Lost in Pleasure (2 page)

Her skin looked soft, her complexion remarkably clear and
smooth. Arched brows, finer than was the fashion. She wore a light, citrusy
scent, not a perfume he recognised. Intriguing, like the woman herself. Under
the incongruous shirt and jacket she wore, he could see the rise and fall of her
breasts. Richard raised an enquiring brow. ‘Delightful surprise as this is, may
I ask what you’re doing in my library?’

‘Your library? Who are you?’

Her voice was low, pleasantly husky, her accent most
unfamiliar. Richard gave a little bow. ‘Richard, Earl of Kilcreggan. Third earl,
if you wish to be precise.’

‘You’re the man in the portrait!’

‘Yes.’

‘So that’s your chair,’ Errin said, pointing at the wingback
sitting innocently by the fire.

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’ Errin’s mouth was dry. She felt...she felt...she felt
exhilarated. The way she did sitting at the top of the Cyclone roller coaster at
Coney Island, waiting for the free fall with a mixture of terror and
anticipation. It wasn’t possible, what she was thinking. It couldn’t be. But she
wanted it to be. She really wanted it to be. ‘This isn’t a film set, is it?’ she
asked, more because it was the logical thing to think than because she believed
it.

‘Film?’ The Earl of Kilcreggan looked satisfyingly
perplexed.

‘Or maybe you’re staging a play?’

‘You think I’m an actor?’

‘Are you?’

‘No.’

‘Right.’ His smile was really quite infectious. His mouth kind
of quirked up at one side, tugging an answering response from her. Errin felt as
if she might melt. She’d never felt that way before. Not even... ‘I must be
dreaming. I must be. You can’t be real.’

‘I’m very real,’ Richard said, taking her hands and placing
them on his chest. ‘See?’ He had no idea what was going on, but he was quite
happy to let it continue. The boredom that had been weighing upon him had
vanished. He’d been about to venture out, to try out his new numerical gambling
system at Boodle’s, but had seen a flash of light coming from the direction of
the library and had come to investigate. He’d been craving unpredictability.
Well, now he had it, by Jove.

Errin could feel the silk and thread of his embroidered
waistcoat. A silver button pressed into her palm. Underneath, he appeared to be
solid muscle. Absolutely not a dream. ‘Totally real,’ she said. She was having
trouble breathing.

Richard laughed. ‘Thank you, I think.’ He took her hands in
his. ‘May I ask what you are doing here? My servants made no mention of a
caller. How did you gain entry to my house? Who are you, and why, now I come to
look at you,’ he asked, surveying her attire with an amused look, ‘are you
dressed as a man?’

She should make something up, because he’d never believe the
truth—if it was the truth. Surely it couldn’t be? But if not, how else...?

She should make something up before he had her arrested, but
her mind was a complete blank. And anyway, she somehow knew that the Earl of
Kilcreggan was a man who would not take kindly to being lied to. ‘Errin. My name
is Errin McGill. And I’m not dressed as a man. These are women’s clothes. At
least they will be.’

‘Will be? You’re not making much sense.’

‘No. And you know what?’ Errin replied, casting caution to the
winds. ‘I’m about to make even less. You want to know how I got here? Well, the
truth is, I was sitting in that wingback chair, in a shop, and I sort of fell
asleep and when I woke up I was here.’

Richard eyed her sceptically. ‘My chair was in a shop? How can
it be in two places at once?’

‘You don’t believe me. I don’t blame you, but it’s true. Where
is here, by the way?’

‘London, of course.’

‘At least that hasn’t changed.’ Errin eyed the chair, noticing
for the first time its pristine condition and spotless upholstery. ‘This will
seem a mad question, but what year is it?’

‘Eighteen sixteen.’

One thing to think it. Another, quite another, to have it
confirmed. ‘Bloody hell.’

She swore like a man, though she didn’t sound a bit like one.
In fact everything about her was absurdly feminine, despite her clothes and her
hair and her language. ‘You seem perturbed by that fact.’

‘
Perturbed
!
’
Errin giggled nervously. ‘That’s one way of putting it. So would
you be if you were in my position.’

‘And what position, pray, would that be?’ Richard asked, trying
not to be distracted by the many positions in which he could too easily imagine
this exotic creature.

‘When I went to sleep it was the year two thousand and
thirteen.’

Richard’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re saying that you have travelled
here, via my chair, from the future?’

The astonished look on his face made her want to giggle again.
Errin tried valiantly to suppress it, but it escaped all the same. ‘I’m sorry. I
know it’s not really funny—not for you, anyway, but it is for me. Kind of. In a
mad way. I mean if it’s true—and I really think it must be because there’s no
other logical explanation—I’m just totally blown away by the whole thing. Aren’t
you?’

‘If you mean, do I find the concept of time travel intriguing,
then yes I am, as you so quaintly put it, blown away.’

‘So you believe me?’

He tried to think dispassionately. He tried to assemble the
facts and look at the logic of the situation. He tried, very hard, to assess
what she had said in a cold, scientific way, but for once Richard’s heart
refused to allow his mind sway. ‘I believe you.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘I
shouldn’t but I find I actually do believe you.’

‘How extraordinary.’

‘Extraordinary,’ Richard agreed, looking down into her
captivating face and her gold-flecked eyes. If he were the victim of some
adventuress, then he was a willing dupe. Errin McGill met his gaze with an
uncertain smile and a connection sparked between them, so visceral as to be
almost physical, as if they were both anchored by the same rope. ‘Absolutely
extraordinary,’ Richard said, pressing a kiss to her hand. Laughter bubbled up
from deep inside him. ‘Welcome, Miss McGill,’ he said with a flourishing bow,
‘to the nineteenth century.’

Chapter Two

‘Wow.’

Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘Wow?’

‘I mean, how terribly exciting,’ Errin said, trying and failing
dismally to drop an answering curtsy. It was trickier than it looked. ‘I’m in
actual Regency London. It’s awesome. I have to see it. Can we go out? Can we go
for a walk or—have you got a carriage?’

She really was extremely attractive, and quite beguiling in her
enthusiasm. Richard removed her fingers, which were clutching at his sleeve and
in danger of spoiling the nap of his superfine coat. He twined them safely in
his own, noticing as he did so that she had coloured her nails, a glossy,
enamel-like scarlet. He’d never seen that before. He didn’t know why, but he
liked the effect. He could imagine those painted nails...

‘I have several carriages and a stableful of horses at your
command,’ he said, distractedly, for he had now noticed that the colour on her
nails matched her lips. Was that, too, artificial? It did not look it.

‘Several carriages and a stableful of horses,’ Errin repeated
in a terrible attempt to mimic him. ‘Your accent is so fabulous. Say something
else.’

Her odd request successfully distracted him from speculating
what those red lips might taste like. She didn’t look at all apologetic for
having mocked him, and he was surprised to find he didn’t at all mind. ‘I have
never before had my accent described as fabulous. May I return the compliment
and ask where you acquired yours?’

‘Well, I was born in Maine, but I’ve lived in New York for the
last seven years.’

‘Ah. You’re an American. That explains a lot. Tell me, Miss
McGill, are the travails of the frontier, then, so very bad that you are forced
to dress in men’s clothing? I’m afraid it shows off rather more of your really
rather delightful figure than is considered decent here. I’ll send out for a
selection.’

‘A selection of what?’

‘A selection of more appropriate clothes.’

‘Send out! You must be joking. One,’ Errin said, holding up a
finger, ‘I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve been picking my own clothes for
quite a few years now. Two, I don’t even know what size I am here. And much more
importantly, three. Where’s the fun in having stuff delivered to your house? I
hate shopping online.’

‘Online?’

‘It’s too complicated to explain, trust me.’

‘As you wish,’ Richard said, his voice tight. ‘As a man of
science, I am naturally curious. We will encompass a trip to a modiste while we
are out and you can tell me more about the world you inhabit. I find it
fascinating.’ What was he thinking? He abhorred shopping.

‘That would be great, but—I insist on paying for my clothes
myself?’

‘Do you indeed. Do you have any money, or has coin of the realm
been abolished in the twenty-first century?’

‘Oh.’ Errin’s face fell. ‘I’ve only got plastic. Cards,’ she
elaborated in response to his blank look. ‘It’s—oh, it doesn’t matter. I guess
the shopping trip is off.’

‘I am famously wealthy, you know. A few dresses will hardly
break the bank.’

‘No. Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly.’

Any other woman would have leapt at the offer. That she had
not, made him contrarily determined to persuade her. ‘I’d like to,’ Richard
said, shamelessly utilising his most endearing smile. ‘It would give me
pleasure.’ He was surprised to find that he meant it. Seeing his world through
her eyes would be not just interesting but—amusing! If this is what came of
wishing for a little unpredictability in life, he should do it more often. He
couldn’t remember the last time anything had amused him.

Errin faltered. She so wanted to, though it went against the
grain. Or at least it would in two hundred years’ time. But right now maybe she
should go with the flow a bit? It’s not as if there would be any consequences.
How could there be? ‘I have very expensive tastes,’ she said archly. ‘You might
live to regret it.’

‘The only thing I will regret is not seeing you rigged out à la
mode.’

‘Well, I guess I’d regret that too. So thank you—I accept your
generous offer,’ Errin said, consigning her scruples to the future and kissing
him on the cheek.

Her body pressed against his, the buttons of her coat digging
into his waistcoat. Her kiss was one of simple gratitude, given casually, as if
such intimacies were everyday. She was smiling at him, seemingly oblivious of
the effect her lithe curves were having on his libido. She didn’t seem to
appreciate how very unusual it was for a female to be so forward or to express
such unequivocal enthusiasm. Restraint to the point of indifference was de
rigueur in Richard’s society. This, more than anything, persuaded him that she
was not of his world, perhaps truly not of his time.

He smiled down at her, meaning to share his thoughts, but as
his eyes met hers, the mood shifted. He saw precisely the moment when desire
struck her, for her smile faded, her lips softened in readiness for his kiss.
She wanted him to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her.

His arms went around her waist, pulling her closer. She tilted
her head. He inhaled the sweet heat of her, his body registering the way hers
melted into his, making the blood rush to his groin, knocking the breath from
him. But as his lips touched hers and she sighed and closed her eyes, he stopped
and gently disengaged himself. ‘You’d better wait here while I order the
carriage and find you a cloak to cover your clothes,’ he said, making for the
door.

‘I’m sorry.’

Richard stopped in his tracks. ‘For what?’

‘I thought you wanted to—I obviously got the signals
wrong.’

He examined her expression for evidence of coquettishness but
saw only an openness that was as touching as it was unusual. ‘You didn’t
misinterpret my thoughts. I find you irresistible.’

‘And yet you did resist. Why?’

She was making him uncomfortable. ‘Because I am a gentleman, of
course,’ Richard said in his haughtiest manner.

‘Don’t gentlemen kiss, then?’ Errin persisted, her impish sense
of humour urging her to discomfit him further.

‘Yes they do,’ he replied, ‘but ladies do not.’

‘I do,’ Errin asserted before she could stop herself. ‘And if I
say so myself, I’m really rather good at it.’ She normally disapproved of
blatant flirting—it was a complete no-no. But here, with this totally un-PC man,
it seemed like the right thing to do, and she refused to feel guilty. Feminism
hadn’t even been invented, right? Errin licked her lips provocatively, a silly
trick she’d used to practise in front of the mirror as a teenager and had never
utilised. She was astonished to see it worked. Richard’s eyes widened. His
pupils darkened. He threw her a hungry look. A look that in twenty-first-century
Manhattan would have earned him a sarcastic put-down. Here in Regency England,
all Errin could think of was how to encourage him to look at her in just such a
way again.

He covered the short distance between them practically before
she could blink, wrapping his arms around her and moulding her body against his.
The soft knitted material of his pantaloons could not disguise his arousal. She
pressed against it, relishing the length and satisfying hardness of it, making
him gasp in surprise.

His hands tightened on her shoulders. Her heart began to race.
Her blood began to heat. She felt dizzy, aching with anticipation, that
stomach-wrenching roller-coaster thing again. A surge of desire spread to every
part of her body. She hadn’t expected that. Any of it. She’d never been easily
turned on, never so aroused as this—and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. Oh
please, please let him kiss her.

Then his lips met hers and Errin, cool, calm and collected
Errin, realised that she was way out of her depth. He kissed her not in the
hard, thrusting way she’d been expecting, but softly, taking slow, tortuous
possession of her.

His kisses were like velvet, beguiling, wickedly knowing,
tantalisingly assured. His mouth was pillow soft and darkly sweet, like bitter
chocolate laced with something soporific and addictive, decadent and dangerous.
His tongue licked its languorous way along the fullness of her lower lip,
sparking pulses that tingled through her bloodstream. He tasted, just as his
portrait promised, of pure unadulterated pleasure.

Instinctively she curled into him, opening her mouth to deepen
the kiss. The slow, assured possession continued for unbearable moments and
Errin realised just how thin a veneer her sophistication was. Faced with the
innate, rather than tutored, sexual power of a truly masculine male for the
first time in her life, she crumbled and did exactly as he bid her. She
submitted.

Or she would have, but to her intense frustration he stopped.
He wore a teasing look that momentarily annoyed her and yet at the same time
made her want to smile too. She held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘Okay, you
win. I guess I’m not such a great kisser after all.’

Richard’s smile widened to one of genuine amusement. He kissed
the tip of her nose and the intriguing little frown line between her auburn
brows. ‘Oh, you can kiss, Miss McGill. Take it from me, you can definitely
kiss.’

‘So, that makes me
not
a lady. But
you are still a gentleman, right?’

Richard bowed with a flourish. ‘You can have no idea how much I
wish I was not.’

She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. ‘Well, I’m glad
that you are.’ It was a lie, but this whole situation was bizarre enough without
complicating things even further. So she should be glad. She would be, later.
‘Shopping,’ Errin said, clutching at the distraction with relief. ‘You mentioned
shopping.’

‘A woman’s panacea for all life’s little disappointments,’
Richard replied. ‘It’s nice to know that some things don’t change,’ he added,
and then left to organise the carriage.

* * *

While he was gone, Errin wandered around the room in a
daze, running her hands over the smooth surfaces of the furnishings, marvelling
at their newness and the fact that they had been commissioned straight from the
catalogues of the legendary designers themselves. But the treasures that would
ordinarily have captured her full attention now formed only a backdrop, for it
was their owner who occupied her thoughts, whose step she listened for eagerly,
whose touch tingled still on her skin, on her lips, and whose personality
intrigued her.

Richard returned bearing a dark blue silk cloak lined with pale
blue satin—a domino, he informed her, made for a masked ball. It fell in soft
folds around her, making a lovely rich swishing sound as he led her out of the
library into a large reception hall, with floor tiles of pink-and-brown Italian
marble, dominated by a magnificent suspended staircase. A footman, complete with
green livery and a powdered wig, looking exactly like he’d stepped out of the
pages of
Cinderella
, opened the front door onto a
scene that left Errin in no doubt that she really had slipped back in time.

The cobbled streets were populated by horse-drawn carriages of
all shapes and sizes. There were sedan chairs. Men in breeches and pantaloons,
women in long dresses and elaborate hats. Footmen in livery. No cars. No planes
in the sky above. No power cables overhead. Exactly like a period film set, but
totally, subtly different. The air smelled odd—of horses and people, not carbon
emissions and fast-food outlets. The noises too were different—the rattling of
horseshoes and metalled wheels on cobblestones, the shrill cries of flower
sellers, the loud hollers of coach drivers, all distinct because there was no
background buzz of traffic. Another world, quite literally.

Richard propelled Errin down the shallow flight of steps to
where a carriage drawn by a pair of grey horses was waiting. ‘Tell me,’ he said,
climbing onto the narrow seat, ‘what do you find most different?’

He leaned down, extending his hand, but Errin hesitated, caught
in the folds of the heavy cloak until he pulled her up with a casual ease onto
the seat beside him. It was like being in the gondola of a Ferris wheel, only
without the safety bar. She shifted closer to Richard, felt the warmth of his
thigh against her own and then shifted away again very quickly, for the contact
was like a spark of electricity. ‘Me,’ she said quietly. ‘I feel different.’

He drove the high-stepping thoroughbred horses with their
polished leather harnesses around Hyde Park, where she marvelled at the
haut
ton
and the demi-monde parading their toilettes.
Errin herself was the subject of a few interested stares, but Richard seemed
oblivious, too intent on pointing out Lady This and Lord That, providing her
with a potted history of each that was usually scandalous and always amusing. He
seemed equally well informed on points of dress, describing the difference
between a dandy, a macaroni and a Corinthian, picking out, at her behest, a
promenade then a carriage dress, shako hats and poke bonnets.

Passing through the park gates where John Nash’s Marble Arch
was yet to be built, Richard drove on to Bond Street and Errin learned the art
of Regency shopping, which was not at all like any shopping she’d ever
experienced, not even that one time when she’d been given a personal shopper in
Barneys. Though the dinner hour was approaching, New Bond Street was still
crowded. Liveried servants scurried by with parcels and notes, tradesmen with
drays made deliveries. There were several Bond Street beaux on the strut,
raising their quizzing glasses in a most imperious manner. Hawkers called their
wares, selling everything from pint pots of ink to tallow candles. Two news
criers stationed on opposite street corners with their bells vied for
customers.

Richard pulled the horses to a halt and leapt lithely down from
the phaeton, holding out a hand to help Errin disembark, handing the reins to a
waiting urchin and tossing him a penny before ushering her into a modiste’s.
Here Madame Celeste herself greeting him effusively and batted not one eyelid
when Errin’s pantsuit was revealed, though she looked extremely startled at the
sight of her new client in a skimpy bra and knickers with neither slip nor
corset to cover her modesty.