TemptedByHisKiss (16 page)

She gasped, the sound muffled against his lips as he tilted her hips a little more to slide deeper, using his fingers, and even the heel of his hand, in ways that drove every rational thought from her brain. Tiny breaths panted from her mouth as he caressed her in the most shockingly delicious manner, her initial embarrassment fading against a compulsive need for more.

Breaking their kiss, he pressed her face against his neck. “Let go,” he murmured into her ear. “Let yourself fly.”

And after another pair of rapturous, stroking caresses, she did—her entire body shuddering in a great, cataclysmic burst of pleasure that set every nerve and sinew afire. He held her as she shook, her cries muffled against the starched linen of his neck cloth.

She felt him reach for the buttons on his falls, fingers quivering in his hurry to unfasten his breeches. In the distance a clock struck midnight, the chime echoing its sweet music in twelve, evenly spaced beats. Cade froze, his hand falling still.

Biting out a livid curse, he stepped away from her, his lungs working like bellows as he drew in several ragged breaths. “Cover yourself,” he ordered, his hands turning to fists at his sides as he fought a silent battle of wills.

For a long moment she couldn’t move, her body still caught up in the blissful aftermath of his touch. Forcing herself out of her daze, she pushed at her skirts—nearly stumbling as she leapt the couple inches off the back of the sofa to the floor. Cade reached out to steady her with a hand at her elbow. As soon as it was clear she wouldn’t fall, he let go, turning to make his way across the room.

She shivered, feeling his desertion with a sharpness akin to pain. Hands trembling, she brushed weakly at her skirts, then found her way to a nearby chair. Gratefully, she sank down upon it.

As for Cade, he stood staring into the burning embers, one palm set against the mantel above his bent head. Abruptly, he closed his eyes as though struggling to regain his composure. “Are you capable of returning to the ballroom?” he asked in a brusque tone. “Or do I need to find an excuse for your early departure?”

The ballroom!
Dear Lord, she hadn’t even considered the festivities still going on only a few rooms away. Heat spread upward into her cheeks, making her wonder if she looked as unsettled as she felt.

“You look fine,” he said, as though she’d voiced her thoughts aloud. “Or rather, you will in a few min
utes more, once some of the redness fades from your mouth.”

Instinctively, she lifted a hand to her lips, only then realizing that Cade’s rapacious kisses had left more than a residual tingling behind—her mouth swollen and almost hot.

“You can say you have a headache,” he offered. “No one will question you.”

Why does he sound so cold? she wondered. Had their passion meant nothing to him? Obviously, he’d remembered himself before matters had gone too far for recall, and put a stop to their embrace while she could still claim to be a virgin. As for herself, she’d had no such self-control, her senses completely abandoned to him.

Shoulders straightening, she drew herself upright. “Pray do not trouble yourself, my lord. I am quite well. Now, if you will excuse me.”

“Meg—”

But she couldn’t listen anymore. Jumping to her feet, she fled the room.

Cade took a few steps to follow, then forced himself to halt, cursing under his breath as he did.
Hell and damnation.
What was he doing? Thinking? But wasn’t that the problem? That he hadn’t been thinking?

When he trailed Meg here to the library, he’d intended to separate her from whatever blackguard she had let lead her away from the ball. Yet the instant they were alone, he’d been kissing her himself, craving her with a hunger he knew he hadn’t any right to feel. Christ, he was no better than the rakes of whom he warned her. Worse, actually, since he was supposed to be her friend, a brother figure who was looking out for her well-being.

Some brother, he scoffed. He couldn’t even blame his behavior on an excess of drink, since he’d had no more than a single glass of wine at dinner, and nothing afterward. Like it or not, the fault was entirely his own. When Meg had asked—or rather, demanded—to be allowed to return to the ballroom, he should have let her go. But the uncomfortable truth was that in those moments, he could no more have allowed her to go than he could have cut off his own arm.

He wanted her, hungered for her with a need that was beginning to border on an addiction. Ever since the night she’d come to his room with her poultice and her good wishes for his improved health, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. His dreams were plagued with fantasies of her, most of them so erotic he awakened hard and throbbing, left to beat his fist against the empty sheets in frustration when he realized they had been naught but a chimera. So tonight when she’d been in his arms for real…

I need to leave! Go home to Northumberland where everything is calm and quiet and there are no willowy blond temptresses underfoot to drive me mad.

Yet if he left London, he knew he risked putting Meg’s reputation in jeopardy by appearing to desert her. Then again, if he stayed, might he not end up doing far worse?

He supposed his best course would be to bed some other woman. There were certainly plenty of willing females wherever he went. Were he so inclined, he knew he could find one tonight at this very ball—some eager widow or discontented wife who would relish a furtive tumble or two. But if he took one of them, word would be sure to get out, and he had no wish to disgrace or embarrass Meg.

No, if he wanted to slake his lust, he’d have to do it with a prostitute. There were discreet houses, of course, with clean, healthy girls of whom he could avail himself. If he had any sense, he would find some excuse and go to one now. Yet in spite of the erection still riding him after his aborted encounter with Meg, the thought held little actual appeal.

On a growl, he dragged his fingers through his hair and battled against his frustration and arousal. As soon as he had himself under control, he decided, he would return to the ballroom and endure the rest of the evening. After that…well, he would see.

It took Meg a full twenty minutes inside the ladies’ withdrawing room before she could trust herself enough to rejoin the festivities. Even then her body felt strangely unlike her own, an occasional twinge or flutter reminding her of all the places where Cade’s hands and lips had so recently been.

Afterward, she was dancing when a fresh quiver took her unawares, causing her to set a foot wrong and stumble. Her partner caught her before she fell, an expression of concern on his face. Tossing him an apologetic smile, she recovered the rhythm and resumed the steps with her usual grace.

She nearly overbalanced again when Cade came into the room a half hour later. He didn’t look her way, and after a long, initial glance at him, she did her best not to look at him, either. Somehow she forced herself to talk and laugh and dance, while inside her emotions were in turmoil.
What does Cade mean, kissing me like that? How dare he touch me so intimately, then coolly turn away
?

When the next set drew to a close, she strolled off the dance floor, intending to locate Mallory and the dowager and persuade them to depart. As for Cade…he could make his way home with them or not, as he wished. For her part, she needed time alone in her room to collect her thoughts and make some sense of her jumbled feelings.

Just then a rustle of movement and whispering comment rippled like a breeze through the crowd. A latecomer stood at the ballroom entrance, his neatly trimmed, thick blond hair waving around his comely face like a regal, golden crown. Dressed in the requisite black and white that gentlemen wore to formal occasions, he looked a picture of sophisticated gentility and unspoken command.

Meg stared, along with nearly every other person in the room. “Who is that gentleman?” she murmured to her dance partner, who had yet to leave her side.

“Oh, do you not know? Since his return from the Peninsula, the papers have been talking about him without pause.”

“Which papers?”

“All of them, I believe. That is Lord Everett, the hero of Corunna. They say he rescued two dozen men from the clutches of the French. Whisked them right out from under the frogs’ noses despite a barrage of enemy bullets and cannon fire. Afterward he helped hold off the enemy so the wounded could be loaded onto the troop ships bound for home. I hear he even captured an Imperial French eagle, and is rumored to have stolen secret plans that are aiding Wellesley even as we speak. Apparently, the prince is in thrall over him. So much so he will be awarding Everett a gold cross for valor in a lavish ceremony at court next week.”

“It’s no wonder if he did all that! Most impressive.”

Apparently, everyone else seemed to agree, groups of people making their way forward so they could greet the courageous champion in their midst.

“Shall we say hello?” her dance partner asked as he held out his arm.

Meg hesitated a moment, then accepted his offer with a nod.

From the side of the room, Cade surveyed the milling throng as a crowd gathered in a widening circle around the tall blond man who had just arrived.

“Everett,” he heard someone say as they moved past. Although he’d never met the man, he knew him by reputation. Just as everyone else did, it would seem. If reports were to be believed, the fellow was as brave as the legendary Horatius himself. The ton was certainly showering him with enough adoration to merit such a claim.

Remaining where he stood, Cade sipped a cup of black coffee and watched the fanfare. He caught sight of Meg as she strolled forward on the arm of one of her gentleman admirers. Except for a slight flush that could be attributed to her recent dancing, no one would ever have suspected what the two of them had been doing in the library less than an hour ago. Apparently, she’d had no difficulty regaining her composure. Perhaps she hadn’t been as affected as he had assumed.

His fingers tightened against the delicate porcelain as he took a hasty swallow, the liquid nearly hot enough to scald. Placing the cup against the saucer with a ringing click, he set the drink on a nearby table, then moved toward the ballroom doors. In spite of his earlier resolve
to stay, he’d decided to call for the coach. Once he arrived at his destination, he would have the vehicle sent back for the ladies. As for the destination itself, well, even he still wasn’t sure whether he was returning home this evening or not.

Trying to exit the ballroom proved a challenge, however, since the way was blocked by the crush of Lord Everett’s enthusiastic well-wishers. As for the great man himself, he appeared to take the attention in stride, smiling affably as he conversed and shook hands.

As Cade drew nearer, he heard the silky tone of Everett’s voice, though his words remained indistinct. His step slowed then, his throat and chest tightening. His breathing grew unexpectedly labored and a line of perspiration broke out across his forehead, his skin itching as if a nest of ants were crawling over him. Like some ghastly phantom, the voice from his nightmares began to whisper inside his head.

You can end this. Just tell me, Byron. Tell me.

Nausea surged like a tempest inside Cade’s belly, his hand shaking as he gripped his cane like a lifeline. Swallowing hard, he willed his limbs to carry him forward.

The voice came again as Everett spoke in an otherworldly echo of the remembered whispers ringing inside his head. He squeezed his eyes closed, the scar around his throat throbbing as if he was being garroted all over again.

Tell me and she won’t scream anymore!

Someone jostled him as they edged past. Cade barely noticed, memories flashing in quick succession through his mind.

It’s always a delight to form new acquaintances, especially when the lady is so lovely.

Was that the voice? Or Everett? Suddenly he didn’t know.

“How do you do, my lord,” said a woman in warm, lilting tones. Comforting, familiar tones that wrapped around him like a pair of soothing arms.

Meg.

Cade’s eyes popped open.

“The pleasure is all mine,” the nightmare voice said, speaking again out of Everett’s mouth. As he watched, Everett took Meg’s hand and bent over it with a practiced bow.

Not yours. Mine! So take your damned hands off her!

Cade roared aloud as some atavistic beast sprang to life inside him. All conversation ceased, people’s mouths dropping open as they turned to stare. But he barely noticed, his attention centered solely on one man.

Everett looked up, his gaze meeting Cade’s. In the length of a single second, a silent recognition passed between them, and Cade knew beyond any doubt that a monster stood before him.

“You filthy traitor!” Cade bellowed. Taking three quick, giant steps, he launched himself at the other man.

Women screamed and men shouted, but Cade heard none of it as his hands curved around his enemy’s throat. He squeezed, then squeezed harder, wanting to crush the bastard’s windpipe so he would never be able to draw breath nor speak again. Everett struggled in his grasp, beating fists against Cade’s head and shoulders as the two of them crashed to the floor. The impact sent pain reverberating through Cade’s leg, but he barely felt it, too intent on driving his fingers deeper into the other man’s neck.

Everett’s eyes protruded under the pressure and he gasped for air, twisting in Cade’s hold. Prying at Cade’s hands he kicked his legs as he tried to break free. But Cade hung on, tenacious as a leech, determined not to let go until the other man had turned into a corpse.

Then suddenly he was being wrenched away, hands reaching down to pull him off Everett. He fought, struggling to maintain his hold, but the men surrounding him proved stronger, his grasp on Everett loosening as he was yanked free. He fought on even after they pulled him off, wrestling them so he could go after Everett once again.

Meanwhile, Everett’s concerned friends and admirers reached down to assist him to his feet. Everett’s face was mottled with angry color, his lips tinged with the faintest trace of blue. Cade sneered, glad to see he’d done some damage. He only regretted it hadn’t been more.