Authors: Gaelen Foley
She tried to snatch it out of his grasp, but he lifted it higher with a taunting smile. The diamonds winked and flashed with their bright fire in the darkness.
“Billy!”
“Don’t you want this fine bit o‘ sparkle?”
“Aye,” she answered, borrowing his idiom with a defiant toss of her chin.
He bent his head closer, the moonlight beyond the window casting a silvery glow along his finely chiseled profile and the narrow plane of his cheek. “Give me a kiss, and it’s yours.”
She pulled back and met his aggressive stare with what she hoped was a stern look, but her gaze dipped to his tempting lips, rather spoiling the effect. “It already
is
mine.”
“No, no, my lady, you gave it to me.” His emerald eyes gleamed as he slung the diamond strand around his fingers and swung it before her face, mesmerizing her. “But if you kiss me, I will give it back to you again.”
She gave him a blushing pout. “But, Lord Rackford, we have agreed that we are only friends.”
“A friendly kiss,” he whispered, moving closer, tilting his head slightly.
She felt herself weakening under the potency of his charm. “Perhaps… one.”
His lips skimmed hers, back and forth, in a slow, tantalizing caress that made her quiver. But when he deepened his kiss with leisurely expertise, stroking her neck so seductively, she gave a faint moan and let her body melt back against the door. Her eyes drifted closed. Her head swam with the intoxicating male taste of him. The single-minded passion in his kiss robbed her senses. She was grateful for the solid door behind her, steadying her weak-kneed response.
Rackford trailed his fingertip down her throat to the center of her gown’s neckline. Her chest heaved under his deft, sporting touch. His warm, clever hand slipped down inside the front of her bodice, cupping her breast. She gasped with delight against his luscious mouth as his thumb teased her nipple.
For one sinful moment, she longed for him to tear her clothes off her and take her—simply, roughly claim what she could not bring herself to give of her own free will. He confused her so! It had been so easy to surrender that night in the rookery when she had thought she would never see him again—when there had been no consequences—but now, to indulge in this dangerous desire was to risk placing her entire future in his hands. If their absence were noted in the ballroom below—if someone should come looking for them, find them together in this darkened bedchamber—she would be forced to marry him or face utter ruin. Her crazed heart pounded, torn between yearning and a stubborn refusal of that fate.
She was still determined to be the mistress of her own destiny, but pride had also come into the equation, further complicating matters. That night at the Devonshire ball, she had sworn he would never have control of her. A married couple became one person in the eyes of the law and God—and the man was that person. Mama had railed against it in several of her essays. As Rackford’s friend, she remained his equal. Yet even now she felt her control slipping away with the intoxicating manner in which he was peeling her long white gloves off her, stroking her hands.
He might not even want her anymore once he had possessed her, she worried as her control leaked away under his seduction. What if it was only the thrill of the chase that attracted him—and in any case, why should she compromise?
If she was smart, she could have her cake and eat it, too, said a pragmatic, if rather depraved voice in her head. Once she had fulfilled her duty to old Drummond and was an independent widow, she could simply take the magnificent Lord Rackford as her lover. But that could be years away…
Her body quivered eagerly as his hand crept in a slow caress down her belly. “Shall I pleasure you again?” he murmured softly, ever so willing to give.
She hadn’t the strength to protest, but kissed him with consuming heat as he gently cupped her mound. His searching fingers pressed the gauzy muslin of her skirts between her legs. She breathed a whisper-soft moan against his lips that was all the acquiescence he required. God, she had wanted this for so long.
He sank slowly to his knees, following the curves of her body with his hands. He drew his possessive touch down her hips and thighs and all the way down to her ankles, then slipped his hands beneath her skirts. Leaning her head back against the door, hazy-eyed with desire, she raked her now bare hands through his dark gold hair as he kissed her belly through her gown, his clever hands slowly lifting her skirts.
Her heart hammered as he tilted his head back and gazed hotly into her eyes. She caressed his hard, aquiline face; then he lowered his lashes and bent his head, drawing nearer. What he did then—
ah, what he did
. She had never known such shocked delight as the sensations that exploded within her as he kissed her virginal mound, paying homage to her very femininity. She had seen this love-act in the wicked little blue-book with its wanton sketches, but she could never have imagined such pleasure. She could do naught but give in to her arousal, lustily enjoying his selfless loving as his tongue caressed her exquisitely sensitized pleasure center. His fingers were inside her, stroking her with assiduous care.
Oh, how deliciously wicked he was, she thought, panting, clinging to the doorknob to keep from falling down.
She did not know how much time passed, but it was not long before he brought her to a powerful, soul-deep climax. She let out a series of soft, wild groans “
Billy, Billy
—
oh, God, Billy
.” She clung to him in surrender, fevered, ravished, and raw. All worry, all fear, and all control spiraled away in the whirlwind of joyous sensation.
He stood, taking her gently into his arms. They leaned against the door, holding each other until she finally recovered her wits. He kissed her hair, then lightly grasped her shoulders and turned her around, putting her diamond necklace on her. She stood trembling at his nearness as his fingertips danced at her nape, fastening the clasp. She had never felt so close to anyone, so electrified by another’s presence.
With a yearning deeper than her air of playful mischief revealed, she let her hand graze the hard, throbbing pike of his manhood that nudged her backside as he stood behind her, fretting over the clasp of her necklace. He gasped sharply at her light touch. She glanced up at him over her shoulder in fascination.
Not taking her hand off him, she turned around, exploring him through his trousers.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked huskily, staring at her like he would devour her.
She didn’t answer, absorbed in discovering more. She could feel his body changing with her every caress, swelling to even larger proportions, but he stopped her, capturing her hands. She marveled at how large and strong his hands were compared to her small, dainty ones as he laced his fingers through hers, lowered his head, and kissed her for another long, lingering moment.
When he spoke again, his lips brushing hers, his voice was a velvet whisper. “Do you know I would do anything for you?”
“Billy,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around his lean waist. She laid her head on his chest, entranced by the tingling joy of his embrace, but she did not know how to answer.
He held her close and kissed her hair, pausing for a moment. “I’ve never felt this way before about anyone, Jacinda.” His voice was very soft, cautious. “I just—wanted you to know that.”
She pulled back a small space and tilted her head back in trembling wonder to gaze into his eyes. His stare was earnest yet guarded as he awaited her reaction. Slowly, she lifted her hand and caressed his clean-shaved cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into her gentle touch. She studied him as though discovering him for the first time, unbidden amazement unfurling within her as she realized he was the first, the only man who had ever treated her as an equal. Indeed, next to Lizzie, she considered him her closest friend. But if she was honest with herself, he was more than just a friend.
Much more.
He suddenly turned his head and kissed her hand with a sardonic smile. “Enough torture,” he murmured. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
At a loss for words, she merely nodded and followed him as he opened the door, glanced to the right and left, then beckoned her out into the hallway. Together they went hurrying back through the silent corridors.
Somewhat belatedly, she began to worry about whether or not anyone had noticed their absence. Surely Lord Drummond must be wondering where she and Rackford had stolen off to.
They split up a few moments later, Jacinda returning the way she had come, Rackford once more taking the service corridors. He stole a quick, parting kiss before he opened the servants’ door through which he had come.
“Hey, beautiful,” he called softly as she paused to glance at her reflection in one of the mirrors hung above the console tables in the hallway.
With a blushing smile, she turned around as he poked his head out of the servants’ door one more time.
“Yes?”
“Sweeter than candy,” he murmured wickedly, blowing her a kiss.
She let out a virginal gasp, but before she could reply, he vanished into the shadows. She heard only the faint rhythm of his footfalls fading down the concealed servant staircase. With a slight, blushing smile, she turned back to the candlelit mirror and gazed in private, secretive pleasure at her diamond necklace resting against her glowing, pink skin. She shook her head at her reflection, sighing to see that that rookery scoundrel had left her looking as rumpled and pink-cheeked and as thoroughly well-kissed as she felt.
Quickly smoothing her hair and righting her gown, she flitted back to the ballroom, her slippered feet scarcely touching the ground.
She’s mine
. Oh, yes. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, his errant, feisty, curly-headed darling was finally starting to feel the same attachment he had suffered now for weeks. He was sure of it. Smiling to himself in the darkness, he cheerfully sprang up the front stairs of his father’s house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
By now, the hour was late. He had just arrived home from the Taylor ball. As usual, Gerald the night butler answered the door before he could knock. Rackford flicked the ashes off his cheroot before going in the house. His mother called his smoking “a disgusting habit,” but a man had to have his vices.
God, how he wished he could remove to some fashionable bachelor lodgings, preferably on the other side of the city, he thought, but Sir Anthony and the Bow Street officers who were handling his case wanted him here where it was easier for them to keep an eye on him—not just for their convenience, but for his protection, now that he had sent so many villains to Newgate. Those luxurious bachelor hotels, they said, had too many people always coming and going.
As he crossed the entrance hall and strode up the staircase to the main floor, his thoughts raced back, as they often did, to the exasperating, irresistible Lady Jacinda.
Tonight had been a bold risk, but one he was vastly glad he had taken. That was the problem with all these Society rules, he thought. It was practically a labor of Hercules stealing a moment alone with a girl. In the rookery, the lasses were largely free to spend their time with whomever they chose, and if they liked a chap, they were not stingy with their favors. He was not used to all these obstacles that a man had to scale like the battlements of a citadel: chaperons, her governess, her formidable brothers, the eagle-eyed Society matrons. But he trusted that tonight he had given Jacinda a proper dose of persuading. She must see now how good it would be between them.
Aye, and not a moment too soon. God knew he needed relief. He had stopped her from touching him because he knew he couldn’t be satisfied with anything less than her maidenhead, and no future wife of his was going to be deflowered in another man’s bed. Still, he had to have her soon, or he was going to lose his mind with sheer frustration. Lately he spent far too much time fantasizing about undressing her, untying each dainty ribbon, slowly removing her light, delicate clothing, piece by piece—
“William!” a harsh voice broke rudely into his pleasant thoughts.
He turned around, jarred out of his wayward imaginings to find his father walking toward him down the corridor, his neckcloth hanging untied around his shoulders, his face red with drink. He nearly smiled in irreverent humor at the sight of the man, remembering how Jacinda had scowled at Truro the Terrible over dinner.
Noticing the aggressive light that shone in his father’s glassy emerald eyes, however, Rackford’s smile faded and his whole mood darkened at once. He knew that look, though he had not seen it in years.
Instantly on his guard, he watched his father coming toward him, staggering slightly.
“Put that thing out, you insolent bastard,” the marquess slurred. “You know full well your mother said no smoking in the house. When you’re under my roof, by God, you’ll follow my rules!”
Rackford stared at him for a moment. Apparently his father did not realize that he now had a few inches of height and two stone of weight on him in pure muscle, not to mention fifteen years of fighting for his life.
Perhaps Jacinda’s attempts to civilize him were working, he thought, for although every muscle in his body tensed, he managed to respond like a gentleman. There was a small potted lemon tree in the hallway. Rackford quietly walked over to it and crushed out his cheroot in the loose soil. He straightened up again slowly.
“Forgive me. I didn’t think it would bother anyone.”
“Well, it dashed well bothers me!”
What a churl you are
, he thought, gazing at the man.
“An‘ I’ll tell you something else that bothers me, if you’re askin’,” the drunken marquess went on, his feverish eyes burning ever more brightly. “That little Hawkscliffe harlot you’re always sniffin‘ after.”
Wrath flashed in Rackford’s eyes as his stare locked on his father’s face. “My lord,” he warned, “I will not hear that lady abused in my presence.”
“Lady?” he scoffed. “Forget about ‘er. You gave me your word you’d marry at once, and it’s been nearly two months. Now, you’ve had your time to sow your oats, boy. I’ve spoken with Lord Erhard about his daughter, the redhead with the big tits, and we’ve decided you and she should be wed—”