Chapter One
Two more minutes, and he would have been gone. He would have been out the door, and Jonathon Edward Railey, Eighth Viscount of Aunton and heir apparent to the eighth Earl of Stockton, would have never seen Wolf Thane and his lady friend sneaking off for an illicit tryst. None of his damned business. If the man wanted to be trapped into marriage, who was he to argue. The duke would need to beget an heir for the dukedom.
Three more minutes and he would have missed the marquis and the Widow Chandra not even bothering to hide that they were heading out to the gardens to be alone and the earl, moments later, sneaking off through one of the side halls. Perhaps he also took a route to the alcoves which allowed for a couple to sneak into the gardens. Jonathon was convinced none of the three realized the others had all worked their way into being leg shackled. But he saw the signs. The predatory, leonine way the women eyed the men.
Most didn’t understand the females did the hunting. Jonathon wore his full Venetian mask with the large garish nose, debating if he should save any of their prey. When His Grace returned half an hour later with a beautiful yet shy Lyssa at his side, Jonathon’s interest was piqued. When had the duke become acquainted with Lady Elizabeth Hamilton? And, to all appearances, he was courting her. “Wolfe’s gone and fucking done it.”
“What has His Grace done?” The woman who had ruled his dreams since he had lost his virginity to her a decade before stood at his side. No costume in the world could conceal her identity from him. The orange Georgian gown did little to hide her ample bosom, and the enlarged hips of the panniers gave his brain plenty of ideas of what he could do hiding under the layers of fabric. To taste her one more time….
He would pretend he didn’t know who she was, as he pretended to ignore her existence at every ball he’d had the mis-happenstance to attend since the end of their relationship. The ornate handle of his sword cane dug into his palm. Only the soft fabric of his white glove prevented the metal from breaking the skin. He welcomed the physical pain as it dulled the emotional. As much as he wanted to, he would be damned to let her know the effect she still had over him, even if the chances were slim she knew his identity. Without taking his eyes off the tableau on the dance floor below, he said, “Been caught in the parson’s trap.”
“Or perhaps he has found true love.” Miss Isabel Hathaway lifted a gloved hand to the banister in an effort to gaze over the edge and get a closer look at the couple below. Echoing his earlier thoughts, she humphed. “This must be the ton’s best kept secret. I had no idea His Grace had even a passing acquaintance with Lady Hamilton. But I must say, he chose wisely. The woman has a good head on her shoulders. Look at the way he can’t take his eyes off her. The man is truly besotted.” Her voice trailed off wistfully.
He wanted to snort nay, wanted to shake the Georgian princess next to him until her powdered wig fell off and the strawberry-blonde tresses he knew lay beneath fell over her bare shoulders. What did she know about love true or otherwise? She’d had his love once, and she hadn’t had faith in his feelings for her. Instead, he steadied himself and thanked the duke for demanding the attention of the room. But, although he appeared to be focused on the Duke of Foxhaven, he remained completely attuned to the woman beside him.
An older woman, dressed as a bad version of Queen Elizabeth, came up alongside him and sucked her teeth in a disgusted manner. “I would give my eyeteeth to know how she got her nails into that one. Wallflower to duchess. Bet it involved lying on her back.”
He doubted any woman could trick Wolfe into marriage no matter how good they were in bed. Lady Hamilton was so far on the shelf that no one would believe her even if she did say the duke had deflowered her. There were others in the room who would have tried anything to be his duchess.
Nothing worse than an opportunist who would pay for a lifestyle on her back in such a deceitful manner. At least mistresses were honest about what they would give and what they would get in return. Not that he could afford a mistress. He could afford very little as he had to support his nine siblings. His father didn’t seem to give a damn past his heir and the spare. But still, Jonathon watched as his friend caressed his companion’s hand and later her face. Wolfe would never be caught by what was offered between ladies’ thighs, no matter what this jealous matchmaking mama to his left believed.
No. Isabel had it correct. Foxhaven was truly infatuated with his fiancée. He wished them well of it as he backed away from the scene. He needed to get out of there and escape before the midnight gong rang and he found himself standing next to her. He managed to make it through the crush of people all now gossiping about the hows and wheres of the love story of the season. Perhaps it was time to escape town. There was no reason for him to remain. His father had returned to take his seat for the final weeks of Parliament, and he had no desire to make happy with the earl.
Since the only thing he would need to attend would be a ducal wedding, that gave him four Sundays for the banns to be read to disappear. More than enough time to get his head straight. He doubted anyone would miss him. Besides, it looked like their weekly poker games would be preempted by women.
Six weeks later in an unmarked house in Kensington….
The very last place Jonathon expected to find himself was in the suite of rooms procured by the mysterious Madame Evangeline, owner of the ever-secretive 1Night Stand service. The voucher for an evening with the woman of his dreams had been given to him by his brothers who had somehow managed to pinch pennies and saved in an effort to get him laid, he supposed. Though why they thought he needed help in that department, he would never know, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask. What he was damned curious about was where they had gotten the blunt.
Weeks later, the voucher remained in his overcoat pocket, and there it would have stayed if his hand at poker hadn’t looked good enough to win. He had nothing else to play and placed it as a wager in lieu of money at his weekly poker game with his friends. Little did he know the series of events it would set off. All three of his poker buddies had used the services and indeed gotten hitched.
“I am returning this to you.” At his wedding, Wolfe pulled Jonathon.
“I suppose you can’t use it now that you are wed.” Jon looked at the voucher in his friend’s hand as if it would bite. Truth be told, he didn’t want it back, and now would need to come up with the money to pay the duke the moneys owed in its absence. “I don’t have the money to make up for the voucher. But I will get it to you when I can.”
Foxhaven humphed. “I didn’t ask for money, Railey. I am returning it to you as a gift.”
“Whatever for?” Wolfe, though not ungenerous with his friends, was also no fool, and if he had won something fair and square, he expected payment.
“Without this and Madame Eve, I would never have found my heart.” He glanced at his wife, who currently stood in a swarm of other ladies. Widow Chandra, now the Marchioness of Breckinridge, and the soon-to-be Countess of Windenshire flanked her. “Neither, I might add, would any of our group.”
“I don’t understand.” Love seemed to have addled the other man’s brain.
“I cannot use your evening, only you can, but boredom and an unhealthy dose of curiosity overrode my normal levelheaded thinking, so I signed up for her services and, to my great surprise, met Llysa. That is a debt I can never repay. I suspect your wager that night sparked interest in the others as well.”
“Are you saying both Simon and Andrew called on Madame Eve’s services as well?”
“Not that they have told me, but their ladies have confided in my duchess that is indeed the case.” Pushing the paper into his hand, Foxhaven continued, “You have a date week after next. That will give you time to get to London for your assignation then south to Andrew’s estate for his wedding the following weekend.”
Wolfe parted his company to whisk his lady off. Now, here he sat, waiting and somewhat hoping Madame Eve could find him a partner as she had his other friends. Placing his shiny Hessians on the small coffee table before him, he leaned back, interlocking his fingers behind his head. What he wanted, nay needed, in a woman was a partner. His brothers were important to him. He had raised the younger ones more than his father had. He doubted his sire would recognize his gets if he saw them on the street. His poor mother had died delivering the ninth of his father’s sons. She’d held Peter once before handing him off to the wet nurse and demanding to see Jonathon. She’d known she didn’t have much time.
“Take care of them the way you wish his lordship had been a father to you.”
His lordship, never his father’s name. He didn’t even call the man father. Disgusted, he sat there with nothing to do but think, so he got to his feet and paced to the window. “What the hell am I doing here?”
Pulling back the lace curtain, he surveyed the small garden below. The rather large house was arranged in such a manner as to have a small patch of yard in the middle surrounded by four walls. Even at the late hour, the sun still shone. The blessing and curse of summer evenings in the capital had to be the very late hour of sunset. The small garden offered complete privacy from other homes, removed from prying eyes. Below his window, a footman dressed in the house livery of burgundy and black caressed the neck of a maid, pulling her in for an intimate kiss. “Great. Even the staff is horny.”
He paced from the window, hoping for something to keep his mind occupied before boredom drove him to bedlam. He studied the painting of a fox hunt on the opposite wall for the fifth time, was counting the brush strokes in the trees when he heard the sound of soft footsteps moving down the hall. His date had arrived.
He took his place behind the sofa, feeling the presentation would be less intimidating for the lady as she entered. The door opened on a soft creak, and a woman in a hooded cape stepped into the room. He didn’t need to wait for her to remove her cape or half mask to know who it was.
Fuck. Not her.
Oh, there was no doubt about it. His first love had entered the room. The question was, what would she do when the realization hit that her assignation for the night was none other than the man she had turned down so many years ago? It didn’t matter. He suddenly knew what needed to be done.
His legendary charm, cultivated through years in the ton, would do him well tonight. He would take her to bed. Screw her until she couldn’t walk and he had her out of his system. Mayhap, tomorrow, he could finally move on.
Isabel froze midway in removing her hood over her head. Her mouth ran dry, and she met the blue eyes of Viscount Jonathon Edward Railey, whom she had always addressed simply as Jon. Her chest tightened, and the room walls closed in. A deep breath in through her nose then let out through her mouth did little to calm her frazzled nerves. She straightened her shoulders and remembered the mask she wore. With strength garnered from anonymity, she handed her cape to the maid who remained out in the hall out of his line of sight. Ever so gently, she eased the door shut before turning and offering her gloved hand to the viscount. “Good evening.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t take her hand or make an effort to greet her, and, for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t. But, then, his shoulders relaxed and his lips parted in a breathtaking grin. “Take off the mask, Isabel. You are fooling no one.” After raking her up and down, he negotiated the room to the bar in the corner. Pouring himself a drink, he asked without turning, “Would you like one?”
“Yes.”
“You will have to forgive me, but, as I am sure your tastes have matured in the years since our last…evening together, I have no idea what you would like or how you might take it.”
She glanced at the well-stocked cabinet displayed before them. “Ratafia?”
He inclined his head and pulled out a decanter. She hadn’t moved when she realized she had but seconds before he would turn back and offer her the beverage. Her brain screamed to run, but her feet weren’t listening.
He turned and raised a haughty brow, but his eyes twinkled with merriment. “So, we are staying with the silly mask?”
“What? Oh…of course.” With fingers that didn’t want to work, she managed to finally pull the lace disguise from her face. She reached for her glass, ensuring her fingers didn’t touch his in the exchange. She took a fortifying sip, enjoying the sweet taste. “It’s very good.”
“I did no more than pour it,” he replied, moving back to the bar where he had left his amber drink. He gestured for her to sit, yet, when she did, he took his place holding up the wall next to the window. “So, what do we do now?”
“As this is my first…er, time, I am sure I haven’t the faintest idea.” She sipped her beverage, hoping it would give her fortification against him. Perhaps she should have gone with a port. Why of all the men in the ton had Madame Eve thought he was her perfect knight? More to the point, why did he seem unfazed by her appearance here when seeing him had shocked her to her very core?
“Yes, well, we are both virgins in this, then. Much like another time I remember.”
She nearly choked on her drink. No one in polite society would think to bring up their dalliance. Stifling a giggle, she reminded herself she was not in polite society and had paid for an evening with a man. But never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined it would be this man. The one man whose name was on her lips each morning when she woke. “So, what do we do now? You asked me that already, didn’t you?”
He gave her a slight nod of affirmation before settling into the armchair across from her. “How about we start by being honest with one another. We have spent the last decade pretending not to know one another, when, for a time, we knew each other intimately. No secret was left untold.”
She couldn’t argue his first point. They had avoided one another at every turn. She would try to stay away when society allowed it. Some events were unavoidable. For instance, the Duke of Foxhaven’s wedding. No one within the ton would dare miss it. She’d known he would attend and had been unable to come up with a justifiable reason for her not to. She had been forced to watch Jon stand with two other men as groomsmen for His Grace, when all Isabel had wanted was to run. Her saving grace had been the crush and an ability to fade into the background.
She had believed they were without secrets when she had been surrounded by them. She had opened herself, heart, body, and soul, and he had convinced her he had done the same. “Perhaps, in truth, we might not know one another anymore at all.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, but instead nodded. “You are correct. A great many changes can occur in a decade. So, tell me, Miss Hathaway, why would a woman who could have any man in the ton call on the resources of Madame Evangeline?”
“Not any man,” she said before she could stop herself. She meant him, but she would be damned if she let him know that. “No matter the size of my purse, my birth isn’t considered good ton.”
“They are idiots, and should we look into their genealogy, I wager we would find many a commoner amongst their prestigious family lines.” He grunted before taking another swig. “You changed topics. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
She’d hoped he hadn’t but figured he would. “I happened to hear about 1Night Stand by accident.”
“And how does one hear about this sort of service by accident?”
The burn started on her cheeks, and he knew from the past her entire face and neck would grow a warm bright pink in a matter of seconds. “When one is eavesdropping.”
“Were you, now?” He smiled, his white teeth shining back at her as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees to pay close attention. The years disappeared, and they were transported back to a time where they would chat for hours, two friends easy in each other’s presence.
“Actually, I didn’t mean to listen, but I was sort of trapped.”
“Trapped. Did someone have you chained to the floor?”
She would crawl under the settee if he made her explain she had been in the privy. “Let’s leave it that when the duchess and….” She might have given away a secret.
“Continue.”
“I do not wish to gossip,” she said and promptly pursed her lips.
“I am quite good at keeping a secret, as you yourself know.” She couldn’t argue with him on that, but before she could say so, he continued. “Besides, I am well aware Her Grace came here to Madame Eve.”
“You are?”
“Yes. Foxhaven informed me after his wedding.”
“He did?” That the duke had admitted his dalliance to another confidante shocked her.
“Together.”
“Well, I know he did. It’s how they met, but I didn’t think he would own to it.”
“Then you do not know the duke. He doesn’t hide anything. His likes, dislikes, successes, or failures. He is amazingly an open book.” He crossed his legs and gestured with a swipe of his hand for her to continue.
It had been too long since they had been in the same room together and been relaxed. She missed him and hadn’t known how much. “I was in a situation where acknowledging my presence would be embarrassing for everyone involved. The new duchess and her two friends…?”
“The marchioness and the future countess.”
“Do you know everything?”
“No, simply enough about the situation to make myself dangerous.” He grinned the well-practiced smile of a rake. “I figured it would be easier if you weren’t worried about someone’s reputation.”
“They all came here?” She threw her arms into the air and slumped in a most unladylike slouch into the pillows behind her. “Why am I even telling you anything? You seem to know everything anyway.”
“I knew enough to ask we not be put in the same rooms the three of them were.” He lifted the sheer curtains and looked out at the sunset over London. “It was one thing to know they had used the services. I didn’t need to know they had done things in the bed to require them all to become leg shackled as well.”
“I promise I won’t require your presence in front of the parson,” she said a bit too fast.
His happy-go-lucky attitude slipped, and a hint of hardness crossed over his visage to be wiped away as quickly. “You made that crystal clear years ago.”
“I will marry no man for money.”
“For love, either, it would appear. How many proposals have you rejected, now? At last count, three, and you have cried off twice. Impressive numbers, I suppose. Though, when your father has so many men in his pockets, it makes small social transgressions”—he leaned forward and blew on his fingers—“disappear.”
“That’s unfair.”
He humphed and downed his drink. “Indeed.”
“Indeed? You dare to insult me. And all you can answer with is an indeed? Why you—” Her tirade was broken off as someone knocked on the door.
“Hold that tantrum, shall we?” As if she hadn’t been about to rip into him, he strolled with calm grace to the door, spoke in hushed tones to the person or persons on the other side then pulled a cart with two silver domed trays on it into the room. After shutting the door behind him, he lifted the dome and inhaled. “Would you like to finish venting your spleen now, or eat this while it is still hot?”
Her stomach grumbled. “No need to let the food get cold.”
“Wind out of your sails?” He placed the tray before her on the small table, removed the lidthen handed her some silverware wrapped in a white napkin.
“I suppose I have lost my vigor to argue. My stomach seems to have outweighed my brain.” She was pouting and hoped the food was good enough to counter the gnawing feeling that she should have continued railing at him. “I would have thought with what this building is used for, they would have a dining room attached.”
“They do, in two of the suites.”
“Why are we not…? Oh, you mean….”
“Yes, they were used by the others.”
“But, what about the third couple?”
“Apparently, they weren’t as concerned that the rooms had been, as Andrew says, tupped in by their friends.” He set the second tray across the table from hers and took a seat. “At the time, asking for a different room seemed like a logical request. Now it just seems odd.”
“Odd? Your request not to sleep in the beds that your friends did?”
“You see, if sleeping was all that went on….” He let the full meaning of his words sink in.
Minutes passed, while they ate in silence. Finally, she put her fork down. “You know, I think they all genuinely love each other.”
Though he didn’t look up from his food, he did pause for a second with his fork midair.
“Do tell.”
“I heard more than the three ladies talking about this place.”
“I thought you didn’t like to gossip,” he stated between bites.
She sat openmouthed for a second before picking up her utensil again. “So, I did.”
Jon chuckled, wiped his mouth with the napkin, and leaned back. “Please continue. I do want to hear what you have to say. I was teasing. I apologize I could not resist.”
“I think you were trying to score points.”
“Perhaps I was.” She felt him looking at her, the weight of the stare never letting up as she took yet another bite. He could wait until Hell froze over for her to tell him now. She continued to eat, and still he stared.
Finally, unable to take it anymore, she nearly shrieked, “What?”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“You know I will get the information out of you one way or another.” Damned man was enjoying this. She doubted he gave two figs about whether or not he actually heard what she had to say, but now he had a mission. “We could always change the subject to what our preferences are in bed. Much like your tastes in drinks, I must assume those have matured as well.”
“Excuse me?” She nearly choked on her quail. “That is hardly appropriate dinner conversation.”
“You came here to fuck a man, and you are concerned over propriety? That’s rich.”
“No. I’m rich, though.” She met his eyes, raising what she hoped was a haughty eyebrow. Two could play his game. She might not be in his league…. All right, she was nowhere near his league, hadn’t been ten years ago, and that hadn’t changed one iota, but she could play along. And she forgot the thrill she got from trying.
He actually gaped at her then threw his head back and laughed. “Gawd, woman, I have missed you.”
Her breath, or, perhaps it was her heart, seized. A wash of emotions and longings ranging between hurt, love, and lust washed through her, leaving her fingers tingling. Her lips seemed to forget how to form words let alone sentences. She waited, watching as he continued to laugh, until he calmed and brought the glass to his lips. When her senses returned, she knew she needed to change the subject from them. “All three women are hoping to be increasing by the start of the season next year.”
“What?” He sputtered, reaching for this napkin to wipe the drink he had spit off his chin. “Woman, you don’t just blurt news of that sort out with no preamble.”
“My apologies, my lord. Let me try it this way. We were discussing the conversation of the three ladies in question. The one I was so rudely listening to. They mentioned they hoped to be in the family way very soon.” She pursed her lips to prevent giggling “Better?”
“One would think so. Because none of them were forced to marry due to expanding waistlines, you assume they all married because they are in love.”
“Yes.”
“It couldn’t be that one was a virgin and honor dictated that he do so, another, sex so strong he would take the jump rather than be without, and the last a betrothal agreed to by their families when they were babes?”
“How would you know that?”
“I had to sit through an evening of drinks and cards with three besotted fools who, with enough spirits, let their tongues wag a bit more.”
“Besotted.”
“Caught that, did you?” He focused on the wall behind her, but she could tell his attention was to a memory. “I think they, all three, are love matches.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No. To the contrary, I wish them well.”
“So, is that why you looked into the service?”
He locked eyes with hers. “Not a chance in hell. It was I who started this whole damned chain of events to begin with.”
“You?”
“Why so surprised? Actually, it was my brothers.”
“But they are broke.” As soon as the words were past her lips, she wished she could have retrieved them. Damn it. “I shouldn’t have….”
“Why? You spoke the truth. The whole of the ton knows my brothers have little to no money, and, worse, very little ability to earn their way. A lord is supposed to be filthy rich and never work,” he continued before she could interrupt. “With no war at the moment, there is no military for them to fight for. No money to buy a commission, even if there were. And my father balks at their taking the clergy hood. I have been supporting them for years. Apparently, they pooled their spare change to arrange an assignation.”
“Do you have any idea how much a night through Madame Evangeline costs?”
“Not really.”
He might not, but she did, and there was no way his brothers had scraped together enough to pay for the evening. “So, why haven’t you married?”
“Miss Right hasn’t graced me with her presence. You? Why haven’t you been able to get that gold ring around your finger?”
“I don’t want someone who only wants me for my money, I learned very quickly that the mask a gentleman shows to the world is usually far from the one he wears behind closed doors. I have had each of the men who courted me investigated.”
“Very wise.”
“Baron Stopford and Mr. Winchester made it past the first rounds of investigations. The Baron, unfortunately, rejoined one of his hellfire clubs immediately after asking me to wed. Winchester was smarter but slipped when he thought he was alone and….” She’d thought she was beyond the hurt, but, as she choked on the words, she knew she wasn’t. She hadn’t loved the man but thought they had a rapport that could have grown into something more.
The cushion beside her lowered. Only then did she realize he had moved. He placed her hand in his. “Tell me.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
She looked up and saw nothing but concern in his eyes. “He arrived at the house a week before the wedding. Father wanted to start getting him up to speed with the businesses. He was looking forward to handing over both the headaches and myself. They had been using the library as an office. He went in to find a letter from his solicitor only to come across an envelope on the floor from…from….”
Through gritted teeth, he demanded, “From?”
“The Cabot Asylum for Women in Hampshire. It must have fallen from Winchester’s coat pocket, as it was addressed to him.”
The pressure of her hand in his increased. “Continue.”
“Dad ran out to the stables, found a pitchfork, and chased the jerk off his property, declaring that if he ever saw him in town again, he would ruin the man.”
“Here the ton thought he was brokenhearted and that was his reason for running to India.” His droll tone made it clear neither he nor the ton believed that.
“He ran to India to escape debtors’ prison.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute. You may tell your father if I ever set eyes on your former suitor, he will find himself on the receiving end of my dueling pistol.”
She expected him to move away, return to his seat. Instead, he seemed mesmerized by her small gloved hand within his. He ever so gently tugged at the soft cream leather until it eased over her knuckles. The rough pad of his thumb brushed over the delicate skin, sending chills over her arms.
It had been years since a man touched her bare skin, and when they had, it hadn’t had this effect. Her body immediately reacted to his slight caress. Her nipples hardened into tight buds, the fabric of her chemise teasing her and leaving her aching for more. As attuned as she was to his touch, he seemed completely unaware of what the contact was doing to her. “It’s funny how something so simple as your knuckles brings back so many memories.”
He brought her hand to his lips, brushing it gently before leaning in to claim a soft kiss. The tenderness caught her off guard. She’d expected passion and lust but not the soul-crushing sweetness he put into the embrace. As she closed her eyes, she let her mind take her back to when she still believed he loved her. A time when innocence lost in the arms of a young man in the heat of passion brought a thrilling sense of adventure before it crashed around her in heartbreak.
He eased away. “You stopped kissing me back?”
Why did the pain of past memories overshadow the joy? There had been so much joy, a friendship she had never experienced before or since. She reached for the glove and replaced it, eased off the chaise, and crossed the room, looking for bell pulls, rummaging through the long velvet drapes. Breathing became hard. She had to get out of this house. “Where is the blasted bell cord?”
“Are you running away?”
“I am leaving, as I should have the second I realized you were here. There is too much between us.”
“There is too much between us, and yet the passion still ignites.” His hand wrapped around hers before she could yank on the red silk cord. “Perhaps we owe it to not only ourselves but each other to give this night, Madame Eve’s services, a chance.”
Gentle, warm fingers kneaded the tension in her neck, her eyes closed of their own volition, and she tried to find her center. All she had to do was tug the cord and her maid would come and she would leave. As his lips brushed over the pulse of her neck, she let her hand drop. One more night to remember, to keep her dreams warm. Perhaps then they could both move on.
She melted into his embrace and let her body’s demands take over. He groaned into her mouth as his tongue plunged in and demanded she kiss him back, the way he had taught her so many years before. Strong arms wrapped around her, and, through the layers of skirts, she could feel the length of his erection pressing into her stomach. Something deep within her awoke, knowing he desired her so much. Though he might have lied, years ago, about the depth of his feelings for her, his body could not lie about the desire he’d felt.
“Tell me you want this, you want me,” he whispered against her temple when he broke the kiss.
She nodded, unable to speak as she fought to breathe. His blue eyes pierced hers. Whatever he looked for, he seemed to find because his lips captured hers again in a voracious assault that had her knees buckling. Had he not pulled her closer, she would have fallen in a puddle at his feet. As if she weighed no more than a doll, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the other room. Through closed lids, she could tell the room was dark except for a smattering of candlelight.
He lowered her back onto legs that she didn’t think could sustain her, leaving her thankful to feel her bum land on the soft mattress. She feared if she opened her eyes, she would see through his façade as she hadn’t been able to so many years before.
“I have dreamt of you for ten years.”
His words brought her up short. Surprised, she gazed at him. He had been so cold when they first met in town after she rejected his proposal. She’d believed their time together had meant nothing. In the decade since they’d parted, he had not once searched her out. He had left with a curt bow, and she had received nothing more than a raised eyebrow and cocked head from him since. Until tonight. “Don’t lie.”
“No lies. Remember, we promised the truth.”
Could she trust him? Could she allow herself, even tonight, to let her walls down? Could it be any worse than what her life had been like these past years if she did? She doubted it. “You’re right. We did.”
“Tell me, how long has it been since your last lover?”
“Excuse me. I don’t think that is any of your business.”
“I do not mean to pry. I simply ask because I do not want to hurt you, I need to know how gentle to be.”
What could she tell him? There had been no one since him. She didn’t think he would believe it, but she also didn’t wish to give him any hint to how much his betrayal had destroyed her as both a woman and lover. “It has been a few years.”
“Then we will take this slow. After all, we have all night.”
“One last night.”
“Perhaps one last chance,” he whispered against the inside of her wrist as he removed the first glove then repeated the action with the second. Her throat seized at the touch, making every swallow difficult. He took his time, releasing each mother-of-pearl button with painstaking patience.
A part of her wanted to know what he meant by one last chance, but the rest of her didn’t care because if he spoke, his lips would be distracted from her skin. She intended to enjoy every last moment of the evening. She toed off her left shoe and moved to the second when he dropped to his knees before her. “Nay, you are my present tonight to unwrap, and I plan to unwrap every delicate inch.”
Warm, strong hands wrapped around her ankle. Ever so gently, he worked the satin slipper from her heel and over her toes. Bringing her foot to his lips, he laid a kiss on the arch before placing it on his thigh and allowing his hands up her leg under her skirts. His eyes locked with hers, daring her to look away and, at the same time, urging her to stay with him. Her breath caught as his fingers brushed past her knee and up her inner thigh. Any moment, he would reach the apex of her thighs and discover the evidence of her arousal. All brought on by the touch of his lips on her wrist. She could let him think it was the expectation brought on by his touch on her legs. But she could not deceive herself. And she knew better. One touch, and she had been ready to yank her skirts up and demand he take her.
Yet, as she was certain he would reach the seat of her passion, he paused, gripping her inner thigh while the other hand continued to move up her hip and over to the half-moon fullness of her ass. “You have filled out exquisitely. Years ago, you were still stick thin. Now, you have glorious curves like a woman should.”
She would have thought the extra pounds would be unappealing. Instead, his eyes glazed over. The heat within gave her strength to bring her wantonness to the forefront. She let her knee fall to the side so she was open to him under the layers of silk. This was Jon, her Jon, and she wouldn’t shy away from him now when she never had before.
“Turn around.” His voice took on a husky tone almost like his mouth had gone dry. She obeyed without hesitation. The lacing of her bodice tugged tight before releasing. Cool air blew across her shoulders as he eased the puffed sleeves, one by one, down her arms, leaving her bodice to lie on her hips. The process repeated with her corset until it lay over the arm of the high-back chair in the corner. The chemise he left in place, working the dress and petticoats over her hips in one fell swoop. She now stood before him in a silk chemise that did nothing to hide her pert nipples and silk stockings held up with two pink ribbons. But, in between, she was decadently bare.
With him still kneeling behind her, she looked over her right shoulder to see him sit back on his heels. He eyed her as a curator did a fine marble statue unveiled for the first time in centuries. She tried to turn to him, but he stopped her. “I am not done taking you all in.”
“I am sure you have seen a great many bums through your life as the ton’s rakehell.”
“Not one.” He cupped both cheeks. “Not a single one as perfect as your ass. That you have it covered under layers of muslin and silk is a true sin.”
She did turn this time. “Would you have me go naked?”
“No. This is for me alone.” His finger brushed through the patch of hair at her apex. “But I can imagine the scandal you would cause in a pair of riding pants, straddling a horse.”
“I would much rather straddle you.” With one foot on either side of his legs, she lowered herself onto his lap, helped by his strong hands. “But we seem”—she kissed his chin— “to have”—then his jaw and worked up to his earlobe—“a problem.”
“Pray tell?”
She leaned back while grinding into the bulge of his erection through the soft fabric of his britches. “You have entirely too many clothes on for my liking.”
He eased her onto the carpet and made quick work of his clothing. She found it amazing that he managed to remove his clothing as fast as he did without ripping or losing a button in the process. She let her knees drop wide. “Now.”
“Your wish is ever my command.” With one long thrust, he impaled her with his cock.
Even though he had breached her maidenhead a decade before, ten years of celibacy meant she was tight, and he stretched her until she believed she would tear. She raked her nails down his spine in an effort to work through the pain.
“Oh, good lord.” She wasn’t sure if he had said it or she had, but he was fighting to breathe as much as she. Once the shock of his invasion wore off, she tilted her hips. At seventeen, she had been too young to grasp the intricacies of intimacy. Now, though not much more educated, she understood her body better. She knew what she liked, having discovered she didn’t need a man to satisfy her sexual desire.
“You. Are. So. Fucking tight,” he said before taking her lips and retreating from her body to plunge back in. The friction as he ground into her made her lift her hips for more. Every time he retreated, she whimpered in protest. He built the rhythm. Paid close attention to what stoked the desire in her. Finally, he picked up the pace and whispered ever so softly into her ear, “Let go.”
She did, and her world fell apart. As if she were made of glass, her whole being fractured and splintered into oblivion. She couldn’t catch her breath; at the same time, she couldn’t stop huffing and demanding he never stop. Her legs wrapped around his bare ass and squeezed as she shook so hard she feared she would rock the house to its very foundation.
She didn’t know how long they lay there on the floor in each other’s arms, but she dreaded when reality would return. Even with the hard surface under her back, she welcomed his closeness and did not wish it to end.
Jonathon rolled off her onto his back so their shoulders and heads still remained in contact. Focused on the ornate painted ceiling, he intertwined his fingers with hers and brought hers to his lips. “I haven’t been so out of control since I…well, as it happens, since the last time we met in your father’s stable in the hayloft.”
The smell of hay still brought on steamy images of her half-naked bent over the bales of hay with her pale skin in contrast to the dark wool of his coat he had laid down to protect her from scratches. After a hellacious meeting with his father, he had wanted nothing more than to get away and forget his lordly obligations. He didn’t give a damn what his father said. He would only marry the woman he loved. Angry at the world, he took his frustrations out on her, but she had met him stroke for stroke. She’d understood him when no one else had, or so he’d believed at the time.
“I think I still blush every time I go into the stable.”
“Do you?” He couldn’t prevent the grin arching on his face as he turned to look at her. “Does it match the one you have now?”
She covered her face as if to hide the fetching pink tones now coloring her skin. Rolling onto his side, he placed a hand over her soft stomach. The last time he had seen her blush like this, he had declared his love to her. She’d returned the words, and he’d made the biggest mistake of his life by not asking for her hand right there in the slightly chilly loft. He decided to find his mother’s ring and make his proposal to her by the lake under the stars. His mother had often bemoaned the lack of romance in her marriage, and he’d sworn to her on her deathbed to love his future wife.
“You are suddenly very quiet.”
“Hmmm?” He shook his head to rid the demons lurking in the depths of his memories. “Sorry.”
She cupped his cheek the way she used to when she knew he fought bad memories; he closed his eyes, remembering. It had been this touch when his mother died, the mere brush of soft fingers against his unshaven face that made his heart melt and replaced the image of the gangly tomboy from the property adjacent his with the lovely young woman she’d become. “What are you thinking about?”
“My mother. It’s been a long time since I let myself think of her.”
“She may be dead, but she is always a part of you. In your heart.”
He pulled himself up to a seated position and stared out the bedroom door and into the sitting room. “Heart? I am not sure I have one. If you remember, I didn’t grow up like you in the warmth of familial love and adoration.”
As she touched his back to ease his pain, he steadied himself from shrugging her off. “You have a great heart. Look at how you care for your brothers, all nine of them.”
“I don’t see them half as much as I wish.”
“I know the youngest two are still at Eton, and the others….”
“Live with my father, and I haven’t been in the same room with that man in five years. And only then because William was sick and my father convinced he was dying.”
“So, he summoned you.”
“You must be joking. My father would do everything in his power to keep me from every possibility of catching my death. Gabriel sent for me, and I had to fight through the old man to get to my brother.”
“I ran into Gabriel a few months ago.” She giggled. “I thought he was you until he turned around. Even then, I had to get within a few feet of him before I was sure.”
“You actually moved toward him, thinking it was me? That is not your modus operandi of the last years.” He glanced over his shoulder at her.
Getting to her feet, she crossed the Persian rug to where he had left her clothing and reached for her petticoat. His cock jumped. The one bout of lovemaking had done nothing to sate his lust. Their eyes met, and she fumbled with the ties of her petticoat. “What were we talking about?”
Knowing she wasn’t unaffected by him assuaged his ego. “You having a clandestine meeting with my heir.”
“As it happened, he was in the door of a shop, and it was raining. I had a choice to stand in the downpour until I was soaked to the skin or beg my way through.”
“Now, that sounds more believable.” He took the pants she handed him. Standing, he pulled them up but didn’t bother to reach for any other piece of clothing. She, however, did pull on one of the robes hanging near the changing screen. “So, what did Gabriel say?”
“Nothing. He raised an eyebrow, nodded, and stepped to the side.”
Gabriel was Jonathon’s current heir, the second eldest of the ten boys, born a scant ten months after Jonathon. The two had been confused for twins for much of their lives. Even their voices sounded the same. In his first year at Eton, where Jon’s wise-mouthed comments had found him friends and accolades, Gabriel’s had landed him a fist to the nose. Now, the slight crookedness differentiated the two brothers. But there had been an emotional distance between them for a while, since about the time Jon had left his father’s home.
“You are moving back into your memories again.”
“How could you tell?” He crossed to the window and looked out on the dark, silent garden.
“Your mask falls. You are no longer carefree. You’ve become serious and quiet, as if you bear the world on your shoulders.”
“Being here, with you, brings back memories I had long ago suppressed.” He sensed her behind him and wished he could go back when joy infused him. He hadn’t felt those two emotions in years. With his friends, he put on the façade of the jokester. She had always seen through him, had been the only one, other than his mother, to perceive him for him.
“Are they all unhappy memories? Surely, there have been happy ones as well.”
“The bad have always far outweighed the good.” The curtain fell back as the sudden need for a drink overcame him. In the other room, he prepared her a second ratafia and, for himself, two fingers of whisky before doubling that. He turned around to see her watching him from the doorway. “Come and sit. Tell me about your life since we last parted.”
“Thank you,” she said as she reached for her drink before taking a seat across the dark wood tea table from him. “There isn’t much to say that the scandal sheets haven’t told.”
“This might surprise you, but I don’t subscribe to any.” Even if he had the money, he doubted he would. Too many young people made mistakes that the ton fed on like dogs. “So, other than the asshole we discussed, I know very little about what you have been doing.”
“You want to know about the other men in my life?” she asked in disbelief.
“No,” he said a little too quickly and with way too much force. “What are your interests, charities? What the heck do you do to keep occupied all day? I cannot see you spending your days on watercolors.”
“As you know, I have no skills when it comes to painting.”
“Or embroidery.”
“You had to remember that, didn’t you?”
“There is very little about you I don’t remember.” He knew she loved her tea lukewarm, and she would sneak sugar chunks from the kitchen for her horse. Her favorite color was lemon yellow. She hated the thought of doing anything typically female.
“I donate my time to some women’s groups who are working for rights for my gender.”
“Good. Women need more rights. They shouldn’t be the property of men who can treat them any way they feel fit.”
She opened her mouth in surprise before taking a sip. “I had forgotten your stance on this subject. Your mother…. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have brought her up.”
“Why? It’s been eleven years since her death.” He never spoke of his mother any more than he did about his father. Though for different reasons. His father he held directly responsible for the death of his countess. Lady Augusta had been pregnant nearly every year from the time of his conception until she died when he was nineteen. Ten sons and one daughter who was born stillborn. After the birth of son number ten, Peter, his mother’s body seemed to give out. “My father couldn’t be bothered to even come to her side when the midwife said she was dying.”
He stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He went in his father’s stead that night, images of blood almost black, so thick it clotted on the white bed sheet. The smell of rusted iron assaulted him. The discarded blood-soaked padding on the floor, and, worse, his mother pale and so very frail, lying in the middle of the birthing bed. “My father bred her like a brood mare.”
“Jon!”
“Sorry if that offends you. If you will excuse me.” He marched into the other room as lightning lit up the sky. He threw on his shirt, forgoing his boots and overcoat. He needed some air, needed to be alone. The sudden storm outside mirrored the storm within him. Emotions held long in check swirled out of control, and he couldn’t sort the family ones from the ones he felt for Isabel.
“Where are you going?” Concern laced her question.
“Outside. Garden. Need some air.” He knew his words were choppy, but he had to get out of there immediately.
“Now? A storm is coming in.”
“It’s fine. Should something befall me, there are nine others ready to take my place.”
“Don’t joke about this,” she nearly shrieked.
“Why should you care?”
“I do care. I always have.”
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “So you still feel this connection, whatever it is between us.”
“Of course, I do.”
He turned to find her closer than he’d expected. Looking down into her eyes, he let the words fall. Words he had kept locked up for so long. “If I were to call on you, would you allow me to?”
“What?”
“Would you allow me to court you?”
She swallowed hard, pursed her lips, and shook her head. In a voice he could barely make out, she said, “No.”
“Why?” He closed the short distance between them. “You dance with any man who signs your dance card, you allow countless to call. Yet, me, the one you have been most intimate with, you turn down. Why?”
“I can’t, not with you.”
“Can’t what?” he demanded, anger coursing through him.
“Can’t let you marry me for money. Anyone but you.”
“Money? When have I ever insinuated I needed your money?”
“Everyone in the ton, probably in our county, knows your family needs an influx of funds. You have to marry for money. We all know that.”
One last plea. “Is there anything I could say to make you think otherwise?”
“No, nothing.”
He threw the door open with such force it cracked against the wall before slamming of its own momentum behind him. A footman stationed at the end of the hall jumped up from his chair in shock. “Sir.”
Recognizing the horny youth from earlier, he bit out, “The garden.”
The boy pointed in the opposite direction down the hall. “Down the servants’ stairs to the ground floor. First door before the upper kitchen.”
“Thank you.” He followed the directions and stepped into the dark courtyard as the first drop of water hit the flagstone path. Lifting his face to the sky, he allowed the rain to wash over him, hoping that it could bathe away his problems, anger, and perhaps the love he still felt for a woman who, for some reason, could not reciprocate his feelings. Within a couple of minutes, the light sprinkle turned to a soaking downpour. Wiping the hair away from his forehead, he relaxed.
She had been right. His family was in financial trouble. He did what he could to make money for his brothers, had managed to make some good investments, but his father wouldn’t allow him near the estate ledgers. Worse, the man had barred him from the houses both in London and in the country. Until his father died, there was no way to know how dire the situation was. But he was fairly certain it was worse than even he suspected.
He glanced up at the room he had vacated long enough to see the curtain drop and her voluptuous form disappear from sight. She’d rejected his suit for the second time, and that was once too often. Society dictated that gentlemen once rejected should, with all good grace, step away from the lady in question. Society didn’t seem to give a damn about what a person’s heart demanded. So, after tonight, he would leave her be as he had for a decade. But he had this night to love her. A few hours to make a lifetime of memories. He wouldn’t miss another minute.