Unmasking Sin, page 17
She had felt this, a little, with Theo. It was why she had married hm. But she was older and wiser now. A discreet night was all she needed, all she would want. And yet the very idea that she was considering it shocked her. Blurting out the words, “It does not give me long to learn your Italian aria” stunned her. Fortunately, she had refused to look at him, so she did not see his reaction as she set off to dance with Sir Neil.
He would consider it a misunderstanding. And she would certainly not go to the music room as she had more than half-suggested.
After the ball, she retired with everyone else. She glanced in on Tom to find him sound asleep, and then retired to her own chamber, where she sat at her window for some time, listening to the beat of her own heart while she gazed up at the winking stars.
Eventually, coming to a decision, she closed the shutters and walked to her dressing table. She reached for the first pin, staring into her own eyes in the glass. Her hand stilled and fell slowly to her side.
Will I really walk away from this chance? From one night with him? He does want me. I saw it in his eyes. But he will expect no more of me. Nor I from him…
This is not me. I have no more idea how to seduce a man than how to walk across the sea.
If he comes, he is seduced already.
And if I do this, will I really want to see in his eyes that he wants no more of me?
Then I shall not look.
Insanity…
He will not be there.
In sudden desperation, she stood up. It was late, and the house was finally dark. And she would not sleep until she knew. She took the candle from the dressing table, blew out all the others, and left her chamber.
Inevitably, the house seemed different in almost total darkness, but she managed to find her way to the music room and laid her hand on the latch.
He won’t be there.
She pushed open the door and went in.
He was there.
By the glow of a single candle, Ludovic Dunne sprawled in the armchair, an open book abandoned on his knee. His head leaned against the back of the chair, but he was not asleep, for he leapt up as soon as the door opened.
Her heart seemed to be beating in her throat, preventing her from breathing, but at least she managed to shut the door quietly.
Although his black evening coat was unbuttoned, he still wore his waistcoat and cravat. And he still bowed with his usual grace.
Curtseying was beyond her, so she blurted, “I only came to apologize, thinking you might have misunderstood my words in the ballroom.”
“Don’t worry,” he soothed. “I only came to warn you that we should not play the pianoforte at this hour for fear of waking the household.”
“Did you?” she asked uncertainly.
A quick smile swept across his face, dazzling before it vanished. “No,” he confessed. “I came in the hope that I hadn’t misunderstood you. But there is no need to flee,” he added hastily as she jerked toward the door. “Either way, I still believe we have the beginnings of friendship.”
She paused, half-turning back to him. She swallowed. “I do not wish to change that. I…I am not given to affairs of the heart or even simply the bedchamber.”
He searched her face but did not pounce, as she more than half-feared. Instead, he indicated the armchair beside him. “Will you sit for a while and talk?”
Somewhere, she knew that to sit was to leave the door open to what she had decided should not happen. And yet, she wanted to talk more with him. By the pale light of her candle and his, his face was lean and hollowed and attractive enough to make her heart ache. She set down her candle on the table by the door, came slowly toward him, and slid past him into the chair.
He hooked a stool with his foot, dragged it over, and sat at her feet. “Neither am I.”
She glanced at him uncertainly. “Neither are you what?”
“Given to affairs of the heart or the bedchamber. At least, not anymore. I won’t pretend to have been a saint. I’m still not. But with the years comes a certain…fastidiousness.”
She nodded. “You are saying you have abandoned the notion of an assignation with me?”
He blinked. “No. I’m saying you could do me no greater honor than spending a few hours in my arms. If you wish to.”
She flushed with as much longing as embarrassment. “You say that now. I’m not sure I want you to think less of me.”
Startlement flickered in his eyes. He took her hand from her lap, and she could not stop it from jumping in his light hold. He dropped an unthreatening kiss on her fingers. “There could be no question of that.”
“You forget,” she said dryly, “I have been married twice.”
He held her gaze. His deep, gray eyes were rather beautiful, reflecting the amber flame of the candle. She felt herself drowning in them. What would it be like, just for once, to kiss him and mean it? How would he seduce her if he could? How would he make love?
Shocked by her sudden rush of desire, she leapt to her feet, breaking his unbearable gaze. But of course, he rose, too, in time to catch her as she stumbled against his feet and the stool.
Even then, his grip on her waist was not hard or restraining. But his body was touching hers, and her instinct to flee died into molten, paralyzing arousal.
“We do not know each other well,” he said softly. “Worse, we have thought the worst of each other. From there to this moment is, perhaps, too big a leap of faith for you. I can wait, or I can be dismissed. The choice is yours. And the gift of loving you, should you give it, would be my greatest treasure. But you know, it is not necessary to friendship, not now or ever.”
He bent his head, and her bones seemed to liquify. But his lips touched only her forehead, and then his hands began to slide away from her waist. In panic, she seized him by the upper arms.
“Ludovic,” she pleaded, unsure even what she was asking for. “Ludovic, don’t, please…”
His breath caught. His hands slid the other way until he held her against his hard, warm body. His head bent once more, and her lips parted in need. Even then, he paused, giving her time to protest, to avoid him, and then, very slowly, bent the rest of the way to her mouth.
His lips brushed once, gently, sweetly, perhaps still testing the waters, and then fastened. A sound, half sigh, half sob escaped her. She drowned in his kiss, gloried in it. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, then she dragged one to his rough cheek, caressing with wonder, while she pushed the other around his nape, tangling her fingers in his hair.
She had no idea where one kiss ended and another began, only that she didn’t want him to stop.
And then, leaving her breathless, he did, touching his forehead to hers instead.
“You still choose. You always choose,” he said, just a little raggedly.
Enchanted to have caused such turmoil in him, she took his face between her hands and kissed him again, long and deeply. His arms tightened, lifting her. He strode the few paces to the rug by the hearth, swiping something from a chair as he passed. An embroidered quilt landed on the rug.
Laughter caught in her throat. “You did plan this,” she accused.
“I hoped,” he said fervently, kneeling with her in one arm while he spread the quilt with the other. “God, I hoped.”
He set her down on the quilt, sitting with her face pressed to his shoulder while he unfastened her gown and stays. Then he kissed her throat and her shoulders and, again, her mouth, pushing her backward until she lay down with him looming over her. Although she hadn’t seen him shed it, his coat was gone, and his waistcoat quickly followed. One tug brought her ball gown down to her ankles. Her stays vanished, leaving her in her shift, while he lay over her, kissing her face and neck while he untied her shift and then brushed his lips across the swell of her breasts.
Rebecca had never felt this heat, this sharp, intense arousal. Nor this pleasure in his every caress. Whatever came after now, she was glad.
“Shall we stop here for another day?” he whispered against her lips.
She stared into his eyes, wishing the candle was in a better position. “What is the choice?”
“That we kiss and part to sneak back to our own rooms—and resume, perhaps, at another time of your choosing. Or not. Or I can remove what’s left of your shift and make love to you. In all cases, we are friends.”
The world seemed to stop. His arousal, trapped still in his black, silk breeches, pressed against the juncture of her thighs. That he wanted her so delighted her. That in the circumstances, she could still choose, stunned her. For she believed him.
Slowly, she took his shirt in her hands and tugged it upward. He was smiling as he helped her drag it over his head. He raised his body to deal with his breeches. And then, after a heart-stopping glimpse of his nakedness, her arms closed around his hot, velvet skin, and he was kissing her breasts through the thin lawn of her shift.
In bliss, she arched up into him, startling a groan from him. He tugged hard, and the shift was pulled free. His hands and lips were everywhere, everywhere, caressing and kissing until she barely knew where she was. Ludovic was her whole sensual world, a new, wonderous world of giving and receiving pleasure. He did not take her. She gave herself to him, as he accepted the gift with sweet, slow care, rocking her to an aching, thrilling, and ultimately wild conclusion.
Joy. This is joy.
Only then did he groan into her mouth and reach down to drag himself free and collapse on her, hiding his face in her neck, shuddering with massive pleasure.
He turned at last on his side, removing his weight from her but not releasing her.
“Oh, my sweet,” he uttered, low and breathless, and kissed her mouth.
She gazed at him, awed. “I gave you pleasure.”
“Can you doubt it?”
“I didn’t know that I…that I could have pleasure, too.”
A flicker of anger showed in his eyes, but not at her, for he kissed her cheeks and her lips. “In these circumstances, I’m surprised you let me near you. Your pleasure is mine, and you should always have it.”
The idea was so novel, as novel as the ecstasy he had shown her body, that she could only hold him and wonder.
*
The first pale light of dawn was visible beneath the shutters when he stirred, hauling himself reluctantly into a sitting position.
“We should go before we are discovered creeping about the house in the ravages of last night’s clothing.”
She gave a snort of laughter. “I believe I like being ravished.”
Her fingers swept up his naked back, playing across his shoulder blades. He could turn back into her arms, take her again, quick, hard, and glorious before parting. His body clamored for it. But she was owed more. Let her remember the worship of his first and only loving.
“Oh, trust me, the pleasure was mine,” he said fervently. He took her into his arms for a long, sweet kiss. That much he could allow himself. And then, under her warm, appreciative gaze, he climbed back into his breeches while she drew the ballgown over her head and wrapped her shawl around her to hide that it was not fastened.
“I feel very decadent,” she said with the first hint of uncertainty.
“You are, and so am I.” He came to her and kissed her again. “You are sweet and passionate and glorious. And we are still friends.”
Her eyes cleared, and as she hugged him, he was aware of a low, pleasurable ache in the region of his heart. They had gone beyond friends, and he knew it. He had given her what she needed to be whole, and in the process, had lost a part of himself. But he would not think of that, only of her.
They left together, hand in hand, listening intently for any movement as they crept upstairs. On the landing, she gave him a furtive yet dazzling smile and hurried off to the left. He watched until she slipped into her n chamber, and then, burdened with the quilt and his coat, he walked the other way.
He would have to depart in a couple of hours. His heart seemed to drag at the thought of leaving her. And yet his step was light because he had made love to her and made her happy. And found more pleasure than he could ever remember.
*
Aloitius stormed into his own house, all but throwing his hat, gloves, and walking stick at the waiting footman, and strode into the breakfast parlor, where his wife was consuming a plate of eggs and kidneys while reading her morning post.
“She’s still not there!” he raged, throwing himself into the chair opposite. “Or she’s pretending to be from home. The knocker is off the door, and the butler denies her, though he won’t tell me where she is. Fussy imbecile does not know on which side his bread is buttered! Though he will when he’s dismissed, damn his impudence. I think he’s lying. Or the wretched woman’s trying to flee the country, taking Theo’s son with her!”
“Why should you think that, dear?” his wife murmured with maddening unconcern.
“Because she is not at Redpath Hall either. Gillian wrote to say so yesterday. And there’s nowhere else she could be. Her own family has nothing to do with her, and we have successfully cut her off from everyone else. So, answer me this, madam, if she is not in the townhouse, then where is she?”
“Calvert Court,” his wife said calmly.
Aloitius froze. “What?”
“Calvert Court. In Kent. Not so far from Redpath, in fact.”
“I know where it is,” Aloitius snapped. “But what the devil is she doing there?”
“She is one of a party being entertained by the Calverts. Mrs. Belfont is also among them,” she added, lifting the letter to show him, “which is how I know Rebecca is there.”
“The Calverts… But this is terrible. They know everyone. Calvert’s brother-in-law is the Duke of Dearham! Who may be ramshackle, but he is a duke! How the devil did that happen?”
“Rebecca met Lady Calvert and her sister at some bookshop, according to Mrs. Belfont, and for some reason, they took a shine to her. Apparently, the other guests were quite cool to begin with, but she is now quite accepted. To illustrate the point, Mrs. Belfont is wondering whether we were not mistaken in Rebecca.”
Aloitius swore, causing his wife to regard him with some distaste. He did not apologize. “Months of work out the window,” he fumed. “Now, where does that leave us?” He rose abruptly and then halted halfway to the sideboard. “Wait a moment. If she’s at Calvert Court, where is the boy? Has she abandoned him somewhere? If so, we may easily—”
“No,” his wife interrupted. “The child is with her, playing prettily with the other children.”
Absently, Aloitius loaded his plate and returned to the table. “She is not being courted is she? The last thing we need is her marrying someone else who might poke and pry into everything.”
“According to Mrs. Belfont,” said his wife with malicious relish, “the Duke of Dearham has shown a marked interest in Rebecca.”
Aloitius set down his fork and paled. “That is not so bad, surely. He won’t pay any attention to finances or legalities.”
“No, but his people will.”
“Dear God. Now we must act swiftly.”
Chapter Seventeen
Rebecca woke with an unusual sense of wellbeing and contentment, and when she stretched sensuously, her body reminded her why.
Ludovic. Memory flooded back, sweet and intense and deliciously decadent.
She and Ludovic Dunne had been lovers.
And they were still friends. Because of that, she could live without ever loving him again.
Can I? Now that I know…
She lay in bed for a long time, thinking about what she knew and smiling a lot. She had not known a man could be so tender, so attentive to her pleasure. She had not even known the delight to be had in a man. In Ludovic.
Whatever happened in her life now, she had the memory of last night to sustain her. For now, she had to pull herself together and prepare to face the uncles in defense of her son. Only now did she fully realize the monstrosity of what they had been doing to her. Well, they would take no more from Tom.
She rose at last and washed thoroughly. When she dressed, she took particular care. Just in case Ludovic appeared at breakfast before his departure.
He didn’t. As Lady Calvert told her, he had already gone.
This was the last day of Lady Calvert’s party and was spent largely recovering from the night before. Many of the gentlemen looked slightly for the worse for wear, and there was an air of lethargy, of waiting about the house. Most were preparing to move on to their own country houses or other parties, but to Rebecca’s pleasure, many asked permission to call on her when they were next in London or looked forward to seeing her next Season.
Of course, several of these were the same people who had all but cut her last Season, so she did not fall at their feet in gratitude, but if their friendship was shallow, it was also important that she be accepted for Tom’s sake. And to thwart the uncles. She owed the Duke of Dearham and his sisters a great deal. And Ludovic, who had asked them to help her.
In all, when she left Calvert Court the following morning, it was with considerably more optimism than she had left London a fortnight ago.
*
Just because he longed to see Rebecca so much, Ludovic sent his clerk to her house to collect the letters giving him permission to act for her. He wondered if she would be disappointed or relieved not to have to see him again.
Armed with her letters, he spent an instructive day with bankers, solicitors and, finally, his brother, Adam.
Throwing Rebecca’s letter onto the desk in front of Adam, he said abruptly, “Lady Cornish’s late husband and uncles were helping themselves to her settlements for some time before Sir Theodore’s death. The uncles are now working their way through the child’s inheritance. What have they done to the funds you hold?”
