Seduction & Scandal (24 page)

Isabella went weak in his arms. Beneath his mouth, she softened, succumbed. How could she not? She wanted this man. This moment. He'd shown her his vulnerabilities, shared with her the secrets in his soul. Her heart ached for him, for the young man struck by such tragedy, for the burdens he had been forced to carry. For the pain that was still so evident.

“Jude,” she whispered over and over as he kissed her, their mouths open and hot, and searching. Their tongues touched, and she felt him push her back, till she was
pressed up against the side of the carriage and he was between her legs, which were bent.

His hand, hot and large, was snaking beneath the hem of her gown, slowly, surely, as he lips and tongue rattled her thoughts—stole her will. The only right thing to do was to put a stop to the kiss, to the embrace that was becoming far more than what it should. That was the honorable path, but she was selfish, wanted more, wanted to take what he would give her.
Little Magpie
he had called her, and she was, clutching everything to her chest so that she could steal it away—including the memories of him. One last time, the little voice inside insisted. One last decadent, pleasurable memory to take away, only to be brought out in the darkness of night, and the privacy of her thoughts.

She could never see him again. Deep down, she knew she couldn't, becuase she could no longer resist him and what he so readily offered. It was her only defense, to cut the string that drew them together.

Resolved, Isabella let her worries float away, her plan was set; this would be the last time and she wanted to absorb every touch, every breath, every heated second in his arms.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the sound of Jude's breath against her, how it rasped in uneven gasps as he pressed his arousal into her thigh. His hand, so large and masculine, gripped her and she felt him undulating against her in a rhythm that was not choreographed, but urgent, primal. There was a sense of frenzied need that permeated the carriage. She felt it in the taut strength of his shoulders, in the way her heart beat rapidly against her breast and the sound of his uneven, hurried breathing.

“I can't be more than this,” he rasped as he pressed once more against her. “I can't be slow and luring. I need you, Bella, and we'll be home soon, and I can't
wait another moment to do what I wanted to do to you in my study.”

With a nod, she acquiesced. Her fall so easy.

Breathlessly she waited, and then her skirts were raised to her waist, exposing her to his gaze while his fingers searched through the slit of her drawers in a frantic motion that made her arch and writhe and capture his mouth with hers. The kiss was demanding, consuming, and she clutched at him, her hands raking through his hair, grabbing handfuls as his fingers slid possessively over her sex.

“Let me feel you,” he breathed. “Taste you.”

Before she could understand, he wrapped his hand around her calf, spreading her thighs as he lowered his head, scraped his chin against her thigh. She gasped at the sinful sight, gasped again as she felt his fingers parting her, studying her before he placed his scorching tongue to her folds.

The feeling was heaven, his tongue a mix of light flicks and firm pressure, and long, languid strokes. The previous urgency bled away, leaving her feeling hazed as Jude slowed his movement, brought her up, then down, only to build her higher and higher, until she was moving beneath him, and her hands were stroking his hair, tightening with every arch of her body.

“Jude,” she cried. He was killing her, she knew. Felt her soul lift from her body and float upward as she felt her limbs quivering, and her heart stop, only to restart after a missed beat. She cried out, a strangled sound, and he looked up. Watched her fall apart beneath his ministering tongue.

“La petite mort,”
he murmured as he cradled her in his arms. “The little death. The next time,” he whispered, “I will die right alongside you.”

L
ATER THAT NIGHT,
Black made his way across the street to Stonebrook's house. The marquis was out, he'd seen his carriage leaving. Lucy and Isabella were inside, and he decided that it was the perfect opportunity to sneak into Stonebrook's study, and to see Isabella again.

He had to see her again. He'd thought of nothing else all afternoon and what had transpired in the carriage. He felt at ease; the secret of his past was out, but there were other secrets he was hiding, as well. But the one he feared the most was out, and she hadn't believed it.

Where had she been ten years ago, when no one had believed him? When everyone, including the ton, believed he had murdered his brother and Abigail?

Maybe it was how it was intended. Ten years ago he could not have appreciated Isabella, and the gift she was. He would not have seen past her status, and the fact she was poor. It had taken years of pain and isolation to make him see the true beauty of life.

When he had dined, he'd glanced at the chair she'd occupied the evening before. Her image had so easily come to him, and he thought back to the library and how good she had felt in his arms, and today, when he had tasted her, put his mouth to her sex and taken from her. He could hardly wait to have her with him again.

The wind was high, and he turned up the collar of his coat to ward off the chill. Rapping on the door he waited till the butler swung it wide. It seemed like an eternity
before Jennings, the marquis's haughty butler, opened the door.

“The Earl of Black to see Lady Lucy and Miss Fairmont.”

“I beg your pardon, milord, but the ladies are not receiving visitors this evening.”

Laughter resounded from the salon, and he heard Lucy's husky voice cry out, “Oh, well done, Mr. Knighton. Tell us another story of your magnificent discoveries.”

Black's thoughts turned murderous. Knighton was there? The bastard. “Announce me now,” he stormed, “or I shall announce myself.”

“My lord, Miss Fairmont expressly—” The butler swallowed hard and moved his neck from side to side, as if his necktie was choking him. “Miss Fairmont,” he uttered in superfluous superior tones, “has expressly requested that if you came to call this evening I was to decline you entrance. Good evening to you, milord.”

The door slammed shut in his face and Black stood there for long minutes mute, confused and also enraged. What the bloody hell was Wendell Knighton doing here? And why had Isabella purposely shut him out? Damn it, didn't she realize that after that afternoon there was no going back?

He stood quietly shaking, contemplated kicking the door down, or smashing a window and letting himself inside that way. Both methods would not endear him to Isabella.

What was this game she was playing? he wondered. She had wanted him that afternoon. There had been no games between them then. Damn it, what had changed? Why did she fear him? Or was it the passion she feared? Whatever it was, it was preventing her from giving herself to him. But he would have her. He wanted her more than Knighton could ever dream of.

In a most unsavory thought, Black reluctantly admitted that Isabella had won this first round. But that was okay, because he would demand satisfaction for this. He would speak with her tomorrow, and he would deal with Knighton.

But three days later, Black was still wondering why he had suddenly and summarily been shut out of Isabella Fairmont's life. She had cut him off, refusing to see him, avoiding him at balls and routs, and even the theater. He had seen her in the park, and she had promptly turned around and headed for the carriage that had conveyed her and Lucy and Elizabeth.

Three days of wondering, of seething. When next he saw her, he'd corner her, run her to ground and she would not escape him.

Whatever it took, Isabella would speak to him.

Staring at the book in his hand, he traced the golden lettering on the title
Jane Eyre.
Isabella had no idea how damn persistent he could be.

So far, he had acted the gentleman—as well as he could—but now he was no longer eager to play by the rules of society. Now he was playing by
his
rules. Isabella would soon see a new side him. A very dark and dangerous side.

Black did not give not give up on his desires. And Isabella was his one and only.

 

“H
E'S COME
.”

Orpheus smiled and drew back into the shadows, allowing the silk curtain to conceal him. Around him, the smell of sweating bodies, feminine perfume and the heady incense of opium clouded his senses.

“He has nerve,” his lover whispered to him. “Coming to your domain.”

“Let them come,” he said, patting her hand.

“How soon they have put the pieces together,” she
purred as she kissed him. “They want the pendant. How did they know to come here looking for it?”

“Because I made my trap easy.”

He felt himself rise, felt her hand slide down his body. She purred once more in satisfaction. “I want him,” she murmured. “I want him to hurt, just as my sister did.”

“I know, darling,” Orpheus replied as he maneuvered her hand till her palm rested on his straining manhood. “He will. Black will be taken from his little paramour. And he will suffer,” he vowed.

“But what of the pendant? You should not have given it away.”

“Trust me to take care of my business,” he said, growing angry, “and I will leave you to yours.”

“You forget,” she whispered as her clever fingers worked on the fastening of his trousers. “that our business is one and the same.”

Yes, it was. The redhead. She was next on his list. His lover would take care of Black, but Orpheus wanted Sussex. Out of them all, he wanted that preening, righteous bastard the most.

“My lord,” his servant said. “Lord Black has arrived, and is wishing entrance into the club.”

Let them come…
It had been his design after all. “Allow him in. And keep your eye on him. Does he bring the others?”

“He does, my lord.”

Orpheus smiled and reached for his lover. “Good. See, pet, soon you will have Black at your mercy. I shall be in my room,” he told his servant. “I trust you'll know how to handle Black and the Guardians if they should come by asking questions.”

“Yes, my lord.”

And then Orpheus retreated into the darkness. Now was not the time to confront them. He was laying a trap, and they were walking headlong into it.

 

“D
AMN IT
, Black, you're as staid as a nun.”

Walking through the Adelphi, Black bumped shoulders with the crowd as he and the others made their way to the back of the theater. This was the direction his informant had pointed him.

“Why don't you just tell us what has you champing and stewing.”

Like hell he would. It was all he could do to think straight. The last thing he wanted was Alynwick needling him because he was acting like a lovesick fool over Isabella.

“Damn me, man, get yourself another woman if that is the cause of your behavior.”

He would if he could, but Isabella had ruined him for all other women. Bloody hell, he had sworn he wouldn't think of her tonight. He couldn't become distracted, not now. Not here.

As they brushed aside a crimson silk curtain, they stopped to take in the tableau before them.

“Looks like nothing more than an orgy!” Alynwick ex claimed.

“Good God, what is that stench?” Sussex said between coughs. “My head, I feel odd.”

“Opium,” Black stated. “Try not to take deep breaths.”

As they walked through the clouded room, amongst the naked bodies and the sounds of pleasure, Black felt his face turn up with disgust.

“We won't learn anything here.”

“Have faith,” Alynwick demanded. It was then that Black noticed the hungry look in a blonde woman's eyes. She stood in the corner, her identity shielded with a mask. She was dressed provocatively, her shoulders bare, and the crest of her breast visible. “I think I'll see what I can do with her,” Alynwick murmured.

Black snorted. “Trust Sinclair to make this more about pleasure than duty.”

Sussex rolled his eyes. “He has a point. Maybe we should split up and see what we can discover.”

Black hated the thought of spending hours in this place. His head was throbbing with the effects of opium, and the heat in the room was stifling. Tugging on his cravat, he loosened it, only to feel a set of arms snake around him, taking the task over for him.

“Let me do that,” a feminine voice whispered in his ear. “You're new.”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes, tried to think about his duty to the Brethren Guardians. Tried not to think about how much his body ached from unspent desire. Tried to think of anything else but Isabella.

“Very nice,” she murmured appreciatively as her hand slid down his back. “Have you come for sport?”

“Perhaps.”

She laughed, one filled with feminine desire. “Mysterious. I like that. Why don't we move to the corner, it's more private.”

The woman tugged him along, and brought him to a darkened corner. She was tall and willowy, her hair a dark brown, her eyes feline behind the opening of her mask. She perused him as if he were a prized stallion, and erotic intent flashed in her eyes.

“It's always strange when it's your first time,” she said. “But it only gets easier.”

“Does it?”

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Have you been shown around?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I haven't.”

“Then you should let me.”

“I have some questions.”

She slid up to him, wrapped a thin arm around his neck and let her fingers tangle in the ends of his hair. “Perhaps I could answer them?”

Black had never been good at games like this. He was
much too intense for subterfuge. This was Alynwick's domain, and suddenly he wished the marquis were here to rid him of this woman, and this insipid game.

“Ask your questions,” she whispered, and he felt her press her body into his. She was too thin for his tastes. Immediately he had flashbacks of Isabella, and how she had felt in his arms. Soft and warm. Something to sink himself into. This woman was all bones and hard angles. There was nothing soft about her.

“This Orpheus, have you seen him?”

“Of course.”

“Is he here tonight?” he asked, trying to act nonchalant as the woman ran her finger down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, he's not here tonight. Only comes on Wednesdays, when the initiations take place and the members' dues are collected.”

“Oh.” Black swallowed hard and looked around. “My friends and I thought we might come for a lark,” he began. “We really don't know anything about the club, other than some mates of ours said it was good fun.”

“Excellent fun,” she whispered. “And completely anonymous.”

“I've heard,” he said, hoping he was doing the right thing, “that Orpheus has a pendant, something very special.”

“Oh, yes. The Templar pendant. He proclaims its magical powers will gives us the greatest of pleasure. He also claims it is the source of his bewitching powers.”

“Have you seen it?”

She frowned, leaned forward and brushed her lips against his chin. “Not for about a week. Come,” she whispered as she pulled him closer. “Let us not talk.”

“I'm afraid I'm married.”

“I am, too. My husband is in the grotto with a girl half his age.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, “but my affections are engaged else where.”

“I'm not offering affection, darling, only pleasure.”

“I'm not accepting, I'm afraid.”

She huffed, then slinked off, searching for more willing prey.

Sussex found him through the opium smoke, and Black signaled Alynwick to leave.

“What did you discover?” Black asked Sussex.

“Not a damn thing. Everyone is too drunk, or too…occupied for conversation.”

“This is it, the place we've been looking for,” Black announced. “Orpheus only arrives on Wednesdays for initiations, and he has the pendant.”

Alynwick looked shocked. “How did you discover that? And in less then ten minutes?”

“I have my ways.”

The woman caught his eye, blew him a kiss before they disappeared in the smoke.

“Damn me, Black, you're a legend,” Alynwick teased.

“Bloody hell, Alynwick, I'm not following in your footsteps.”

“Pity. We could have some fun together, out prowling the streets.”

Black gave him a perturbed glare. “The woman claims to have seen the pendant, but not for about week.”

“Let's get out of here. I feel as though I'm going to pass out. I can't think with this smoke in the air.”

Outside, all three took gasping breaths of air. When their heads were clear, they looked at each other. They were only slightly better off than when they arrived. What they needed was to discover who this Orpheus fellow was, what his connection to the Freemasons was and where he'd hidden the pendant.

“What now?” Black asked as he looked up to see the night sky lit over the city.

“We stay here until the theater shuts down, and then we break in and search the club. “Agreed.”

“It's damn cold out here,” Alynwick grumbled. Black reached into his coat and passed him a flask.

“This will keep you warm.”

“And what will you use to keep your thoughts away from your lovely lady in red?” Alynwick teased.

“Sod off, Alynwick,” Black snapped, and the marquis's laughter filled the dank alley behind the Adelphi.

“God help me if love ever finds me. The look of the two of you…you're both so long in the face, it's comical.”

Black turned his back and closed his eyes, thinking of how he was going to break into the theater. But the image of Isabella crept in and he groaned, then snatched the flask back from Alynwick's hand.