"that I intend to claim you for my own."
Thus saying, he led her down a short brick walk to a picturesque wooden door. Designed to resemble a country cottage, its planks had been painted the same vivid blue as Nic's waistcoat. The door opened before he could knock.
Light spilled out, outlining a woman's voluptuous form. She was garbed in a gauzy, flowing gown that was either a very informal tea dress or an elaborate negligee. Artistic, Merry supposed it would be called, in the style of the Pre-Raphaelites. The woman wearing it was taller than ordinary, but not towering, with soft brown hair and the loveliest oval face Merry had ever seen. Her eyes were so blue they were nearly purple. She could have modeled for a Madonna were it not for the lushness of her mouth, and the fact that her lips were painted poppy red.
Now this, Merry thought with as much awe as dismay, is how a temptress ought to look.
"Nic!" the vision cried, opening soft white arms. "We thought you'd never come."
The pair embraced like old friends, rather close old friends, pressing their cheeks together and smiling
into each other's hair.
Though she tried to hide it, Merry's body tensed. She wondered at Nic bringing her to the home of an old lover when he obviously intended to seduce her. Were the manners of his set so different from hers? Or did the difference lay in who Nic thought she was: not the daughter of a duke, but a ruined maid?
At last, after what seemed like an eternity, he pushed back from their hostess. "Anna," he said, his voice warm, "as always, you steal my breath."
Anna patted his shoulder and turned to Merry. Her smile dazzled. "You must be this shameless flatterer's friend."
"Mary Colfax," she said. Anna seemed to expect neither bow nor curtsey, so Merry did not bend. Indeed, she wasn't sure she could have. Her spine had gone as rigid as a poker.
Anna dimpled as if her stiffness did not exist. "Come in," she said, her hand slipping gently behind her elbow. "Everyone will be so pleased to meet you."
Her coat was taken by a pretty parlormaid, her gloves by Anna herself. From this Merry knew the evening's manners would be informal. Indeed, the guests' behavior upheld her guess. Scattered about
a comfortable, earth-toned parlor, they consisted of three couples besides Merry and Nic. The other women, one fair and one dark, sat on the arms of their partners' chairs and leaned familiarly into their sides.
That alone would have given her mother vapors.
Two of the men were painters like Nic. Sebastian Locke was a tall, sardonic blond with a small goatee. His companion, introduced only as "Lovey"—the coatgirl, Merry guessed—was plump and fair and given to giggling for no cause. Gerald Hill, the second artist, was shorter and more earnest. He had the flushed cheeks and defensive manner of a man whose pride is easily bruised. To Merry, his partner was much more interesting. Her name was Evangeline. She was slim but bosomy and had an arresting, angular face, the left side of which was slightly higher than the right. The anomaly made one want to stare at her, though hardly in horror. She was striking but badly dressed in colors that, even to Merry's eye, did not suit her at all. The style of her muddy gown was mannish: high-collared, aggressively plain, as if she were daring people to admire the way she looked. Though she sat with Gerald Hill, her gaze kept straying to Sebastian Locke.
Here is one, Merry thought, who hasn't learned to hide her infatuations.
The final gentleman, Leopold Vandenberg, was older than the others. The first sight of him allayed most of Merry's fears. He seemed the essence of all that was conservative. Dressed soberly, he wore a full beard, streaked with gray. No amount of expensive tailoring could disguise the middle-aged thickening
of his waist. Though his eyes were kind and his face intelligent, he could not have been considered handsome.
It did not take a genius to surmise he was the banker.
To Merry's surprise, he was also the lovely Anna's patron. But perhaps she should have expected the pairing. The lovely Anna struck Merry as a practical woman.
Once the introductions were complete, Sebastian Locke ran his gaze so boldly down her dress she felt
like an object in a shop.
"Well, old boy," he said to Nic, "I see you've been holding out on us."
"Of course, I've been holding out." Nic's voice was light but he wrapped a protective arm around
Merry's waist. "Your habits are too dissipated for any sane man to do otherwise."
"Nonsense." Locke's eyes remained on Merry even as he caressed his companion's flaxen curls.
"You and I have supped from the same dish before."
This was too much for Nic. He stiffened and drew a sharp breath to speak.
"Stop it," Anna scolded, before he could respond. "I won't have you two gnawing that bone in my house. Besides, you'll embarrass Miss Colfax."
"That I should hate to do," said Locke with a mocking bow that took in her and Anna. "Please, Miss Colfax, say my thoughtless words have not offended you."
"Indeed not," Merry responded crisply. "I've no doubt you're only interested in me because I came
with Nic."
Nic released a muffled laugh, which the dark Evangeline echoed without restraint. "She's got you there, Sebastian. To a T."
Sebastian glared at Evangeline from under golden brows, an attention that seemed to please her. Sensing the current, Gerald Hill pulled her hand onto his knee.
A skein of forbidden interest unfurled in Merry's breast. Was this what Sebastian meant by supping from the same dish? Gerald didn't seem eager to share, but she wondered what more she'd see before the evening closed. The possibility of witnessing genuine immorality both frightened and intrigued her.
Caught up in her thoughts, she shivered as Nic drew his finger around her ear. His voice was intimately low.
"Don't dare him," he warned.
"I wasn't," she gasped, aghast that he could think she would.
Nic chuckled and tweaked her nose. "You should see your face, Duchess. Like the proverbial moth.
But he and Evangeline would eat you alive."
She frowned but did not argue. The others were staring at them with interest, wondering perhaps if they were having a lovers' spat. The curly blonde sprawled lower on the couch. "I like her hair," she announced, as if someone had intimated they did not. "It's like a little lamb's."
Her declaration broke the tension in the room. Sebastian laughed, his sulky face transformed to dazzling boyishness. He pulled the glass from his partner's hand. "No more wine for you, Lovey. You're soused."
"Am not," she pouted, but snuggled against him as he kissed her hair.
Considering its prelude, dinner was more agreeable than Merry would have guessed. The food was fine French fare, served with equally fine French wine. Better than the meal, though, was the flattering care with which Nic treated her. Like a chivalrous knight, he fed her morsels from his plate, touched her
cheek and hand, even fetched one of Anna's cloaks when she grew chilled.
Propriety did not matter. For once in her life, she felt a princess—with Nic her handsome prince.
Perhaps it was the wine or the heat in his eyes or the sensual atmosphere of the night, but giving him
what he wanted no longer seemed unwise.
"You devastate me," he murmured over the rim of his crystal glass. He had turned toward her in his
chair, his knees bumping hers. When she looked down, her gaze found his hand resting on his thigh,
his thumb touching the curve of an unmistakable erection. His mouth turned up at her involuntary gasp. He'd wanted her to see, to know he was aroused.
Merry felt as if something warm and plump had been slipped inside her sex. The others were talking amongst themselves, but if any glanced over they would guess what he was doing.
"All yours," he breathed as his thumb swept slowly up and down. "Every hot, hungry inch."
"
If
I want it," she said, then spoiled the effect by choking on too large a swallow of her wine.
He patted her back. "Little fraud," he teased close to her ear. "You know you're dying to cram me
deep inside you."
His words were too true for comfort. That his behavior was outrageous did not matter to her body.
By the time dessert had been cleared, she was lightheaded with arousal. The postprandial separation
of the sexes would have offered a break, but Anna, apparently, did not observe that custom.
They adjourned together to the sitting room, where Nic pulled her crosswise into his lap and pressed
the rigid evidence of his interest into her hip. She could feel it through all her petticoats, could almost
hear it through her skin.
When Gerald Hill tried to light a cigar, the other women shouted him down.
"Even I," said Leo Vandenberg with his faint Austrian accent, "am not bold enough to smoke in Anna's house."
"And he paid for it," she said, patting his shoulder without shame.
Merry used the cover of the other's laughter to nuzzle her prince's neck. Nic's arms tightened. When
she looked into his face, his eyes were molten.
Brat
, he mouthed, and pressed a kiss to her tingling lips. The tip of his tongue left a small wet mark behind.
"Aw," said the blond girl, "look at the lovebirds."
"Cockatoos," quipped Sebastian and Merry blushed.
He made what she'd done seem both sordid and exciting.
"Why don't I show the ladies the facilities?" Anna suggested. "And while we're gone, you gentlemen
see if you can't elevate your minds."
"More profit to ask us to elevate something lower," Sebastian said to the amusement of the men.
Anna rolled her eyes at Merry as if they belonged to a common sisterhood. To Merry's surprise, she realized she wouldn't have minded if they did.
But that was before Anna drew her alone into the library. Like the sitting room, this was a place a man would feel at ease. At present it was cold, for the fire had burned down long ago. Merry pulled her borrowed cloak closer and looked around. Though small, the number of books the room held astounded. From floor to ceiling they were shelved, even sitting in crooked stacks beneath the windows. A man's black slippers lay before the smoldering grate. The stitching hoop that sat on a table nearby suggested Anna might have embroidered them herself. This struck Merry as a homely task for a mistress to undertake, but Anna was no ordinary mistress. From the clutter and wear of the decor, she concluded
this was the couple's private sphere.
"I suppose you're wondering why I brought you here," said her hostess.
Merry was curious but waited for the other woman to explain. Anna fingered a fold on her gauzy overskirt. Her skin was cream-colored, her hair a glossy oak. Even her hands were feminine: plump
and soft with perfect oval nails.
Merry tried not to picture them pricking Nic's naked back.
Finally, Anna spoke. "It's none of my business," she said.
"But you're young and obviously impressionable. Decency compels me to offer you this advice." Again Merry said nothing. Anna released a breathy laugh. "All right, perhaps you're not as impressionable as
I'd thought."
"You want to warn me about Nic," Merry said, "because you know him better than I do."
"For donkey's years." Anna's smile was wry. "And in all that time, he's never kept a woman more than
a month."
"Not even you?"