille started, and Daphne’s partner swept down on them to claim her hand. Georgiana had not accepted a partner for this set and was free to discreetly observe the man. She watched as Lord Liverpool shook Mr. Tremyane’s hand. He was untitled, not even a gentleman, but was evidently tolerated in polite company because of his wealth and his arsenal of secrets. Who is he really? Shrewd, powerful perhaps, handsome…and an enigma. He clearly did not belong, yet many lords subtly acknowledged him, to which he barely inclined his head. He bowed to no one, spoke to no one. Instead, that dark, arrogant head did a discreet sweep of the room before it settled on her and remained.
Sweet heavens.
She looked away, suddenly made uncomfortable. It irritated her that he was capable of making her feel such discomfort. She couldn’t say she was charmed by his exemplary and amiable manners, but then again, he wasn’t a gentleman, nor did he pretend refinement. Yet now he seemed so uniquely elegant, as if he had been raised in the finest household and attended the best school.
There was a single unavoidable truth Georgiana could no longer ignore—she was irrevocably drawn to Rhys Tremayne, tempted by his mere presence. All these thoughts were inappropriate. From everything she had gleaned from her brother, Mr. Tremayne had built his name and fortune on other’s secrets, other’s shames, their scandals, and their fears. There was something wicked building inside her to make her even be attracted to such a man.
“There is a man whose gaze has not left your person since his entrance almost fifteen minutes ago,” a voice stiff with disapproval said from behind.
“Mother,” Georgiana said warmly, turning to face Countess Fairfax. Her mother was garbed in a light-blue gown with a matching turban decorated with small white feathers. Her ears and neck dripped with diamonds, and she looked ten years younger than the forty-six years she had seen. “I’d not expected to see you tonight.”
“Evidently not, given this wanton display of impropriety,” she said, her regard snapping to Mr. Tremayne and back.
“I cannot control the admiration of another.”
“Admiration? Scandalous is what it is!”
Mr. Tremayne’s eyes had indeed not moved from her person. His gaze measured each rounded curve of her body. The man hadn’t the decency or the breeding to realize how shocking his behavior was. No other lady had captured his attention, and she was distressingly thrilled at the notion she commanded his admiration.
“If he approaches you tonight you must not acknowledge him,” her mother commanded frostily.
Her mother had always guarded the family’s reputation quite fiercely. Her parents had spent so many years badgering her on what was proper conduct, she wondered if her mother ever tired of her vigil to ensure their reputation remained pristine. Anything could cast doubt on someone’s respectability. It was only a few weeks ago at Lady Derwood’s dinner party that Miss Miranda Thornton had had the misfortune of asking for more soup. The poor girl had been labeled as unrefined and vulgar. Though Georgiana agreed her manners needed improvement, she had hardly thought the girl’s lapse worth repeating. Georgiana had remained gracious to Miss Thornton, encouraging others to be just as kind.
Her mother flicked open her fan with artful grace and continued her diatribe. “Despite his presence here, he is clearly of questionable breeding.”
Georgiana sighed. “Are you familiar with him, Mother?”
“Of course not!”
“I daresay then that you have no notion of the manner of man he is.”
Her mother harrumphed, and Georgiana was startled at her defense of the man when he was indeed a reprobate.
“I’ve heard of an attachment between you and Lord Locksley,” the countess murmured, steering the conversation in the direction she was clearly eager to delve.
“There is no attachment.”
“He led your brother to believe there would be an announcement soon?” Her mother’s words were posed as a question as she watched Georgiana with light-blue eyes that glowed with keen intelligence and serious matchmaking fervor.
“He made an offer. I have not accepted.”
“You rejected his offer?” her mother said in shocked reproof. “His disposition and circumstance are very pleasing. My dear, you are frightfully stubborn. It has been five years—”
“I’m aware of how long my husband has been buried,” she snapped. “Your urgings are becoming tiresome, Mother.”
“At least think of dear Nicolas. He will need a gentleman’s influence to be the best possible duke. Surely you must see this and acknowledge your desire to remain unmarried is selfish and detrimental to your son.”
Georgiana sucked in a breath to hear her mother so boldly suggest she was insufficient to rear her son to be the best man he could be. A fear that had long dwelled within her heart reared its ugly head. Was she providing for all of Nicolas’s needs? Hardcastle could have left his brother in charge of the family finances, but the duke hadn’t. He had trusted her with their son’s legacy, because the duke did not trust his brother’s prodigality with money. She resented her mother implying she was unequal to the task.
“Lord Locksley is imminently suitable to be a father figure for Nicolas,” her mother murmured. “And while this is indelicate to mention, I’ve heard it said he is a knowledgeable lover.”
Dear Lord. Before she could retort, a voice interrupted.
“Your Grace, if you please, may I introduce you to Mr. Rhys Tremayne, a business associate of mine.”
Distressingly, her pulse hammered, and she shifted slightly to face the earl and Mr. Tremayne. He cut quite a dashing figure in his black trousers, well-fitted matching jacket, and an exquisitely designed silver waistcoat. He possessed a cool aura of combined razor-edged grace and danger in one package, and it was frightfully appealing. Mr. Tremayne managed a veneer of respectability by his fine manner of dress and his curious connections to the Mansfields.
“Mr. Tremayne,” she said, tilting her head in acknowledgment.
His eyes dipped to the hollow of her throat, before leisurely strolling up to meet her regard. The man was far too arrogant for his own good.
“Your Grace,” he said with a short but very elegant bow. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, his desire to kiss her a tangible thing. Good heavens. The man had no shame. The eyes of the ton were upon them.
She knew the disturbing sense of wariness again that she had felt the first day she met him. “Mr. Tremayne,” she murmured coolly. “A pleasure.”
Lord Mansfield made the introductions with her mother, and though Mr. Tremayne’s regard had shifted away, Georgiana felt as if he were aware of every fidget and the slight tension winding itself through her. When all the necessary polite introductions had been completed, he turned to her.
His eyes contained a flash of challenge that stole her breath.
“May I have the honor of this dance, Your Grace?”
Her mother gasped softly, and Lord Mansfield tried to affect a nonchalant mien, but his dark eyes blazed with curiosity and caution.
“Are you familiar with the waltz, Mr. Tremayne? That is the dance being announced.”
“I am,” he replied simply.
The refusal hovered on her lips, but the distance seeping into his eyes affirmed that he expected her rejection. Her mother’s outraged countenance also indicated she expected Georgiana’s refusal. It was silly of her, the way her heart was suddenly suffused with an ache. She had always lived her life above reproach, without scandal, to please her duke, her family, and even herself, for she had set a high standard on her comportment as a duchess. The slightest incident could lead one to disgrace, and she was reckless to even contemplate dancing with a man like Rhys Tremayne. “Yes.”
Surprise flared in his eyes before he smoothly masked his reaction. Her mother and Lord Mansfield seemed equally shocked at her capitulation. It was indeed noteworthy and might even merit a mention in tomorrow’s scandal sheet. The thought was enough to make her reconsider. Then it was too late, for suddenly she was there with the other couples on the dance floor, and she was swept into a waltz. The man moved with such dignified power and grace, she was startled and impressed. They twirled across the ballroom, and Georgiana could feel the eyes of society upon them. She waited for him to say something, anything, but they danced in silence.
Her body felt incredibly alive, every sense feeling somehow keener, sharper. Just from a simple dance, she was so aware of him. She tried to assess him critically. A faint blue-black shadow already darkened his aggressive jawline. Instead of giving him an unkempt appearance, he seemed roguishly dangerous. As for his body, she could find no flaw in those wide shoulders, lean waist, and long limbs. How would his lips feel pressed to hers? What would it be like to have this man as her lover? The unbidden thought sent a jolt of heat through her body. The sensations were altogether strange but not entirely unpleasant. A flush worked itself through her, and she fervently hoped she was not blushing. It disturbed Georgiana that she couldn’t suppress the increasingly desperate craving erupting in her body and tugging at that cold, lonely place.
“You will be mentioned in tomorrow’s paper,” she finally murmured. There would be unceasing speculation about the man the Duchess of Hardcastle had deigned to partner with for a waltz. A few of the barbs might possibly be directed her way, but more of the speculation would be about this stranger in their midst.
Their gazes locked for long, silent moments. “And this bothers you?” he drawled.
“No.”
“Then why was it worth a mention?”
“Society can be very fickle and extremely hypocritical. Perhaps you have a family who will read the papers.”
“Is this your roundabout way of asking for my family connection?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “Of course not.” Though she was very curious about the manner of man she danced with.
“My mother devours the gossip pages with relish. If I was somehow deemed important enough to grace the pages, she’d be tickled, I’m sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.”
“I see. My family will not be as enthused as yours. I can already sense the recriminations that will be heaped upon my head.” She gasped silently at her uncensored admission.
“So, you are overly concerned with your reputation.”
“Sometimes all a person needs is their reputation to carve their place in the world, wouldn’t you agree? Is it not your dastardly notoriety as The Broker that makes you the only man to turn to when information is needed? You’ve created a monopoly on your brand of service. In fact, your reputation precedes you. It is the same for me, Mr. Tremayne. I am the Duchess of Hardcastle. My presence is coveted in all drawing rooms in England. Any scrutiny that will call into question the honor of my reputation is decidedly unpleasant.”
He smiled. Oh! The man was handsome. “Yet you are dancing with me. I thank you then, for placing your honor so close to me.”
He spun her around in a graceful twirl, tugging her almost too close.
“Tell me, Your Grace, have you found your lover?”
His words tore gaping holes in the thin facade of her composure. He had overheard most, if not all, of the conversation with her brother in the gardens. She struggled for equanimity. “That is not your concern, Mr. Tremayne.”
He swung her in a wide, swooping circle. “I find that I have a desire to make a conquest of your lips. I was trying to ascertain your reception to such an advance from a man like myself.”
She could only stare at him as a myriad of emotions coursed through her bosom. “Any such advances would be most assuredly rebuffed,” she said faintly, shocked by the blast of need his words elicited. She quite liked the idea of Mr. Tremayne wanting to kiss her, but her thoughts reeled under the impact of such an acknowledgment.
His eyes gleamed with provoking amusement, but he made no reply.
A curious regret filled her heart when the waltz ended and he escorted her to the side of the ballroom and without further ado disappeared. It wasn’t too long before other gentlemen approached her, claiming dance after dance. Having danced with Rhys Tremayne, she had to socialize and accept their invitations. She swore she could feel the eyes of Mr. Tremayne upon her, but could see him nowhere.
I have a desire to make a conquest of your lips.
His words would now remain interred in the back of her mind.
“I would never grant a man such as Mr. Tremayne intimacy,” she said softly, yet her vow sounded hollow and without substance.
A few minutes after the clock struck midnight, she bid her mother, Daphne, and Lady Mansfield good night.
“My dear, the ball has barely started. Surely you are not already departing?” her mother scolded.
“I fear I must. I am exhausted.” In truth, she was frightfully bored, frustrated by the constant beat of emptiness in her heart, and alarmed by her attraction to Mr. Tremayne. Turning her regard to Daphne, she said, “I miss Nicolas desperately, and I depart for Kent tomorrow. I need my rest before the journey.”
“Of course,” Daphne replied. “I do hope I’ll see you in town for Lady Beauchamp’s soiree next week. It promises to be a marvelous experience.”
After promising to return to town for the soiree, Georgiana hastily departed the ballroom. The hallway leading to the cloakroom was blessedly empty. She would have her carriage summoned and once she reached home, perhaps spend a few hours reading before retiring to bed.
“We did not get an opportunity to fully converse,” a voice drawled, tugging her gaze to the shadowed area of the foyer.
“Mr. Tremayne, I presume?” Though she was quite aware it was he, it would not do to admit she had so easily recognized his voice.
His chuckle was low and amused. “You presume correctly, Your Grace.”
It hovered on her tongue to grant him the privilege of calling her Georgiana. However, that might prove an intimacy she was not ready for. That would be an invitation of sorts to move their unorthodox relationship into the realms of her fevered and scandalous thoughts about this man.
He pushed away from the wall, a languid, graceful move. “Would you take a brandy with me in the library?”
Outrageous. The refusal poised on her tongue. Suddenly a spirit of rebellion sparked inside her. Georgiana wanted to break free of all social restraints, and the ones she had placed on her own rule of conduct…just for a few minutes. Perhaps it would banish the melancholia she could feel piercing her heart. “I believe I will.”
She felt his start of surprise. Clearly, he had not expected her agreement. “It seems I surprise you, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Pleasantly so, I assure you, duchess.” He stepped from the shadows and waved his hand for her to precede him. The hallway was thankfully empty, and she swept past him. Shameless behavior, of course, but she was not a debutante who needed protection from what happened behind closed library doors or in dark corners of gardens. It was as if she precariously walked the fine edge of something darkly delicious. She knew nothing good could come of a closer acquaintance with him, but for the moment she banished the thought.
She felt too vibrantly alive.
They entered the library, her heart doing strange things inside her chest when he closed the door with a soft snick. There was a fire burning low in the grate, and the library was cast in more shadow than light. After pouring what appeared to be brandy in two glasses, he prowled over and offered one to her.
“Thank you.”
There really ought to be more space between them. The fall of the skirts of her gown brushed against his leg. They stood like that, sipping their drinks, and she almost giggled at how odd it all seemed. Finally, his lips curved into a smile as if he picked up on her amusement and how ridiculous it was that they were standing in the center of the room, standing so inappropriately close, sipping brandies, and simply staring at each other.
“You have an inviting mouth.”
Incredibly, a smile tugged at her lips before she could stifle it. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that particular compliment before.”
His gaze dropped to her lips for an infinite number of seconds. With a grimace, he stepped back and downed the content of his glass in one swallow. “I’m beginning to think this impulsive tête-à-tête was foolhardy.”
“And why is that, Mr. Tremayne?” she asked, absurdly pleased with her nonchalance.
“Because I want to taste you quite desperately, and I am not the desperate sort.”
Arousal shivered through her with surprising intensity. A kiss. So simple but so frightfully complicated because he was the wrong man. It’s just a kiss, Georgiana. The notion was mad. It was fanciful, and unbearably tempting.
“I see,” she said softly, unsure if he attempted to kiss her whether she would stop him. Georgiana waited, feeling a bit silly when he did nothing. There was a cool smile to his lips, almost mocking in its effect, and she narrowed her eyes. She had the uncomfortable impression that he knew precisely what she was thinking.
“I believe it is time for me to be alone, Mr. Tremayne,” she said and strolled to the windows and pulled the drapes open wider. The sky glowed with stars, and she glided a fingertip across the cool glass pane. How she wished to be outside, lying on the freshly mown grass, staring into the beautiful abyss. Or…how she wished he had been improper and kissed her. Or perhaps she should have offered her lips to him.
It took a few seconds for her to realize she’d not heard the close of the library door signaling his departure. Before she could turn, she sensed that he’d moved nearer. A peculiar longing seized Georgiana, and she stilled. Then she felt him, at once a comforting heat but an intimidating presence. If she were to lean back only an inch, surely her back would be flush along his chest.
He did not speak, and she accepted the silence that wrapped itself around them.
“I’m going to touch you.” It was a statement of intent, yet he seemingly waited for her permission.
Temptation was tugging at her with relentless force. Several beats had passed before the word was dragged from her throat. “Yes.”
She slammed her eyes shut, as he slowly skimmed one of his hands along her hip, around to her stomach, where he allowed the flat of his palm to rest comfortably on her lower stomach, right above the aching surge of need that burned through her body.
I’m not cold… Her every expectation was shattered by the simple touch, and her breathing fractured. Georgiana felt an odd sense of shock. Her breasts were swollen, the tips sensitive. There was a strange ache between her thighs.
It had been so long since she had felt physical pleasure.
The noises of the ball did not penetrate as more than a dull buzz from outside, rendering the library a cocoon. They did not speak, and she continued staring into the matchless beauty of the night sky. Yet it was impossible to remove her thoughts from his far-too-intimate touch, one she was afraid of, but hungered for.
Something was happening, what she did not know, but every instinct in her screamed of its danger. Helplessly, as if she was commanded by an unseen force, she leaned back ever so slightly and was rewarded by sheer muscular hardness and a soft groan of pleasure.
With torturous movements, the hand resting on her stomach drifted down…dear Lord. Her heart started to pound a furious beat. Her knees almost buckled when he cupped her sex through the gown, and despite the layers of clothing between her intimate valley and his hand, she felt seared with a bewildering pleasure.
“I cannot help feeling as if I am standing atop a cliff and about to dive off into some fucking-terrifying uncharted waters,” he said, his deep, dark drawl roughened.
Despite his shocking profanity, that unexpected admission had warmth unfurling inside her heart. Then there was that sweet and unfamiliar throb low where his hand rested. Step away, the sane part of her urged. While her intelligence knew he was the wrong man to take as a lover, the hunger he had awakened had a stronger hold. Georgiana remained mute, unable to voice the need and trepidation warring in her heart.
“I’m not a gentleman,” he said softly.
Her body felt flushed and unfamiliar. “I didn’t think you were,” she whispered. There was nothing gentle about his raw and compelling masculinity.
“When I take a woman, it isn’t a few moments in the dark under the covers.”
There are other ways? She remained silent, lest she betrayed her ignorance.
“In my bed, you won’t be a duchess, proper and aloof, nor will there be that emptiness I see in your eyes.”
His assurance was so shattering and provocative she flushed. She could well imagine him laying her on a bed, his powerful body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress, heavy and demanding as he settled himself between her thighs. “Strange…I do not recall a promise of coming to your bed.” She was inordinately pleased with how steady and unaffected her voice was.
She felt his smile against her hair. Then the hand cupping her throbbing heat slowly shifted up, forcing her to bite her lower lip hard to prevent a moan of protest from slipping out. And he once again allowed it to rest against her lower stomach.
“The attraction I feel for you I’ve never endured for another.” He sounded perplexed and even angry at the notion.
“I’m not pleased with my desire for you, either, Mr. Tremayne.”
“We are going to be lovers.” Dark possessiveness rang in his tone, and a thrill burst in her heart despite his shocking arrogance.
To be touched without any expectations because of her rank, to be seduced and adored because of her, and not her privilege, was vastly appealing…and quite naive. “I believe you have a long wait ahead of you, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Rhys.”
The cool command filled her with a darker rush of bewildering ache.
Against her lower back, she could feel the hard, intimate proof of his arousal. The tip of his fingers felt rough as they trailed over the bare skin of her shoulders in a fleeting caress. The very idea of embarking on an affair with such a man left her feeling on edge and slightly breathless. It was irrational, illogical, yet she wanted to…with him. A man such as he would never presume to pressure her into marriage. He wouldn’t even ask. Paradoxically, he was a safe choice for a lover, and yet to embark on any affair with a man so below her in rank was inexcusably reckless, a potential scandal if they were ever found out.
She faced him. He held her gaze in the dark of the library, only the small sliver of moonlight illuminating his harsh but so very sensually appealing features.
“You want something from me. You are the man they call The Broker, and I have seen you in action. It does you no credit to pretend to be the charming scoundrel to gain my favor. I assure you, that is a wasted endeavor,” she enunciated each word with cutting precision. Yet the dratted man remained standing, not wincing or backing up. He was acting as if her words did not have the power to see him cut from all social events, that the loss of her favor wasn’t something to fear.
“I assure you, it isn’t a favor I want from you that prodded at me to seek you out, to dance with you, to speak with you, nor is it the reason I am standing here, my cock heavy with need, and the desire to kiss you a burning need in my gut that I fear will not be sated even if I get the privilege to taste you,” he growled with something akin to furious bewilderment.
The wretched, wretched man, she believed him.
“Am I the fool?” he asked gruffly. “Do you want my touch…my kiss, even if only for this night?”
However much she wanted to, she could not bring herself to lie. Those days when she pretended to be someone else were long gone, she hoped never to return. “Yes.”
His eyes darkened, and a flush worked itself along his cheekbone. He cupped her cheek, tipping her face up toward his. With brutal deliberateness, he kissed her slowly over and over until her lips parted and his tongue dipped inside. The subtle hint of brandy flavored his mouth, and his taste was dark, heady.
He pulled back slightly. His thumb stroked the delicate skin below her ear, and she trembled. “How wicked are you, duchess?”
Her heart stuttered. Never… She had never been wicked, or free, or this painfully alive. Unable to answer, she fastened her mouth to his. She became someone else in his arms as the trappings of her rank and responsibilities fell away, leaving the carnal woman behind. Their kiss became marvelously wild, and he delved deeper, stroked more firmly. The feel, the taste, the smell of him were like a drug. She craved so much more.
She made a small, strangled sound against his lips when he lifted and placed her on the large desk. Without releasing her lips, he nudged her legs wide and stepped between them, allowing her thighs to cradle him intimately.
Georgiana was helpless against the ravaging onslaught. The intensity of his embrace warned her he had no intention of making allowances for sensual inexperience. She moaned softly into his mouth, her tongue twining with his. A shiver worked through her when his thumb dragged along the inside of her thigh. He stroked her bare skin above her garter.
“Touch me,” she breathed out, breaking their kiss.
He understood, for the fingers that had been lingering with teasing strokes at the soft silk of her inner thighs moved with sure boldness upward, and a whimper broke from her throat as his fingers found her hot flesh.
Georgiana trembled in his arms, a need unlike she had ever known twisting in her stomach. His fingers teased at her entrance, and then she was suddenly full as he thrust two fingers deep into her. She bucked, sliding off the desk toward him, unintentionally impaling herself farther. A whimper caught in her throat as a bewildering mix of pain and pleasure twisted through her.
A sensual grimace twisted across his face. “You’re so wet…and tight,” he muttered.
Arrows of exquisite sensation shot through her. She clasped his shoulders, unable to tear herself from his all-too-magnetic gaze as he created havoc within her body with his wicked fingers. Their breaths panted in the library, each hiss escaping her mouth and flowing into his because their lips were a scant inch apart. Sensations peaked in her belly, hot and terrible as he worked her with his fingers. And dear Lord, that was what he did. He was not delicate, nor was he gentle, and she didn’t want tender. Each plunge felt rougher, more carnal, more wickedly forceful, and somehow, she wasn’t pushing him away in affront. Instead, she felt enslaved by the chaotic and unknown hunger spiking in her belly, responding with wanton delight when he stepped in closer, using his powerful thighs to widen her legs more…and oh…oh…worked his fingers with more depth. His thumb rested on her nub, and she so desperately wanted to feel him glide against it. Instead, his thumb stayed still, a pressure that promised more to come.
A groan tore from her throat as with a jerk of her hips, his thumb slid roughly against her. It was as if lightning speared through her body. Her lids fluttered, her lips parted wider as she panted.
“Do not look away from me.”
His order was rough and carnal, and heaven help her, she responded helplessly. The hand that had been gripping her nape thrust into her hair, holding her even more secure. In his eyes, she spied a lust so strong she distantly wondered if he would ravish her on the desk before the night was out.
“Do not look away,” he gritted out, a flush working itself over his harsh cheekbones. “I want to see these beautiful eyes when you break.”
Break? She lost all train of thought when he started to stroke along her clitoris in time with his thrusts. The pleasure was acute, sharp and jarring. A third finger joined the others stretching her in a manner she had never experienced before. She moaned, long, deep, throaty at the erotic bite of pain twining with the ecstasy.
Her hips arched more to his diabolical fingers.
He jerked her even closer, more upright, so she was perched on the tips of her toes as she strained to clasp his neck. “That’s it,” he murmured roughly. “Unravel for me.”
Ripples of pleasure began to build as he awakened something primal and wicked within her. She felt out of control, and it scared her. “Oh, please, please,” she gasped, unsure of what she hungered for so desperately. Georgiana sobbed, she trembled, she all but tried to climb his body, as everything inside of her collapsed and the sensations gathering between her legs increased. They peaked, and the tight coil in her stomach snapped, a burst of intense pleasure she had never known crashing over her senses and drowning her.
His arms tightened around her. Her forehead was resting against his chest, and his heart pounded fiercely. He withdrew his fingers from the aching depth of her body. She blushed when a handkerchief seemed to materialize, and he cleaned her before lowering the skirt of her ball gown, which had ridden high on her thighs.
Steadying herself, and willing herself to no longer blush, she allowed her eyes to meet his.
The silver in his gaze darkened. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
A breath caught in her chest at the husky timbre of his voice.
“Are you spoken for?” Rhys asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you committed to someone else?”
He sounded uncertain, and instinctively she recognized such a state was unfamiliar to this man. His hesitancy did not quell the fear rising in her heart. With a kiss, he had shown her what little control she truly had over her passions.
Dear God, what have I done?
She had almost made love with this man at a ball, in a library…on a desk, with her brother, mother, and some of the most influential people of society only a few paces away in the ballroom. She had wanted to lose herself in him, to lay her body across the desk and offer herself up to him. With a few stolen moments in a darkened library, Rhys Tremayne had rewritten Georgiana’s knowledge of herself. She had abandoned all sense of decorum, and her wits needed to be regained.
“Georgiana—”
“Don’t,” she snapped, despising the tears prickling behind her lids.
The hands that had been reaching for her lowered slowly, and an indefinable emotion pierced his silver-blue eyes.
Tension threaded through her. “This…” She pressed a hand to her lips. “Whatever this is will never happen again.”
The strong line of his jaw grew even more rigid. The air was thick and tense with silence. After a few seconds, he gave her a curt nod. “As you wish.”
Why did he have to be agreeable at this moment? Why did she have to feel so uncertain? She took a deep breath, collected her panic-stricken and very aroused senses, and retreated a few steps. He moved with her and cupped her cheeks in his hands and tilted her face to his. He searched her face intently, and his predatory gaze pierced her with a flood of erotic awareness. He desired her still despite her impassioned rejection, the force of his need was tangible, and her heart quivered.
“Good-bye, duchess,” he murmured and pressed the softest of kisses to her lips.
Her lashes fluttered close, but she fisted her hands to her sides, fearing she would pull him to her and offer herself up for his seduction. Good-bye.
Yet she did not move.
“What are you afraid of?” he murmured.
“Myself.” The admission had rushed from her before she had the presence of mind to contain her thoughts.
“I watched you at the ball. Though your lips smiled, your eyes were empty of enjoyment. Just now, you came alive, and you burned us, duchess. The thing you should fear is retreating to that hollow place.”
She stared at him helplessly. How could he have seen so profoundly into her heart, when her stable of friends could not see beyond the mask she showed to the polite world?
“You speak nonsense.”
“I do not. I know emptiness when I see it, for I have endured it. Perhaps for a different reason, but I saw your eyes, my lady. We will be lovers.”
It was at that moment she realized he was a man who liked to win and conquer. With such a drive, she could understand how he would become so powerful the government had used his secrets to tip the scales of war.
And he had set his sights on her.
How would she resist his advances? A startled jolt went through her. Therein lied the distressing conundrum. She did not want to resist. This was the first man in her whole life that had made her experience an extraordinary passion.
Something reckless, wild, and improper stirred inside her. “Perhaps we will be, Mr. Tremayne. I ask the question of you—how can two people of such wildly different backgrounds and circumstances have a very discreet night of pleasure?”
With a pleased, wicked look and an arrogant tone, he said, “I am The Broker. I have the means to arrange many very discreet nights of pleasure. Perhaps I’ll send you an invitation soon, with explicit instructions for you to follow.”
“Then I shall look forward to it…Rhys, and perhaps I will respond. I make no promises.”
She fixed her dress, tidied her hair, and exited the library, her heart racing, feeling more alive than she’d ever felt before, but with so many things she held dear now endangered.