Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Darting through the garden, Josephine tripped over a tree root and nearly upended herself in a great spray of peonies but managed to stay upright. Careful to stay out of the slices of moonlight dappling the grounds, she made her way to a door hidden beneath a canopy of wisteria.
A servants’ entrance, just as she’d hoped.
Cautiously testing the knob, she was only somewhat surprised to find that the door swung open easily. Lavisham’s servants would be lax, she supposed, especially if he were gone. Which was lucky because despite her assurances to Willa, Josephine wasn’t reasonably sure she could pick a lock.
Old Smitty hadn’t thought so after she’d stabbed herself a half-dozen times with the lock pick.
Silently, she crept through the door, shutting it quietly behind her.
A set of stairs stretched upward, and she took a cautious step, then another until she reached a small landing.
Opening a second door at the top of the stairs, Josephine found a lamp sitting atop a table, the circle of light revealing the outline of a long hallway.
Josephine swallowed down her panic at the sight of the lamp.
But of course, there would be a lamp or two. A footman or maids would likely still be in residence, even if the duke was not at home. A butler. Someone had to maintain the house while Lavisham was gone. She froze as a clock chimed.
Barely an hour past midnight.
“Find the study,” she whispered to herself. “That’s where he’d keep his winnings.”
At least, Josephine hoped that to be the case. Father had not been much of a gambler—aside from losing the brooch, apparently—but Lavisham, who won more than he lost, would store his markers in a safe place.
Not for the first time, Josephine wished she’d been given an easier task. Why must hers involve a disreputable duke? And thievery?
She crept down the hall, careful to keep her steps quiet, noting that there were lamps lit at various intervals.
Which was quite handy, given that she couldn’t exactly light a candle or lamp herself.
But that also meant Lavisham’s servants were lurking about.
Josephine stopped to listen, but only silence greeted her.
Finally, she came upon what had to be Lavisham’s study.
The fire was banked, which begged the question of why, with Lavisham gone, it had been lit at all.
Josephine swallowed down another wave of panic, ordering her breath to remain steady.
She glanced at the window, but the garden was dark.
No sign of Willa’s lantern. A maid could have been cleaning the study earlier.
Or his solicitor might have been here. Even if Lavisham was in London, she reasoned, it would be unlikely for him to be home at such an early hour.
The smell of cheroot and brandy filled her nose as she stepped inside the room.
A bit of leather. Ink. A massive desk sat facing the door, with an equally large chair behind it.
Which made a great deal of sense, given Lavisham was a great bear of a man, despite his striking masculine beauty.
Intimidating. Sensual, even while sitting on a horse.
Powerful. Lavisham’s presence, even from a distance, had the ability to make her knees weak.
That was a rare occurrence. Weak knees over a man.
She inhaled slowly.
Focus, Josephine.
Striding over to the desk, wishing the stupid breeches weren’t so tight, Josephine took in the size of the chair and the height of the desk.
Custom made for the duke. It would be ridiculous for Lavisham to work on his correspondence at some delicate bit of mahogany that might snap beneath the pressure of his weight.
I wouldn’t.
Heat seared her cheeks at the thought of all that….Lavisham pressing against her. Thoughts she should not be having given she was about to rob the man.
Hands running over the desk, she opened the first drawer. Josephine’s fingers trailed over more ledgers stacked inside. Papers. Nothing out of the ordinary. Taking a seat in Lavisham’s leather chair, she sat and faced the desk, running her hand over the bottom to search for a secret drawer.
“If I were Lustful Lavisham,” she said to herself in a sarcastic tone, “who gambled more often than not, where would I keep my winnings and markers?”
“Third drawer to the left,” a growl came from a dark corner of the study. “An enameled box with my initials atop it.”
Oh. Dear. Josephine grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself.
This was very bad.
“Should I light a lamp? Might prove helpful.” Leather creaked as a massive, shadowy form rose from the area to her left and came closer, looming like some horrible monster from a nightmare.
Good lord, he’s so much bigger in a small space.
“Nothing to say, little thief?”
Yes, this was a horribly stupid idea. And no one has called me little since I was six.
“I’m usually not averse to female companionship. Nor having my drawers searched.” He paused, chuckling at his own innuendo. “But I find your presence to be a bit suspicious, given I did not request company this evening. Did Anders put you up to this?”
Lavisham was most definitely not in Paris.
“Anders?” Josephine flinched at the sound of flint striking.
Light appeared in a halo as a lamp, held aloft in one massive hand, flared to life.
Lavisham’s chiseled jaw and the amused cast of his lips were revealed, along with the glowing white of his shirt.
The ends of the shirt fluttered about his waist as he approached.
Lavisham wore no coat and his shirt was…
Open.
An entire landscape of sculpted muscle was revealed by the lamp, the likes of which Josephine had never seen. Oh, there was the occasional tenant farmer at Fenmere Park, who had gone shirtless in the midst of summer, forgetting the Harrington girls were about.
Yes, but none remotely resembled Lavisham. Honestly, no one did.
He was spectacular clothed, so it made a great deal of sense that the absence of clothing, would make him more impressive. A thick pelt of hair, slightly darker than that on his head, covered what she could see of Lavisham’s chest.
Her fingers twitched wanting to explore all that—
“Nothing to say?” he rumbled, interrupting her wicked thoughts.
She sensed Lavisham was studying her, though Josephine could not clearly make out his eyes given the small circle of light from the lamp. But she could clearly see his mouth and the amused, sensual tilt of his lips, as if he finding her in his study was a game of sorts.
“Ah, I see you’ve lost a button,” he murmured.
“And about to lose another. What a pity. I fear that poor coat was not made to hide such a generous form. I’d never thought to appreciate men’s clothing on a woman, but you’ve changed my mind, little thief.
Did you decide on this ensemble yourself? Or was that also the idea of Anders?”
Josephine opened her mouth to spout some ridiculous nonsense, an excuse for her being in his study, but halted when Lavisham reached over and snatched the hat off her head. She’d plaited her dark hair, but the pins holding the heavy mass in place fell to the floor, obviously no match for Lavisham.
“The breeches in particular”—he made a low purr as he tilted the lamp, spilling its light over Josephine’s thighs— “are quite…fetching.” He circled her slowly, like some lion scenting his prey, humming the entire time.
She was too shocked to respond. Never in her life had Josephine been so…assessed by a gentleman. A soft gasp escaped her as Lavisham deliberately sniffed at Josphine’s neck.
“You smell…” His breath buffeted the tiny hairs around her ear. “Like a delicious little tea cake.” The press of his lips ghosted along her skin. “I adore a good slice of cake.”
A blast of…carnality came from Lavisham, blowing up against Josephine, caressing her skin through these stupid leather breeches she’d managed to squeeze herself into. The sensation slid beneath her coat. Plucked at the ends of her breasts and pulled her nipples tight.
Get ahold of yourself Josephine. He clearly believes you to be a courtesan.
Right.
She had two choices. Disabuse him of the notion, which would risk revealing her identity, or attempt to flee the study. Both seemed insurmountable tasks. Lavisham’s broad form stood firmly between Josephine and the door.
Drawing in a slow breath, inching her way from the desk, she said, “Your Grace— ”
“Anders owes me a debt, and I must say, he’s outdone himself.” Lavisham slowly rotated around her. “But he won’t appreciate your sticky fingers, little thief. Stealing from a duke is bad manners.” A big hand settled abruptly on her hip, squeezing the flesh. “Luscious,” he whispered.
“I…” Josephine stuttered. She glanced towards the door, so close yet so far away.
He squeezed again. “Solid. Sturdy.” The words curled around her ear. “I can do all sorts of things without breaking you, can’t I?”
Oh, well, that sounded—
The skin tingled along her arms. Her neck.
The top of her head. The sharpness of it drew up between her thighs, teasing between them.
Lavisham surrounded her. His overwhelming presence.
His scent, which was salt and sea air, as if the duke had been swimming in the ocean.
Heat and intention rolled off him in waves, all of it making her head swim.
Josephine might swoon if this went on much longer.
She was pulled forward, a bit savagely, by one massive hand until her body was flush against a wall of heated muscle. The surprise had her hands flying up to skate along the delicious hollows of his chest. Her fingers curled into the thatch of coarse hair, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath.
Teeth nipped at the lobe of her ear as Lavisham’s hips pushed against her own. There was no mistaking how the duke felt about Josephine’s sudden appearance in his study. The results were…quite hard to ignore.
Josephine’s legs wobbled.
Lavisham’s grip tightened.
I really should explain. I am no courtesan. Only the clumsy nitwit who crushed Lady Randall’s hyacinths.
Difficult to speak though when surrounded by so much magnificent duke. Josephine parted her lips, meaning to force out the words that she was not a courtesan. Nor had his friend Anders sent her. She was merely Josephine Harrington, here to retrieve—
Lavisham’s mouth slammed onto hers.
A grown, masculine and pleased sound vibrated from his chest as his lips moved, lazy and sensuous, over hers.
Nipping along her bottom lip, he coaxed her mouth to open to his questing tongue.
Deepening the kiss, he bent Josephine over the desk, lips possessive and giving no doubt as to his ultimate intent.
The pleasure from his mouth was so…wonderful, that Josephine sighed into all that muscled warmth without thinking.
Lavisham was devouring her, and Josephine wanted him to.
Cupping her plump backside, he squeezed one cheek as if testing a melon, fingers dipping into the crease between them, which had Josephine’s breath catching in her lungs.
I should stop this. Stop him.
Josephine whimpered, low and throaty as Lavisham lifted her effortlessly to the desk, pausing only to reposition his hands and her body, all the while his mouth never leaving her own. Buttons popped off the coat she wore, rolling off the desk to scatter across the floor.
“Oh, look at that,” he whispered. “Oops.”
The shirt beneath the coat hid very little, as in, nothing at all. In hindsight, a corset might have been appropriate but had seemed ridiculous under a shirt and coat, especially as she was already so…compressed. But now…
Broad fingers brushed over the edges of one nipple, teasing and rotating around the edge until the small peak grew so hard, she imagined it tearing through the fine lawn of Isaiah’s shirt.
A shredding sound reached her ears as one breast was popped free. She could just make out her nipple, engorged and bobbing in the dim light.
“That’s lovely.” The heat of Lavisham’s mouth enveloped the aching tip, sucking and licking until Josephine panted, grabbing at his shoulder. His hand caressed the globe of her breast, before stroking down her stomach to her waist.
Oh, he really should stop.
That was Josephine’s final, coherent thought before absolute pleasure jolted from her tortured breast to the space between her thighs. His teeth bit down on her nipple, eliciting a sharp cry, before another twist of honey pulled at her.
“Aren’t you warm? I should fix that, shouldn’t I?” The flat of his palm landed squarely over her mound, the leather breeches her only protection from his questing fingers. He rotated the heel of his hand back and forth, paying particular attention to a specific spot.
The friction of the leather, stroking the ache inside her, had Josephine’s hips rocking in tandem with his hand. “Oh, Your Grace.” The sensation was so exquisite, so on the edge of something marvelous, she would have done anything for him to not stop.
“Oh, indeed.” He worked the heel of his hand against her with more purpose, tongue flicking out to tease at the nipple of her breast. “So perfect, aren’t you?”
Pleasure bloomed hard and fierce, funneling into something so sharp that when it crested, a small scream tore through Josephine as the sensation broke apart. Waves crashed over her. Legs kicking, hips twisting, body arching up for more.
“I’m not even unclothed,” she blurted out, panting as the ripples slowly faded, leaving her weak and sated. But by no means completely satisfied.
Dear God, what have I done?
“The first course.” Lavisham smiled wickedly before his mouth claimed hers once more, his much larger form settling between Josephine’s thighs. “I’m going to have to cut these off.” Lavisham nipped at her ear, tugging at the breeches. “I’ll enjoy doing so.”
Josephine’s entire being leapt at the thought of more. Along with the sting of mortification.
Mother always said her daughters were bound to cause trouble and ruin reputations with their buxom, overgenerous forms.
How disappointing to know her mother had been right.
Pushing against Lavisham’s chest—half-heartedly since her body was still throbbing from his ministrations…and honestly, part of Josephine didn’t want him to stop—a light flashed outside the window. The glow of a lantern bobbed up and down fanatically, as if begging for attention.
Oh, God. Willa.
She’d completely forgotten about Willa.
“Your Grace,” Josephine said as forcefully as she could. “This has been an interesting interlude, but I fear I must go.”
If my legs will support me.
Lavisham didn’t answer. He placed one hand on her stomach to hold her in place, his other, pulling at the fall of his own breeches. “I should have a knife around here. Or a letter opener.”
“Stop. This instant.” Josephine kicked out at him with her boot. “You’ll ruin me.”
“I know,” he growled. “I can’t wait.”