Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance) (37 page)

She smiled. Desire left him as helpless as ever with her. Not only desire. A part of his heart would always belong to her. “Monsieur.”

“Enjoying yourself, I hope?”

“Yes, very much.” She walked to him. A rope of pearls draped around her throat. Had Robert given them to her? Had she fastened them on tonight, thinking of the man she loved? He wanted her to love him, but her heart had already been taken up by Robert. She would never have room for him, and he was going to have to accept that. “You make a handsome cavalier.”

“Thank you. May I say the same about you?” He forced a grin, because she expected that of him, that he would be agreeable at all times. “Substituting lovely sultana for handsome cavalier, of course.”

“I’ve been wondering where you were. I didn’t see you dancing. All the ladies were wondering why.”

“Here and there. About. I saw you dancing with Aigen.”

“Yes.”

“And with Dinwitty Lane. Did he propose again?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“I don’t care for parties.”

“Yes, you do.”

With those words ended the brief improvement in his mood. “My mistake. I adore parties.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose.” She continued in a soft voice. “Don’t.”

“Yes, I am being difficult.” He gave her costume another long examination. When he looked up from what was an inappropriately intense study of her figure, Eugenia’s gaze on him was steady. He didn’t look away. The air between them felt decidedly close. She could fuck him as if no other man would do, but she couldn’t love him.

“I’m doing my best with you, you know.” She took a half step toward him, then stopped. “It’s not easy to change. Mountjoy always said I was stubborn, but I’m trying. I am.”

“Your best is very good, Ginny, but no match for me when I am in a mood.” He shook his head. She was going to fall in love with some other man. He’d let her use him, willingly, and what she’d learned from him was not that he loved her, but that she could break away from her widowhood and be happy. “Forgive me. I’m not fit company for you.”

“Has something happened?”

“Nothing you would care to hear about.” He took a step toward her, close enough to touch her pearls. “I’ve never seen these before. Did Robert give them to you?”

“They’re Hester’s. She lent them to me.”

Thank God.
“I’d give you pearls if you let me.”

“I’d not accept them from you.”

“Why not? They’d be a gift freely given.”

“You know very well why not.”

“I want you to have something to remember me by.”

She studied him, and he didn’t like at all that he felt she was seeing more than he wanted. “What’s got into you tonight?”

He made an impatient gesture. “I am in a mood, that’s all. Forgive me. I don’t mean to be cross with you.” He touched the pearls she wore. She lifted her chin, and they stood there with him thinking thoughts he shouldn’t. “Diamonds, I think, is what I ought to buy you.” He let his hand fall away.

“Nothing so extravagant.”

“Would you marry Aigen if he asked?”

“I don’t know him well enough to answer you. And if I did, I
don’t believe I’d tell you.” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Robert is gone. But you’re right; he wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living.” She licked her lips. “I did for a while. For too long, but then you know that. You’ve helped me see that.”

He didn’t look away from her.

“Sometimes, when I’m with you, I feel…”

“Vexed?”

“Yes.” Her quick smile flashed over her face. “Exasperated, too. But you make me laugh. You do. It never lasts, you know it doesn’t. We don’t suit at all, but I want to thank you. For making me remember what it’s like to be happy.”

Jesus, she might as well tell him she’d already given her heart elsewhere. “Oh, Ginny. You break me.”

“I’m sorry if I do.” She touched his arm. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

And there they were again, with the world closing in around them in that heavenly way that only happened with her. He cocked his head, and when she didn’t speak or move, he held out his hand in invitation. “A last time for us?”

She didn’t deny that. Nor tell him she had good news or disastrous news. All she did was place her fingers on his hand, and he led her out of the ballroom. They might have been going anywhere perfectly proper. The card rooms were down the corridor in this direction. As were two saloons opened up for those looking for conversation away from the dancing. But he did not take her any of those places. He took her to the office he kept at Bouverie, a floor above the ballroom and tucked away in a corner that, during the day, had a view of a small garden. His spurs jingled as he walked, her hand in his.

In his office, he brought her inside, then closed and locked the door. The servants had strict instructions to keep the fire going so the room was not frigid, thank God. The curtains were drawn for the night and the only light came from the banked fire. He pulled off his gloves and shoved them into the pocket of his coat.

“How can you see in this dark?” Eugenia said in a low voice.

The room was pitch-black, but he knew his office and the arrangement of its furniture. He drew her to him, sliding an arm around her waist. “Can’t see a bloody thing.”

“Will you light a candle?” Her hands landed on his chest, resting there lightly. There was amusement in her voice, but tension as well.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re going to do this.” He kissed her, and while he did, while she kissed him back, he ran his hands along her sides and then underneath her short jacket and over the curve of her bosom, and she leaned into him, looping her arms around his neck and opening her mouth under his. As mad as he.

He wasn’t in a mood for delicacy. Not tonight. Not after watching her dance and wondering what he would do if this man or that was the one she fell in love with instead of with him. She’d danced with Aigen, for pity’s sake, when Aigen was a credible threat to any woman’s heart. She could do worse than Aigen.

Fox kissed her the way a man kisses a lover, and, by God, she kissed him back. Matters went quickly out of control, not that he’d intended for anything but that to happen. She pressed herself against him and brought his head closer to hers, and she kissed him with all the passion he’d dreamed about with her.

He drew away and led her the five steps to his desk. He moved behind her, with her facing his desk and, at first, with just his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t move. This wasn’t a flirtation that might lead to more; this was a prelude to sex. He knew it. She knew it.

Fox slid his hands down to her waist, below the short jacket, then below the sash that belted the frock made of the fabric he’d dreamed about. She wore a short corset, but below that was her natural figure. He gathered a handful of her skirts, then another. He pressed his mouth to the back of her neck, the side of her throat, and she let her head fall back to rest against his shoulder.

The silk of her frock and the linen underskirt beneath rustled as he brought the fabric higher. He put his mouth by her ear. “Put your hands on the desk. It’s sturdy enough for us, I promise.”

She complied, and the position bent her at the hips. He took a step closer, trapping her skirts between them, and slid one hand between her legs, waiting for her to adjust her stance, which she did. He found her slick and hot. He stood with his pelvis against her bottom, slightly bent forward himself in order to reach her. He swept his thumb along the top of her thigh while his fingers delved.

He was hellishly aroused. She drew in a breath and held it, but he waited until she let it out before he caressed her there. He fetched her with a great deal of deliberation. In the dark, he relied on senses other than sight to judge how close she was; the tension in her body, the way her breath shortened, the flesh swelling under his fingertips, and then, as well, her whispered plea for him to bring her release.

In the darkness, her long, low moan was all the more arousing to him. He moved a hand to the middle of her back and exerted a gentle pressure when she would have straightened. With his other hand, he brought her skirts up higher, out of the way. She understood what he intended, for she went quite still while he unfastened the fall of his trousers.

“Yes?” he asked. He asked because he didn’t want to be wrong about whether she wanted to do this with him and because, very selfishly, he wanted her to admit she desired him. She did not love him, but by God, she desired him.

“Yes.”

He found her entrance and his mind locked out any sensation but her and his cock. He pushed forward, and she pressed her hips back, and his foreskin slid back, and he hadn’t intended to slam into her but he did. She made a sound in the back of her throat, a grunt, but then she lowered her head. “My God, Fox.”

He hesitated.

“Again.” Such a fierce whisper.

So he did, and she braced herself, and when it came right down to it, she set the pace between them, not him. He held her hips with both hands, and she steadied herself against his thrusts. Shoves, really. Hard. Almost as hard as he liked his fucking. Once or twice he had to adjust her skirts to keep them out of the way.

The pressure of her around him, the softness of her, and the friction sent him mad with desire. Taut with it, alive with the joy of having his cock in her. She shifted her hips and pushed out, and he had barely enough presence of mind to think about making sure he responded to what she needed from this. There was a particular angle that made her moan, and he concentrated on that.

So close. He was so close.

He managed to slow things down so he’d last a little longer and found the angle that made her shudder and then cry out, and that pressure was damn near as good for him. At one point, he worked his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head while he wound tighter and tighter.

They fell quiet now, the two of them, silent in respect to words, but not for a second was his awareness of her anything but the very reason for his desire. He could barely see in the dark, but it didn’t matter. He recognized her in her cries, the sound of her moans. The scent of her perfume and the fever heat that burned through him.

He dropped his torso over her back, hands on the desk outside hers, and she braced herself again as his hips rocked into her, meeting his every thrust into her. Sooner than he would have liked, he reached the point where he was so close to coming that he took over the pace. He pushed back to hold her hips again, tightly now because they were both near to climax.

There was only them in this delicious cover of darkness, and in the next instant there was only his approaching crisis, and, Jesus, her passage was clenching around him, and he shouted something incoherent, and he nearly didn’t withdraw in time.

The next day.

F
OX ARRIVED AT
B
OUVERIE FROM
W
ESTMINSTER
shortly after nine o’clock that night. There was a dusting of snow on the ground, and when the front door closed behind him, he stamped his feet to knock off the ice. He pulled off his gloves and rubbed his hands together, but his fingers stayed cold. The butler took his coat and hat. “Where is everyone?”

“His grace is in his study. Miss Rendell has retired to her room. As has Lady Eugenia, I believe.” As he said this, the butler handed him a note, sealed with plain red wax.

“Thank you.” He slipped the note into his coat pocket. “Here it is, the last days of the season, and we’re all at home.” He handed over his gloves. “We’re a sorry lot, aren’t we?”

“A bit nippy to be out gallivanting, milord.”

“I suppose you’re right. I’ve not dined yet. Have a light supper sent to my room?”

“Sir.”

As he headed for his room he broke the seal on the note. There was a single sentence:

We must talk.—Eugenia

With her note in hand, he went first to his room where he opened a carved rosewood box.

His valet came in carrying his robe and a pair of felt slippers, but Fox waved him off. “I may be going out again. I’ll need a coat and what have you. I’ll carry them with me now, if you don’t mind.”

“Milord.”

Inside the box was the fob his mother had made for him. The edges were worn and there was a stain on a corner. He touched it once before he took out the gold band he kept inside, along with the few other mementos he had of her. He put the ring into his coat pocket.

His valet came back with the requested items. “Thank you. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, it’s because I’ve gone out. Don’t hold my dinner past then. I’ll find something to eat later.”

“Milord.”

With his coat, hat, and gloves in one hand, he went to Eugenia’s room. He tapped the back of his knuckles on the door.

She opened the door, and in her eyes he saw an entire universe there, moving according to laws beyond his understanding. She took a deep breath and stepped into the corridor. She closed the door behind her.

“I take it we need the strictest privacy?”

She nodded.

His chest was tight while he walked with her down the stairs to a saloon at the back of the house. If it were daylight, there would be a view of the rear garden. Not much of a sight with the wintery weather of late. At present, the curtains were drawn tight. The fire wasn’t even laid, for they’d not used this room so far this season. He put his things on a chair and lit a branch of candles and then another so the room wasn’t unbearably dim.