The Duke and the Lady in Red (3 page)

The final strains of the waltz drifted into silence.

“That was lovely,” she said. “Thank you. I shall leave you to enjoy the remainder of your evening now.”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought we had agreed to two dances.”

“I don't wish to dominate your time.”

“There is no one else I would rather dominate it. Is someone expecting your company?”

She should say yes. But then he would no doubt keep an eye on her to discern who was of interest to her. She didn't want him observing her. Best to give him a bit more time tonight and then move on. “No.”

“Then it seems another dance is in order.”

The music began. Another waltz. Did the orchestra know naught but waltzes? Did her skin have to welcome the press of his hands? Did she have to feel his touch cascading through her entire being? It was at once disconcerting and exciting to have these reactions to his nearness. What was it about him that affected her so? It was more than his handsome features, something deep within him that was calling to something in her, something that had been dormant, that was awakening. She needed a distraction from these unsettling thoughts.

“Where is your estate?” she asked.

“Cornwall.”

Yes, she could see that. His being part of the rugged coast. Perhaps he was even descended from pirates. She could well imagine thievery and plundering in his heritage.

“You're not one for conversing, are you?” she asked.

“Not with words, no. I prefer other means of communication, especially when a lady is involved.”

She was losing her edge with him. She didn't know how to get it back. “That sort of communication deals only with the surface. There is no depth to a relationship of that nature.”

“I care for only one sort of
depth
.” His eyes smoldered with his innuendo and she nearly stumbled.

She was out of her league with him. He would not be easily manipulated. But something inside her yearned to accept the challenge. Things had become too easy of late. She was bored. She hadn't realized it until that moment. There was no life, no excitement in her anymore. She simply existed. But he brought a spark to her. He interested her. She thought he might have secrets as dark as her own. Drawing them from him would be a challenge, might prove to be to her advantage.

“You offend me with your insinuation,” she said.

“If that were true, you would have slapped me by now. You're a widow, not an innocent miss. The other ladies here interest me not in the least, because they are naive. I prefer a woman who is seasoned.”

“And you judge me to be seasoned?”

“You intrigue me, Rosalind.”

“You're taking liberties with your informality.”

“I believe your protests are false. You want me to take liberties. It's the reason you haven't left in a huff.” He narrowed his eyes. “No, you are not one to huff about. I think you would make me pay in other ways.”

Oh yes, he had the right of it. She most certainly would make him pay in other ways. Might still do so. But for now they were merely taking measure of each other.

“I find you equally intriguing, Your Grace, but I fear I have been too long away from the social scene. My skills at being coy are sadly lacking.”

“You don't have to play false with me. I prefer honesty.”

“Then know that I find myself attracted to you, although I'm not sure it's wise on either of our parts.”

“But it could be enjoyable.”

She had no doubt of that. He was a man not lacking in confidence. He could show her a jolly good time, but she knew far too little about him. Her purpose here tonight was not to settle on one, but to amass many admirers. He was distracting her from her plans.

The waltz came to an end, but he didn't release her immediately. He simply held her scandalously close, allowing the minutes to tick by as though there were no one to see, no one who possessed a tongue to wag. If she were a young girl of nineteen, with a father or brother to speak for her, she would find herself betrothed by midnight.

“What else is there to see here?” she asked.

“I believe you've seen it all. Perhaps we have run out of reasons to stay.”

How she was tempted to accept his invitation, to go with him wherever he wished to go. But she had planned too long to be reckless now.

“I spied a draped balcony in a far corner of the main salon.” She suspected it was from there that he'd observed her earlier. “I should very much like to see it. How does one get to it?”

“One must possess a key.”

She angled her chin. “Do not take this as flattery, Your Grace, but rather the truth being spoken. You strike me as a man who would possess a key.”

H
e did indeed possess a key. It was no doubt unwise to take her up there, as he wanted to do things with her that were best done within shadows, and there were shadows aplenty within the balcony, and his passions were on a weak tether. She was not an innocent miss, only recently presented to the queen. She was a widow. She had to know men, had to know that he was with her at that moment because of his desire to know her in the biblical sense. Without guilt, he could give in to his desires.

But she was not quite what she seemed. Of that he was fairly certain. He had spent a lifetime avoiding entanglements and relationships. He never looked below the surface of a woman, but something about her urged him to explore a little deeper.

She wasn't an American as he'd first wondered. Her speech was refined, definitely English, deliberate, but now and again he caught the lilt of something else, as though she were putting on a performance and forgot for a moment her role in the play.

That little aspect to her intrigued him all the more but was no cause for alarm. He didn't want anything permanent with her. He merely wanted to explore all that lay beneath the red gown. His hands would span her waist. Her breasts would overflow his cupped palms.

He guided her through the crowd that was becoming more populated by the hour. How many blasted invitations had been dispatched? He doubted he would seek sport here after tonight. The club would no longer be as exclusive as it had once been. But then he'd long ago found darker places in which to vent his shame and anger.

They came to the door that opened into the hallways where offices and secluded rooms provided very private entertainment. Removing the key from his waistcoat pocket, he extended it toward her.

She gave him a delighted, wicked smile, filled with mischief and daring. She enjoyed doing things she ought not. He liked that about her. Before the night was done, he anticipated that they would do a great many things they ought not.

Inserting the key, she turned it, twisted the knob, and opened the door. She hesitated not even a heartbeat before walking through and passing the key back to him. After closing the door, he once again offered his arm.

“Everything here seems older,” she said.

“Darling didn't bother refurbishing this part, for which I'm glad. There is something comforting about the familiar. It has been this way for decades.”

“You don't look old enough to have been visiting it for decades,” she said.

“I got started quite young.” Although she was right. He'd visited for only a little over a decade. “I know its history. It's legendary among those of my acquaintance. The stairs that lead to the balcony are here.”

With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her up them and down the short hallway that ended at the balcony.

“As long as you stay behind the draperies, you can't be seen,” he said quietly. “The shadows serve as cover.”

She eased forward slightly and gazed out over the assembled guests. “Is this where you were when you spotted me?” she asked in almost a whisper.

He came up behind her, only a hairbreadth separating his body from hers. “Yes.”

“It's odd, but I felt your gaze on me.”

“Perhaps it was someone else's.”

“No, I'm rather sure it was yours. You have an intensity about you. Do you often stand up here, gazing out, spying on those below?”

“Darling did. He liked to watch the money coming in. Dodger, the previous owner, did as well.” He removed his gloves, stuffed them into the pockets of his coat, and skimmed a bare finger along her nape. Beneath his touch, she shivered. “I was simply striving to determine if it was worth my time to go downstairs tonight.”

“What would you have done if you hadn't gone downstairs?”

“There is a private game in one of the rooms up here. The stakes are high, but those who play cheat.” He pressed his lips to the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. “You should be aware I employ any means to get what I want.”

“You sound ruthless, Your Grace.”

“That is putting it kindly. I want you, Rosalind. I have wanted you from the moment you walked through the door. There are rooms here. We can make use of them. Or I can take you to my residence.”

“I am not quite so easy to obtain.”

“Are you not?”

She turned to face him. “No.”

“I am prepared to convince you otherwise.”

He claimed her mouth as though he already owned it.

S
he shouldn't have been surprised that he took advantages of the shadows. She knew she'd been toying with a man who was far more daring than his civilized veneer let on.

She was, however, surprised by her reaction to his generous mouth blanketing hers. She welcomed it.

Acutely aware of his arms banding around her and pressing her flat against the hard planes of his body, she should have protested. Instead she indulged her curiosity and her own flagrant desires that she had held at bay for so very long. She couldn't remember the last time that she'd taken something she wanted, that she had done something for herself.

She was certainly indulging now.

Scraping her fingers up into his thick hair, she regretted that she wore gloves. Tasting the richness of brandy on his tongue, she regretted they'd not had more to drink. As the pleasure coursed through her, she regretted that she was not free.

With that thought, guilt speared her. She did not resent that she was not untethered. Freedom came at a terrible price she was not yet ready to pay.

She forced all those thoughts back and concentrated instead on the moment. It was always best to focus on the moment. The sweep of his determined tongue. His large hand caressing her back, her backside, coming up along her hip, dipping in at her waist, and resting just below her breast. She felt the stroke of his thumb along the underside. She should have been appalled. She should have struck him.

But a woman did not reach her years without yearning for things that eluded her. She was certainly no stranger to kissing, but this man was doing far more than pressing his lips to hers. He was claiming her, branding her. She would forever remember his taste, his strength, his fragrance.

Sandalwood and bergamot. Dark and rich.

She would remember rising up on her toes to welcome his mouth. His deep groan rumbling within the small confines of the balcony. The dizziness. The sensations swirling around her.

He dragged his mouth from hers, along her neck to the sensitive spot just below her ear. “We'll never make it to my residence,” he rasped. “There is a room only a few steps down the hallway.”

“No.” She said it too softly. He must not have heard because he began worrying her lobe between his teeth. She nearly sank to the floor with the absolute pleasure of it. He could have her here. “No,” she stated more firmly.

Breathing harshly, he drew back, his dark eyes pinning her. “Just as you require no chaperone, you have no innocence to protect.”

“I am not a woman with no morals. I don't fall into bed with a man simply because he wishes me to do so.”

“
You
wish to do so. Your moans and sighs are proof of that.”

“Unfortunately, life is such that we are not always granted our wishes. I have been absent from the gaiety too long. I must return to it lest rumors begin.”

He curled his hand around her neck, stroked the underside of her jaw. “You do not strike me as a woman who cares about rumors.”

“I care about the opportunities that tonight affords me.” She could not have spoken truer words. “I am here to meet ­people, to become part of Society. To be accepted and welcomed. It would be reckless of me to risk all that I might gain for one night of pleasure.”

“I promise it would be worth your while.”

Of that, she had absolutely no doubt, but the price was too high—­to her plans, quite possibly to her esteem. To have him walk away afterward . . . she was always the one who walked away, who decided when it was time to move on. Swallowing hard, she pushed back the temptation plaguing her. “Good night, Your Grace.”

She had taken a mere two steps when he wrapped his large hand around her arm, turned her back to him, and again took her mouth. His was lush and hot and so very skilled at making her forget her responsibilities, her duties. What would it hurt if just once in her life she did something for herself? If she took something she craved?

Tearing her mouth from his, she shoved on his massive shoulders, frustrated when she couldn't even make him stagger back a step. “No.”

His eyes were as heated as his mouth. “You've been teasing me all night, Mrs. Sharpe. You can't possibly think I'm going to let you walk away without doing my damnedest to convince you to stay.”

Another kiss would probably do the trick, damn him. “It's been a long time since I've been with a man. I'm not ready for what you're proposing.” Reaching up, she combed her fingers through his hair, straightening the strands she had mussed. “Please let me go.”

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he released his hold. “At least allow me the honor of escorting you home.”

“We both know that would be most dangerous. Alone, in a small space, in the dark. I do not believe I would arrive home unscathed. Besides, I have a carriage. So again, good night.”