Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (5 page)

He unfolded his body in a way that was at once predatory, yet unthreatening. “Is this your first time alone with a man?”

She released a small scoff. “It’s that obvious, is it?”

He chuckled low, but there was no joy in the sound. Rather, it seemed to echo with disappointment. “I should have guessed.” Then his gaze homed in on her, sharp and demanding. “Why?”

“Why is it obvious?”

“No, why are you looking to be deflowered in a place of sinners by a man you—” He scoffed. “I was going to say hardly know, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. Who are you, Lady V, that this would be your recourse?”

Confessing to Grace was one thing. To bare her soul, her frustrations to this man who could have any woman he wanted, was beyond the pale. “Because I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. No one faults men for exploring their desires. Why should women not have the same consideration?”

“Because they are so much better than us.”

“Yet the carnal act equalizes us, don’t you think?”

“You are a woman of remarkable notions.”

She released a quick breath of air in frustration. “You talk about how beautiful the body is and how we shouldn’t hide it away. Why should what passes between a man and a woman be shrouded in whispers and only talked about in dark corners? Why must women repress their natural urges?”

Oh, she should be quiet now. He was studying her like she’d said something both profound and stupid.

“Do you have
urges
?” he asked quietly.

“Of course I do. And I don’t believe it’s wrong to have them. It’s why I’m here.”

He trailed the knuckle of his forefinger along her chin, and she almost removed the mask so he could outline the curve of her cheek.

“If I were any other man, I’d assuage your nervousness and have you on your back in a trice. Unfortunately for us both, I don’t bed virgins.”

Profound disappointment slammed into her. She should have taken comfort from the regret in his voice. Instead, she was somewhat cross. Was even her virginity to be held against her? “Why?”

“Because I prefer it hard and rough. I want women screaming from pleasure, not pain. A woman experiences discomfort the first time. You deserve someone who has a bit more patience. As a matter of fact, it should be someone who has a care for you, someone who would place your pleasures above his own. It should be someone you love; even if that love doesn’t last past the coupling, it should exist beforehand.”

“Your first time, did you love her?” She held up her hand to stay whatever response he might offer. “My apologies. It’s not my business.”

His eyes grew warm, his smile became one of fond remembrance. “I was madly in love with her, for an entire fortnight. A farmer’s daughter, with hair the color of wheat and eyes the shade of a new leaf in spring. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to please her. Nothing she wouldn’t do to please me. The moon was full the night she introduced me to the pleasures of a woman’s body. There was a new moon the night I discovered her in the hayloft doing the same for another fellow. But still, I can’t look at a full moon without thinking of long limbs, warm flesh, and the fragrance of raw sex. The first time happens only once, Lady V. Be a little in love with him.”

Dear God, she thought she might have fallen a bit in love right then. Just a little. She couldn’t help looking over at the bed with a touch of longing.

“Gra—” She stopped. No real names, nothing to give away her identity. “My friend tried to explain to me why coming here was such an awful idea. She wasn’t nearly as eloquent as you.”

“Hardly eloquent.” He returned to the sofa and begun tugging on his boots. “I’ll escort you to your carriage.”

“I took a hansom. Less chance of my adventures being discovered that way.”

He stood. “I’ll have my driver give you a lift home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I’m not going to have you wandering the streets searching for a cab this time of night, and I’m too indolent to go searching with you.”

“My anonymity will be compromised.”

“I’ll have my driver swear an oath not to tell me where he took you.” He approached her. “I may be a rogue, but I respect the purpose of this place. Your secrets are safe with me.”

It was probably foolish, but she believed him. “What about your camera equipment?”

“I’ll return for it after I’ve seen you safely delivered from here.”

She strolled to the door, very much aware of his footsteps echoing behind her. She turned the key in the lock, wrapped her hand around the knob, stared at the dark wood—

“I don’t suppose you would at least kiss me?” She despised that she’d been reduced to pleading but to leave with nothing at all after all the planning, preparation, and risk seemed doubly unfair.

“Have you never been kissed?”

Mortification swamped her, but it was easier knowing that he had no idea who she was or how old or how unappealing. “Never.”

She was aware of him moving nearer, the heat of his body radiating from him, enveloping her. Swallowing hard, she was on the verge of turning around when his mouth came to rest at the nape of her neck. She barely recalled that she’d wanted his lips on hers, as she became aware of dewy moisture gathering in a small circle on her skin, warmth seeping into her muscles and bones, traveling slowly yet ever so intensely through her, a delicious shiver passing in its wake. If he could create such sensations with only his mouth—

What a fool she was to have changed her mind. How ridiculous she would appear if she changed it once again. But even if she did alter her course, he wouldn’t be the one to satisfy the cravings he was stirring to life. She was still a virgin, not at all his preference.

His hand came around, his fingers brushing over her chin but settling in to turn her face back slightly, then his mouth blanketed hers with unerring accuracy. His other hand cradled the back of her head while his tongue outlined her lips, before urging them to part. He took the kiss deep, so deep, exploring her mouth as she imagined he’d explored a good deal of the world, slowly, thoroughly, giving his undivided attention to every minute detail. He savored. He worshipped.

His guttural groan echoed between them, and she felt it rumbling through his chest, pressed against her back. Moaning, she was astounded by the intimacy of this prelude to something far more primitive. This man took; he gave no quarter. In bed, he would have conquered her, and yet she could not help but believe that she would have come away the conqueror.

She almost wept with longing when he drew back and lightly stroked his thumb over her tingling, swollen, and damp lips. Too many shadows prevented her from reading his eyes, his expression.

“You make me regret that I have an aversion to virgins,” he said, his voice a low thrum that skittered through her.

“You make me regret that I turned cowardly.”

“Not cowardly. You ensured you don’t awaken in the morning with misgivings.”

She questioned if it were possible for a woman to awaken with anything other than triumph after being with him. Reaching past her, he opened the door. “Let’s get a move on, shall we, before we both change our minds?”

She wasn’t convinced that would be such a bad thing. He escorted her to the changing room. When a maid finished helping her dress, Minerva found him waiting in the hallway, his back to the wall, his gaze distant, and she wondered where his thoughts had taken him. Still wearing her mask, she was grateful that he would never know the identity of the woman who had made a fool of herself this evening.

Offering his arm, he led her out to the street where carriages were lined up. They reached the coach bearing his ducal crest. A footman and a driver were standing near the horses. They both came to attention.

“Wilkins, you’ll be taking the lady home. She’s going to give you her address. Should either of you gentlemen ever tell me or anyone where you delivered her, I shall cut out your tongue.” With an ironic twist of his lips, he looked at Minerva. “Sufficient to guard your identity?”

Even knowing it was no doubt an idle threat, and he’d simply sack the man, she said, “Yes, thank you.” She whispered her address to the driver. The footman opened the door. Ashebury handed her up.

“Good night, my lady.”

She paused in settling onto the seat. “How do you know I’m a lady?” Although she wasn’t one who should be addressed as such. Her mother was the daughter of a duke, but her father was a commoner.

“The way you hold yourself, the way you move, the way you speak. And the fact that you came here, hoping for something more than a common tupping. I hope at some point you find what you’re searching for.”

Strange how she was no longer certain that she knew precisely what it was. “I hope you get your photograph. I suppose you’ll go inside and find a willing lady.”

Slowly he shook his head. “No. You were what I wanted tonight. I never settle for substitutes.”

He slammed the door shut. With a jerk, the coach took off. Minerva removed her mask, set it on her lap, and leaned back into the plush padding of the carriage.

You were what I wanted tonight.

She wondered if he would have said the same if he’d known who she was.

Chapter 4

S
HE smelled of verbena.

Lounging in a chair before the fireplace in his library long past midnight, sipping his scotch, Ashe was aware of her fragrance lingering on his fingers, her taste haunting his palate. He couldn’t determine why he’d let her go so easily, why’d he’d not worked harder to convince her to pose for him, why he’d turned away the opportunity to bed her. Granted, he’d never taken a woman’s virginity. He’d spoken true regarding his aversion to deflowering a woman, but going against his preferences seemed a small price to pay in order to uncover the secrets of such an intriguing woman.

She’d been at the Nightingale Club for more than simply determining what all the fuss was about. Something more compelling had driven her there, just as he was driven by the ghosts of his past. While he’d not been on the railway car, he might as well have been, because he felt as though he’d died alongside his parents in the fiery aftermath of the trains colliding. When they were departing for the railway station, he’d been so angry with them for leaving him yet again, that he’d shouted at their retreating backs that he hated them. His nanny had scolded him, rapped his knuckles with her ruler, and when he was still moping about by nightfall, had sent him to bed without his supper.

It was one of the last punishments he ever received.

The Marquess of Marsden seldom punished. Wandering the hallways like a wraith, he’d barely known they were there. The boys had been allowed to roam around as they pleased. The butler was too old to be much of a disciplinarian. The cook prepared meals, often containing more sweets than nourishment because they were “poor orphaned lads.” If they hadn’t spent so much time running over the moors, they’d have probably become little tubby lads who could do no more than roll over the grounds. But they had run wild, climbing trees, scrambling over ruins, and breaking more than one bone each. Ashe had once walked with a broken ankle to the nearby village to have a physician patch him up. No one could claim that they weren’t hardy although a good many had declared them uncivilized. They had a series of schoolmasters who attempted to reform them, but they were beyond reforming.

Being familiar with how easily and swiftly death could come to call, they wanted to get as much out of life as they could. So they did as they pleased.

And it would have pleased him to have bedded tonight’s mysterious woman. To have captured more than a glimpse of ankle and calf. To have focused his lens on her—

He heard a thud and rattle in the hallway as though someone had knocked into a table, followed quickly by a deep-voiced apology, probably to the object itself as there were no servants wandering the residence this time of night. Looking toward the door, he watched as Edward Alcott stumbled into the room.

“There you are,” Edward announced. “I’ve been looking for you. I’m in need of lodgings. My brother’s blasted wife has kicked me out.”

He staggered to the table housing spirits, and, with an awkward clumsiness that threatened to upend more than one decanter, poured himself a drink. “She claims I smell like a distillery, doesn’t approve of the hours I keep, and thinks I’m a bad influence.”

“Julia seems to have pegged you quite accurately.”

With a scowl, Edward dropped into the chair opposite Ashe’s. “That may be, but still I don’t know what Grey sees in that beastly woman. She’s an utter nag, no fun whatsoever. She won’t even let him go on adventures with us.”

“Why would you want him to? The two of you only argue when you’re together.” They were constantly at each other. Ashe and Locksley had learned to ignore them, not to interfere in all their little spats. Eventually, the brothers would resolve whatever the issue was and move on to another.

“Because he’s my brother.”

The simple statement seemed to carry a wealth of power and truth behind it. Ashe had no siblings, although Edward, Grey, and Locke were as close to being his brothers as anyone could be and not be related by blood.

“Anyway,” Edward murmured, “I was hoping you could spare a bed for a few nights. If not, I’ll make do at the club.”

“You can stay here as long as you need. I’ve no plans for the guest rooms.”

“You’re a sport.” He settled back in the chair, sipped his scotch, then lifted his glass. “It’s good to be back in London. Plenty of scotch here, gaming hells, and women. Tonight, I indulged in all three. Think I shall do the same tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to Julia’s soiree?” The countess had wanted to host a celebration of their return.

“Of course I’ll be there, but it’s not going to go on all night now, is it? She’ll leave us with plenty of hours for mischief after. So what did you do this evening?”

“I went to the Nightingale.”

Edward grinned. “You do like your women classy.”

“I don’t know how classy a woman is if she’s married and searching for a lover.”

“They’re not all married. I’ve deflowered a couple.”

Ashe’s stomach clenched with the thought that maybe Lady V had returned—

“Not tonight.” He was surprised that he sounded as though he were growling.

Edward scoffed. “No, not tonight. Too many games have to be played there, ladies protected. This evening I wanted a woman with no reputation to defend. Had two of them actually. Sweet girls.”

“And you wonder why Julia finds you offensive?”

“The woman has no spirit of adventure. She is no doubt as boring in bed as she is out of it. I’m surprised Grey hasn’t taken on a mistress.”

Although they’d been married for a little over two years, it was unlikely the length of time would matter. “He loves her. Besides, he was never quite as wild as the rest of us.”

“He thought he had to be responsible, set an example for me.” Edward shrugged. “I’m glad to be the second son and not have responsibilities. Besides, as the younger brother, I’m to be indulged.”

“You’re younger by all of two minutes.”

“More like an hour, I think. I seem to recall Nanny telling us that at some point—before the world went topsy-turvy.” The night their parents died. None of them liked to talk about it although Ashe was more likely to refer to it as the night all went to hell.

“Did you meet anyone of interest tonight?” Edward asked.

Ashe wasn’t surprised that Edward was shifting the conversation away from himself. In spite of Edward’s need for attention, he didn’t like to divulge much about his personal matters. It was a trait they had in common.

“No.” Ashe couldn’t explain his reasoning, but he didn’t want Edward heading to the Nightingale with the purpose of deflowering Lady V. He expected she would return at some point. Based on the kiss they shared, she was an extremely passionate woman with untapped desires. He’d been so incredibly tempted to remove the mask, to discover her identity.

Damn his obsession with capturing the perfection of the human form. Damn his aversion to taking a woman’s innocence. She had wanted to be bedded. He should have obliged, instead of spouting all the drivel about love and the farmer’s daughter who had broken his heart with her callous betrayal. It hadn’t helped that it had been Edward in the blasted hayloft with her. But that was long ago, and with distance, he came to realize his heart had been barely bruised. Still, he did have fond memories of the girl. Might have had fond memories of Lady V if he’d truly thought she understood exactly what she was getting into. There had been moments when she’d seemed a woman of the world, strong and tough. And others when she had seemed almost naive. Innocent. Too trusting.

The women who usually visited the Nightingale had been hardened by something in life: an uncaring husband, a cruel one, an indifferent one. A disappointing lover. They’d given up on dreams, love, and happy-ever-afters. Lady V didn’t fit the mold of those who usually frequented the place. He nearly scoffed aloud. What did he truly know about her? Perhaps she didn’t deserve love. Perhaps she was a termagant. Or unlikeable. Maybe she was dying. Maybe she was merely young and foolish.

Why hadn’t he questioned her? Why hadn’t he cared about her reasons for being there? Because, like Edward, he was accustomed to merely caring about his own needs and desires. She wasn’t the fool. He was. For missing an opportunity simply because something about her had struck him as fanciful, had made him believe she deserved more than an anonymous coupling.

But it had been what she’d wanted. It had been her choice to go there. Who was he to question it?

Who the devil was she? Lady V. No doubt, for her, the V stood for virgin. For him, it was verbena. He brought his glass to his lips, and her scent wafted around him, caused a tightening in his gut. If he seduced her properly, she would pose for him. But to seduce her properly, he needed to know more about her. He needed to know who she was.

He shot to his feet. “I’m going out. Take whichever bedchamber suits you.”

Edward shoved himself out of the chair, then leaned on it for support. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, it’s a personal matter.”

“Has she a name?”

The problem with growing up with someone was that he tended to know him too well. “I’m sure she does. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to learn it.”

Leaving Edward to ponder the cryptic statement, Ashe went in search of his coachman to have his vehicle readied. It was after midnight, but his man was accustomed to his keeping odd hours. Ashe felt no degree of remorse when Wilkins, dressed in his nightclothes, answered the door to his bedchamber.

“What address did she give you?” Ashe demanded.

Wilkins blinked, clearly flummoxed by the question.

“The woman at the Nightingale, the one I had you take home,” Ashe explained.

“I rather fancy keeping my tongue, Your Grace.”

Ashe sighed. “Right.” He had a good many faults, but lying to women wasn’t one of them. He’d given her his word that neither his driver nor footman would tell him the address. To gain what he wanted from her, he required her trust. If his driver told him—

“You can’t tell me the address but you can take me there.” He could see the discomfiture cross Wilkins’s face. “Look, man, I told her that you wouldn’t
tell
me. I didn’t promise you wouldn’t divulge it in some other manner. I realize it’s semantics, but it works. Now come on, get dressed. I want to see where she lives.”

Hopefully, he would recognize the house, would know who resided there. If he didn’t, he would find someone who knew, or he’d send Wilkins to the servants’ door to make discreet inquiries among the staff. Determining her family was the first step to figuring out who she was.

Nearly an hour later, Ashe was staring at the building, one with which he was far too familiar. As he hadn’t bothered to awaken the footman, Wilkins had opened the coach door for him and was now standing beside him.

“She had you bring her to the Twin Dragons?” Ashe asked, incredulously. A few years earlier, Drake Darling had extended membership in his exclusive gaming hell to women.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Did she go in?”

“Marched right up the steps. Footman opened the door before she got there. Didn’t appear that she had to show her membership card.”

That Lady V would come here rather than being returned home indicated she didn’t trust him, was extremely clever, and had a reputation to protect. Or perhaps she had a gambling addiction. She’d certainly been playing the odds tonight at the Nightingale.

“So she comes here on a regular basis. She’s known,” Ashe murmured.

“It would appear so.”

It was unlikely that she was still there, but on the off chance . . . he bounded up the steps. Unlike her, he did have to present his membership card. He’d not been to the place since he returned to London. Once inside, he stopped by the counter, where a woman was only too happy to take coats and keep track of them. She smiled at him.

“Have you seen—” he began, not certain where to go from there. When Lady V had emerged from the dressing room at the Nightingale, she’d been wearing a dark green cape over her pale green gown. How could he describe her? Her hair was some shade of brown, which he couldn’t properly identify because of the dimness at the Nightingale. Dark eyes that could belong to any woman although the shade could have been an illusion caused by the absence of any significant light. Not terribly tall. That was a certainty. Not heavyset but not particularly slender, either. She was the sort a man could hold on to, and dammit all if he wasn’t suddenly desperate to do just that.

The clerk was waiting expectantly, leaving Ashe to feel completely idiotic. He was accustomed to being in charge of a situation. He didn’t like that she had such control over him, could make him lose sight of all rational thought. “Never mind.”

He strode into the gaming area. This time of night, there were gents aplenty, only about a half dozen ladies. But not a single female garbed in pale green. She could be in the area restricted to women. He wasn’t going to send someone in to search for her. That wouldn’t gain her trust. And again, he couldn’t provide an accurate description. He might know her if he saw her, but then again, he might merely make a fool of himself.

Still, he walked the perimeter of the room, searching. He meandered between the gaming tables, wandered into other areas that were open to both genders. Surely, if she spotted him, a measure of surprise would cross her features. But then there were so few women, and while they acknowledged him—a couple even seemed quite pleased to discover he’d returned to London—none of them seemed taken aback, embarrassed, or nervous by his presence. She was either a damned fine actress, or she wasn’t here.

Disappointed, he acknowledged it was most likely the latter.

However, knowing she frequented this establishment increased his chances of finding her at some point. He’d return here tomorrow night after Julia’s blasted affair.

M
INERVA was curled on a sofa in the morning room reading Brontë when Grace walked in. Considered family, she didn’t require a butler announce her arrival. Her eyes filled with worry, she quickly crossed the room, sat on the sofa, and searched Minerva’s face. “How are you this morning?”