An Improper Seduction (11 page)

The room was welcoming with clean bed linens, lit candles, a fire in the hearth, and an open bottle of wine with two glasses upon the table.

Geoffrey was not there.

“Over here, dearest.” She could hear the smile in his voice. Turning toward the lake, she saw him standing in the moonlight. He started to walk toward her, water running off his sleek form glistening in the silver light. She caught her breath as his magnificence swept over her once again.

He was her Adonis, all muscle, sinew, and strength. She remembered the feel of his skin and muscle under her hands. The power of him. The gentleness of his touch.

Her heart lurched. How was she ever going to maintain control? How could she guard her heart? How could she let him marry another?

He stopped in the ebony waters just above his hips. She gazed down his torso and knew what awaited her there.

Bliss. Heaven. Enchantment.

“Angeline, I thought you would never come. Shed your clothes and come to me.”

She could not see his face clearly in the starlight. She could only feel the resonance of his voice in her heart.

“It is much too cold, my lord.” The thought of bathing with a man was new to her, even if it was Geoffrey.

“Nonsense. You know I will keep you warm. Disrobe. Let me watch you.”

“But. . .”

“Angeline, this is your next lesson. Have you lost your nerve? Or shall we continue?” His voice was like a soft growl. No yelling. No demanding. Just the enticement of pleasure to bring her to heel.

She stepped over to the rug spread upon the dark grass not far from the water’s edge. Slowly, slowly, she removed the few garments she wore. Why wear much when she knew it would all be removed?

“Magnificent!”

She looked up to find Geoffrey standing with his arms crossed over his chest watching her intently. She could feel the blush rise up her throat and face.

“Enough hesitation. Come here now.”

She turned to face him and walked gingerly toward the dark surface. Geoffrey held his hands out to her, inviting her, welcoming her. Her toes dipped into the cool waters; she retreated.

“Come, darling. It is warm once you get used to it. Come into my arms. I will keep you warm.”

She could see his face now, though his eyes were black and unreadable. His hands reached out for her.

She waded into the depths.

As the cool waters engulfed her, she felt her body react. Her skin rose in gooseflesh. Her nipples tightened. But she was drawn to him.

She reached him then, the waters coming up past her waist, still cool against her. He closed his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.

His skin was warm. His touch firm but gentle. She heard his breath rasp.

Geoffrey’s heart lurched as he enfolded her in his arms. He felt the chill of her skin so he tenderly rubbed his hands up and down her back and drew her deeper into the water. No matter the chill, when his body touched hers his tightened all over. His sex was already so aroused he could hardly stand it.

But he had to take it slowly. She would need to be wooed in such a cold surrounding. And, he didn’t wish to hurt her.

“That’s not so bad now, is it?” he whispered against her ear.

“It’s cold.” Her breath fluttered against the hairs on his chest.

“I’ll continue to rub your skin. Does it help?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Then I must do more.” He moved one of his hands to tilt her chin up and settled his lips on hers.

He no longer felt the cold, only heat spreading like a wildfire through his blood, over his skin. His brain was muddled and his sex throbbed. He groaned low in his throat as he parted her lips and slid his tongue into her mouth to taste her.

She welcomed and kissed him back, moving even closer into the warmth of his arms. Her hands slid around his neck and her taut nipples brushed his chest.

Heaven. He was in heaven.

No, not yet. Soon though, very soon.

He lifted her against his body and slid his hands down her thighs, guiding them around his hips. His arousal solid against her stomach, he could feel the soft fur of her nether regions against his ballocks. He groaned again.

“I want you,” he whispered into her ear. “I don’t know how long I can wait.”

“I am yours,” she whispered back.

If only that were true. If only she would say yes and quit these foolish games. If only she would be in his bed every night and would wake in his arms every morning.

His hand moved down her bottom and between her cheeks. His fingers slid forward and moved between her nether lips. He heard her gasp and felt the shiver that went through her.

It wasn’t from the chill of the waters.

Parting her gently, he rubbed the bud that had already tightened, then slid a finger inside her.

She was wet. She was ready. She was his. Again.

In one smooth motion, he shifted her and slid into her warm, tight sheath. Grabbing her derrière, he pulled her tightly against him to seat himself to the hilt. He heard both her moan and his own while her closeness brought out the scent of her rose and lavender perfume, filling his head.

“Yes,” he sighed. Now, this was heaven.

Her thighs tightened around his hips. He could feel her heels pressing into his back.

She wanted more.

He leaned her back to trail kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, and her breasts. With his sex pulsing deep within her, he took one taut nipple into his mouth and suckled. Gently at first, but then the need overtook him and he became rougher, faster.

Angeline’s hips gyrated against his. Her hands were holding on to his shoulders, her nails digging in. She was gasping for breath but relentlessly pushing toward him.

Then she started to quiver. It was slight at first, but it continued to escalate as she thrust more frantically into him whispering, “Yes.”

He took her mouth roughly again and grabbed her backside. Hard and deep he plunged into her as he felt her climax roll over them.

He lost his control. He lost the battle. The roar of his completion echoed over the water and through the countryside.

His. She was and always would be his. There would be no other and he would do whatever necessary to possess her.

His. She would be his.

Chapter 12

Friday arrived as any other day. Geoffrey had told her the night before he would not be stopping by but would see her at Hexford’s ball. Her gown was delivered from the seamstress and Angeline tried it on to insure its fit.

Perfect.

She worked in her garden, dined with her father, who seemed unusually pleased with himself for some odd reason, and retreated to her bedchamber. She took a leisurely bath and washed her hair.

She wished to be magnificent.

Margaret dried her hair and arranged the russet curls atop her head, leaving tendrils draping alongside her face and at her nape.

When she donned the gown and looked herself over, she was very pleased.

She dabbed her favorite fragrance at her temples, and at the pulse points on her throat and wrists. She had the strongest desire to dab intimate places that only Geoffrey would find, but her maid’s presence quelled the thought.

When she descended the staircase to take her father’s arm, she was pleased with his reaction.

“Angeline, I have never seen you look so very radiant. The gown is exquisite. Is it new?” Angus tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and escorted her through the door after Thomas, bowing at the waist, opened it. The carriage awaited them at the bottom of the front steps. Her father had it cleaned and polished for the occasion. It gleamed in the soft evening light.

“Well, yes, father.” Angeline looked up into her father’s adoring gaze. “It has been an age since I indulged. I thought I might go to London this Season to help with Gertrude. I would need at least one new gown for such an excursion so I decided to go ahead and purchase it now.”

“It’s very attractive. Are you sure you are not trying to impress some special gentleman?”

Angeline felt herself blush. “Now, father, you know I would do no such thing. I am way past the age of dressing to entice a man.”

But Angus’s look was knowing and he gave her a little wink as he said, “If you say so, my dear.”

The drive to Hexford’s manor was not very long but his pitted driveway gave their driver a fair amount of difficulty trying to smooth out their ride. They arrived at the steps jostled but none the worse for wear. Angeline wondered where the viscount had spent his funds while ignoring such a visible sign of good estate management. Everyone attending that night would be sure to notice.

Moments later, they stepped through the portal to be greeted by the viscount.

“Lord Hartfield, Lady Angeline, it is so good of you to grace us with your presence.” After Angus bowed at the waist and Angeline gave the appropriate curtsey, Hexford took her hand in his and bowed over it. As he rose, he said intimately, “I can hardly wait for our first dance, Lady Angeline. I am looking forward to spending time with you this evening.”

His eyes grazed her body as he stood up. His leer made her stomach turn.

“You are a vision tonight. I will be proud to have you on my arm.”

Rather than cause a scene or betray her revulsion, Angeline gave a slight nod and turned to be escorted to the ballroom by her father.

Her frustration with the viscount continued to mount. No matter how blatantly she rebuffed him, he refused to accept she had absolutely no interest in him. She had to share at least one dance with him since he was their host. But she refused to think about further dances, much less time alone with him. That would just not do.

The room was lit with many candles, but few decorations embellished the walls. The light, though dim, did little to hide the shabbiness of the surrounds to any who took the time to examine it. The deep blue paint was dull. In places, it was cracking. The window dressings were listless and looked as if a good shake or cleaning might do them a world of good, if they did not fall apart from the attention. Intermittently spaced, upholstered chairs and settees lined the walls. Currently, quite a few of her neighbors and friends were sitting or standing and chatting gaily.

Her eyes fell on the Misses Grimm and Gertrude, so she made an indication to her father. Gertrude’s eyes lit up as they approached. Her gown was charming and most appropriate to her age and status.

“Lady Angeline,” Miss Patience extended her hands. “It is most good to see you again. And just look at our Gertrude. Did you not do a stunning job of her?”

“Miss Patience. Miss Prudence. Gertrude. Nonsense.” All of the ladies made their curtsies to Angus as he bowed over their hands. Knowing the conversation would not be to his interests, he made his apologies and left them to join a group of gentlemen across the room.

“I am quite sure the two of you could have done just as well,” continued Angeline.

“Possibly,” said Miss Prudence, “but I doubt there would be an accepting smile on Gertrude’s face, no less a pleasant attitude. Your wisdom saved the day, Lady Angeline. We thank you again.”

“And are you pleased, Gertrude?” Angeline turned to the miss in question.

“Oh, yes, my lady. I am. You were so correct about the color and the style. There are a number of young men here who have had a positive reaction. Even the viscount complimented me.”

Angeline was sure the viscount did but she doubted Gertrude would have read the leer which was also given. Gertrude had much to learn about Society. Angeline hoped she was a quick study or she might not make it to a Season in London.

The room became suddenly silent. Most every head turned to the door. When Angeline turned away from her friends, she could not be surprised that it was the marquess standing in the doorway.

He did look dashing, not at all like a fop despite the fact that he was dressed in formal attire. His jacket and pants were such a dark green they looked to be black. His shirt and cravat showed even whiter for the darkness of his clothes. Both were immaculately tailored and the cravat tied in a sedate but formal style. Geoffrey stood at the door for some moments surveying the crowd. When his eyes met hers, the excitement heated her skin and tightened her lungs.

He moved toward her directly.

Angeline could not move. She stood stock still as he approached. She could hear the twittering of the ladies around her but what they were saying did not register.

His gaze never left hers.

As he neared, the green of his eyes flared with some inner light, some inner knowing. Angeline felt her whole body brace itself for his touch.

“Ladies.” Geoffrey bowed to her companions, then turned to her to take her hand. “Lady Angeline.” His warm lips brushed the back of her hand as he continued to look into her eyes.

“My lord,” she said as she curtsied and took a much-needed breath. She was sure she would pop all of her stays if she didn’t get control of her breathing. Large gasps for air would burst her ribs against the fittings.

A throat cleared behind the marquess. Angeline looked up to see Viscount Hexford standing behind him. She quashed the urge to make a repugnant face.

As Geoffrey rose he moved aside while placing Angeline’s hand on his arm.

“I will be starting the first dance. You will partner me, Lady Angeline. Will you not?” Hexford knew it was unlikely any woman in the room would dare refuse the host the first dance when asked.

“As you wish, my lord.” She looked up to Geoffrey’s face, his lips twitched as he acknowledged her proper behavior and released her hand.

Angeline tried not to shudder as Hexford tucked her hand in his crooked arm. They stopped in the center of the dance floor where she knew every eye in the room was fixed on the two of them. Hexford beamed as if he had gained her attentions permanently. He nodded to the orchestra, which began a melody no doubt prearranged with the viscount.

It was a waltz. Hexford pulled her into his arms.

Geoffrey girded his loins to watch another man be the first to take his lover across the dance floor. He could do little but stand and watch the rich, gold, silk brocade of Angeline’s full-skirted gown float by him. He could only admire from afar the wide, laced- edge décolletage that hinted of the charms hidden beneath. He could only stand to the side as he appreciated the stylish, pointed bodice that emphasized her slim waist, and the pleated, beret sleeves that sheltered her graceful arms. She would have shone just as brightly on a ballroom floor in London. He settled in to enjoy Angeline’s graceful movements and the enchantment she wove upon the room as the other guests, too, watched their host and his lover dance.

But it wasn’t long before his serenity was tested and he flinched when he witnessed Hexford’s overbearing actions. He could see, though he doubted others noticed, the viscount trying to draw Angeline closer. She was using all her strength to pull herself away. Geoffrey’s body tightened as he watched her subtly struggle. Would he have to make a scene?

The dance continued for some moments before the orchestra gave some hint that others could take the floor. Geoffrey turned and bowed to Gertrude and begged for her hand. He had to get closer in case Hexford strayed out of bounds.

Gertrude seemed delighted to be his partner, but Geoffrey had eyes only for Angeline. He kept the conversation with the miss trite and watched Hexford, whose steps were less than elegant, steer Angeline around the floor. He nearly sighed out loud when the dance came to an end and the ladies curtsied to their partners’ bows.

Hexford led Angeline back to the Sisters Grimm as he did the same with Gertrude.

Bowing once again, Hexford said, “I must see to my other guests. I thank you, Lady Angeline, for the dance and pray we will share company later.”

Angeline returned a chill smile and turned to face her friends as Hexford departed. Geoffrey reclaimed her hand upon his arm. The look he shared with her spoke volumes but no words were passed.

As the early hours elapsed, Angeline remained on his arm while she introduced Geoffrey to neighbors he had yet to meet. He inquired if she wished to dance but she declined until the last waltz before dinner.

He escorted her to the floor and gently pulled her to him, as close as propriety would allow. His heart warmed as she easily came to him and fitted herself in his grasp. He bent his lips to her ear.

“Words cannot describe your loveliness tonight, darling. The gold of your gown highlights the flecks in your eyes and the glints in your hair.” He squeezed her hand and drew her just a little closer. How could he tell her how he’d lost his breath when he saw her from the door? The bodice of her gown clung like a golden web around her lithe but lush frame. Her breasts were properly covered but their fullness rose high from the décolletage exposing a swathe of creamy skin that glowed from the reflection of the fabric and her good health. Her hair, though artfully arranged, begged for him to slide his fingers among the curls and braids and pull the pins to let it be free. Then he would draw her so close he could take her mouth with his and start their mating dance anew.

He drew his thoughts back to the waltz lest he cause their steps to falter. “I pray I get myself under control before this dance has ended or the entire gathering will know what I am thinking.”

He watched the flush rise to her cheeks.

“My lord, you embarrass me. You know you have more control than I.” She looked up at him, a seductive glint in her pale green eyes, as if she wanted to be nowhere else but in his arms.

“Angeline, if anyone is watching us right now, I am quite sure they know there is something between us.” He smiled at the double entendre. “Their question could only be, how much?”

The dance ended, their momentary solitude shattered; an announcement was made dinner was served and the viscount would select a lady to escort to table.

Angeline girded her loins. She had no doubt who that someone was to be.

Geoffrey gave her an understanding and encouraging look as she was claimed by Hexford and led to the dining room. She caught a last glance of him over her shoulder as he returned to the Sisters Grimm and their charge.

Dinner was a tedious affair, as the viscount fawned over her. He made a point that everyone be aware she was seated to his left. The food was mediocre at best and the service was slow; there were not enough footmen to do the job properly. Obviously, Hexford invested his monies in places other than his estate. And, there was no doubt, if he gained a fortune by marrying a wealthy heiress, those funds, too, would not go to the proper maintenance and staffing of his lands.

She consoled herself it would not be her inheritance which would be called to bear. But she did feel sorry for the helpless girl who would be burdened with the task. She expected it would be arranged with some father who wanted a title for his daughter and his own prestige in the
Ton
. Society could be very cruel.

She was finally released after the meal. When she was returned to her father, she could not see the marquess anywhere in the room. As they came upon her friends once more, she inquired of his whereabouts.

It seems he had been drawn off by some of the local gentlemen to discuss horseflesh and estate matters. Men never gave it up.

After the next dance, Angeline was happy to sit on one of the settees and give her feet a rest. No sooner had she settled than a footman delivered a note to her on a silver salver. “The Library” was all it said.

It did not quite look like Geoffrey’s handwriting. True, it was broad and grand but something about it was different. Maybe not quite as neat.

But, maybe he was in a hurry or writing it someplace where he might be seen.

She turned to her friends. “Please excuse me, ladies. I fear my feet have been used badly and I wish to retire for a few minutes to give them rest.”