The Devil and the Viscount, page 5
For the first time, she did feel guilty now. Not that she had lied precisely to Little, who had looked after her since she was twelve years old, but that she was misleading her. Because Little would most definitely disapprove of what she was about to do.
So would Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
So would Papa.
Well, none of them have to marry Lord Longton.
Little frowned, but merely shrugged, reminded her about dousing the candles, and went on her way.
Gina settled down to wait for quiet. The maids shared a tiny chamber between her own and Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s, so she would hear Little’s snoring through the wall.
How did one dress for an assignation?
So as not to be recognized. So, her traveling cloak with the hood. But she was already unlaced for bed. Stupidly, the thought made her blush, but she couldn’t manage to refasten everything herself. A shawl, she decided, creeping to her open trunk and dragging one out. After a moment’s pause, she wriggled until she could remove the stays from beneath her gown, and placed the garment on the chair beside her. Then she returned to her book, where the words danced incomprehensibly on the page.
The image of Rollo Darblay kept intruding. Rollo, half-foxed, smiling at her in the ladies’ lounge, scowling into his drink. Rollo’s eyes laughing wickedly through his mask, clouding with desire as he kissed her. Rollo’s hands, Rollo’s arms, Rollo’s sheer fun.
Oh God, I will miss him.
Don’t think of that. Think of tonight. But that made her too anxious, for she had no idea how to behave or what she would face. She might trust Rollo to manage the business, but she could not manage her own reactions.
If he makes love as he kisses, I am right to do this.
But what she had asked him for was different. Everyone kissed. Everyone didn’t…
She sat up suddenly as another thought struck her. She had been brought up largely in the country. She knew what the results of physical intimacy between males and females could be. What if she conceived a baby with Rollo?
Passing another man’s child off as her husband’s did seem a betrayal, and one Longton would not have agreed to, however much money she brought him.
I should never, ever have begun this! What was I thinking of?
Rollo had said he would understand if she changed her mind. She should not go.
That decision did not make her happy either.
Through the wall, came Little’s faint, muffled snores.
Time to go. Or stay.
Chapter Five
She drew in her breath, pulled the shawl tighter, and rose from the bed. For she owed Rollo at least an explanation, if not another question. She swung the cloak about her, then blew out all the candles, leaving only the bedside lamp turned down low.
The sitting room was in darkness, no light appeared under Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s door or the maids’. She crept to the outer door by memory and feel, unlocked it as softly as she could, and emerged into the passage.
As on the previous nights, lights burned in wall sconces on each landing and passage, lending the darkness a somehow friendly glow. Rollo’s room was on the floor above. What if I knock on the wrong door?
She had a nasty moment when a man passed her on the stairs, going in the other direction, but she kept her head down, and he merely mumbled an apology and kept going.
In the passage above, the door she believed to be Rollo’s stood helpfully ajar. Her heart thudded as she stood outside it. Anxiety, desire, and sorrow combined to deprive her of breath and courage. Her fingers hovered an inch from the door. Then it swung open, and Rollo hauled her inside by the arm.
“Rollo, wait, wait,” she hissed as he closed and locked the door behind her. “It just came to me that I can’t do this. What if there is a child?”
He stood in front of her, in his shirt sleeves. Without his cravat, the strong, attractive column of his throat distracted her momentarily.
She frowned up at him, pleading, though for what she barely knew. Her hood fell back, and his gaze flitted over her hair and lips and throat and back to her eyes. In the candlelight, he seemed suddenly like a stranger, the sharp, handsome lines and planes of his face harsher, his eyes glittering.
“A child is always possible,” he admitted, “but I can take steps to make it unlikely. In my favor, I’ve sired no children so far.” He frowned, adding cautiously, “To my knowledge.”
She supposed that was shocking in its way but for some reason, she wanted to laugh. He was Rollo again.
“I came to cry off,” she said, “but I hoped you would have a solution.”
“You scare me, Gina Wallace.”
“I do?”
“I’ve never had an innocent in my bed before. And yet I can think of nothing but you.” His arms lifted, as though he would embrace her, and then fell to his sides. “You owe me nothing. Do you want to go?”
She swallowed. Then, slowly, she shook her head.
A smile flickered over his face, and he reached up to remove her cloak, throwing it onto the nearest chair.
She glanced around his room, which was a mere bedchamber. The curtains were drawn, and enough lamps and candles were lit to provide a warm glow. Apart from the canopied bed, which she avoided looking at, there was a wardrobe, a dressing table, bedside cabinets, a desk, and a washstand. His coat was flung over the hard chair by the desk. He was not, she thought, a tidy man by nature, but he seemed to have cleared up for her visit. Or a servant had.
The room smelled of him. And he smelled…wonderful. Warmth, spice, the outdoors. And no alcohol on the breath mingling with hers. Rollo Darblay was as sober as she. Bizarrely, that was intoxicating.
“Come and sit down,” he said, indicating not the bed but the sofa by the fireplace. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
While she sat, he walked to a side table where two decanters and glasses waited on a silver tray. He sloshed amber liquid into one glass and glanced back at her.
“No, thank you,” she said nervously. She swallowed. “Perhaps I could have a taste of yours.”
The smile flickered again. He swiped up the glass and came to sit beside her. Close but not touching. He offered her the glass, and she took it, her fingertips brushing his. Her skin tingled. She took a tiny sip, not caring much for the taste, although the shock of the burning liquid helped to settle her nerves.
“You said you would not be a polite lover,” she recalled, passing back the glass. “It seems to me, you are being very polite.”
“That bit comes later, but I might have used the wrong word. I hope I’ll always be courteous.” He drank and regarded her over the rim of the glass with glinting eyes. “But I would like us both to be naked and lost in each other. No civilized hiding—not for me at any rate.”
She blushed with a sudden rush of emotion. Embarrassment? Or sheer, shocking arousal? The smile in his eyes died. His long black lashes came down, veiling his expression, and he set the glass deliberately on the table beside him.
“Gina, we don’t have to do this.”
In sudden terror that he would withdraw his agreement, she threw herself against him, reaching for his mouth, for another of those kisses that had made her so very certain.
Startled, he caught her in his arms, his parted lips still under hers, letting her kiss him. His lips tasted good and felt better, warm and firm. And then, as if he couldn’t help it, his mouth opened wider and bore down, moving on hers with a slow, sweet sensuality she had never guessed at. His tongue swept over her lips, and she gasped, opening to him in wonder.
He drew her onto his lap and she sank against his chest, burying her hands in his hair, stroking his slightly roughened jaw and whatever part of his lips wasn’t covered by her own. He caressed her back and hips, her thigh, and instead of being shocked, she sighed into his mouth.
His kisses were so drugging that she barely noticed when he plucked off her shawl. But when his fingers explored the naked skin beneath her unlaced gown and chemise, she shivered with pleasure. His kisses moved across her jaw and down her throat and shoulders, nudging aside her gown, and her hands slipped inside his shirt. She loved the hot, velvety texture of his skin, and wanted more. She plucked at his waistcoat buttons, unfastening them with urgent fingers. He helped, shrugging out of it and tossing it aside before catching his shirt and hauling it over his head in one swift motion.
She smiled, burying her mouth in his throat, before trailing kisses over his shoulders and chest. She loved the play of his muscles under her touch… He shifted her in his lap, and she felt the hard column of his erection between her thighs.
A small, inarticulate sound fell from her lips. She felt wonderful, blissful, and yet curiously hot and desperate, especially once he began to rock subtly.
“Let me make you more comfortable,” he said huskily and rose with her in his arms as though she weighed nothing. Only then, with the slide of her shift did she realize she was naked save for her stockings and shoes. She kicked off the latter, and he smiled as he walked with her to the bed and laid her there.
He paused, one knee on the bed, his breathing shallow as he devoured her with glittering, predatory eyes. She made a quick, instinctive move to cover herself, but he caught her hands.
“Don’t,” he breathed. “You are beautiful.”
And suddenly she felt beautiful, alluring, and powerful, just because of her effect on him. “So are you,” she whispered, reaching up to run her hands over his broad, muscular shoulders.
“There’s more of me,” he promised, unbuttoning his pantaloons.
She was glad her first sight of a naked man was Rollo. She could not look away, for the strangeness of masculine beauty both bothered and fascinated her. He knelt on the bed, almost covering her, and kissed her mouth, while his fingers trailed down to her breast, where they circled and teased and cupped.
She arched up into him, gasping, sweeping her hands down his long back to his narrow hips and buttocks. His mouth followed his hands in a journey of utter delight until his fingers caressed her thigh and slid inward.
She let out a moan as his hand settled, understanding, at last, that this was the seat of her bother. The bliss of his caresses was sharper here, increasing both pleasure and desperation until joy swept over her so intensely that she cried out, gasping in wonder.
“So, that…” She all but panted as she began to come back to earth. “But…you did not—”
He slid inside her, and she stilled, her eyes widening. He waited a moment, his heart hammering beneath her hand, and then, when she relaxed, he said, “Again,” and pushed again, filling her.
There was shock, a moment of discomfort, of strangeness, but no pain. And then he began to move, holding her gaze with his so that she could see the pleasure he took from her. In moments, she forgot everything except the slow, sensual thrust of his body, delighting hers in new, overwhelming ways.
Even in the midst of passion, he possessed his own elegance, undulating and responding to her every caress until she felt the build-up of that hot, delicious wave once more. Different this time, deeper and even more relentless.
As her body began to convulse, he groaned and suddenly everything was wild and hard and gloriously out of control. And as she fell apart around him, he reared up, all but growling. Dear God, he was magnificent… He pulled himself from her body and collapsed upon her, his open mouth finding her in a gasping, devouring kiss.
Awed, she held on to him tightly. And smiled, because he had given her such stunning pleasure and received it.
*
Rollo had lost a bit of his determined control just at the end. Her delight in his caresses, her bewildered joy in the pleasures he had shown her had both touched and pleased him. But when she had clung to him, matching his every move with uninhibited fervor, she had taken him by surprise. He had fallen into the blind intensity of passion and forgotten some of the care and courtesy he had promised them both. He had almost failed to withdraw, although thank God he’d retained enough sense to manage it just in time. And even so, the pleasure…
God, she was amazing. And sweet and passionate and lovely. And he had behaved like a beast.
When his heart was calm enough to move, he eased his weight off her to stare down into her face. She was smiling.
Surprised, he said urgently, “Did I hurt you?”
“No. I had no idea, I never guessed it was so…”
He settled beside her, gathering her close in his arms. “Neither did I. You are an utter delight.”
She rearranged her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said in a muffled voice. “Thank you for giving me this.”
“Darling, it’s I who thank you.”
Something wetter than the faint sheen of sweat spread on his shoulder. A faint shudder passed through her.
“Gina? Are you crying? I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Helplessly, he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.
“I’m just happy,” she said huskily. There was a pause. Then, incurably honest, she added, “And a little sad because this is all I will ever have with you.”
Rollo listened to the beat of his heart, to the rhythm of her breathing as the plan he had already rejected forced its way back up. It seemed more imperative now.
“It needn’t be,” he said.
Her arm tightened around him. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t be that kind of wife. Even for you.”
“Then change husbands. If your father wants a noble fortune hunter, have me instead.”
She raised her head to stare at him.
“Why not? We would have fun, being married, don’t you think?”
Her eyes gleamed as she thought about it, and he held his breath, willing her to see the possibilities, especially in the light of what they had just given each other. It was, truly, the perfect solution for both of them. He could see the rise of hope, of excitement glowing in her beautiful eyes.
And then they turned bleak.
“You are a viscount,” she said tragically. “Longton is an earl, to whom my father gave his word. I know you would never regard him as a gentleman, but it is a point of honor with my father that he never breaks his word.”
“You never gave yours,” he pointed out.
She closed her eyes. “Don’t, Rollo. Please, don’t.”
When he thought she might bolt from the bed, she flung herself over him and kissed him. “Thank you for that, too. I will treasure it. You will never know how much.”
Rollo could recognize a lost cause when he came upon one. And he was not a man used to wasting much time on such. He tried and, if he failed, he moved on, usually further down the road to the devil. But now, he knew a powerful urge to save Gina, to persuade her, to spill out Longton’s reputation with the ton, his character, and his excesses. He was no fit husband for her.
But then, God knew, neither was Rollo. If someone had spilled out his reputation, character, and excesses into Gina’s ear before tonight, he very much doubted he would be here. The girl had the right to choose her own doom, and at least Longton would die before Rollo and leave her in peace.
His arms tightened around her involuntarily. “If you change your mind,” he whispered in her ear. “Just say the word.” It was all he could do. Give her a Hobson’s choice. One bad bargain or another. And he knew she would always take her father’s choice because she would not break his word.
“Oh, Rollo,” she whispered back. “You have to marry, too.”
He did, though he refused to think about that in bed with Gina. “Not until you do.” He took a breath. “When will you be sure you haven’t conceived?”
She drew back again, gazing at him in bewilderment. And then, even in the pale light, he could see her blush to the roots of her hair. “A few days.”
“Then you must promise to tell me if you have,” he said. “You must marry me then, for I’ll not have a child of mine brought up by Longton.”
Although she remained close, some of the happiness in her eyes died. “Is he as bad as that?”
“He’s not pretty,” Rollo admitted. “But then, neither am I.” He stroked her hair and rolled her beneath him to kiss her back to happiness. “I swear I would do right by you, by our child.”
Inevitably, as she clung to him, arousal grew again. He ignored it, from consideration for her, and in time, he fell into a contented sleep with Gina cradled in his arms.
*
When he woke, his arms were empty and she had gone. He felt ridiculously hurt by that, for losing some of the only precious time they would have together. How could he have fallen asleep? She clearly hadn’t, or not for long.
But he could not have kept her here until morning. She would have been seen leaving his room or returning to her own. Perhaps then, she would have married me.
Appalled by the wistful note of the thought, he scowled. And perhaps not. She has chosen her doom, and now I have to be man enough to face mine.
He would take his courage from hers, get the damned thing over with.
Rising, he rang for coffee and toast and washed and dressed quickly. He was adept without a valet, never having had one except a part share in his father’s when he came home from Oxford.
He drank his coffee and ate his toast gazing out of the window. An old-fashioned traveling coach was being loaded up with trunks and bags, supervised by two ladies’ maids. On impulse, as he did most things, Rollo dropped his toast and bolted across the room to the door, along the passage, and down the staircase to the foyer. Here, sense overtook him enough that he did not bolt outside and throw himself before Miss Wallace just to force her to see him.
Instead, he moved briskly as though heading out for his morning walk, just as he had done yesterday. He even exchanged a word with the porter, though he had no idea what either of them said. Outside, an elegant middle-aged lady in puce was being handed into the traveling coach. She looked vaguely familiar. Waiting by the door was a younger woman whose profile he recognized only too well.
Would she be angry that he was there? Embarrassed? Would she even see him?
