Tempt the Devil (25 page)

“Damn this infernal garment. Do you care if I tear it?”

“It's very pretty and it cost you a fortune.” Her voice bubbled with amusement.

He loved her when she teased him. He loved her when she was serious.

Oh, hell, he just loved her.

“I'll buy you another one.” With a sudden savage movement, he grabbed the sides and tore the corset. Her gasp chimed with the rending of the material.

“Stand still,” he whispered. The chemise was pretty too, embroidered to match the corset.

“I can just take it off.” Her voice was unsteady with a mixture of laughter and shock.

“Why stop when I'm ahead?”

He hooked his hand into the back of the chemise and ripped down hard. The silk was so fine, it split with a whisper, to reveal the smooth line of her back down to her lissome waist.

“Why indeed?” she said with a touch of irony, and shrugged the ruined garment from her body.

“You are indeed a glory to behold,” he murmured, running his hands down her spine. Her skin was warm and satiny under his touch.

When he turned her to face him, she placed her palms flat on his chest. He rested his hands on hers, mimicking the way she'd taken his hand when they bent over the bed.

He looked down at her body. The perfect jut of her breasts, the long line of torso, the flat stomach, the sinuous hips. The tawny curls that hid the treasure of her sex.

Between them, his cock rose hard and insistent. She slid one hand down to encircle his engorged organ. Fire blazed through him, blinding him. He shuddered and pressed into her hand.

She kissed him, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and nipping softly. Her hold tightened as she opened her mouth over his. He shook as he fought the excess of pleasure.

He dragged his mouth from hers but only far enough to place a flurry of glancing kisses across cheek and nose and chin. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to make her part of him eternally.

“Get on the bed,” he said hoarsely.

“Still giving out orders?” Her fingers continued their devilish dance on his hot flesh.

“You love it.” He grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto the sheets. She landed with a bounce that made her breasts jiggle

“I might not mind it.” Her voice was breathless with laughter, surprise, and excitement. “Occasionally. Once in a blue moon. Just to keep you quiet.”

He laughed and knelt over her. “No, you love it.”

You love me.

With every moment, he became surer of that. She might never say the words but each action was eloquent of her feelings.

“You're such a conceited devil.”

He nudged his way between her parted legs. She linked her arms around his neck in ready welcome. How could she ever have believed herself cold? She burned like an eternal fire.

He forced words through his pounding arousal. “Next time I do this, I'm going to take my time. Show you why I'm the toast of Vienna.”

“I'll believe that when I see it.” Her taunt ended on a moan as he slid into her with one powerful thrust.

Lifting himself on his elbows, he stared down into her face. Her head tilted back and her lips parted as she fought for breath. Her eyes fluttered shut and moisture sheened her brow and cheeks.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He shifted his hips, pressing deep, seeking the sweetest place. She moaned again, lost in a dark world of desire.

He set the rhythm, each time testing the limits. Each time testing her bliss. Her pattern of sighs told him when he found what he wanted.

“Look at me, Olivia,” he said gruffly.

She opened her eyes and focused on his face. Her pupils were huge, almost swallowing the rich topaz. Her lashes were damp and tangled with tears. No trace of the teasing coquette remained. Instead he felt like he looked into her soul.

The earth-shattering honesty of what he felt for her shook him to the core. She was his true match. She was meant for him. She would be his forever. His body claimed her eternally.

“Don't hold back this time,” she whispered. “I want you completely.”

“I wanted to pleasure you all night,” he said roughly as he withdrew and returned, withdrew and returned. “I wanted to show you everything.”

“Just show me you want me.” She lifted her knees to cradle him between her thighs.

“I want you, Olivia,” he said on one last mighty thrust. He couldn't dam the surge of his seed. Just as he couldn't dam the fatal words any longer.
“I love you.”

The ragged declaration faded into a deep groan as he released his essence into her womb. White light dazzled him and the thunder in his ears overwhelmed all other sound. The stark truth of what he felt for her flung him beyond time and place.

Her fingernails scored his back as she attained her own peak. Her body tightened, draining him of every last drop of love. Even when he finished, her passage clenched around him as if she couldn't bear the radiant communion to end.

Exhausted, he collapsed, burying his head in her shoulder. Struggling for breath. Struggling to return to a world that had changed utterly in the last seconds.

“I love you, Olivia,” he repeated in a shaking voice.

“And I love you, Julian.”

Even through the wild tumult in his blood, he couldn't mistake the bitter, despairing defeat in her voice.

I
t was early evening when Olivia returned from her weekly visit to Leo. Spring had finally arrived, and she mounted the steps to the York Street house in daylight.

Two weeks had passed since that extraordinary night of anguish, conflict, and ecstasy when she and Julian had confessed their love. Two weeks of reveling in a passion beyond her wildest imaginings. Two weeks of relinquishing her battle to hide what the earl meant to her. Two weeks of fatalistically recognizing she was helpless to stop him breaking her heart.

On a deep river of sexual satisfaction, she floated unresisting to her destruction. A woman like her couldn't fall in love. A woman like her couldn't leave herself vulnerable the way she was vulnerable to Julian. Those were the inescapable lessons of a courtesan's existence.

This brittle happiness would exact its price. But dear God, not yet, not yet.

The very fragility of her poignant rapture only made her
treasure each shining moment more. Every day strengthened a reckless determination to seize what joy she could.

She knew his plan to take her to Vienna hadn't altered. The argument about that was postponed, not forgotten. While she believed he did indeed love her for now, old betrayals made her chary of committing her future so completely to a man. Any man.

Even Julian.

How on earth could she go with him? Her life was here. Leo was here. She didn't want to trail the Earl of Erith around the Continent, her only role that of complacent mistress. She didn't want an existence of waiting for her lover to come home from a world where he belonged but she had no place.

She lifted her chin with a gesture of scornful defiance. The future could go to the Devil. She refused to worry about tomorrow until it howled outside for her blood. She'd rather think about Julian making love to her last night, slowly, tenderly, with breathtaking skill. No wonder the ladies in Vienna and Paris and Constantinople had sighed after him. She was inclined to sigh after him herself.

When she entered the house she'd always think of as her private paradise, the butler approached with a troubled expression. “You have a visitor, madam.”

“Who is it, Latham?” She removed her pelisse, gloves, and bonnet and checked her hair in the hallway mirror. The day was blustery and she looked windswept after her long walk across the fields with Leo.

“A young lady. She wouldn't give her name.”

Surprise made her pause. Young
ladies
didn't call on a notorious courtesan. She gathered from his serious demeanor that Latham used the word advisedly.

“Where is she?” Olivia tried to smooth the worst of the untidiness but it was a losing battle.

“In the library, madam.”

“I should go and change.” She was dusty from the journey
and her skirt was stained after brushing against pollen-laden blossom in the hedgerows.

“The young lady has waited over an hour, madam.”

Olivia turned away from the mirror and met Latham's grave eyes. Her imperturbable butler desperately wanted this chit out of the house but was too discreet to say so.

“Ah. Thank you. In that case, she'll have to bear my travel dirt. I'll go right in.”

He bowed. “I believe that is best, madam.”

Foreboding tinged Olivia's curiosity as she went through to the charming ground floor room she rarely used. Her life in this house was mainly confined to the decadent salons of sin upstairs.

At her entrance, a heavily veiled figure in a black gown sprang up from where she sat near the unlit fire. She was small and round. Under all that bombazine, it was hard to tell much else about her.

“I'm Olivia Raines. I believe you wish to see me.” Olivia peered beneath the layers of material.

How on earth had Latham worked out this woman shouldn't be here? She could be anyone from the Duchess of Kent to a scrubber woman. Well, perhaps not a scrubber woman. Her overpowering clothing reeked expense.

With an emphatic gesture, the woman raised gloved hands and flung back the veiling.

Olivia's belly clenched with a bilious mixture of horror and shock. Latham was right to be worried.

The girl stood proudly and glared at Olivia with open hatred. “I'm Roma Southwood, Lord Erith's daughter.”

Olivia ignored the girl's animosity and dropped into a brief curtsy. It was only to be expected that a virgin of good family should despise a harlot. Those were the rules of the world they lived in. But what in heaven's name was that virgin doing in the harlot's house? And how could Olivia get her home without igniting an almighty scandal?

“I know who you are, my lady,” she said calmly.

“Then you'll know why I'm here.” The girl vibrated with contempt.

“No. But I know you need to leave. You've been in my house far too long already.”

“It's not your house. It's my father's house. You're his whore. On whom he sates his disgusting passions.”

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Olivia suppressed a spurt of amusement. Young Lady Roma had an adolescent taste for drama. The funereal thickness of her apparel and the severely pulled back hairstyle made it clear she'd arrived anticipating a scene of operatic proportions.

“Don't you dare laugh at me.” The girl's fists clenched at her sides and she took a threatening step toward Olivia. “You're nothing but a…a low-born trollop who spreads her legs for any blackguard with coin to pay for the dubious privilege.”

“Perfectly true,” Olivia said with equanimity, refusing to rise to the theatrical rhetoric.

At Olivia's easy acceptance of the insult, color rose in Lady Roma's cheeks and lent her a genuine beauty. She was pretty in a very English way, with fine features and blue eyes and shining brown hair. Olivia could only imagine Erith's daughter took after Joanna. Julian was dark as a Gypsy.

“I…”

Olivia took pity on her. And remembered what was vitally important here. This was Julian's beloved, troubled daughter, who deserved all her care and protection.

“Lady Roma, if anyone discovers you visited your father's mistress, your reputation will be in tatters. You must go. My servants will call a hackney to take you home, and you can leave by the back garden. My advice is to get out a few streets before you reach Erith House so nobody connects you with this address.”

The girl's jaw set in a stubborn line. For a fleeting moment she looked like her father in one of his more difficult humors. “I'm not going until I've said my piece.”

“Please listen,” Olivia said urgently. “Perhaps you haven't considered the risks of coming here. Pardon my frankness, but it was fatally foolish. You have a wonderful marriage awaiting you, you're the darling of society. But you could lose everything if it becomes public knowledge that you've spoken to me. The longer you stay, the more danger you're in.”

“I'm doing no harm,” the girl said sulkily.

“Your world won't see it the same way. For your own sake, for your father's sake, please go. You can send me a letter. I promise I'll read it.”

“I want to tell you face-to-face. I want you to see how you're ruining my life. And my brother's life. And my father's life.”

Olivia grimly realized she wasn't going to shift the girl until this distasteful encounter had run its course. All she could do was make sure it ended as quickly as possible and with no negative consequences.

“Won't you sit down?” She gestured to one of the graceful Sheraton chairs near the window.

Lady Roma visibly bristled. “Why?”

Olivia sighed. Once, she might have grown into just such a self-absorbed chit. Her father had been a gentleman and wealthy enough to indulge his only daughter. But what had happened to her since placed an unbridgeable chasm between her and this spoiled, headstrong girl.

She kept her voice level. “Because I've been traveling all day. If a girl young enough to be my daughter plans to lecture me, I'd at least like to be comfortable.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Really?” Olivia subsided into the chair. “You'll forgive my rudeness then.”

The girl seemed oblivious to any irony in the words.

The door opened and Latham entered bearing a tray. “I took the liberty of arranging refreshments, madam.” He bowed to Lady Roma. “My lady.”

“I don't want tea, Latham,” she snapped, confirming Olivia's suspicion that Latham was well acquainted with her unwelcome caller.

“Thank you, Latham. I do. The carriage ride was long and dusty.”

“Very good, madam.” He didn't react to Lady Roma's discourtesy. While Roma stood in mutinous silence beside the fireplace, he set out the tea things on a table in front of Olivia.

After Latham left, Olivia poured a cup of tea and looked up at Roma. “Are you sure you don't want some?”

Roma scowled. “I didn't come here to drink tea!”

Olivia smiled again. Had she ever been so young? She didn't think so.

“No, you came for a row.”

“I came to ask that you do the honorable thing. Not that a woman like you understands honor.”

“I wonder that you know anything about a woman like me,” Olivia said calmly. Ignoring Roma's glower, she poured a second cup and held it out. “Do you want lemon?”

Grudgingly, Roma shook her head. “No, thank you. Just a little sugar and milk.”

With a pout that Olivia guessed was habitual, Lady Roma accepted the cup and, clearly not noticing what she did, sat on the chair across the tea table. She even tugged off her black gloves and untied and removed her bonnet.

Olivia sipped her tea, dearly wishing it was a brandy. And wouldn't that shock proper Lady Roma? Although probably it would only confirm that her father shared a den of iniquity with his wanton mistress.

“How did you find out about me? A girl of good breeding shouldn't be aware of her father's liaisons. She shouldn't be aware of anyone's liaisons.”

“I'm not a fool,” Roma said sullenly, and lifted her cup to take a substantial mouthful. “You're notorious. And after that disgraceful performance you and my father put on at
Lord Peregrine Montjoy's ball, your affair has been the tattle of town.”

Olivia had known her appearance with Erith would cause a flutter in her own disreputable world. She hadn't realized it might reach the ears of a sheltered virgin of the highest estate.

“I can only apologize.” She put down her tea and frowned. “Your father will be distressed to know people are telling tales.”

She extended a plate of sandwiches, expecting a rebuff, but Lady Roma took one readily enough. If she'd been waiting more than an hour, she must be famished.

“I wanted to know.” Lady Roma devoured her sandwich and took another, then a mouthful of tea. “I've been quizzing the servants.”

Olivia stiffened. “That's not suitable behavior.”

Roma slammed the delicate china cup down on the tea tray so hard that liquid sloshed into the saucer. “How would you know? You're nothing but a doxy.”

“I know a little about manners,” Olivia said quietly. This time the rebuke pierced the girl's anger and she had the grace to blush again.

“It's all over London that you're going to Vienna with him.”

Olivia sighed. “Lady Roma, forgive me for saying so, but none of this is your concern. If you'll take my advice, you'll go home, prepare for your wedding, and forget we ever met. Certainly you must never come here again.”

“Why should you care? You've done nothing but cause trouble ever since my father met you.”

“Sadly, I think he'd agree with you.” Olivia tried and failed to lighten the atmosphere. She became serious again. “Please tell me what you want, then you really must go. I assume you haven't just come here to chastise me for my sins.”

“No. I've come here to…” The girl straightened and stared hard at Olivia. Her blue eyes were full of desperate
hurt and unhappiness. She took a deep breath then spoke in a rush. “If you retain even a shred of decency, you'll send my father back to his family.”

She was so young and vulnerable, Olivia couldn't help but think of Leo. “I haven't taken your father, my dear.” She reached forward to touch the girl's hand. She expected Lady Roma to withdraw in horror but the girl just stared at her with a stubborn misery that made Olivia ache with compassion. “He loves you very much.”

“No, he doesn't. He loves you. But you can't have him. He came back to make peace with his family. You should leave him to us. What's one man more or less to you? You'll find a new lover quickly enough. But he's the only father I've got.”

It was the wail of an overindulged child. But a child whose heart was breaking. “He has a right to his own life, Lady Roma.”

“No, he belongs to us. To William and me.”

“You're about to be married, to establish your own family.”

“I want my children to know their grandfather. Better than I ever knew my father.”

“He's going back to Vienna anyway.”

“Only because we haven't had a chance to ask him to stay. He's always here with you in this house.”

“That's not true.” Although Olivia was guiltily aware that she'd taken over Julian's thoughts the way he'd taken over hers. That's what happened when you loved someone.

“It is true. I hate that my father cares more for his strumpet than he does for his children. I hate that he shares himself with you and not with the family who have longed for his return for so many years. He's here yet he's still absent.” She burst into tears.

“Oh, child, don't take on so.” With her free hand, Olivia fished in her pocket and passed the distraught girl a creased handkerchief.

Lady Roma's shaking fingers closed around the pollen-stained scrap of lace and she pressed it to her face. Her voice was choked. “I had to see you, to tell you to let him go.”