Chapter 11
Eleven
Lady Drake,
I look forward to the pleasure of your company.
Ross
—An acceptance from Nashford Xavier Harding, Duke of Ross, to Lady Phoebe Drake’s Comfort Ball and House Party, January 1811
H e wasn’t there to woo anyone. He wasn’t there for conversation. He’d been invited for a tryst, and that was exactly what he planned to do … that, and discover the location of the Blair sisters. If he purged a certain duchess from his thoughts at the same time, he would count his blessings.
Nash walked through the garden with a purpose to his gait. He didn’t care if one of the other guests observed the direction of his travel, nor did he care if they found him in the middle of the garden with a bared arse and his cock buried deep within her mouth. He was here to bring Lady Drake to her knees.
He nodded to a young married couple he’d briefly exchanged pleasantries with earlier in the evening. Although a full moon filled the garden with light, at that particular juncture the ancient trees created shadows and hid the young bride’s blush as she turned her cheek into her husband’s chest. The state of her coiffure, however, told the story of their stroll more than mere words could. Something in his gut longed for the type of intimacy the couple shared—the type of relationship he’d never know. He was a duke bound by his responsibilities and duty. Something the previous duke didn’t think him capable of.
A bastard having the fortitude to run the ducal seat is like a whore stepping in to be queen. It can’t be done. Your blood is too weak.
He’d proven his father wrong. It was too bad the man had died before seeing how a ducal seat could be run profitably and honourably—without corrupt petitions to the Crown to collect debts that were not owed. Yet he still felt the sting of one fraudulent payment collected under his watch—Urquhart castle.
It was the last estate any of his solicitors would ever petition the Crown to acquire. The last family destroyed because of the Harding family crest, and certainly the last dishonourable debt collected in the Harding family name. Even if Harding blood did not run through his veins, he bore the name, and he was making damn sure its legacy was held with esteem and deference. He was determined the Ross duchy, one of the most prestigious dukedoms in the kingdom, would also be known as the most honourable by the common man.
The peerage be damned. He didn’t care for their opinion.
He walked past the greenhouse and made his way to the garden, where delicate plants and statuary were covered with cloth to protect them from the cold winter temperatures. For February, however, the air was warmer than expected and perfect for an al fresco rendezvous.
Nash paused when the scent of a cheroot carried through the shrubbery and he spied a gentleman leaving through the gate of the walled garden—the very garden where he was supposed to meet Lady Drake.
There was something familiar about the man, and the aroma, that tugged at his memory. Something he had been introduced to … as a young man …
By Nithesdale.
Damnation. Nithesdale had offered the same island brand of cheroot to him on his first holiday, when he’d learned his father was not his father. It was also the same brand Nithesdale’s man of affaires had been smoking at Caerlaverock. Was Mr. Forrester here at Lady Drake’s house party, and if so, what kind of game was this?
Anger coursed through his body as he stalked through the gate and made his way to the arbor. He caught the faint scent of a lady’s perfume, lavender infused with a hint of mint. It was the first time he noticed that particular fragrance associated with Lady Drake. Before tonight, only one woman had stirred his senses with her fresh innocence and spice. Could it be her?
No. His desire for another was leading his mind astray. Lady Drake was leading him on the hunt with a trail for him to follow in a game of hide-and-seek through a garden. He couldn’t deny that despite everything, there was something very alluring about catching his prey by moonlight, even if she wasn’t the woman he truly desired. Silently he stalked through a maze, listening for her movement. He would have her this night, he’d already made up his mind of that, and if it took thoughts of a green-eyed spitfire to lead to his release, so be it.
A scrap of white lying in the middle of the path gave him pause. He bent down and picked up her kid glove, delicate and small, representing everything he wanted to devour. He smiled and looked around for her from the vantage point of a predator hunting prey.
He picked up speed and rounded the tall hedge that hid the lady from the view of the ballroom’s balcony. There on the path lay a second kid glove, as soft to the touch as the first. A growl formed low in his chest and then he heard her, a small gasp deeper in the garden. Silk rustled and pebbles skidded across the walkway as if she were trying to elude him, and he broke into a run. She would not escape her destiny, or his. Tonight he would obtain the information he needed from Lady Drake, and then depart this godforsaken estate and never return.
She was there in front of him, sprinting to a corner in the shrubbery. Her skirts held high to expose her long glorious legs leaping like a gazelle over a fallen branch. She glanced over her shoulder, and silken strands of her amber tresses burnished in the moonlight. In that moment, the resemblance between Lady Drake and Iseabail was uncanny. The incandescent midnight blue of her gown accentuated her curves in the darkness, and the pale glow of her flawless skin glistened in the moonlight. She was a vision to stir any man’s blood, but it was the auburn curls tumbling down her back that gave him pause. He’d known only one woman to possess the type of hair that made him want to wrap her silken strands around his fist and pull her head back to expose her erotic pulse point until it thundered out of control.
It seemed he was wrong. When Lady Drake stopped, he could think of nothing else he’d rather do than take her up against the stone wall and drive savagely into her. Her breathing was heavy as she gazed at him like a frightened animal waiting to be devoured. It only made him crave her more.
It seemed his anger had fueled his hunger. He calmed his raging desire. “I didn’t think you could look more lovely,” he said, as he slowly approached. The deep timbre of his voice roughened with arousal. He had planned to be in control—he was not.
Her expression, shrouded in shadows from the trees, gave nothing away. It was as if she chose the one spot in the garden where the full moon couldn’t illuminate her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft and timid.
That would not do. He could not think of her as innocent. This woman was a consummate actress.
“Turn around.”
“Wh-what?” Her voice shook and it was the last thing he wanted to hear.
“Turn around. I want to take a good long look at you in that gown before I tear it from your body.”
If anything, her rapid breathing increased, instead of calmed. His own pulse galloped as she took on a seductive pose only a woman who knew what she wanted from him would be capable of pulling off. Her chin dipped as she looked up through her lashes. He couldn’t make out the sexy glint in her eyes, but he felt it on his person as if she reached out and touched him. One of her bared hands raised to her mouth, her fingers tracing the edges of her full lips as she slowly turned in a circle giving him a view of every delectable inch of her body. When she finished, her hips swayed as she stalked toward him and that was all it took. Gone was the skittish, shy act some men craved—he did not. In front of him, stood a woman who knew exactly what she wanted—what he wanted.
He lifted one of her delicate hands to his lips and took her finger into his mouth. It was the most succulent bit of flesh he’d had since …
No. They both knew what they were here for. There was to be no courtship, no wooing, or games. Just desire. Base and raw—and then answers. He kissed his way up her hand, to her wrist and forearm. Her breath hitched, and he knew she wasn’t unaffected by his touch.
“Was that Mr. Forrester I saw leaving the garden?” Tempted to pull her into the moonlight, he watched for any sign of deception, but the only sign of her shock, was the widening of her eyes before she answered.
“Yes.”
Amazed by her candor, he pushed for more information as his lips grazed the curve of the inside of her elbow. “What is Nithesdale’s man of affaires doing at your house party?”
“He … he services me, as well.”
His lips paused at the meaning of what she had just confessed, and he stood up straight. “Services?”
She gasped and attempted to pull away, but he used her unsteady balance to his advantage and pulled her closer, her body aligning with his perfectly as he peered down at lush, full lips. He didn’t remember her features being quite so intoxicating or her body being quite so trim. What had changed?
“He serves as my solicitor. He has assisted me with the financial holdings of the estate … nothing more.”
He didn’t know why, but he was glad of that. Thinking of being with her after him … it didn’t sit right. It wasn’t because he cared. He didn’t. He pulled her arm around to his backside and put her bare palm against his buttocks. A groan escaped his lips as her fingers flexed and he buried his head in the crook of her neck, the flutter of her excitement teasing his senses. He laved and sucked at the delicate skin of her throat, not caring if he marked her for the whole world to see. What he’d been dreading had suddenly turned into something he couldn’t wait to consume. Her.
“Wait …”
He pulled back, every fiber of his being demanding he do the opposite. “Have you had a change of heart?” he asked, praying he wasn’t the only one caught up in this mad moment of desire. He was amazed at the calm, matter-of-fact tone of his voice. How he pulled it off was nothing short of a miracle.
“I … I … well, don’t you want to talk first?”
He should, but his body was hard pressed to hers and he suddenly couldn’t think of a single question he wanted to ask about the Blair sisters. “With your fingers massaging my backside, I find it very hard to come up with a topic of conversation.”
Her fingers stopped their caress but stayed firmly planted where they were, and he could have sworn her cheeks darkened in a blush.
“I never dreamed a man could be that muscular,” she confessed.
“I like to ride—long, hard, and often.” He pushed his stiffened cock against her to ensure she understood his meaning. Sex hadn’t been a regular outlet for him in a very long time. He planned to remedy that this evening.
“I see.”
“I hope you feel.”
Her fingers tentatively moved to the lower curve of his ass as if she’d never explored a man’s body so openly. Perhaps it was the difference in the age of her lovers. Her late husband and Nithesdale had been much older than Lady Drake, and although she looked quite young in the dim moonlight, he suspected her to be well past her prime, perhaps eight-and-twenty.
The corner of her lip turned up. “Oh, I definitely feel.”
“Then let us not delay.”
Her free hand raised up to pull on his cravat. “Kiss me.”
“As the lady wishes …” He lowered his lips to hers, savoring the soft velvety touch. She tasted like berries and wine, and he wondered if she had imbibed in a bit too much spirits. But when her tongue ran across his bottom lip, he needed no further invitation.
Let the seduction begin.
* * *
She had planned to be in control—she was not.
The moment their lips met, he commanded her trembling body. He lifted her with ease and wrapped her legs around his waist. The act mirrored their first kiss in the gardens of Caerlaverock, but this time, he seemed determined to see it through—with Phoebe. Her gasp was lost in a sexual battle of the forbidden, as his tongue plunged through her lips in a kiss more passionate than their last. Her gown rose even higher, exposing not only her calves, but her knees and thighs as well.
She should be scandalized—she was not. She should care that he thought he was kissing Phoebe—she did not.
She was lost in the assault of his kiss. The mesmerizing sweep of his tongue tempted her to dance an erotic waltz she’d only experienced once before … with him. Her hands went to his dark tousled curls that advertised his roguish behavior almost as much as his sardonic smile. Soft strands flowed through her fingertips. Whereas she felt almost wild with abandon, she sensed his restraint. She was nearly lost in the passion, unable to think beyond the way his tongue stroked, his lips moved, and his hands reigned over her senses … yet he held himself back.
She didn’t want him to hold back. A moan escaped her as his hand came to cup her breast. His long, strong fingers kneading her flesh in a manner so erotic, she couldn’t stop the wild thrust of her hips. The sensations too irresistible to ignore. She wanted everything with this man. He may be her enemy in every sense of the word, but her body craved what only he could give.
She whimpered when his hand left to cup the back of her head, but then he gently laid her down on a garden bench and the cold stone made her body come more alive. A mere second later, he was on top of her, his large warm body harder than cliffs of Dover would ever be. A shiver ran through her, but she couldn’t be certain it was from the cold stone, or the hard length of his arousal prodding her core. She arched into him, rocking against his manhood in an attempt to feed her body’s hunger. His strong, masculine hand moved to her shoulder, slowly pulling down the edge of her gown, inch by inch. She wanted him to move faster, and when his mouth left hers to trail kisses across her jaw to her ear, she nearly screamed with frustration. Yet still, she marveled in the way her body responded to his touch. The way he claimed her. Branded her his .
He was a rake through and through, and for tonight, he was her rake. Or rather, he was Phoebe’s rake. Whatever the circumstances, Iseabail had never felt so alive as she did in his arms. He sucked at her runaway pulse and she gasped. She could no longer stop her hands from exploring his broad shoulders and powerful arms. Even through his coat she could feel his muscular build that was unlike most gentlemen of the Ton. He was by far the largest man of her acquaintance, in height and stature. Nithesdale employed strong young footmen, but they were nothing like Nash. He was as immoveable, as strongly sculpted as any marble statue, and for some reason, that made her crave him more.
His talented tongue traced down her neck and across her collarbone as his hands proceeded to bare her breasts to the cold night air. Her slippers dug into his lower back as he unleashed something primitive inside her. She looked down at the most enticing, carnal image she had ever seen. Nash ravaging her breasts. Never would she have thought her breasts could look so tempting … so erotic … but with his mouth plumping her meager mound, the view from above was thoroughly titillating. If his rousing display of masculine desire was to be believed, he found her utterly desirable as well. A man couldn’t fake that.
But then, he didn’t know they’d shared another kiss before this moment. He didn’t know the woman he’d turned away was in his arms right now. Would he want her this much if he knew her true identity? Yet he caressed every inch of her body with a reverence that could not be false.
His hands, his tongue … God, his tongue. That wicked, tantalizing tongue was doing things to her body she had no idea were possible. Heat curled in her chest and raced to her lower belly where it turned into something more. His hand trailed down the back of her thigh and stopped to run circles around her scar.
He all but turned to stone in that moment—leaving her sex demanding more of the agonizing pleasure only he could give her. “Don’t stop,” she demanded.
He lifted his head and looked at her, examining her face in a manner she neither understood, nor wanted to.
“Please,” she begged. Her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. He reached back and unclenched her ankles, and she nearly cried out in anguish. He couldn’t stop. Not now.
Not. Now.
To her utter amazement, he didn’t. He repositioned himself and her, gently untangling her legs from his back. Just when she thought he was going to leave her, he kissed the back side of her thigh before gently placing her foot over the back of the bench. “Don’t move. I want to look at you.”
He pushed the layers of her gown up further, exposing her drawers, and she couldn’t help the thrill that passed through her as he gazed upon her. Her breasts were bare to the night air and to anyone who happened along this part of the garden, yet she somehow didn’t care. The heat of his gaze warmed her when the temperatures should have made her shiver. Then he pulled off his jacket and folded it.
“Lift your hips for me.”
She did as he instructed and he placed his jacket under her backside. Then he slowly removed her drawers, lifting her core to the moonlight and his gaze. Her body was exposed to nature and this man like it had never been before. She wished her entire body was exposed—to him. Wished he would tear her gown from her body and leave her utterly naked for his eyes to devour. She could see how her body affected him. Yet he held himself back, as if the animal inside him was caged.
She wanted to open his jail and release the wild beast from within. Unleash the savagery he held at bay, because if the straining of his breeches was any indication, his restraint was weakening and she wanted the barriers destroyed.
“Are you wet for me?”
Wet for him? How could she answer that?
“Touch yourself.”
Iseabail raised her hand to her breast and stroked it as he had done. Plumping and pinching. How fascinating to be watched, not touched. Heat and desire pooled in her belly.
“Now your quim. Stroke your quim.”
She did and gave a throaty moan. “I’m wet, so very wet.” She ached for more.
He was there in an instant. His face between her legs and she moaned as his mouth consumed her. She should be shocked, but she was lost to the sensation. Her back bowed and she couldn’t imagine anything feeling better than this. The act wicked and wild. Noises escaped her lips that couldn’t possibly be her—she was utterly lost on the precipice of something so magnificent she begged for more.
“Please.”
He devoured her. His tongue and lips creating a wave of pleasure that swept away the reality of the night. She was lost in the moment. His finger entered her body, testing her, taunting her teetering nerves beyond anything she had ever experienced. She panted and pleaded, needing a release from the sensation, yet at the same time never wanting it to end. His finger stroked her inner walls as his tongue flicked the center of her pleasure in a carnal demand that drove her over the edge of ecstasy. She shattered into a million pieces, keening and shaking. Wave after rippling wave of pleasure made her legs quiver uncontrollably with her release.
“I’ve never heard a more enticing invitation on a lady’s lips.”
She froze. The Duke’s head lifted.
The owner of the deep masculine voice on top of the garden wall continued. “You were supposed to wait, but I completely understand your inability to keep your hands off such a decadent piece. Although given the choice, I’m certain the lady would have preferred more.”
The way the man emphasized “ more ” dripped with innuendo. The Duke stood up to his full height and placed his body between her and the other man as she scrambled to her feet, pushing down her skirts and pulling up her bodice. The fantasy of being exposed had been naughty and deliciously wicked. The reality of being caught—was not.
“I believe she voiced her pleasure perfectly,” the Duke said, his tone mockingly arrogant. She flashed him a look, but realized the shadows that hid her identity also masked her scorn.
Dead leaves shook and the snap of a branch was followed by a hollow thud. A low groan came from where the gentleman had obviously fallen.
She could not be found out by another guest at the house party.
For his part, Nash didn’t look the slightest bit concerned or annoyed at the interruption. He adjusted the large bulge in his trousers, making her blush as he reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief to wipe the evidence of her arousal from his face.
At least the shadows were hiding the color of her cheeks.
“Simon, you are late, and now you are undoubtably filthy after climbing that wall.”
“The fairer sex likes me dirty, that’s why you invited me.”
He had planned this? While she had been planning a private assignation, he had planned to meet her—Phoebe, with another man—Simon.
She thought of the long list of the scandal rag articles she’d read about Ross, his friends, acquaintances, lovers, and the scandals that surrounded every last one of them. Only one man’s name had been linked to the stories of most lurid debauchery with Ross—Simon Clark, Earl of Astley—a scandalous rogue who held no shame and sported the worst moral turpitude the Ton had ever known. To some, that placed him on the fringes of polite society, despite his rank of earl.
And here he was, with an invitation from Nash to join them. What had Phoebe gotten her into?
“I must go,” she whispered as she picked up her skirts.
Ross’s hand gripped her bicep in gentle but firm hold. “Is—Lady Drake, the night has just begun.”
She looked down at the long fingers wrapped completely around her arm. He may not have been able to see her face, but her message was clear. This was not her idea of an affair. Before she could finish the words, “Unhand me,” his fingers dropped, releasing her from his hold. She left without a backward glance.
Once out of sight, she paused on the other side of the evergreen shrubs.
The Duke swore at his partner. “Why the hell didn’t you use the damned gate?”
“There happened to be a gentleman camped outside it smoking a cheroot.”
Her stomach churned, and Iseabail knew she didn’t want to hear the rest. She ran for the exit as fast as she could. Breathing heavily, she paused at the gate, afraid someone would see her. She peeked through the opening and was relieved by a familiar face.
Mr. Forrester stood outside waiting for her as he smoked the cheroot Astley spoke of. She burst through the gate, thankful, yet embarrassed that he would take one look at her and know what she had done.