Elizabeth Boyle (16 page)

“Whose heir are you? Maybe I was correct the night of the Parkers’ ball when I asked you if you were a princess. One who’s lost her home, her kingdom, her world.” Closing the space between them, Giles reached over and gently took her hand in his. “Why, I don’t even know your name. Who is this you hide beneath these shrouds of pretense?” His other hand reached over and plucked at her ragged costume.

“No one,” she whispered, still looking away. “Consider me as alive as anyone else slumbering within these gates.”

How strange it was that one moment she could be full of passionate outbursts, poignant compassion for the weak, and then be overcome by great sadness. Giles realized she might even be pushing him away because she sought to protect him. Yet if she knew who he was then surely she must understand that he hardly needed a guardian.

She was shaking her head. “Forget me, my lord. Go home to your betrothed. Live your life. Mine is lost.”

“I disagree.” He squeezed her wrist, her pulse beating wildly beneath his fingers. “You are very much alive.”

At first she pulled at his contact, but he held her fast.

“Why did you follow me?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

In spite of the darkness, standing this close he could stare clearly into the deep blue fire of her eyes. Even with all her disguises she would never be able to hide her eyes from him.

Releasing her hand, he brushed aside the mobcap on her head, letting it fall to the ground. “So I might peel away your layers one at a time until you lay bare beneath me. Until I know you inside and out.” His fingers twisted around a horsehair curl and started to tug her wig free. His body hardened as the excitement of discovery coursed through him.

“What you find may surprise you, Lord Trahern,” she warned.

“Perhaps, but pleasantly so, I’d wager.” He leaned over and laid a light kiss on the soft skin of her wrist. “How is it that you intoxicate men? What witchery do you possess to poison a man beyond reason?”

For all his chastising Monty for his friend’s wild infatuation, Giles was just as entranced. More so. Enough to throw aside his plans, at least for the night, to uncover her every secret.

And the glow in her eyes promised a willing partner.

“I doubt a man like you believes in magic.” Her words became hesitant and slow. “Can you really believe that seeing me will give you your answers?”

He nodded. Of course seeing her would answer everything. Once he knew who she was, he could determine what her motives were. More than that, he needed to know who his newfound protector was, wanted to see her face uncovered.

She reached up and stroked his chin, her fingers sliding along the length of his jaw. “I possess no magic. It is all in your imagination. Close your eyes, milord. Close them and see what is hidden inside my heart.” From her coat she pulled out a large linen handkerchief.

“What are you asking me to do?” He watched warily as she folded it into a long blindfold.

“To trust me.” She held up the cloth as if to cover his eyes. “Trust me, milord. Let me tell you who I am in the only way I can.”

Giles stepped back from the lure of what she offered. Acknowledging a hunch was one thing, but placing his life in her hands, blinding himself to her will, went beyond foolish. It was reckless.

Yet if he was to gain her trust, if he was to discover her secrets, he would have to step outside his protective circle and risk everything.

Against all his better reason he did as she asked and let her bind his eyes in darkness. At first, unfamiliar fears surrounded him, but he found them outmanned by the excitement he felt when her body slid up against his, her breasts brushing into his chest as she raised herself on her toes, bringing her lips to his.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, surrendering his mouth to hers. The kiss began so tenderly, he wondered at the tentative, almost hesitant caress of her tongue as it dallied with his.

“Let your body see,” she told him. “Let your other senses trace my image.”

Taking his hands, she guided them beneath her clothes until he felt the warm, smooth silk of her skin. Instead of giving them the freedom to explore, she led his fingers over her stomach and higher, until they cradled her breasts.

He heard a soft sigh escape her lips as his fingers curled around the tight and anxious nipples waiting for him. His thumbs drew slow, lazy circles around the sensitive tips.

So this was what the lady fancied. He willingly obliged her. In his mind he could see her smile, the way her neck arched back at his touch.

His lips followed the curve of her chin down to the nape of her neck, taking small teasing nips and nibbles.

Writhing in excitement against him, she suddenly took control again. Her hands sought out the warmth of his skin, pulling off his coat and shirt and finally splaying across his chest, teasing him with the whispered touch of her nails and the moist heat of her mouth.

“I told you, your eyes are useless,” she whispered. “Never trust them.”

She guided him to the ground, her hands tugging at his shoulders. The tall, unmown grass choking the once-manicured plots gave them a gentle bed, enclosing and secreting them in its matted depth.

The scent of clover and grass lingered in the air around them. Giles heard stems snap and crunch as her body rolled and tossed until it melded to his. The wind played above them through the trees like the lone note of a flute. He’d never allowed his other senses to overshadow his sight. Now he found his ears, his nose, his fingers straining to fill his mind with the images she denied his eyes.

This close to her, so intimately pressed together, he found he could “see” the curve of her hips as he pushed up her rough woolen skirt to discover the tender flesh beneath. His hand cupped her rounded bottom and then moved around to the apex of her thighs.

They parted most willingly as his fingers sought to tease her there. Already hot and moist, she was ready for his touch, and more. Slowly he began his exploration, gently stroking the soft folds apart until he came to her heated core.

Sophia gasped when he touched her so intimately. The sensations came as a shock at first, so intense was the first moment of his touch. Now, as his fingers brushed in a gentle rhythm over her, she could only revel in the sweet touch. Quickly, her breathing grew more and more ragged as he continued to caress her, her hips dancing upward to meet each silken pass. His mouth claimed hers again, this time his lips and tongue matching the endless torture of his fingers.

If, as Sophia had thought, the choice of a graveyard would be enough to cool the impulsive passion between them, she’d been very wrong.

Even from the moment they’d left the dangerous streets behind, she’d considered what could come to pass within this safe corner of Paris. She knew that in the days ahead she might not live to see London again, might never have another chance to lay in his arms.

Suddenly, the price being asked of her rose too high.

What if she failed and died?

If that was to be her fate, if she should perish, then she decided in one glance at Giles’s strong shoulders, in one kiss from his lips, that she could bravely climb the scaffolding if she could have but this one chance to know his love.

This would be their wedding night. The tender words she wanted to confide in him stopped in her throat. The rose-scented sheets she’d dreamed of laying down in with her bridegroom to gave way to her old cloak and the sweet scent of grass.

If she couldn’t profess her feelings for him or reveal her true identity, then she would let her body do what her heart and mind could not risk.

His mouth claimed her breast again, twisting from her a new torrent of need.

Oh, she wanted him to never stop. She wanted to forget her vow, her promises, and beg him to push her senses to the edge and toss her into passion’s abyss.

But in this course she couldn’t go alone.

If she was to carry the memory of his touch to her death, he would return to London with the same fiery gift.

Twisting in his arms, she tugged and pulled at the front of his plain workman’s trousers, sighing when they opened and her hand closed around his hard staff.

Running her fingers up and down his tight maleness, she copied his own teasing touch and ran her thumb over the moist tip in a slow, tantalizing circle.

His groan of pleasure excited her further.

“I would have you inside me,” she whispered in his ear. “I would have every bit of you pleasure me.”

Giles needed no further encouragement, rolling her onto her back and poising himself over her. He didn’t need to see the face in front of him to know her excitement matched his. Not when he could hear her ragged breathing, feel the wild pulse of her blood, taste the passion of her lips.

Anxiously, her hands sought him again, guiding him to her entrance.

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t make me wait.”

Nor could Giles wait any longer. With a long steady stroke, he filled her. No virginal barrier blocked his course, only her tight walls closing in around him, pulling him deeper into her.

She moaned softly as he began to move in and out, matching the frantic pace of her hips with even, steady thrusts that drove her wild with urgent desire. He could hear her murmuring pleas to go faster, go harder.

A reckless, dangerous course only a woman of passion could love.

He found her mouth and kissed her, closing every gap between them, pressing her into the grass with his fierce urgency.

“You are mine,” he told her, gasping for air. “From this night forward you belong to me.”

“I’ll never belong to anyone else,” she whispered back. Her hands caught his hips, tugging and pushing them to match her out-of-control pace. Her hips danced wildly, a final sensuous cry escaping from deep inside her.

Reaching up, he plucked aside his blindfold and stared directly into her eyes as the waves of release crashed over her. For a second he saw something he’d never seen before in a woman’s eyes—an emotion so raw, so fierce, so intimate, it branded him with its intensity.

Her body continued to rack with spasms of pleasure, calling to him to continue stoking the fires. As her body closed and wrapped tighter around him, she carried him into the dark, turbulent landscape of release, his body pouring out his need and desires.

He collapsed into her welcome embrace. For a time they lay together, the spinning waves still binding their bodies together.

Pushing aside her hair, he searched for her face. At some point—he couldn’t remember when—her wig had fallen free, raining down the long silken tresses his fingers now toyed with.

In the darkness he couldn’t see the true color, but he felt the sleek luster sliding between his fingers.

Even so, when he uncovered her face he found her macabre makeup staring up at him. Quickly, he looked away from the wrinkles and wart.

No wonder she’d blindfolded him.

Her giggle caught his attention.

“Don’t you like what you see?” she teased, rolling to one side and propping herself up on her elbow.

He looked her directly in the eyes. “I don’t care what I see. I know you now.”

She shook her head. “If you knew the real me, I think you would be quite disappointed.”

There was something sad and wistful about how she said the words that reminded him of his little bride’s haunting words.

I don’t want to disappoint you.

What would his modest and frail betrothed say if she saw him here with another woman? Her undoubted dismay snapped him back to attention. He’d always been a man of monogamous tastes, one mistress at a time. In marriage he wanted to emulate his mentor, Lord Dryden. The man’s respect and love for his wife was something of an oddity among the lascivious tastes of his peers. Yet the comfort of their relationship had always appealed to Giles, a man who’d never known familial stability. Ever.

Giving himself to the Brazen Angel ran afoul of any solid commitment of the heart. At least he told himself that, pushing aside the intimate emotions he’d seen in her eyes. If he explored those feelings, let them creep into his heart and soul, could he ever return to his fiancée and remain only with her?

No, he realized. Never.

The notion rocked his senses. If this woman held enough power over him to forget his vows to a wife, would she also be able lure him away from his duty to uncover Webb’s betrayer?

“Why all this secrecy?” he asked. “After tonight, after all this, will you tell me—who are you?”

She shook her head and looked away. “Don’t ask me that. I will not, I cannot tell you.”

Her words brought his distrust of her to the forefront. He would trust her to bind him in darkness, but she wouldn’t offer the same in return.

Damn her and her secrets.

He reached for his trousers and hastily pulled them on. Wrenching himself away from the woman in his arms, he got to his feet and backed away from her until he bumped into a tall monument.

This mysterious woman with her siren call would claim his soul and then say she didn’t want to disappoint him, refuse to tell him who she was.

Were those the words she’d used with Lyle and Rostland before she’d robbed them of their treasures?

Was it what she’d whispered to Webb before handing him over to the Committee?

Even if she hadn’t turned Webb in, Giles was still standing in a graveyard with half his clothes on. The chill of the marble against his shoulder spread through his veins, robbing him of the last vestiges of heat her passion had filled him with.

What would she steal from him? She’d taken Delaney’s money, possibly Webb’s life. The only challenge left for her, Giles thought, was his soul.

Well, no longer, he told himself. She had been right before to insist they finish their business, but he’d allowed himself to become preoccupied with unmasking her. He’d been a fool to believe she would ever allow him to see her. She’d let him into her bed, she’d tease him with a glimpse here and there, but she would never give him what he wanted.

The truth.

Not until she was ready. And he was of no mind to dally at her beck and call, playing her deadly game.