Chapter Two
It was well past midnight when Nora opened the door to her assigned bedchamber and glanced into the hallway to ensure no one was still awake.
Empty.
Perfect. She wore only a nightgown and didn’t bother with a robe or slippers.
Holding a candle holder with a lit candle, she slipped from her room and softly closed the door.
Her bare toes curled on the plush Wilton carpet runner.
Her pulse pounded in her veins and her stomach churned at the thought of her daring act.
Tonight, as she hoped, Nora would be one of Sir Simon’s conquests.
After they were discovered, Simon would never offer marriage and she’d be ruined.
Word would travel and she’d be free from Lord Umbridge.
Meanwhile, she’d take advantage of her liberty to study the unique seashells found on Cornwall’s coast.
A giddiness rose in her throat at the thought of her goal coming to fruition, and her feet crept across the carpet.
She halted at the third door on the left down the hall, the one Sir Simon had told her was his bedchamber.
She’d arranged for her maid, Rosey, to find her precisely fifteen minutes later.
Nerves tightened in Nora’s gut as she reached for the door. Anxiousness trickled down her spine at the bold action she was about to take.
Do not think too hard about it!
She swallowed, determined to take control of her life.
Her fingers rested on the doorknob. And turned.
Her flickering candle barely illuminated the chamber. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness to see a shape in the massive four-poster bed in the center of the room. Sir Simon.
His back was turned. He slept without a nightshirt, his broad back naked, the covers pushed down to his hips.
She wondered if he wore anything lower down, beneath the sheets.
Her heartbeat quickened with a different type of anxiety.
He was in a deep sleep, and she could easily turn and tiptoe back to her room with no one the wiser.
Everything would return to normal, and she could wake the next day pretending nothing untoward had occurred.
No! If she wanted her freedom, any freedom, she must take matters into her own hands. She was no longer a young miss fresh in her first season. At twenty-six, she had survived happily without an unwanted husband. She quietly closed the door and rested her back against the cool wood.
She blew out the candle and set it on a chest of drawers. The room was dark as pitch. Hands outstretched, her bare feet were silent on the hardwood floor as she approached the bed. Lifting the sheet, she slipped inside.
He turned and she inched forward and kissed him full on the mouth.
He stiffened and pulled back. ‘What—’
‘Shh. It’s just me.’ She pressed her lips to his once again.
This time, he returned the kiss. His lips were firm, yet soft, his body enticingly warm, and his kiss sang through her veins.
Her hands rested on his shoulders, surprisingly muscular and broad shoulders, she noted.
She’d never thought him this large but touching him proved otherwise.
His hand rested on her back, and warmth followed the path of his touch, heating more than just her low back.
She snuggled closer, her nipples tightening beneath the thin cotton nightgown.
She didn’t want to give him a chance to deny her.
Not when she’d carefully devised this seduction.
Not when her future happiness was at stake.
And not when Rosey was expected at any minute.
‘Oh my, you certainly know how to kiss,’ she whispered against his lips.
He pulled back. ‘Miss, you—’
She pressed a forefinger to his full mouth. ‘Shh. Let’s not waste time. Kiss me again. With fierce passion. Just as I’ve dreamed.’
She pressed against him once again, his hot skin like sun-kissed marble.
This time, his hand came up to cradle her face.
Her lips parted and he slipped his tongue inside.
She was shocked at the first gentle thrust of his tongue, then quickly wanted more.
She clung to him, her fingers moving from his shoulders to burrow into his thick hair.
When her nails scraped his scalp, he stiffened for an instant as if deciding which path he would choose, then a coiled tension inside him released and the kiss changed.
He slipped one arm around her waist and ravaged her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers.
Heart thumping, an unexpected wave of pure heat crashed over her.
Goodness, he was a skilled kisser. No wonder women fell at his feet. Becoming a fallen woman would be much easier than she’d thought.
She wiggled closer. Fascinated by their differences, she pressed a hand on his chest. Strong and sure, his heart pounded beneath her palm.
She breathed between parted lips as her fingers passed over slabs of muscles and a crisp mat of hair.
Sandalwood and linen and his own masculine scent, hinting of danger, teased her heightened senses.
He was even more stunningly virile than she remembered.
He seemed just as eager to explore her now.
Lifting his head, his lips brushed a path down her throat and to the sensitive shell of her ear.
A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her.
She felt the heat in the strangest places.
A tingling in her belly. A delicious warmth between her legs. She was warm and hot and shivery.
A soft moan escaped her lips, and she arched towards him. ‘Yes…that feels incredible.’
His voice was hoarse, passionate. ‘God, you were made for this. Who are you?’
Did he not remember their brief flirtation?
Or, more likely, he’d dallied with more than one woman at the ball.
Any answer was lost when his big hand ran up her leg—her thigh bare without stockings—and she suddenly understood how a woman could lose all inhibitions in the embrace of a skilled, passionate lover.
At twenty-six, she’d wasted too much time.
When would she get this chance again? Her mother had told her that her curiosity would be her downfall.
As someone who studied science, she didn’t see it that way.
Especially not now.
Rosey would be opening the door soon. Now she wished she’d asked for a bit more time. An hour? Maybe two. If she was to be a fallen woman, then she should be able to select the rake of her choosing.
Him. Undeniably him.
‘Simon,’ she whispered, ‘I never imagined.’
He jerked back. ‘Who? Miss—’
The door opened and light illuminated the bed. Heart racing and feeling flushed, Nora sat up ready to face her future…and her freedom.
Her maid, Rosey, gasped, precisely as practiced. It seemed a long, loud gasp, but it was nothing like the reaction of the other woman beside her.
Her mother screamed.
Surely the high-pitched shrill would wake the dead, let alone their host and every guest of the house party.
Beside her, he tossed aside the sheet and stood. ‘What the hell!’
Nora turned at the sound of the deep masculine voice—entirely unlike Sir Simon’s lilting, lyrical voice. His voice had been low before, choaked with passion, and she hadn’t recognized it.
Dread settled low in her gut, at the dark and brooding Earl of Ralston standing stark naked beside her.
Devon, the Earl of Ralston, knew he’d been tricked.
And what a way to go.
He snatched the sheet and wrapped it around him before all hell broke loose and the rest of the house party woke from the hysterical screaming matron in the doorway. What would it take to get her to cease?
She pushed the door aside with such force a chip of plaster flew off the wall and missed his cheek by inches. ‘What is going on here?’
The Earl wasn’t sure if the matron was asking him or Nora Magarian standing beside him.
The mother turned her attention from him to the young woman. ‘What were you thinking, Nora?’
Yes, he thought loudly to himself. What the hell had she been thinking?
No matter how beautiful a woman Nora was, standing stark naked beside her was not a smart choice.
Although, it hadn’t actually been his choice, had it?
She’d slipped into his bed.
God, the feel of her. That lush mouth pressed against his.
Her abundant curves had sinuously rubbed against him, and he’d felt her breasts through her thin nightgown pressed against his chest. Her fresh lemongrass soap filled his senses, drugging him.
Her silken thighs were without stockings and his blood ran hot thinking of her.
He’d had a hard time forgetting their encounter the prior night at the ball.
She’d been impertinent, difficult and intriguing.
He hadn’t realized how bored he’d been until she’d challenged him.
He was used to beautiful women. In his world, there were many debutantes who’d sought his attention.
Only she hadn’t sought his. Until tonight.
The more he thought of what had just occurred, the more confused he was.
Why had she slipped into his bed? And what red-blooded male could resist her?
He grasped the sheet tighter around his waist.
‘Nora,’ Mrs Margarian’s tone sharpened as she addressed her daughter, ‘I will deal with you later.’
Despite everything, a protective possessiveness for the daughter stirred in his chest, and he wanted to push her behind him to shield her from her mother’s wrath.
He must be mad. Then he caught a gleam in the mother’s eyes, and once more, his suspicions were raised.
She turned a penetrating gaze to him. ‘You have dishonored my daughter, my lord.’
He hadn’t done anything. Nora had climbed into his bed. But the world didn’t work that way, did it?
‘Madam, this is most awkward—’ he began.
‘Awkward! I demand you act honorably.’
Ah, therein lies the rub.
He was struck by the enormity of the situation.
He could not afford a scandal, not even a hint of one.
It would be the proverbial kiss of death for a rising politician.
He had goals, objectives, and his bill to limit child labor was to have its first reading soon after his return to Town.
He could just imagine Lord Weber’s smug look upon clutching the Tatler, the ridiculously popular scandal sheet, and taunting him with it at White’s or, even worse, in the House of Lords, surrounded by his peers.
He reached up as if to loosen a cravat around his throat that wasn’t there.
He swallowed. He gave Nora his most imposing scowl, one that would send his stewards scrambling and warn men in the street from stepping into his path.
To his surprise, Nora faced him squarely, green eyes gleaming even in the darkness, chin up, lips swollen from his kisses.
Her disheveled auburn hair caressed her shoulders and fell in waves down her back as if they’d spent a night in his bed.
Still dressed in her cotton nightgown, he could make out a shapely leg.
He wanted to yell at her, to demand an explanation, to kiss her hard.
What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t in keeping with his well-designed future. She wasn’t part of it. He, more than others, knew life could be devastatingly unexpected. There was only one way to prevent the scandal of the Season.
His mouth set in a grim line as he faced the mother again. ‘I’m prepared to offer for your daughter. With your permission, we can wed as soon as we return to Town and the banns are read.’