The Casanova Code (19 page)

“You came,” he whispered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

She pulled back, enjoying the delicious sensation of Ashton’s stubble scraping her skin. Did Walter ever generate this kind of dark enticing stubble? She didn’t think so—all the more reason to revel in it now. “Of course, I came. You said you needed me.”

His eyes darkened and smoldered; it was the only way to describe how the heat from his gaze affected her insides . . . or maybe it was the heat of hellfire. She could almost hear Faith whispering in her ear that now that she’d entered the devil’s playground, she could expect little else. No, she reassured herself, Ashton Trewelyn could have any woman in all of England. He would not smolder for the ordinary and maybe slightly peculiar Edwina and yet . . . his fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her back to press against his chest. Panic that he might have misunderstood her purpose in coming settled in her stomach.

“Where do we start?” she asked in a rush, hoping to deffuse his kisses.

His gaze unfocused, a slight smile pulled at his lips. “I’m more interested in where we stop.”

She attempted to pull back, but his hold was strong. “Our time to look for additional notes is limited,” she said. When he didn’t immediately respond, she added, “To break the code?”

He looked as if she were speaking gibberish, but then his eyes cleared, his lips tightened, and he released her. “Yes.” He inhaled deeply. “The notes.”

“We should get started,” Edwina said, almost wishing she hadn’t spoken. Her lips tingled for his return. What would have happened if her decidedly practical nature hadn’t interrupted? “We only have a few hours.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He stepped back, perhaps a bit unsteady on his feet. His eyes closed briefly as if he were offering a prayer. When he opened them again, his face had cleared of all expression except that of a reluctant expectation as if time had stopped and the world held its collective breath for the space of this one moment. “Where would you like to start?” he asked tentatively.

She knew immediately. “The secret gallery.”

C
OULD
ANY
WOMAN
POSSIBLY
BE
MORE
FRUSTRAT
ing?

One minute she was melting in his arms, enjoying kisses placed to her intoxicating neck—at least, he knew
he
was enjoying them. The next minute she spoke of codes and messages as if completely unaware of the passionate heat she’d unleashed by her mere presence. And then, just as he was regaining his senses and ability to think without the narrowing focus of rampant lust, she invites him to accompany her to his father’s secret chamber of erotic works.

Dear Lord, with those three words he thought she had answered his dreams. Desire and lust resurged that he might sweep her into his arms and carry her to the chamber to explore the wonders and intimacies of their surroundings. But he hesitated . . . something was off balance. Something wasn’t quite as it should be. She had just invited him to that shameless gallery, yet she remained wrapped tightly in her cloak, hugging that embellished sack to her chest, gazing at him without the fire that consumed him. She didn’t fit the pattern of his expectations.

He had thought that should she respond to his invitation to come to his residence, knowing full well that no chaperones, no family, no saviors of any sort would be present, then he would know that she was willing to ignore society’s rules to be with him. Now he wondered if his reasoning was valid, which was troublesome in itself. However, if she wasn’t here to advance the intimacy that had begun in their shared letters and conversations, then why did she insist on going to the gallery?

“Would you like me to take your cloak and your . . . ?” He twirled his finger at the cloth bag that he assumed carried her ever-present journal.

Her eyes rounded. “No,” she insisted. “If they were to be discovered, my presence would be known.”

“No one is here, Edwina,” he reassured her. “There will be no interruptions.”

She clutched the bag as if her very life depended on it. “Just to be safe, I’d like to keep them with me.”

She led the way to the gallery—led the way—then stepped aside to watch him pull the lever, all with a strange sort of urgency, as if she couldn’t wait to get inside. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was being pursued. The thought of some sort of matrimonial trap came to mind.

“Does someone know you’re here?” he asked suspiciously, half expecting that crazy friend of hers, Claire, to come pounding at the door.

“No.” She looked at him as if his sanity was in question. “Why would I tell anyone? This is not exactly proper.” She looked askance. “I may be peculiar but I’m not—”

“Who said you were peculiar?” He engaged the lever that opened the secret door, then frowned back at her. “I might describe you as many things, Edwina Hargrove, but
peculiar
would not be one of them. I might say you were talented, intelligent, interesting, engaging . . .” He stepped into the small passageway and opened the second door that led to the chamber of erotic prints. “Sensitive, highly desirable, adventurous—”

“Did you say ‘highly desirable’?” She looked at him in wonder.

Dear Lord, did she not have a clue that she made his blood turn to liquid fire? How his cock was even now straining to find her heat? How his fingers trembled with the overwhelming desire to pull her close and kiss those softly parted lips into total submission?

He pushed open the second door to his father’s illicit and highly erotic gallery, a devil’s playground if ever one existed, then looked back over his shoulder to where she impatiently waited.

“Absolutely.”

• • •

A
PLEASANT
TREMOR
SLIPPED
DOWN
E
DWINA
’
S
SPINE
. N
O
one had ever considered her highly desirable before, at least not for reasons unassociated with her father. She watched him lean on his walking stick as he fumbled to light the gas jet. She knew him to be observant and humorous from his letters, compassionate for the way he cared about his younger half brother, intelligent from his observations about the constellations and weaponry, and handsome because the sight of him took her breath away. Heat singed her cheeks. “I find you to be highly desirable as well.”

He lit the second jet, then turned toward her with a gleam in his eyes that made the strength in her legs dissolve like sugar in tea. She glanced quickly to the shelves that held the netsuke, reminding herself of the real reason for her visit to this chamber. Now that she’d managed to gain access to the secret gallery, she’d need to find a way to return the netsuke in her reticule to its place on the shelves without notice.

As light filled the room, her gaze slipped to the prints on the wall. They weren’t as shocking as they had been the first time she’d seen them. And as the memory of them occupied a good deal of her wandering thoughts, they’d become immensely familiar. Once again she saw the enormous “jade stalks,” the open and weeping “heavenly gates,” the facial expressions that expressed enjoyment, the beautifully patterned robes . . .

“How should we go about this?” Ashton stepped behind her and unfastened her cloak, then slipped it from her shoulders. His kiss placed to the back of her neck rippled throughout her entire body. Her breasts lifted; her toes curled. His voice close to her ear generated another wave of deliciousness. “Shall each of us select a pillow book and check for hidden notes, or should we look together?”

He was teasing her, she suspected. He didn’t seem to take this evening’s mission very seriously, which had her wondering if she wasn’t here for some other purpose. “We should be able to look through the entire collection in a minimal time if we both look separately,” she pronounced. “It would be the most practical method.” Then an idea sparked. She turned to him with enthusiastic expectation. “Perhaps you’d prefer to take your pillow books into the library to check for additional correspondence there?”

He looked at her strangely. Perhaps her functional blouse, skirt, and wide leather belt were not the appropriate attire for an evening of searching for coded messages. She glanced down the front of her outfit and then back to him.

“No,” he said. “I believe I’ll stay close. You might have questions about what you see. I’d like to explain anything you find confusing.”

Christopher!
Now how was she going to get him to leave? “You answered all my questions the last time we were here,” she replied sweetly.

“But now you’ll be viewing new prints, and you might have new questions,” he insisted.

She sighed. It appeared that avenue was at an end.

Selecting one of the pillow books from the boxes, she sat on the mattress in the back of the room. It was the only seat and her legs were shaking so much with anxiety that she didn’t want to risk standing. Ashton selected another book and sat near. Not near enough to bump against her, but close enough to see the pages she turned. Page after page flashed by with vividly detailed depictions of an activity that she should know nothing about but with which she was becoming exceedingly familiar. No secret notes hid in the binding. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. The notes had probably been removed before the books were placed in this room. Their activity here as it related to helping to decipher the code would be meaningless. Still, she needed a diversion of some sort so she could return the netsuke.

The repetitious nature of the prints rendered them boring after a short period. She’d gone through five books when she paused at a print that showed a man suckling a woman’s breast. Her own tingled and peaked as she imagined Ashton making similar ministrations. No wonder the woman’s face clearly revealed her enjoyment.

“Does that print interest you, Edwina?”

His voice, so soft and seductive, teased her ear with such fervor, she wasn’t certain if he spoke, or if she had dreamed his words. But his fingers trailing down the outside of her arm confirmed that he wasn’t searching for messages.

“Look at the woman’s face,” he said. “Look at how she enjoys the man’s touch. Can you see how her nipple reaches for his lips? Did you know the tips of a woman’s breasts are highly sensitive? Have you experienced a man’s touch there, my sweet?”

Her eyes closed, allowing the combined force of his mesmerizing voice and his titillating touch to turn her veins into molten honey. “Yes . . .” she responded to his first question. She’d noticed the depiction of the cherry nipples reaching for attention, especially as her own seemed to follow suit. She must have a vivid imagination to envision so clearly the jolt of sensation in that print, or maybe it was Ashton’s hand on her breast that made it so real.

She couldn’t recall the rest of his questions. Who could when caught in such a maelstrom of sensation? Her answer caused Ashton a moment of hesitation, then a sudden increased urgency. He pressed her back on the mattress, the pillow book slipping to the floor. He kissed her neck, while massaging the rise beneath her silk blouse. Somehow in the confusion of lips and sighs, fingers and gasps, her buttons slipped from their moorings, allowing her skin to receive the direct press of his lips.

“Did he touch you like this?” Ashton asked, scooping her right breast free of the restraints of corset and cover. His lips latched onto her sensitive nipple, his tongue and teeth teasing the sensitive nub in a manner she’d never imagined. She peeked at him through lowered lashes. Just the sight of him at her breast unleashed a pooling in the area the woman of the netsuke knew well. His hand wound beneath her skirts, slips, and drawers with a determination that implied experience. Something of which she clearly had none. Dear Lord, she never imagined . . .

She tried to say “no,” but the sound that issued from her lips was more of a moan. His fingers slipped over her nether hairs and found what they were seeking. How to describe the feeling?

Her back arched as his fingers urged her to some unknown conclusion of inexpressible magic. Her own explorations had been pleasant, but this combined attack on breast and below . . . A sudden blossoming of feeling unleashed from that region, spreading waves of calming titillation through her entire body. She sagged back to the mattress, spent, though she hadn’t actually done anything. Her eyes slowly opened.

“Did you shatter so prettily for your Mr. Thomas?”

Ashton stood and moved to unfasten his trousers to relieve the bulge formed there.

“Walter? What are you saying?” She almost giggled at the thought. “Walter has never touched me so. I’m not certain he knows how.”

Ashton frowned down at her, his voice demanding. “You said someone did. Who?”

She pushed her skirts back from around her knees. “I said no such thing. No one has touched me as you have.” She scowled up at him. “I resent the suggestion that they have.”

“Ash?” Matthew’s small voice sounded in the library. “Are you in here?”

They both stilled. The door connecting the gallery to the library stood open.

Edwina sat up, slipping her breast beneath her serviceable stays. Her fingers quickly worked the buttons back into their holes. “You said—”

“Stay here,” Ashton commanded. “I’ll take care of this.” He walked toward the secret door.

This was her chance! Edwina hunted for her reticule on the floor. Once she discovered it, she slipped over to the shelves, fishing in it for the netsuke. Her arm outstretched, she was about to set it on the shelf with the others when Ashton returned.

“Edwina?” His face, at first confused, deepened into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

“I was just—”

“Are you stealing one of my father’s netsukes?” He stared at her in disbelief. “Is that why you inquired about their price?”

“No,” she insisted, placing the piece on the shelf. “This fell in my parasol the last time we were here. I was trying to return it.”

“If that were true you would have given it to me earlier.” His face contorted, distaste curling his nostrils. “I thought you were different. I thought I could trust you.” He advanced until he stood directly in front of her. “Constance might have her faults, but at least she wasn’t a petty thief.”

She slapped him. “I’m not a thief. I would have returned it earlier, but it rolled beneath the furniture and I couldn’t find it.” Her explanation sounded feeble, but she was so flustered. What was she to do? “I came here tonight to help you look for more coded messages and you took advantage of the situation.” She struggled to finish buttoning the final buttons of her blouse. “If anyone should be angry, it should be me.”

She pushed past him and ran into the library, then began down the passageway. Before she’d reached the end she saw Matthew toting a book, or rather, Matthew spotted her.

“Miss Hargrove!” he cried. “Could you read to me? Miss Jordan is gone and Ash says he can’t at the moment and—”

“Edwina!” She spun around. Ashton, the imprint of her hand still red on his face, held her cloak. “You forgot this.”

As she returned to fetch her cloak, she heard movement behind her. Ashton lifted his gaze. Instinctively, she turned to see a footman crossing at the front of the house toward the front door.