A Most Dangerous Lady (3 page)

     Amabelle Levenshulme searched her face. ‘You seem very sure. Is he being watched?’

     ‘Joseph is looking after our guest’s needs today. And I will be visiting him tonight.’ Caroline smiled thinly, remembering his lordship’s unflattering comments as they parted. ‘Hopefully the dear Viscount will be in a better humour when I see him. Such a bad temper, especially considering he has no one but himself to blame. Falling for that old highwayman’s trick, the lady in distress!’

     ‘But Caroline,
why
?’

     ‘Yes,’ Lady Julia agreed with Amabelle’s question. ‘What on earth possessed you to do such a dangerous thing?’

     With her head held high, Caroline met their perplexed and angry gazes, aware that she had perhaps overstepped the mark by acting without their knowledge or consent, but determined not to give way now that the deed was done.

     ‘He has mocked us in public,’ she reminded them. ‘He made sport of the Petticoat Club, and even claimed it does not exist. Or that it must consist of common women of the streets. Cutthroats, pickpockets, courtesans and the like. His latest contention is that no gently-bred woman could manage to hold up a coach or strip a man naked.’ She paused, glancing entreatingly in Amabelle’s direction. ‘Viscount Randall was already our enemy before last night. He holds our entire sex in contempt. What else was there to do but teach the insufferable man a lesson he will never forget?’

     ‘I grant you,’ Amabelle murmured, ‘his open contempt for the
weaker
sex is indeed unspeakable. Nonetheless, you should not have acted without us.’

     ‘You are perfectly right. I do beg your pardon. However, there was no time to call a meeting. His lordship announced that he was leaving town last  night, en route to his mother’s estate in Kent. I returned home only to change my clothes and have Joseph saddle our horses. It seemed the ideal moment to strike, when Lord Randall was alone and his guard was down.’

     ‘Well, I very much fear you have gone too far this time,’  Julia said worriedly.  ‘The word is all over town that he has disappeared, and people are blaming it on the Petticoat Club. You know how often he has denigrated us in recent weeks.’

     ‘His disappearance is already known?’

     ‘His curricle was found early this morning, a short distance from Blackfriars. One of the horses had sprained his fetlock. Someone recognised the curricle, and the alarm was raised.’   

     ‘How unfortunate! I had hoped for another day’s grace at least.’ Caroline bit her lip. ‘Have the Runners been informed?’

     ‘More than likely, yes.’

     ‘Then I dare not let him go yet. Not with the Runners about and the moon still so full.’ Caroline thought aloud, biting her lip. ‘Joseph and I will need time to clear our track firsts, make sure there is nothing at the place to identify us.’

     Theo Pickford’s face wobbled with tears. ‘Do not visit him tonight, Caroline. Let your servant take care of him. If you are seen ... !’

     ‘I promised to bring Joseph more food and candles after nightfall,’ Caroline said firmly. ‘I gave my word. Besides, the poor man will need to sleep at some point, while I keep watch over our guest.’

     Of course, Caroline would never admit to her friends how very nervous she felt about confronting Viscount Randall again, how her insides had somehow tied themselves in a knot and her traitorous hands would not stop shaking in her lap. Nor must they know how her body seemed to melt away like snow under the heat of Randall’s glance, a traitorous weakness that would entirely defeat the purpose of their secret society. 

     Lady Julia gripped her beaded silk reticule tightly. ‘Do you ... Do you need us to accompany you?’

     ‘Not at all. Indeed, it’s perhaps better that you go out tonight as usual and pretend there is nothing wrong. I shall slip out of the servants’ entrance as soon as the sun has set, and will in all likelihood not return before dawn.’ Caroline sighed. ‘Theo, please stop crying! There is nothing to be scared of. Even if I am caught, I would never betray you. Think of your sister Poppeia. When she married Lord de Cardin, she did not betray us even though her husband had discovered the existence of the Club.’

     Theo Pickford nodded shakily, dabbing at her tear-stained face. ‘Yes, you are right. I should be braver, more like Poppeia. But I fear it is not in my nature. So you plan to leave at sundown? Will not your aunt or your father miss you at dinner?’

     ‘My aunt Mathilda has retired to bed with one of her famous sick headaches, and is unlikely to stir abroad again for several days. And my father?’ Caroline gave an abrupt laugh, considering how little interest her paternal relative had ever taken in her whereabouts. ‘My dear Theo, if he even leaves his club before midnight, ‘twill be a marvellous thing. Almost as marvellous, I should say, as the thought of Viscount Randall apologising to the members of the Petticoat Club for his ungentlemanly disbelief in our existence.’

CHAPTER FOUR

As she removed his gag, Trajan looked his masked golden-haired captor up and down with a cold eye, unwilling to betray by so much as a frown that he was heartily sick of this bare, gloomy room, his stiff-backed chair, and the enforced inactivity that had long since sent his nether limbs to sleep.

     ‘Finished whoring for the night, have you? Come to offer me terms for your surrender?’ he demanded, his gaze lingering insolently on the swell of her breasts as she unhitched her cloak and threw it across the low table.

     Even dressed as a highwayman, the promise of her easy body aroused him intolerably, a fact which ought to have infuriated Trajan but left him eager instead to break free of his captivity and discover how willing she was to dance with the devil.

     However, it would not do to rush his planned escape bid. She still held that damned pistol, for a start, as did her man below, and although he felt certain she would not shoot, he had no wish to risk sporting some unsightly hole in his chest.

     ‘My surrender, sir? The boot, I suggest you’ll find, is on the other foot.’

     ‘You expect
me
to surrender?’ he replied with a question, ironically indicating his bonds. ‘I would gladly accommodate you, my charming harlot, but alas, you have me at a disadvantage.’

     ‘I am no harlot, sir.’

     ‘Indeed?’ Trajan made his contemptuous disbelief apparent in that one pointed word, but shrugged. ‘Then what should I call you? I do not even know your name.’

     Caroline turned away to hide the sudden blush in her cheeks, laying down her pistol. In truth, they already knew each other. They had even danced together last night, a humiliating experience she would rather forget. Though no member of the
ton
could be expected to recognise the timid and bespectacled Lady Caroline Lacey in this bold creature standing masked before him, thighs encased in breeches, breasts swelling beneath her shirt – despite the cravat with which she had tried somewhat unsuccessfully to conceal her bosom.

     ‘You may call me Desirée.’

     Trajan laughed, and she spun back to glare at him, angry then.

     Still, she reminded herself, it must have been a difficult day for his lordship, secured to a chair in this draughty old barn, only allowed up to answer the call of nature under the unwavering gaze of Joseph’s pistol and then tied up again.

     Her stomach churned with nerves as she dragged on her crumpled cravat, tossing it aside with shaking hands, and then unlaced her shirt until her breasts were just visible.

     This was no more revealing than any of the low-cut gowns she had worn in her first season, so absurdly keen to catch Lord Randall’s eye that she had flaunted herself at every possible opportunity. Yet here in this secluded spot, dressed as a highwayman, exposing the pale skin across the top of her breasts felt disgracefully provocative, as though she were offering herself to him without the slightest shame or reservation.

     Perhaps the other members of the Petticoat Club had been right to question her motives in this case. Why had she chosen to abduct Viscount Randall and hold him captive? Was it really to avenge his jests at their expense?

     Or was it because she could never hope to interest his lordship as Lady Caroline Lacey. But as the wicked, loose-living Desirée, she might at least enjoy a few hours of intimacy with one of the most sought-after bachelors in London?

     In bemused silence, Trajan watched his captor tug off her cravat – possibly the most disastrous arrangement he had ever seen, though what else could one expect from a woman? - and drop it carelessly to the floor.

     What was the crazed nymph doing now, he wondered? Undressing for him?

     His groin ached pleasurably at the thought, recalling the parting kiss she had given him at their last meeting. His anger at being held captive notwithstanding, he found this highwaywoman damnably attractive and would not be fool enough to refuse a roll in the straw if offered.

     She sauntered back towards him in breeches and loosened shirt. His eyes flickered appreciatively over her exposed breasts and the lithe slenderness of her legs, perfectly outlined in men’s attire.

     ‘Desirée,’ he repeated huskily, taking care not to laugh at her choice of name. ‘It is a long ride from town. Come sit on my lap, make yourself comfortable.’

     ‘How chivalrous.’

     He shifted on his chair, meeting her gaze with complete honesty. ‘Why bother with a conventional courting? We both know how this ends.’

     She took another step closer. ‘Do we?’

     ‘You want me, Desirée. That much is clear. And I am perfectly happy to oblige your needs. We have no audience, and unless your servant is likely to burst in on us, we will be quite private here for the next few hours. Tomorrow may bring a change in mood, if not circumstance. So why waste time on pleasantries?’

     She paused before his chair, her gaze fixed on his face. ‘You are very sure of yourself, my lord.’

     ‘Sit on my lap,’ he invited her softly, ‘and you will discover how sure.’

     ‘You think I would not dare? You are mistaken.’

     ‘Prove it.’

     Glad that the candles were behind her, leaving her face safely in shadow, Lady Caroline Lacey took a deep breath and swung one leg over his. The shocking closeness of his body was almost too much for her and she staggered, gripping his broad shoulders for support.

     Shakily, she managed a laugh, worried that he would guess at her inexperience. Then she let herself slide down slowly onto his lap. Their bodies met with a sudden startling jerk as he raised his hips to meet hers.

     His smile at her involuntary gasp was predatory and gently mocking. ‘Now do we understand each other, my dear?’

     Caroline stared back at him. The swollen length of his erection pressing against her body had shocked her for a moment with its urgent reality, but she soon had herself well in hand.

     What had she expected? Lord Randall thought her a whore and a common thief, her maidenhead long gone and her body open to any man who could pay or who interested her enough to make a dalliance worthwhile.

     Much as she hated that error on his part, if she was to enjoy him tonight and still preserve her identity, Randall must not suspect that she was a virgin. A member of the
ton
– even a man of his rakish reputation – would never understand that a young woman of good family like herself might want to experience physical love outside wedlock. Besides, she could not bear to see this man shocked and disgusted by her behaviour. She would rather have this one night, and never see him again.

     Moving beneath her impatiently, Trajan frowned. ‘I had not thought you such a tease,’ he said pointedly. ‘Do you mean to untie me or no?’

     ‘No.’ Shaken out of her reverie by his demand, she leant forward to kiss him boldly on the lips. ‘Joseph warned me specially not to let you loose, my lord. And we shall deal well enough together, I believe, with you still bound to the chair.’

     As if to provide him with evidence of that statement, her body moved softly against his, rubbing suggestively across his groin, reminding him why he desired her. His inability to touch her in return was a source of frustration, yet an added excitement too.

     Trajan groaned and gave himself up to the pleasurable sensations caused by a woman’s thighs, clad in men’s breeches, clamped so intimately against his own. Her breasts, warm and full, pressed against his chest like a reminder of bounty to come. If he must remain her prisoner for a while, at least he would enjoy it. Though a little more contact between their bodies was definitely required.

     ‘Do you enjoy frustrating men in this way?’

     With a merry laugh, his captor leant forward. Her breath smelt sweet and fresh, her hair tickling his face. Lavender and lily of the valley. She pressed her lips more firmly against his and he acted swiftly, slipping his tongue into her mouth, remembering how they had kissed the night before.

     To his delight, she did not pull away at this further intimacy, but let her tongue play coyly against his. Their tongues mated, slid together in a wicked dance, fenced with subtle and delicate manoeuvres, while his erection grew more tense, swelling out his breeches most uncomfortably.

     ‘Desirée,’ he murmured, shifting achingly beneath her.

     She leant back and loosened his shirt, then dragged her hands slowly down his chest, fingers splayed, a suggestive smile on her lips.

     ‘Sir?’

     His jaw clenched. ‘For pity’s sake!’

     ‘You want my pity?’

     ‘That’s not quite how I would describe my needs at this moment, no. But if you would consent to lower your hands, my dear, and unfasten my breeches – ’

     ‘My lord!’

     ‘We might both end this night a little more pleasurably,’ he continued, wholly unabashed by her exclamation. ‘I apologise for calling you a harlot before. If you were such, we would have concluded this business by now, nor is it likely I would be restrained in this inconvenient fashion. But whatever you are,
madam
, you have certainly aroused my interest. In general, I prefer to unfasten my own breeches, but since that is not to be, could you do me the honour?’