Don't Bargain with the Devil (17 page)

 

Then she made the mistake of placing her hand on his bare waist and lifting her gaze to his again. He read the desire in her eyes, and he was lost. Eternally lost.

 

He had already broken the
marqués
’s rules about not touching her. What harm could there be in touching her more, as long as he did not ruin her? After he got a look at her thigh to confirm her identity, she would be out of his reach forever. She would belong to whatever man her grandfather picked for her.

 

Unless she was
not
the one he and Gaspar sought. Diego seized on that possibility with a vengeance. It had
happened before, and not every piece of the puzzle of her background fit perfectly. If she was not the
marqués
’s granddaughter, he would be free to court her. What could it hurt to start now?

 

His conscience screamed that he knew better, that he had made a promise to the
marqués
, that even without the promise, he would be taking advantage of her as surely as Hunforth had tried to do. She deserved better, and he knew it.

 

But her succulent lips were inches from his, her body soft and yielding in his arms, and he could not help himself. “
Carińo,
” he said hoarsely.

 

Then he kissed her.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

 

 

 

Dear Charlotte,

 

Impenetrable I may be, but surely you know by now that I have only your best interests at heart. Heed my second warning, and keep an eye out for your Master of Mystery. He still has not applied for a license, and his assistant is asking peculiar questions about the school and its staff. Be very careful with him.

 

Your concerned cousin,

 

Michael

 

 

E
ven before Diego’s lips met hers, Lucy had been wavering in her resistance to his temptations. Now she was drowning in them, and she didn’t care. She was in his arms again, and he was kissing her with such tenderness it made her heart hurt. How could she not kiss him back?

 

Do you really think a man like that has honorable intentions?

 

Probably not.

 

He’d asked about her parents, and a man of venerable Spanish rank would only ask such questions of a woman he courted. Unlike English gentlemen, he would find her mother’s blood an advantage, too.

 

But she wouldn’t place her hopes in that; she’d made that mistake before. And his emphasis on being a penniless count was probably meant to be a warning that he couldn’t afford a wife.

 

Still, he did seem to care for her. He’d fought valiantly for her, had raised money to destroy his own aims, and had given some of his own hard-earned funds to that cause. More important, when he’d leaped to her defense, he hadn’t blamed
her
but Peter. And himself. Surely that showed him to be a man of character.

 

She was tired of worrying about it. She’d tried hard to be good. She’d waited patiently for Peter to return from abroad, not even countenancing anyone else’s attentions, and for what? For him to admit he loved her, yet it still didn’t matter? For him to insult her and try to ruin her?

 

He still might, too. Nothing could stop Peter from telling people about the brawl later and blackening her name, as well as Diego’s. People might even believe what Peter said—not only because he was an earl but also because of Diego’s performance. Peter would use that. He clearly wasn’t the gentleman she’d thought.

 

While Diego was far
more
of a gentleman than she’d thought. He’d been honest about his intentions from the beginning. And if she found her reputation ruined through no fault of her own, shouldn’t she have some pleasure out of it? What was the point of being proper if everyone believed the worst about you anyway? Might as well be improper, it seemed to her.

 

As if reading her thoughts, Diego drew back. “I do not want you to think I am like Hunforth, willing to take advantage of a woman—”

 

“I’d never think that,” she whispered, once more reminded that Diego was a good man at heart. This time, she was the one to kiss
him.

 

He pulled away abruptly. “Careful,
carińo.
” He cast her a rueful smile and tapped one end of his lip. “Best to stay on this side.”

 

Oh, dear, she’d forgotten about his injury. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I do not mind a little pain for one of your kisses,” he said huskily. “But if you start the bleeding again, your efforts will have been for naught.”

 

She suspected her efforts would be for naught anyway, but she wasn’t about to point that out. He would get all noble again and try to protect her. Right now, she didn’t want nobility. She wanted
him.
“Then let me kiss it to make it better.”

 

He arched an eyebrow. “I thought that was only something mothers told their children to take their minds off their troubles.”

 

“Let’s find out, shall we?” she teased, stretching up to kiss his split lip. “Better?”

 

“Much.” His dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight as he bent to nuzzle her cheek. “But now you will have to apply the makeup again.”

 

“I will.” She brushed her lips over his cheek. “Once we’re done waltzing.”

 

“Is that what you English call this?” He clasped her head in his hands for another magical kiss that stole the soul from her body. He dragged his mouth down her chin, then her throat. “I like the English version of waltzing.”

 

“So do I.” She clutched at his bare shoulders, then swept along them to memorize every curve and muscle.

 

It was her first time touching a man’s naked torso, and
she meant to relish it. Her hands fanned down his well-wrought chest, her thumbs exploring his flat nipples.

 

He groaned low in his throat. “
Mi dulzura,
as much as I enjoy this…we should stop.”

 

“Why?” she whispered. “Don’t you like my hands on you?”

 

“Too much,” he growled. “That is the problem.”

 

“It doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” she said with deliberate coyness.

 

Diego searched her face. “What are you doing, Lucy?”

 

“Finding out if you are as amazing a lover as the papers say you are.”

 

At the word “lover,” heat flared in his face. “I refuse to ruin you. And I know that is not what you want, either.”

 

“Perhaps it is.” She lifted her chin, trying to look sophisticated and certain of her desires, though his words made her feel unsophisticated and uncertain. “Perhaps Peter is right, and I really am a hoyden.”

 

He cupped her chin tenderly. “What you are is curious. And passionate. No matter what English propriety says, that is perfectly natural in a young woman. Why do you think we Spanish have such stern
dueńas?
Because we do not trust the young gentlemen
or
the young ladies when the heat has got hold of them.”

 

“Mrs. Harris is my chaperone,” she said defensively.

 

“And yet you are here alone with me.”

 

“For all the good it does me.” She pulled free of his arms, hurt by his clear rejection. Peter wanted her only for her body, and Diego didn’t even want her for that. “Not only am I a reckless hoyden whom no honorable man would wish to marry, but I’m not even desirable enough to attract a man known for his dalliances.”

 

“
Por Dios, mi dulzura,
” he said, catching her from behind to pull her against his chest. “You know I find you desirable.”

 

“Do I?” Tears clogged her throat. “Peter would already have tried to…to touch me. But you…you probably think I am just a silly English fool. Compared to your…your Russian princesses and…o-opera singers, I am just—”

 

“Sh, sh,
carińo,
” he murmured against her ear, his hands roaming up and down her waist. “You are twice the woman of any of them.”

 

“But not enough to t-tempt you.”

 

Turning her in his arms, he pressed her hand to his chest. “Can you not feel that? My heart pounds like thunder. I could not desire you any more than I do at this moment.”

 

“Then show me,” she said softly. “Show me how you feel. I want to know what I’ve been avoiding all this time.”

 

His face darkened, and he muttered a curse under his breath. “Very well. I will do as you wish. But I will not ruin you. Understand?”

 

“Not really.”

 

He led her to the settee, sat down upon it, then pulled her onto his lap. “I am going to give you pleasure,
querida
. When I am done, you will still be an innocent.” He flashed her a wry smile. “Or rather, you will still be chaste.”

 

That relieved her, then intrigued her. A little thrill of excitement coursed along her spine. “But what about you?”

 

“Me?” he choked out. “I will be in hell. But it is a hell I can stomach. Ruining you is a hell I cannot.”

 

Clearly, marrying her was also a hell he could not. She pushed down her hurt. He’d always told her what to expect
from him. At least she’d have something to remember after he was gone.

 

His hand started raising her skirts.

 

“D-Diego? What are you doing?” She was not so innocent that she didn’t know ruination began with a man lifting a woman’s skirts.

 

“Dallying with you.” He bent her back over his arm, then began to kiss his way to her breasts. “Drinking my fill. Or as much of it as I dare.”

 

His hand left her skirts just long enough to drag her bodice and corset down so he could plunder her bare breast with his mouth. She arched up as an exquisite sensation shot through her, making her clutch at his head to hold him fast.

 

Meanwhile, his hand returned to her skirts, tugging and pulling until they were up around her thighs, exposing her drawers. With the deftness of long experience, he found the slit and slid his fingers inside to touch the part of her only she had dared to touch, the part that grew damp at night when she dreamed of him.

 

Having him touch her
there
gave new meaning to the term “sleight of hand.” It was so astonishing that it made her sigh aloud and press herself against his fingers.

 

“You like that, do you,
querida?
” He rubbed the cleft with a stroke that made her gasp. He raised his head to stare at her with a slumberous glance. “You are so wet, so hot and wet. Will you let me taste your nectar?”

 

“M-my nectar?” Ohh, the dampness. He knew about that?

 

Of course he did. He had done this with many women.

 

Time enough to be jealous of them later. For now, he was hers.

 

“You can taste whatever you want,” she whispered, wondering if he meant “taste” literally. Surely he would not…

 

But as he stretched her back to lie on the settee, then slid far enough down to stare at her private place with decided hunger, she realized he would. He actually intended to put his
lips
…

 

He did exactly that. Good Lord.

 

She shuddered deliciously at the amazing sensation of his mouth covering her
there.
It was…amazing. Downright inspiring. Even magical.

 

The sight of his dark head between her legs sent such excitement soaring through her that she could not tear her eyes from it. Did English men and women ever do this? Or was it just a Spanish custom?

 

No, the harem tales had mentioned it, too. But she and the other girls had decided it was too ridiculous to believe. What man would want to lick someone down there?

 

Clearly Diego would, for his tongue stroked her in shocking ways, lapping at her, toying with her. And it was every bit as talented as his hands, one of which still teased and fondled her breast. He roused her above, he roused her below, until she was so aroused that she ached with her need.

 

“Please…Diego…please,” she begged, sensing that something more lay just beyond her reach.

 

“Patience,
mi dulzura,
” he murmured against her flesh. “Close your eyes. Relax. It will come.”

 

Closing her eyes would mean losing control, which made her nervous, especially when she saw him untie her drawers and slide them off. Yet when he returned to arousing her with his mouth, and she did close her eyes, the pleasure intensified to an almost unbearable degree.

 

Now one of his fingers was thrusting inside her, making
her arch up to meet it. And to meet his tongue, which continued its dance, until a most peculiar heat began in her toes, flashing higher, searing her blood, until it seemed to gather right at the spot his tongue was strafing.

 

She exploded. The most exquisite explosion of pleasure rocked her, making her utter a small cry as she clasped his head against her.

 

For a moment, she lay there relishing it. No one had ever told her about
this.
In the harem tales, a woman’s pleasure, when there was any, was couched in lofty terms she hadn’t understood.

 

She understood now.

 

And she understood something else, too. He had not been given the same pleasure. The harem tales had been quite clear about what constituted pleasure for a man.

 

That was confirmed when she opened her eyes to find him staring at her thighs with a look akin to desperation. Actually, staring at just one thigh. She could almost swear he was looking at her birthmark.

 

No, that was silly. It was barely light enough in here to see it.

 

“Diego,” she whispered, and his gaze jerked to her face. He wore the guilty look of a man who’d just done something very wrong. It was rather endearing. “That was incredible.” She sat up, covering herself with inexplicable modesty, given what she’d just been doing. “But can’t I give
you
pleasure?”

 

“Lucy, I do not think—”

 

Remembering what she’d read, she reached for his breeches buttons. “Surely I could do
something
.”

 

“God help me,” he muttered. “I shall burn in hell for certain.”