Never Love a Scoundrel (31 page)

“The door?” she prompted.

Right.
Jason went and locked the door.

She was smiling seductively when he turned back. His cock lengthened, and he suddenly knew just how to make this work so she wouldn’t look as if she’d been tupped.

“Lydia,” he rasped, his voice sounding as if he were speaking his first words after a weeklong sleep, “do you trust me?”

She nodded, her lips still curved like a siren’s. “Of course.”

“Then turn around.”

Her smile slipped into an adorably confused frown. “But I thought we were going to—”

He couldn’t help kissing her. Quickly. Deeply. “We are, but I want to preserve your hair and gown. Will you trust me to show you?”

She nodded, and he reminded himself how innocent and inexperienced she was. Perhaps this was too much.

“Lydia, we can wait—”

It was her turn to interrupt him with a smoldering kiss. “I cannot.” She slid her hands beneath his coat and ran her palms up his chest and over his shoulders. “You can at least remove this, can’t you?”

He shrugged out of the garment and longed for the day when he’d be naked against her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed as she ran her hands back down his chest. “I wish you could take all of this off.”

Nothing she said or did could have stirred him more. He lowered his mouth and took hers in a bruising kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up tight to his chest. Her hands cupped the back of his head. She suckled his tongue in brazen fashion—where in the hell had she learned to do that?—and he was lost.

Or he would be if he didn’t focus on what he needed to do. They couldn’t be caught. Not here. Not tonight.

With supreme effort, he dragged his mouth from hers and spun her around before he changed his mind and simply tore her clothes away and shagged her senseless in every way possible.

God, he really was a reprobate.

He guided her forward two steps to his desk. With a sweep of his hand, he pushed the items on top to one side. “Put your elbows on the desktop.”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder but didn’t say anything. Her eyes were dark, the pupils enlarged. Then she put her elbows down and pitched forward. The curve of her arse was perfectly delineated beneath the fall of her gown. With hands trembling from desire, he lifted her skirts, exposing first stocking-clad calves, then bare thighs, and finally her perfectly rounded behind. He ran his hand over the soft flesh and kneaded her. Then he gripped her hip and leaned over her, whispering against her ear, “Spread your legs.”

She complied, moving her thighs apart. He trailed his fingers down to the cleft between her legs and found her moist heat. He slid his fingers along her folds, pleasuring her with slow, steady strokes. Her hips moved in time with his touch. She was exquisite. He eased a finger inside of her. Welcomed by her moisture and the movement of her body, he stroked once, twice. She widened her stance to give him greater access, and he took it, working her flesh with increasingly rapid thrusts.

She moaned, and he needed no further encouragement.

He unbuttoned his clothing and took his cock in his palm. He imagined her back bare and pale, her muscles flexing.
Next time.
He leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck. “Try to be quiet. I know I’m going to have the devil of a time.”

Then he guided himself into her heat. She moved her thighs apart even more and pressed back, pulling him into her more quickly than he would’ve gone. But it was such bliss. She was so much more than he ever expected. Far more than he deserved.

He situated her skirts on her lower back and gripped her hips. Slowly, he moved inside of her. She was so hot and wet, but with just the right amount of friction to tease his cock. It was a very good thing they didn’t have much time, because he didn’t want to make this last. He wanted her to feel like he did—overwhelmed with need, desperate for release. He wanted to own her.

He increased his speed, thrusting in and out of her with sure and steady strokes. Her hips moved with him and her breaths came in hard little pants that only spurred his lust.

“Faster,” she urged.

He had to stop himself from winding his hand in her hair. Instead, he cupped the back of her neck and drove into her with sharp, rapid strokes. He leaned over her, and put his mouth against her ear. “Is this fast enough?”

Her hands were fisted on the desktop, her ivory gloves pulled taut over her knuckles. “Yes.” She gasped, and he felt her muscles contract around his cock.

He suckled her ear and nibbled the lobe. He felt her shudder beneath him.

“Yes, come with me, Lydia.” He thrust into her and kissed her ear, her neck, his tongue licking her flesh.

She made a strangled sound and cast her head back, elongating her neck. He wanted to suck her, mark her with his lips and tongue, but he didn’t. There’d be time for that. A lifetime.

His orgasm crashed over him, and he just managed to pull out before he spilled himself inside of her. He realized it didn’t matter, but until they were wed, he would take nothing for granted.

Then, because no moment had a right to be as perfect as this one, a rap sounded on the door.

She jerked upright, her skirts thankfully surrendering to gravity and shielding her lower half once more. She turned wide eyes to his.

He held his finger to his lips and gestured for her to move toward the fireplace so she was out of sight from the doorway—provided he was able to keep the door from opening more than a sliver.

Quickly tidying himself with a kerchief from his desk, he buttoned himself back up and made his way to the door. He was relieved to open it a crack and see only North on the other side.

Except North looked far more distressed than Lydia just had. And since North never looked anything beyond mildly amused or irritated or any other emotion, Jason beckoned him to come in. “What is it?”

North caught sight of Lydia, and his nostrils flared before his gaze settled on Jason. “We have uninvited guests.”

Jason had wondered if people would try to come without an invitation, but judging from his valet’s demeanor, he deduced it was more serious than that. “Who?”

“Perhaps you should just come and see for yourself.” North looked at Lydia. “Things are, ah, focused on the drawing room at present, so if you wait a moment and then make your way to the gaming room, you shouldn’t draw any notice.”

Lydia’s cheeks flushed, but she nodded.

Jason hated that their delightful tryst had to end this way. He sent her an encouraging glance and then followed North from his office. Upon entering the drawing room, he froze. They’d thought they’d prepared for whatever Margaret had planned, but he never saw this coming.

Standing in the center of the room was Cora Stroud. And she was decadently, shockingly, unremorsefully, nude.

Chapter Nineteen

JASON STARED
at Cora. Her eyes widened as she realized, likely from Jason’s dark expression, that she wasn’t supposed to be there. She’d worn a green banyan to cover her body, but it was pooled at her feet. Jason swept the silk from the floor and wrapped it around her. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, hating that she’d been degraded in this fashion. Though a Cyprian typically delighted in showing her body, Jason wouldn’t allow it for the sake of humiliation.

Margaret Rutherford sauntered toward the table, her eyes glowing with triumph. “We should’ve realized you couldn’t host a staid party. Just look at you. Where did you leave your coat? Upstairs in your notorious room of debauchery?”

Bloody hell
. He hadn’t put his coat back on after his tryst with Lydia.

He really
couldn’t
host a legitimate party.

“This was a mistake,” he said quietly, meaning both the presence of Cora and the others—a quick scan of the room revealed at least a half dozen of her demimonde sisters—and the fact that he’d tried to execute this disaster of a party in the first place. “I didn’t invite her or any of the others.”

Another Society matron standing just behind Margaret echoed the harpy’s sentiment, “The mistake was ours in thinking this wouldn’t be your typical party.” Murmured agreement erupted around the room.

“Lockwood, this is disgraceful!” An elder gentleman—someone who didn’t come to his other parties—shook his head disdainfully. “I never imagined you would provide such lewd entertainment, but apparently you’re as off-kilter as your mother.” He shook his head again, took his gaping wife by the elbow and escorted her from the room.

Jason expected others to follow, but instead of the departure triggering a mass exodus, everyone continued to stare and whisper. In fact, more people filed in from the adjoining sitting room. Anger simmered through his frame. Despite his best efforts, it looked like Margaret was going to get exactly what she wanted.

“Yes, I’d say he’s at least as off-kilter as his mother. And far more scandalous.” Margaret glanced around the room at her rapt audience. “At least Lady Lockwood didn’t defile her family’s name by allowing such lasciviousness in her home.”

The sound of his mother’s name from that harpy’s mouth ignited his fury. He moved in front of Cora and glared fire at the woman who’d made it her life’s mission to destroy what was left of his family. “What did you have to do with this? Did you invite them here?”

“Me?” Margaret widened her eyes in a profane display of mock innocence. “Why would I need to? Aren’t they your usual guests?”

“We’ll go,” Cora murmured, turning toward the door.

“No.” Jason didn’t want her or the others skulking away in shame. The night was ruined anyway. The room fell quiet. “Lady Margaret is correct. You are my typical guests, as are several people in attendance this evening.” Jason heard a few people gasp. “But I am not in the business of spreading gossip or doling out humiliation.
Lady
Margaret, I demand you apologize to these women.”

Several intakes of breath punctuated the silence, but none more than the loud gasp he heard from the doorway.
Lydia
. She was supposed to be in the gaming room. He hated for her to become involved in this.

“I have nothing to apologize for,” Margaret said haughtily. “And I would never stoop to addressing these women, let alone apologize to them for anything.”

Mr. Rawlings, a middle-aged gentleman Jason recognized as a sometimes-guest at his vice parties, stepped forward. “Really, Lockwood, you can’t expect her to do that.”

“I can,” Jason spat, “and I do.” He didn’t give a damn what these people thought of him or his party. He longed to ask Rawlings if he’d spent time with any of the courtesans present. But he wouldn’t do what Margaret did, not even to those who would condemn him.

Rawlings stared at him in bewilderment. “But they’re . . . beneath us.”

“In your mind,” Jason said. “However, they are people just like you and me, and they’ve been lured here to provide some sort of entertainment that requires their humiliation. I won’t tolerate that.” When Rawlings continued to look harassed, Jason curled his lip. The man enjoyed Lockwood House on any other night and yet he was going to stand here and act as if he were above it all? Fuck him, and everyone else who felt the same. “Besides,” Jason drawled in the worst tone he could manage, “I like them better than most of you.”

Raising her chin, Cora stood straighter. “Thank you, Jas—my lord.”

Margaret’s lips spread into a malicious grin. “I think it’s now fairly clear why you removed your coat. Perhaps you were waiting for your paramour.” The look of victory in her eyes stole the last vestige of Jason’s patience.

“There’s a very good reason I removed my coat.” He glanced at Lydia, who, like most everyone else, was staring at Cora. What he was about to say would accomplish two things: shut Margaret the hell up and show Lydia that Cora wasn’t the one he wanted. “I took my coat off to kneel upon it when I proposed to your great-niece just a few moments ago. I’m delighted to say she’s agreed to become my wife.”

The resulting gasps were louder than the last series—and more drawn out. Apparently wedding Lady Lydia Prewitt was more shocking than inviting courtesans to a Society soirée.

At last, Margaret’s mouth gaped and her eyes widened in horror, which gave Jason a spiteful sense of pleasure. Then she directed her attention to Lydia. “What have you done?”

All eyes swiveled to Lydia in the doorway. She’d looked lush and vibrant after they’d made love, but now she was pale, and her shoulders were low, giving her the appearance of someone who wished she could fade into the background.

Uneasiness spread through him. He shouldn’t have announced their engagement in such a fashion. Damn, he was so woefully out of practice.

Margaret laughed then, a brassy, grating sound. “I’m sure my niece was eager to accept your proposal. It’s the only way she can avoid returning to Northumberland since her father has decided it’s time for her to come home.”

Pink swathed Lydia’s cheeks, and she glanced at the floor before straightening her spine and pressing her mouth into a firm, daring line. Though she was trying to look courageous, the initial look in her eyes told Jason everything he needed to know: that Margaret spoke the truth.