Deliciously Debauched by the Rake

Ann Lethbridge

Elizabeth Bentham has been John, Lord Radthorn’s lover for five glorious years. But she wants him to have a chance to marry a respectable lady, not a woman with her tarnished reputation. Elizabeth thinks telling him their relationship has lost its spark will help him move on…but John isn’t prepared to lose her, and sets out to prove their passion is as strong as ever….

Dedication

This story is dedicated to a famous long-time mistress who was finally able to marry her man.

Author Note

Robert and Charlie, the twins in The Gamekeeper’s Lady and More than a Mistress, were just so delicious, I just knew Robert’s best friend, John would be their equal. The fact that he had a long time mistress, made him all the more intriguing. Indeed, why would a young nobleman take his mistress to visit his grandmother’s house?

Discovering John and Elizabeth’s story was a real pleasure. I hope you enjoy their journey too.

The Gamekeeper’s Lady and More than a Mistress are available as ebooks at www.harlequin.com

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

About the Author

Chapter One

The house resounded with silence. The mantel clock’s steady tick echoed in the chill drawing room. The candle on the sofa table fought the encroaching evening gloom. Dressed in bonnet and fur-lined pelisse as elegant as her surroundings, the surroundings she’d live in for the past five years, Lady Elizabeth sat opposite the unlit hearth.

Numb. Cold on the inside.

She kept her mind carefully blank. It did no good to go over and over the speech she must give. The decision was made. The words set in stone.

The case clock beside the front door struck the quarter hour. The carriage was due at any moment. If John didn’t come soon, their conversation would wait for another day. Putting off something she dreaded. Though her absence from the house might be a clue as to her intentions. Her gloved hands clenched in her lap. With deliberate care, she relaxed her fingers. No point in being impatient. Or upset.

Hooves rattled on the cobbles outside. Wheels ground to a halt. A carriage door slammed. Instinctively, she flinched at the sound of a key tuning in the front door lock. She forced herself to stillness, her face pleasantly blank. An expression learned years before and now put to good use.

Footsteps tramped along the tiled corridor. They stopped at the doorway.

“Elizabeth?” The deep rich voice resonated with surprise and, blast him, gladness.

“John,” she replied with a bright smile. “As ever, your timing is perfect.”

He strode into the room, manly, tall, with light brown hair ruffled by the wind. Her heart leaped as it always did when she saw him. Intelligent gray eyes looked at her in puzzlement. A frown disturbed his classically handsome features. His lips, his beautiful mouth that when he smiled made her toes curl with anticipation and love, parted to form a question.

In that moment, the temptation to change her mind beat in her blood with irresistible force. She must not. She’d been fortunate to keep him this long. To hold him at her side any longer was unfair. Pure selfishness.

“I didn’t expect to see you for a day or so,” he said. “Is something wrong? Did my grandmother not treat you well?”

She hadn’t expected him to be quite so perceptive. “Your grandmother was a most kind hostess.” Generous. Sweet. Kind. To a woman who did not belong among polite society. To have gone had been utter folly.

The frown remained. He glanced at the trunk and the hatboxes neatly stacked beside the door. “Did you only just arrive? I’ll have Dunbury take up your trunks.”

Lean and lithe, he moved swiftly to the bell pull.

“I gave Dunbury the evening off.” She’d given all the servants a holiday. She rose to her feet, smiled at him fondly, with no hint of the sorrow pressing at her heart as she gazed into his beautiful face. “You arrived just in time to bid me farewell.”

He stared blankly. But John was a clever man and in a second his mind grasped her meaning. His expression darkened. “Something has happened.” His jaw tightened. He strode closer, reaching for her hands, his gaze fixed on her face. “What is wrong?”

She let him keep her hands, but rested them loosely in his grip. “It is over, John. I am leaving you. A carter will call in the morning for my things. I will stay with a friend this evening.”

He shook his head, his expression one of shock. “Why? Because I left you in Kent? I thought you didn’t mind.”

She had known he would ask, of course. And she knew what to say; she just hated the thought of causing him pain. “I didn’t mind.”

“Then why?”

“For that very reason. Because I didn’t mind. I didn’t care if you left or if you stayed.” She had minded, but she hadn’t objected, because knowing him as she did, she knew he would not be able to let his best friend down. He was a good and honorable man. And kind and generous. The greatest man she knew. He had never treated her as anything but a lady. And that was why she had to let him go. “You left without a second’s thought and it didn’t trouble me one bit. The spark is gone.”

He cursed under his breath. “Blast it, Elizabeth, say what you mean.”

They’d always been frank and open. She owed him nothing less now. “When we first met, we couldn’t get enough of each other. We couldn’t bear to be out of each other’s sight. Now we act like an old married couple, taking each other for granted, going our separate ways when it suits us.” She lifted her shoulders in a careless little gesture of dismissal. “There is no excitement left.”

“Are you saying you are looking for a new lover?” Incredulity filled his voice. She knew how he felt. It had taken her some long hours to become accustomed to the idea.

“I always liked that about you,” she said with a quick laugh and hoped he couldn’t hear the brittleness beneath the light airy sound. “Your quick understanding.”

He moved closer, looking down into her eyes. The shadowy room would keep him from seeing the truth. She hoped. “I will not allow this, Elizabeth.”

The growl in his deep voice, the note of possession, struck a chord low in her belly. Jealousy. It got to her every time. Not that John ever had reason for jealousy. Until now.

She forced her smile to brighten and raised a brow. “I filled the terms of our contract long ago, Lord Radthorn. You have no hold over me. Or I over you.” She touched his cheek, glad of the kidskin guarding against his warmth, the feel of his skin, yet it still cost her to touch him. Cost her more pain. More sense of loss. “I’m sorry if this comes as a surprise.”

“Grandmother,” he said. “She said something. How dare she?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I never should have taken you there.”

“No,” she said coolly. “You should not have.” The hopes for great grandchildren the dear old dowager had expressed with such a look of longing in her face and not a smidgeon of malice had brought Elizabeth up short. Made her look at her life. And the deeper she looked, the more she realized the wrong she was doing. She and John had become too easy with each other. Too comfortable. A man in his position had duties. And he deserved to find love. And a woman he could marry.

Sadly, she could not be that woman. Not with her tarnished reputation. Their time together had been wonderful, and she had known all this from the start. Over time she’d just forgotten. They’d been so happy.

She’d even thought about having his child. Making them a family. It wouldn’t be fair. Not to him or the children. So this must be done.

“You took me to a family party.” The laugh came a little easier. A little harder. The perfect note for one such as she. “The height of dullness. Boring. You have become boring.”

He recoiled from her cold words, looking at her as if he no longer recognized her, confusion filling his face. “I’ve always treated you with respect, if that is what you mean. If you find that dull—” his voice became hard “—then there is no more to be said. When you find a suitable candidate for your bed, do not hesitate to request a letter of reference, should one be required.”

If her gentle reasonable John was lashing out, then she had hurt him deeply. Her heart longed to offer comfort. She must not. It would be better for them both if he stayed angry. “You are generous to a fault, as always,” she said with calm practicality, retrieving her overnight valise from the floor. “But it will not be required. I will be staying with Miss Barnhurst until my plans are finalized. You can expect her footman to call for the luggage sometime tomorrow.”

The door knocker banged.

“My carriage,” she said calmly.

John, looking grim, opened the door and bowed her out.

“No need to see me off,” she said, praying he wouldn’t insist. The tears welling in her throat might not remain dammed for much longer.

It would be a disaster if he saw tears.

John stared into his glass of brandy. “I still can’t believe it.”

Lord Robert Mountford, sitting opposite shook his head. “How long is it you have been together?”

John thought back to the first time he met her. A beautiful young widow, with golden hair and the joy of life in her bright blue eyes. She’d rented a box at the opera. As good as put a sign over her head. Destitute widow available to the right man. Word had rippled through the ranks of the male members of the ton, bachelors and husbands alike. But he’d won her. They’d liked each other on sight. He’d seduced her not with riches, for he was by no means the wealthiest male knocking at her door, but with the respect she’d so clearly deserved. Despite her being three years older than him, he’d wooed her into his bed. She’d been his goddess.

Was she right? Had he really become dull and boring? “Five years.” He remembered the day as if it was yesterday when he’d taken her to that small house on the edge of town and made his offer of a carte blanche. She’d flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. You would have thought he’d offered her the moon.

“It is probably time you married and got yourself an heir, anyway,” Robert said, staring moodily into his glass.

“Since when did you concern yourself with family duties?” he said pointedly. “What are your plans now? Not returning to the family fold, I assume?”

Robert’s expression turned grim. “Not a chance. I thought I’d go to America.”

“You mother won’t like that.”

His dark eyes flashed fire. “What are you going to do about Elizabeth?”

John let Robert change the subject, because that was what friends did. And Robert had been tormented enough for one day. “What can I do? She wants more excitement. I’ve sent around a bank draft as promised in our contract.” He took a deep breath as a vision danced in his head. “And I’ll kill any man who goes anywhere near her.” But he wouldn’t, not if that was what she wanted.

Robert gave a crack of a laugh. “It is going to be odd seeing one of you without the other.”

“In other words, we were as dull as an old married couple.” His chest tightened as he echoed Elizabeth’s words. He never imagined she could hurt him quite so much. Or that she would ever leave.

Robert grimaced.

“Damn it all, Robert, it was good. Or I thought it was. Years ago, when we first met, she said she would never marry again. Now I know why. She clearly prefers variety.”

Robert downed a huge swallow of brandy. “So she’s ready to move on. To find someone new to light her fires.” He shrugged. “I guess you let the flames go out.”

John shot to his feet. “Damn you, Robert. I did not let—” Had he? Wasn’t that what Lizzie had said? The spark is gone. Then why did he care? Why did he, every time he thought of her with another man, want to choke the life out of someone?

Robert peered up at him. “Never take a woman for granted, John,” he said glumly. “Don’t forget to send her diamonds or pearls or she’ll be calling you a skinflint behind your back.”

If he didn’t leave soon, it might be his best friend he murdered. “Thanks for the advice. Will I see you tomorrow?”

Robert downed the last of his brandy. “Likely not. There is nothing for me here. I’ve an interview with my mother in the morning, then I’m gone.”

“So having debauched an innocent, you are just going to walk away. I thought better of you.”

Robert glared at him. “Look to your own house before you poke your nose in mine.”

Not one to be easily aroused to temper, John was shocked at the ire burning in his chest. The fury running though his veins. He glared at his best friend. “Then I wish you the best of luck. If you can ever bend that stiff neck of yours enough to ask for help, you will always find it at my door.”

He threw a few coins on the table and stomped out of the disreputable inn where Robert had taken rooms.

Now what? He glanced up and down the street. This area really was unpleasant and he’d be wise to take a hackney home. Except he didn’t want to go home.

The thought of his neat little townhouse without Elizabeth’s smiling face and delectable body didn’t hold any allure. Then he’d go to the Bedford Square town house. His official residence. A place he only set foot in once or twice a year. He’d order up the best wine from the cellars and see how many bottles it took before the pain in his chest subsided.

Lost the spark, had he? That was like telling a man his wedding tackle no longer worked. Well, his worked fine, thank you very much. He had no doubt there would be a dozen females lining up to enjoy what he had on offer once they knew Elizabeth was out of his life.

A sense of purpose filled him. Dammit. He’d show Elizabeth he hadn’t lost his spark. By thunder, he would.

With the Season barely begun, the opera house audience was sparse. Most of the ton remained at their country estates after holidays, until Parliament resumed. It was a good thing. The absence of Society’s high sticklers would allow Elizabeth to become accustomed to her new state of affairs.

Widow. A woman alone.

She didn’t need another protector. John had been more than generous over the years. But since she’d told him she was looking for excitement, she could hardly sit at home mourning for what could not be.

Living with John all of these years had put her beyond the pale of good Society, so here she sat in her rented box at the opera, another gift from John, looking as if she was selling her wares. And when the time came, she would enjoy watching John choose his bride and begin his family.

Without her.

It was the right thing to do. For him. The thought of seeing him was like a knife in her heart. She’d been angry after her husband died, longing for freedom. But she’d also been poor and desperate.

John had rescued her from the prospect of utter destitution. At the time, she hadn’t realized he was younger than she was. Inheriting his title so early had matured him far beyond his years. She owed him her gratitude. This was one way she could repay that debt. Cut him loose. Make it impossible for him to come back by taking another man.

The thought made her sick to her stomach.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Miss Barnhurst asked. Dear old Barny had welcomed her with open arms. She’d been Elizabeth’s governess in happier times, before she’d married her old rich husband. A mean old skinflint who, because she had not produced the expected heir, had left her penniless.

Elizabeth’s brother had offered to find another husband. Another man like her first. And when she’d refused, he, too, had cast her off. Barny had taken her in, despite her own dire circumstances. So Elizabeth had shared her good fortune with the woman she now considered her friend.

“Well enough,” Elizabeth said with a smile she was proud of as she let her gaze wander the slowly filling pit. Several gentlemen caught her eye and bowed low. She acknowledged their homage with the merest inclination of her head. It would not do to appear too eager. Men want what they think they cannot have another courtesan had told her once.

But it hadn’t been like that between her and John. The artifice. The skill of the hunt and the capture. The moment he had walked into her box, this very box, she had known he was the one.

She scanned the boxes opposite. A few contained parties of ladies and gentlemen. Some were empty. But it was early yet. Young gentlemen on the town rarely arrived for the opening curtain.

Her hand convulsed around the handle of her fan. They would ogle her. Send flowers and messages, and she would greet a few of them discretely in the shadowy recesses of her box. The presence of Miss Barnhurst and the burly footman she’d hired for the purpose would prevent any unwelcome advances from young men in their cups.

She just hoped John would see where his duty lay quickly so she could retire to the cottage in the country she was in the process of purchasing for her and Barny.

A stir opposite brought her woolgathering to a halt. A party of men and women were taking their places. Her gaze honed in on a familiar tall lean figure.

“Oh, dear,” Barney said. “How unfortunate.”

John. A breath caught in her throat at the searing pain of recognition. Careful not to catch his eye, or to appear to notice him at all, Elizabeth smiled and waited for the ache to reduce to a manageable level. She rapped Barney’s sleeve with her fan. “Not unfortunate at all.” She leaned close to her friend as if whispering a secret. “It is perfect. Just as I hoped.”

She tilted her head as she once more let her gaze wander the pit. She caught the eye of a very young blond gentleman. Not someone she knew, but clearly a young man of means. He doffed his hat and bowed low.

She inclined her head regally. A queen accepting homage from a courtier who just might be awarded the honor of her company.

His friends hooted and made obviously lewd remarks. The young man grinned. He would call on her in the intermission. Of that she had no doubt. The curtain rose and Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on the stage. Nothing more was required of her than to be seen alone. Her dress with its revealing scoop, the paint on her face, her come-hither smile affixed to her face provided all the information anyone needed.

Yet she could not help watching the box opposite from the corner of her eye. Not once did John look her way as far as she could tell. Every nerve in her body tingled with awareness. Of him. But the party he was with was respectable. A man and his wife, two lovely young women, one dark, one fair, and both hanging on his lips.

John wasn’t a fool. He knew where his duty lay and it seemed that all he’d needed was a bit of a push. She’d been right, they had been too comfortable.

The pain around her heart was regret. Over time it would lessen.

It must, for it made it very difficult to breathe.

Chapter Two

“Flowers for Lady Elizabeth,” Broom, her footman, said. The beefy young man had been presenting her with calling cards since the moment intermission started. For all Elizabeth knew there was a line outside her box of eager gentlemen, young and old. Some of the names she recognized. Some she did not.

“Who on earth sent flowers?” Their heady perfume filled her box.

He laid the bouquet on an empty chair and handed Elizabeth the accompanying card.

“Well, are you going to let any of them in?” Barny’s corrugated lips pursed in disapproval and worry.

Elizabeth glanced over at the opposite box. John was back, having brought refreshments to the young ladies, who seemed dazzled by his presence.

She held the card up to the light from the candles suspended from the front of the box above. “‘George Francis,’” she read. She raised a brow. “Do you know anyone by the family name of Francis, Barny?”

As a governess, it had been Barny’s job to know all the branches of noble families, first and second tier. The older lady shook her head. “Not that I recall. I will have to consult Debretts.”

“Whoever he is, he is fast on his feet to find such a gorgeous display of roses at this time of night. Or at this time of year.” She picked up the bouquet and buried her face in the pale yellow blooms. The scent was delicious. “Such cleverness deserves some reward.”

She glanced down into the pit where the young blond gentleman had been earlier. There was no sign of him. Was he Mr. Francis? “Is the gentleman who gave you the flowers waiting outside?” she asked Broom.

“No, my lady. He asked permission to call on you tomorrow. I said it was not my place to say, as you instructed. He said to put the flowers in the window at the front of the house, if the answer was yes.”

Her heart picked up speed. Anger. It had to be anger. “The gentleman is impertinent. Was he young or old?”

The footman shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s a bit dark in the corridor, miss, and the candles just outside the door have gone out. I couldn’t see the gentleman none to clearly.”

“And he left.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Puzzled, she stared at the blooms. Yellow roses. It was not someone who knew her, not John, though for some odd reason she had hoped… But he knew her expressed preference for red blooms. She glanced at the cards in her lap. “Let in Lord Samuel, Mr. Partinger—did you ever hear the name Partinger, Barny?”

The sweet lady shook her head.

Perhaps she would be wise to entertain the advances of some unknown gentleman. It would cause less of a stir when she disappeared.

“And His Grace.” No advantage in snubbing the elderly Duke when everyone knew he preferred young men. She tucked the rest of the cards into her reticule. The footman would need instructions about all of them. No doubt they would be just as cheeky as the man who left the flowers. Put the bouquet in her window indeed. Whoever heard of such a thing? Whoever Mr. Francis was, when he arrived tomorrow, he would receive a set down of grand proportions.

The three chosen gentlemen filed into her box and made their bows. Mr. Partinger was the young blond gentleman from the pit. So she was no closer to solving who her mystery admirer might be.

Tomorrow would be soon enough. She set about making the gentlemen callers welcome, making them laugh and flirting outrageously. Just as she would if she were seeking a new protector.

Despite the offers of escort, she’d left the theater as she’d arrived, alone except for Barny and Broom. The next afternoon, sitting in the drawing room, embroidery in hand, she smiled across the room at Barny on the other side of the hearth. The small house she’d purchased for the governess some three years ago was perfect for two single women. “It all went very well last night.”

Then why did she feel so miserable?

“If you say so, my dear,” Barny said, a twinkle in her hazel eyes. “You certainly garnered lots of attention.”

She had. And all night long in her lonely bed she’d seen images of John with the two young ladies. So courteous. So polite. So ready to fall in love.

The needle missed the fabric and pierced her finger. “Ouch.”

“Would you like my thimble?” Barny asked.

Elizabeth inspected her digit, then sucked at the little bead of blood at its tip. “No, thank you.” She put the embroidery hoop down with a sigh. “Perhaps a trip to Bond Street will get rid of my fidgets.”

“Another chance to be seen, you mean,” Barny said with disapproval. “There are too many quizzes abroad in the afternoon. Go tomorrow morning.”

The bouquet on the sofa table caught Elizabeth’s eye. Put it in the window indeed. The gentleman would be disappointed. Or not. Men who courted the demimonde for entertainment rarely cared if their chosen ladybird said yea or nay. There were plenty more to be had for the price of a dozen yellow roses. She ought to have tossed them out. It would be a dreadful waste, though. An insult to the flowers themselves. And their perfume was lovely.

A knock sounded on the door.

She glanced at the clock. Yes, it was indeed the time for morning calls. Broom entered the room a moment or two later. “Mr. Francis,” he said.

She frowned. “I’m not at home.” She’d already told Broom she would not see him. Money. No doubt the man had greased her footman’s palm. He would have to—

“Good day, Lady Elizabeth.”

The beautiful man who stood looking at her had a bad boy smile on his face.

Her jaw dropped. “John?” Her voice was a squeak. A mouse would have been louder. Her glance shot to the footman. “You said it was Mr. Francis.”

The footman went scarlet. “That’s what it says on his card, my lady.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Barny said, leaping to her feet with an agility Elizabeth hadn’t seen in years. “I just remembered I needed to…to speak with Cook. Come along, Broom.”

The two of them disappeared from the room so fast Elizabeth could feel a swirl of air pass her cheek.

She rose to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

John grinned at her. “Throwing my hat into the ring, so to speak.”

Dreadful canting talk. But she knew exactly what he meant. He was taking up the challenge. He looked lovely. Smiling. Handsome. Her heart lifted so high it was only now she realized how low it had sunk.

“No.”

“No?” he asked in a low, seductive murmur.

He took her hand in his, kissed the back of it, his breath hot against her skin through the lace of her mitten, reminding her of all the passion they had shared.

“I told you,” she said, struggling against the longing in her heart, in her very soul, to have him stay. “It is over between us.”

“Us,” he said musingly. “There never was an us.”

Was this some kind of horrid joke? Some sort of revenge? She would not have expected it of him. “We lived together for almost five years, remember?”

“You lived with Lord Radthorn for five years. A young nobleman of means who wrote up a contract. A cold arrangement for money. I am his distant cousin. You and I never met before.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” She spun away from him. Turned her back. Her heart pounded with fear. Her voice shook. The calmness with which she’d faced him only a few days before seemed beyond her grasp. “Please go.”

The lack of sound behind her had her turning back. To her shock, he held a yellow bloom in his hand. He held it out to her.

Frantic, she curled her lip. “You know I only like red roses.”

“I know nothing about you,” he murmured

“John, please.” The anguish in her voice shocked her.

“George.” The rose remained steady, while his lips curved in an encouraging smile. “You can’t despise yellow entirely, my lady, if you kept them by you.”

Unable to resist the appeal in his eyes, she reached for the bloom. He captured her hand in his the moment she clasped the stem. He stepped closer, only the blossom standing between them. He touched the petals to his lips and then pressed the flower gently to hers. It was a heady sensation to be kissed by a rose. On a shuddering breath she stepped away. He dropped her hand and she immediately felt the loss.

She moved to the window, looking out into the quiet street. “Why are you here? What is this game you are playing?”

“No game. I understand you found your last lover lacking. I am here to see if I can improve upon his performance.”

Startled, she turned to stare at him. The sight of him, his physical presence, was pure temptation and torture. The warmth in his gaze a tug at her heart. “I—No. This is nonsense.”

He watched her gravely. “Am I so unworthy, you will not give me a chance?”

Was that hurt she heard in his voice? Possibly. She could imagine she’d hurt his pride. But she did have one last arrow left in her quiver. She drew herself up straight. “You have an obligation to your family to marry. To produce the next heir, whatever name you go by.”

At that he laughed, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. “Are you saying that any relationship we might have is an impediment to my being married?”

Trust John to see right to the heart of the matter. But how could she tell him it would break her heart? “No,” she said stiffly, hoping he would not see the lie in her eyes. “No impediment.”

He stepped close and this time when he took her hand, she offered no resistance. His gaze holding hers, he kissed her hand. “Then you find me unattractive.”

“No,” she whispered. “Never that.”

“Then why do you hesitate?” he murmured. “Give me leave to call on you. It is all I ask.”

“All?”

“To begin with.”

“John—”

“John is driving in the park with some empty-headed debutante in fulfilment of his duties. I am all yours.”

Moisture burned in her throat and behind her eyes. Her heart would no longer hold out against him. But for all her surrender, she must have his agreement to the boundaries of this madness. A way to protect her heart. “For the nonce, then,” she said with a careless flick of her fingers. “Until I make my final choice.”

He flashed a small smile. A little too triumphant for her liking. “For the nonce it is.” He drew her over to the sofa and gestured she should sit. She sank into the soft upholstery. He lounged beside her, his big, strong body clearly at ease.

“Would you like some refreshment?” she asked. “Some wine. Brandy? You will have to tell me what it is George prefers.”

“Mmmm,” he said considering, thoughtful. “I prefer you.”

Her stomach gave a little sensual hop at the heat in his voice and the flame of desire in his eyes. Her heart began to flutter in her chest. Her body to respond to his nearness with heat, the way it always did. “That was not quite what I meant.”

He picked up her gloved hand and played with her fingers, stroking and massaging and, she realized, slowly removing her lacy glove. She really should deny him the liberty. But why? Years before she’d decided that becoming a courtesan was the only way out of her financial difficulties. Those difficulties were gone now. She could choose for herself.

He wanted to be her lover. They were adults, not children. And besides, his touch felt absolutely delicious. Strong and firm yet gentle. The lace slid from off and his fingers stroked her bare palm. Her skin shivered all over with pleasure.

She’d always loved his hands. Long fingers, capable yet elegant whether handling the reins or the laces of her gown.

She’d loved everything about him, after her initial shame and fear.

He turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped so hard he must have felt it against his mouth.

“You taste delicious,” he murmured against her skin. He swirled his tongue in her palm.

Her insides melted. She felt loose and open and thoroughly weak.

But she wasn’t the naive and terrified widow she’d been when she first met him. She was a woman who could give as good as she got. She ran the rose down the side of his face. A whispering brush of petals. His eyes closed in obvious pleasure, she brushed the petals across his flickering eyelid and he smiled. She swooshed it around the shell of his ear and he hissed in a breath.

Her core pulsed at the sound.

All around them the air was filled with sweet perfume, heavy and enticing.

He drew back, his chest rising and falling with the obvious effort to regain control. “May I engage you to accompany me out this evening?” he asked, as was proper for a man with no prior claim. Her presence would cost him dearly. It would require a gift of jewels at the very least.

A flirtatious considering tilt of her head elicited a quick smile. “Say yes,” he urged. “I promise you will not be sorry.”

She had the feeling that when all this was over, she was going to be very sorry indeed. It had been hard enough to let him go once. But a second time? It would be hell. And yet he had brought her to the brink of excitement with his game, and regrets were in the future. She had been brusque at their separation. Like a surgeon with a knife. Perhaps she should have given them both time to get used to the idea. Let him down more gently.

“Very well,” she said.

To her dismay, he rose to his feet and strode for the door.

“George,” she said quietly. “How did you know where to find me? Do I have to relieve Broom of his duties?”

“Your man is a fortress, my dear lady.” He flashed a grin. “I followed you home.”

“Oh.” Simple, logical, straightforward. Just like John. Only he was nothing like her John.

“I will come for you at ten o’clock,” he said.

“So late?”

He shrugged. A devilish twinkle lurked in his eyes. “The real party does not start until later.”

Later was always the time for the madness and the badness of the scurrilous side of the ton.

Chapter Three

Elizabeth regarded the black gown in the mirror. It had arrived just before dinner, along with the scarlet domino and mask. “Wear these for me, G.” had been scrawled on the accompanying note.

He must be taking her to Vauxhall. In January. She heaved a sigh. She’d tired of the tawdry entertainments years ago. But the gown was shocking. Intriguing. A bodice gathered at the neck with a fine satin ribbon and made almost entirely of lace, skirts of the sheerest black silk and tied under the bust with gold. He’d even included the skimpiest chemise she’d ever seen and stays which fit her form to perfection. All in black. All in the finest sheerest fabric. The feel of them against her skin was heavenly. Sensual.

Black silk stockings tied above the knee and black satin slippers completed the outfit. Except for jewellery. She chose pearls.

A knock on the door below hurried her along. She threw the domino around her shoulders, fastening the hidden buttons down the front. A clever way of preventing anyone from seeing anything but the hem of the outrageous gown beneath. Thank heavens. Though why bother with the gown, if it was not to be seen? Mask in hand, she rushed downstairs.

The silky gown clung to her legs, brushed the insides of her thighs in a most seductive sensation. She gasped at the shock of it, pausing on the stairs.

Her escort glanced up at her, a wicked smile on his lips. “Ready, darling?” He also wore an enveloping domino. A black one. He looked incredibly dashing.

“Yes.” She sounded breathless. As if she’d run a mile instead of descending the few stairs to the hallway. She slowed her steps, pleased to discover that although the gown still brushed against the bare skin above her stockings, it did not cling quite so much. She held out the mask with a smile. “Shall I put this on now?”

“When we arrive,” he said.

Broom opened the door with an impassive face and they stepped out into the night. It was cold. The wind stung her cheeks. Flakes of snow drifted down, settling on her domino, melting on her face. Would Vauxhall even be open on such a night?

John—no George; she had decided to play his game—handed her into his town carriage. It provided protection from the wind, and there were warm bricks for their feet and an enormous fur lap rug draped across the other seat. He’d thought of everything. The carriage tilted with his weight as he climbed in, then settled on its springs when he sat beside her. He rapped on the roof and the vehicle moved off.

He pulled the rug across them both, tucking it around her shoulders and his, like a soft cocoon. His thigh pressed against hers, warm and solid, and his shoulders seemed to take up more than their fair share of room. For all his gentleness, he was a large man.

“Thank you,” she said.

Vauxhall. There would be ham and dancing and fireworks, and probably a bit of slap and tickle in the back of the box. It would be fine.

His hand rested on her thigh. “Warm enough?” he asked as he stroked small circles on the top of her leg.

“Perfect,” she replied, trying not to shiver at the delicious sensation.

His fingers slipped beneath the domino and now there was nothing but the sheerest silk between her skin and his hand. His ungloved hand, she realized as he fluttered over skin that had been made sensitive by the few steps she’d taken in the gown.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured softly in her ear. His teeth nibbled at her lobe.

Good Lord, he was right. She was as tense as a debutante on her first drive in the park with a man. The tightness flowed away. She leaned against his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his mouth pressing little kisses on her temple, at the corner of her eye, while he caressed her legs. His stroking became firmer, more demanding. She parted her thighs and his hand eased between them, massaging and teasing the bare flesh above her stockings with the slide of soft silk. As his hand moved, the silk brushed her core. A whisper of a touch. Yet not his touch. An illicit, unintentional caress.

Heat bloomed. She gasped. He did not seem to notice, but the torment went on and on, minute by minute. Each indrawn breath became more shallow than the last, and anticipation built. Her heart raced. The feminine flesh at her core tingled and ached for a firmer touch. Tormented by the urge for release, she squirmed on the seat—she could bear it no longer. Then he stopped. She cried out a protest, widening her thighs to give him access to where she needed his hand.

“Patience,” he whispered into the hollow of her neck. “We have all night.”

She didn’t want to wait. She burrowed her hand into his lap beneath the throw, felt the evidence of his arousal in the thick swell of his member through the thickness of the domino and his trousers. She stroked his erection as he’d taught her, urging him to finish what he had started. To ease the ache clawing at her insides.

He captured her hand in his with a rueful laugh, brought it to his lips and held it there until she stopped tugging against his greater strength. She glared at him, curling her fingers into claws.

“I like this hellion side of you,” he said.

She let go a breath. “Is this your idea of punishment?”

His face grew serious. “Elizabeth, no. I bear you no enmity. Tonight is for you.”

“Then—”

“Look, we have arrived.”

The carriage turned and slowed.

She frowned. Glanced out of the window. They had not crossed the river. She always knew the sound of the wheels across the bridge and even in her heightened state of arousal, she would have noticed. They had not gone to Vauxhall. “Where are we?”

“You’ll see.”

While the coachman brought the carriage to a gentle stop, George tied on her mask then his own. He threw back the rug. The blast of cold air put paid to the heat of desire. She shivered and pulled the domino close around her as he helped her down. It was a large mansion they had arrived at, with towering columns holding a massive marble pediment decorated with cherubs above the front door. It was snowing harder now. The wind tugged at the folds of the domino. Before she could guess what he was about, he swept her up in his arms.

He mounted the steps two at a time and carried her inside a huge door that opened without the need for knocking. He lowered her to the ground, letting her slide down against his body, and heaven help her, the silky fabric began its torment all over again.

A butler, a young man with blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, bowed. “This way, if you please, sir.”

They were obviously expected. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw a footman standing staring out of a peephole set off to one side in the door. That was how he had known to open it.

“What is this place?”

“A brothel,” George said with a wicked smile. “A very select establishment.”

A flitter of fear laced with excitement ran through her body. “Have you been here before?” Oh, dear, was that jealousy she heard in her voice? How could it be, when she’d as good as sent him away? But what if he’d been coming here all along?

“Lord Robert brought me here when we were first on the town. Him and his brother Charlie. Long before I met you. I never had need to come here after that.”

She glanced around. The surroundings were opulent. Marble friezes. Paintings on the ceilings and the walls. For a moment, she didn’t quite believe what her eyes were seeing in those paintings. Two men and half a dozen women using their mouths on their male parts with obvious enjoyment. Each male was bound to a pillar, their hands high above their heads and an expression of utter bliss and submission on their faces. “Oh, my,” she said, catching sight of another painting showing women being similarly accommodated by several men.

She stopped. Turned and faced this new incarnation of a man she thought she knew. “Are we going to an orgy?” She didn’t sound quite as shocked as she should. And that horrified her.

His eyes glinted with mischief. His lips quirked in a devilish smile. “Would you like to?”

“No.” She sounded too hesitant. As if she actually wanted to say yes. It was all his fault, that toying with her beneath the rug in the carriage—she was still aroused and these pictures had renewed the assault. And the fault of this slithering, sliding gown beneath the domino. “No,” she said firmly.

He smiled more gently. “I’m glad. I am not good at sharing.”

A footman she hadn’t noticed until he opened a door bowed and gestured them inside what she assumed must be a chamber, a bedroom for orgies. She glanced up at George. He gave her an encouraging nod.

The doorway did not lead to a room. Instead, they were at the foot of a long flight of stairs.

The thought of climbing up there in this gown was almost more than she could bear. As if he understood, he once more scooped her up. He pressed a swift kiss to her lips and then ran lightly up the staircase. Another footman at the top opened the door and then scooted around them, so he could open a door into a chamber filled with the light of hundreds of candles. Dazzled, she blinked. It wasn’t hundreds of candles, because everywhere she looked she could see herself and the stranger she’d thought she’d known reflected back at her. It was a room of mirrors and gilt and, yes, candles, too.

George put her down. He threw his mask and domino on a gilt chair by the door. Beneath it, he wore a shirt of the finest white linen and trousers that hugged his slim hips and well-muscled thighs. He toed off his silver-buckled shoes and immediately attacked the buttons keeping her domino closed. While he relieved her of her costume, she realized that what she had thought was a large marble table on a dais in the center of the room was in fact a bath. The rising steam gave it away. He tossed her outer raiment over the same chair, undid the strings of her mask and took her by the hand.

Unexpectedly, he twirled her around. “How beautiful you look,” he said, his hot gaze searing her skin as it traveled from head to foot in a long, slow perusal. He made her feel beautiful still, despite her advancing age, her loss of the youthful blush that had been hers when they first met. She couldn’t help but smile.

He led her to the tub.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, shaped like a shell, colored a pearlescent pink and surrounded by carvings of frolicking mermaids and mermen. Obviously aroused mermen and very excited mermaids.

She pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress her embarrassed laughter and turned to see his reaction. Startled by the movement all around her, the black swirl of flowing silk caught in mirrors, she gasped, dizzied by the sight. George caught her and held her close against his chest, stroking her back as if soothing a frightened animal. “This is the Venus room,” he said quietly. “There are others. Each devoted to the celebration of a goddess. If this is not to your taste, we can try something else?”

“We are to bathe in here?”

“We can bathe. Or we can ask for a few nymphs and dyads and watch them disport from that couch over there.” The couch in question was raised on several steps and would provide an excellent view into the bath. The whole idea seemed dreadfully wicked. Far beyond her experience.

“Oh, my. Why did I never hear of this place before?”

“You have. This is Madame Jouette’s.”

Gentlemen spoke of this brothel with awe in their voices, though never in front of their wives. Wives, who eventually learned of it, dismissed it out of hand as simply another place where a husband could take his pleasure without them. And thank goodness, too, they said. If they knew what it was like, they might not be so sanguine.

“I’m surprised men ever go home.”

“They’d be broke in a week. A night with the girls who work here is very expensive.”

“And if you bring your own woman?”

“It costs twice as much. Come, have some champagne while we consider our options.”

He poured the wine. “To George,” she said, smiling.

“To the most beautiful woman I know,” he replied, toasting her.

The words pierced her heart. He’d always been kind, always respectful of her feelings. Gentle, as if she’d been made of spun glass. And it seemed that in return she had hurt him. One day he would thank her, know it was for the best. She sipped at her wine to cover the pain she felt. The bubbles broke deliciously tart on her tongue. The warm perfumed steam invited. “I think we should stay here.”

A smile broke on his face, making him look more handsome than ever and twice as seductive. “I hoped you would.” He took her glass and placed it on a small table then drew her close. He lifted her chin with his knuckle. A kiss hovered on his lips and she lifted her mouth.

It was all she could have hoped. At first a gentle brush of warm dry lips. A whisper of a kiss. Her blood heated. Her body sprang to life. Not that it had been dead. It had simply been waiting, still quivering from the sensual sensations in the carriage, needing more.

He kissed her slowly and deeply, their mouths melding, their tongues tangling and dancing. She’d kissed this man hundreds of times before, but this time was different. Exciting to the point of madness. And she didn’t care. Because this time it must be goodbye.

For his sake.

Strong arms came around her, enfolding her close as if offering silent argument. Large warm hands skimmed her body, the shifting slide of silk reminding her of his earlier caresses, the torment and the desire. She opened her eyes and saw them from every angle, saw what she was feeling, his hands on her back, his lips on her mouth teasing and wooing, his thigh pressed deep between hers sending hot waves of lust through her body. It was decadent and delicious and overwhelming.

Her mind ceased to work as her body pressed against him, arching into him, with the ache of desire, while every touch seemed to set her on fire and make the ache worse.

Breathing hard and ragged, he broke the contact. “Let me bathe you, beautiful Lizzie,” he breathed. “And pleasure you.”

Dumb, unable to speak for the tension of desire gripping her unmercifully, she nodded.

“Turn around, my darling,” he murmured.

All around her, a slender goddess in black whirled about and the black silk skirts flowed like mysterious waters, catching the light and holding it as the fabric settled in sensual clinging folds. The bow in the tie at the neck pulled undone in a heartbeat. The ribbon at the waist followed. Designed just for this, it slipped down her length to puddle around her feet. He swung her around to face him, his hungry gaze skimming her body, lingering at her breasts rising stark white above the black lace edge, and then moved on to where the chemise barely covered her femininity and revealed the length of her thighs and the garters above her knee.

He knelt before her to remove her shoes with reverential movements while she kept her balance by holding on to his broad, powerful shoulders. Next came her garters, his fingers working swiftly at the silken bows she’d tied with such care. They, too, were removed. He slid his hands up her calves over her knees and gently caressed her thighs before dipping his dark head to the apex and kissing her through the muslin.

She hissed in at the sensation of hot breath and pressure on that most sensitive place.

He groaned, a sound of pleasure mingled with pain, and kissed her again. She wanted more, much more, and she curled her fingers in his dark hair, pressing him closer. Sweet pleasure. But it did not last long. Against her wishes he rose. His gray eyes smoky, eyelids heavy, he kissed the point of her chin. “Patience.”

He didn’t seem to have an awful lot of patience as he divested her of chemise and stays, leaving her naked to his hungry gaze. She could not remember when she had been so blatantly nude. Indeed, she’d always been a little prim and proper, and had never felt quite comfortable flaunting her body, though he had seen her naked in his bed many, many times.

His eyes seemed to drink her in as he followed the contours of her body with his large, warm hands. She thought she might melt into puddle, his expression contained so much longing and tenderness.

She couldn’t bear the tenderness. “Now you,” she ordered.

His nostrils flared as if he would object, but he stepped back and stripped off his own clothes, revealing he was just as aroused as she. She loved his bold shaft. The size of it and the heft of his stones. Excitement, anticipation had her trembling. Eagerly, she let him lead her up the marble steps to the dais and then up a couple more to a platform that would allow her to step down easily into the shell-like bath.

She paused to gaze down into the scented water. It smelled of roses. Just like the blooms he had given her last night. Across its surface floated yellow petals. He mounted the steps behind her, looking over her shoulder, his erection hard and warm against her buttocks. “A new beginning deserves a new color,” he murmured in her ear.

Inwardly, she winced. “What if it is an ending?”

“Oh, it is definitely that,” he replied. “It deserves its own color, too.”

Black. For mourning. Roses didn’t come in black. She stepped down. The water, perfumed with oil and just hot enough to be comfortable, reached almost to her knees and enticed her in. The air in the room was also deliciously warm, she realized. Even naked she felt not a shiver. The warm, silky water, played over her belly and breasts and she watched him step down to join her, so lithe and strong and manly. Beautiful.

She’d been fortunate to keep him for so long.

Oh, dear, now was not the time for sadness to blur her eyes and fill her throat with burning. Shaking off the sudden rush of emotion, she reached out a hand that trembled a little more than she wanted. Seeming not to notice, he took it and while the tub was wide enough for them to lie side by side, he sank down, facing her. Quite naturally, without any thought, at least on her part, their legs entwined, and they drew closer together, their genitals barely inches apart. His breaking the surface of the water, hers feeling the warm water like a hot caress. The water covered her nipples. She hummed her contentment.

“Relax and enjoy,” he said.

Behind his head, set into the marble, she noticed something strange. Metal loops. And on the edge of the bath above them red silk ropes. The picture in the hallway flashed into her mind. Her body clenched in a most delicious way at the images dancing in her head.

He half turned to see what had caught her attention. When he turned back there was a quizzical expression on his face. “Like the idea, do you?”

“No,” she said, shocked that he had read her thoughts. “Of course, not. I mean, I don’t know what you mean.” But she did. She was shocked at herself, because she did like it. Very much.

He cocked his head to one side. “Do I tie you? Or do you prefer it the other way around?”

She swallowed. The thought of this big magnificent male tied and at her mercy made her heart pound in her chest and her breathing uneven. “I tie you,” she gasped. She felt wicked, evil. “But not if you don’t want to.”

His eyes became hooded and hot.

Heat rushed through her body. “Do you?” she asked.

“Only for you, darling.”

He spoke so quietly, with such conviction and determination, she had no trouble believing this was not a liberty he had ever allowed. Certainly never with her.

Their lovemaking had been lovely, satisfying, delicious—how could she want something else?

“I don’t mind if you don’t like it.” But she did. Some madness inside her made her want this strange, inexplicably naughty act. The thought of making him submit was driving her body wild with excitement. She blushed. She who had been a mistress for years, who had ignored the slights and gossip, was actually blushing with embarrassment at her wayward thoughts.

She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose, his forehead, enjoying the way the water ran off her body and swirled around them. “No. Really. It is all right.”

He cupped her breast with his hand, gently teasing her hard budded nipple, while his other hand found her feminine folds below the water. Such a lovely sensation, hard fingers, silky warm water. She watched his erection grow and harden between them even as he gave her pleasure with his hand.

“Tie your knots well, my lady,” he said in a harsh murmur. “For if I escape, I will have my revenge.”

The words sent fire through her veins. The knot of tension low between her legs drew even tighter. A wildness entered her blood. A longing to set herself free. Be who she was. Yet there was dryness in her throat. Her heart knocked hard against her ribs. Fear. She had nothing to fear. No position to maintain. No reputation. Taking courage, she knelt, straddling his hips to capture the silken strands behind him.

His hands came to her flanks, steadying her as she reached over him. His head turned and he licked her breast, nuzzling into it with a deep rumble of pleasure. Delicious. She melted as he did the same on the other side. Distracting. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the sensations ripple across her flesh. Her hands clenched around the cords, and she recalled her purpose with a jolt of desire.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto his stomach, refusing to go where his hands tried to guide her. “Give me your hands.”

For a moment, he looked as if he might refuse. Then laughed and released his grip on her hips and held up his hands. Trust. Her insides fluttered wildly. Heat built between her legs. Was there anything so sensually exciting?

She tied his wrists together, not tight, but close enough that he could not slip free, then pulled the free ends through the metal eye, forcing him to lean back with his arms above his head, just as she had seen in the picture. “There,” she said, sitting back to admire her handiwork.

He raised his knees to support her back, cradling her in his lap, rocking his hips, his eyes full of mischief.

“Rogue,” she said, realizing what he was up to as he lifted and rotated his hips. “It is for me to give and you to receive.”

He grinned unapologetically.

She rose to her feet, giving him a good eyeful of what would be his reward if he behaved himself, then made as if to climb out of the tub.

His grin turned to a frown.

“Be good then,” she said. “Put your knees down and open your legs.”

With a groan that bordered on laughter he did as she bid.

She stepped between his feet. Never had she seen him so vulnerable, or so beautiful. Had she ever really looked at him? At the beauty of his body? She always felt a little restrained. He’d treated her with so much respect, she hadn’t wanted to spoil his good opinion. His chest was wide at the shoulders, but whipcord lean and firm, each muscle delineated. The water lapped over the ridges of his abdomen, softening their outline as he breathed raggedly. Below the water, his flat stomach narrowed to lean flanks adorned by dark crisp hair and his maleness. The shaft stood proud and dark above the water, his stones nestling in the crisp curls of hair. She licked her lips.

He drew in a quick sharp breath of anticipation. Would he like her mouth there? Wasn’t it dreadfully wicked, something she’d only heard whispers about? Was that where she would start? Her gaze flicked up to his face. His expression was just a little tortured as he stared at the place between her thighs, but not the slightest submissive.

She knelt between his legs, pressing his thighs wider with her knees and watched his focus slide up her belly to her breasts and then to her face. She curved her lips in a sultry smile when their gazes met.

“Have you looked your fill?” he muttered, tugging at the cords, no doubt testing how well they would hold.

“Have you?”

“Never,” he uttered darkly.

She loved that deeper note in his voice, the edge of roughness behind the veneer of civility. Waves of desire rushed through her veins. Longing mixed with pleasure. She leaned forward and brushed a kissed on the engorged head of his shaft, feeling the silky slide of it with her tongue. Taut, like a bowstring, energy held in check, he stilled.

She slid her mouth down his length, licking and tasting, supported on one hand, while the other played with his stones. His panting groan filled her ears and she felt a jolt of lust, more powerful than anything she had ever felt before. She licked her way back up to the head of his shaft and took him in her mouth, sucking and licking, savoring the feel of him against her tongue. The buck of his hips as he tried to take more than she was ready to give, along with its accompanying splash of water made her glance up.

His face was flushed. His expression torment laced with bliss. His gray eyes flickered like molten silver as he stared upward. Was he so close to the edge?

She released him and sat back on her heels, looking up, seeing them reflected in a prism of mirror above her head. Delighted, she ran her hands over his body and watched the play of water and light and the elegant lines of his body and the soft curves of hers.

“Don’t stop,” he said, pushing up with his hips.

She glanced down and raised her brows.

“Please,” he added. “Lizzie, don’t tease.”

Still commanding. And heaven help her, she wanted to obey, because she loved making him happy. But that wasn’t her role tonight. Tonight was about discovery.

She walked her hands up each side of his body, felt his erection against her belly as she moved forward, her gaze fixed on his chest. One of the ladies in that picture had her mouth on the man’s nipple. She knew they were sensitive to her touch, but had never thought to use her lips and tongue.

She tried an experimental lick. The smattering of curly hair was rough against her lips and tongue. The small bud tightened instantly. Delightfully responsive. He made a purring sound in his throat. Interesting. She licked the other one, then sucked. His hips jerked, almost tipping her off his chest into the water.

She looked up with a frown.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” he said, laughing at her. “I’m sorry.”

Because she’d never been very bold in bed. She’d let him take the lead. A flush of embarrassment rose to her face. She’d accused him of being dull, but perhaps that was all her fault. She’d been a widow with very little experience, and he’d always treated her as if he feared she’d break.

And she might have in those early days.

Not any longer. She returned to nipping and licking and suckling, gauging his pleasure by the twitches and flickers of his skin and the tortured moans and breathing, until she knew exactly what sent him beyond the edge of reason.

She lifted her face to his. He was breathing heavily through his nose as he fought for control. Her insides were so tight, so needy of him, she could scarcely breathe herself. She leaned over and took his mouth, cupping his beard-roughened cheeks in her palms, wooing the mouth that had brought so much pleasure to her in the past, giving back all the joy he’d brought her, until she was breathless.

Panting, her breath mingling with his in the warmth rising from the water, she broke the kiss. Raw emotion filled his expression. Longing. Desire. Lust. He no longer tugged at the ropes; he seemed content to submit to her will, but with a pride that was all his own.

She desired him more than life itself. But he would never be hers. No matter how much she wanted to keep him, it would be wrong.

Thinking to untie him, she leaned forward for the ropes.

His mouth clamped on to her breast. Suckling. She gasped at the shock of pleasure arcing between womb and nipple, cradling his head to give him better access, first to one breast then the other while he arched his back to press against her mons. The water sloshing around her female flesh only added to the sensations swirling through her body.

Mindless, driven by the cravings of her body for him deep inside her, the means to bring her to the fulfilment she needed more than anything else, she reached between them and guided his hot rigid shaft to her entrance.

With a wild cry that echoed around the chamber, she drove herself onto him as he thrust upward. Fullness. Pleasure. A beckoning completeness. A joyful if bittersweet end to her life as a courtesan.

She rode him hard, and heard his groans of pleasure. She slowed the pace and watched his face soften and fill with delicious wanting. She gave herself up to the bliss of his body deep within hers and let thought go where it would, while the pleasure rocketed to unbearable heights. Their bodies, familiar yet so different tonight, took them over the brink into bliss. Their shuddering climax, held back for so long, went on and on until she flew apart.

A shattering bliss that she had never before experienced.

Exhausted, she collapsed against his chest. His slipped his wrists from the ropes, something she vaguely realized he could have done at anytime and cradled her gently. He had submitted to her, not because of the ropes, but because he wanted to. What more could she ask?

Kissing her forehead, stroking her back, he murmured his approval. His heart thundered in her ear and echoed in the water.

And when she could breathe again, he sat up with her in his arms, rising to his feet like a mighty Poseidon rising from the ocean and carried her to a stool where he wrapped her in towels, while the water ran through the hair on his strong lean legs in rivulets to puddle on the floor. He patted her dry, helping her into a black silky robe. He shrugged into one of royal blue. She felt blissfully warm and pampered and so delightfully sated, she yawned.

“Up with you, sleepyhead,” he said and once more picked her up and carried her through a mirrored door she hadn’t noticed.

The chamber beyond was of the palest green, painted with seaweeds and exotic-looking fish. The bed was carved to look like a shell. Yellow rose petals on the coverlet looked as if they were floating on a blue sea. As he set her down, their perfume rose up around her.

“I was wrong,” she said dreamily. “I do like yellow roses. And I will never see them without thinking of you.”

“So I would hope,” he murmured, stretching out beside her and lifting her head onto his shoulder, holding her close against his side.

She stroked the lapel of his robe. “Thank you for a most wonderful evening.”

He tensed at her words, but said nothing.

“I suppose it is time to leave,” she said regretfully, gazing at the underwater scene. There were mermaids in here, too. And mermen. In naughty poses. She tried not to sigh.

John looked down at her, nestled against his shoulder. He toyed with the ends of her lovely golden hair spread across his chest in long silky strands, steeling himself not to feel guilty.

“Apparently there was still some warmth amid the embers,” he said casually.

She must have heard something in his voice because she sat up with a frown. He piled the pillows behind her back.

She looked a little suspicious. Perhaps even nervous. Good. She deserved to be nervous.

“It was wonderful.” Her eyes misted. “But we cannot go on as before.” Her voice caught and he saw pain in her expression along with the attempt to be brave. “Our time is over. Surely you understand?”

Satisfied he caused her as much pain as she had caused him, he shrugged coolly. “I have no intention of asking you to return as my mistress.”

She swallowed. “No. Of course, not. What was I thinking?” She looked down, running rose petals through her fingers. “I was unkind. I suppose.” She took a breath as if she had an obstruction in her throat, and shook her head as if she wanted to speak but could not.

A twinge of guilt twisted in his chest. He had never seen her so distressed. He slipped out of the bed and stood looking at her, her fingers trailing through yellow blooms, a faint color tingeing her cheeks from their lovemaking, her hair in lovely disarray around her shoulders.

He had never seen her look more beautiful. He squared his shoulders. “I owe you an apology, Elizabeth.”

She looked up then and he saw the sheen of tears. Dammit. He hadn’t intended to make her cry.

“No,” she said. “It is right that you should go.”

“I don’t mean that. I have not treated you well.” Damnation, this was not easy, not with her looking at him wide-eyed and confused. “When you came to me, a noble lady, you were so gentle, so fragile, it never dawned on me you could have more earthy desires.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I put you on a pedestal and worshipped you instead of treating you like any other woman.”

“John, you were wonderful, considerate. I could not have asked for better.”

Always generous. Always giving. “Yes. But it can be so much more, like tonight, not sparks, but fire and flames.”

She smiled sadly. “You need to secure your line. You need a wife.”

“Yes. I do.” He dropped to one knee beside the bed, captured that restless hand in his own, crushing the petals, inhaling their scent. “Darling Elizabeth, my heart, my love, will you do the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?”

“John, no! Please, don’t do this,” she whispered so low he could barely hear the words.

“Lizzie,” he said softly.

She bit her luscious full lower lip and he resisted the temptation to kiss it, fought the growing arousal beneath the robe. She met his gaze. “It isn’t possible. I’m not respectable. You need someone worthy of your name. Someone younger.”

It was now or never. “I won’t take no for an answer. I love you, Elizabeth. Being the other half of a staid old married couple with you will be the greatest joy in my life.”

Looking into her startled eyes, he was sure he saw joy amid the surprise. He prayed he did.

“I mean it. Lady Elizabeth Bentham, I love you with all my heart. I want only you for my wife.”

“What would people say?”

He smiled at her, seeing the longing in her eyes, and hearing it in her voice. “Do you really care what others think? Or are you saying you don’t love me?” He held his breath, the dull ache around his heart sharpening with each passing second.

Tears welled in her lovely eyes. “I love you too well to let you do this.”

“Dear Lizzie, I swear to protect you and love you all the days of my life. And on each anniversary of this day, we will come here, or somewhere like it to renew our vows, with bodies, hearts and souls and never again will I take our love for granted. Nothing less will do. I want children with you. Grandchildren. You are the only woman for me, the only woman I have ever loved. Will you forgive the idiot who kneels before you and accept his promise to love you and cherish you all of our days?”

The most beautiful smile he had seen, tremulous with tears and joy, formed on her lips. “It is wrong of me. I should not, but yes, John. Oh, yes. I love you so much. You make the dream of my heart come true.”

He vaulted onto the bed and kissed her soundly, felt her melt against him and felt contentment fill his soul.

When they finally broke apart, her breathing was rapid, but there was laughter in her voice. “And you promise we will never be a dull married couple?”

He grinned. “Well, we probably will be, when we reach our dotage. But not for years and years.” He cocked a brow and flashed her a devilish smile. “In the meantime, it seems a shame to waste all of these rose petals. There are some new things I would like to try.”

She laughed. “And there were some things in that other picture downstairs I thought looked interesting, too.”

“Were there, now?” What a fool he’d been all of this time, forgetting to treat her like a flesh-and-blood woman. He would do his very best to make it up to her now and all the rest of his life.

“My grandmother is going to be very happy,” he said and kissed her lovely mouth and forgot about everything except the woman in his arms.

The woman who would be his wife.

Enjoy more passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:

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The Highlander and the Wolf Princess by Marguerite Kaye

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Claimed by the Wolf Prince by Marguerite Kaye

A Disgraceful Miss by Elaine Golden

An Imprudent Lady by Elaine Golden

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Seduced: The Scandalous Virgin by Deborah Hale

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Ann Lethbridge has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.

Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent many memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.

Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles. If you would like to know more about Ann and her research, or to contact her, visit her website at www.annlethbridge.com. She loves to hear from readers.

ISBN: 978-1-4592-0644-1

Deliciously Debauched by the Rake

Copyright © 2011 by Michéle Ann Young

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