The Wicked One (7 page)

I want you to help me give my sister her life back.

Nothing he might have said could have swayed her more.  Blackheath had said she was young, romantic, and in love.  Eva remembered what it had been like to be young, romantic, and in love.  She remembered it with a bitter pang that still hurt after all these years, causing the back of her throat to ache with the pain of betrayal, the loss of innocence, the death of dreams.  She had no desire whatsoever to help the duke, of course.  But his sister . . .

She gave a deep sigh.  "I will do what I can, Blackheath.  But not for you.  For your sister."

"Despite the fact you've never met her?"

"It doesn't matter.  She's a woman.  She hurts.  I sympathize with her pain."

"You think men do not hurt?"

"I
know
men do not hurt.  How can they?  They do not have hearts, which is why they take such delight in breaking ours."

He studied her for a long moment, and Eva had the uncanny sensation he could see right into her soul and all its long-buried, deeply guarded secrets.  She shivered.  With awe.  With nervousness.

And, with unspoken longing.

"Are you cold?"

"Yes," she lied.

"I will remedy that," he said.

And, pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.

Chapter 6

The night was frigid, the air as brittle as glass, but when Blackheath's lips came down on hers, Eva felt nothing but a searing, sweeping warmth.

His hands slipped beneath the velvet coat and down, cupping her figure, the thumbs grazing her silk-clad breasts, the palms following her rib cage, snugging into the curve of her waist and out over her hips, her bottom.  He pulled her close, right up against the unforgivably hard wall of his body, trapping her there even as his mouth covered hers.  Eva had no desire to reclaim the space he had stolen.  She spread her palms against his chest, feeling the taut, coiled muscle just beneath, the steady beat of his heart.  How delicious it was to be in such powerful arms!  How dangerously heady, this unexpected abandonment of her senses, her convictions!  She forgot her anger; forgot regret, indignation, outrage.  There was only his mouth against hers, demanding and impatient, cool and hard and wonderful.

And now his tongue, tracing the swell of her lower lip, painting it with warm, tingling heat.  With a sigh of defeat, she opened to him.  Clung to him.  Let him touch and taste and explore even as she returned the intimate caress.  Her blood caught on fire, engulfing her in flames, a heretic burning at the stake.

There was no denying it.  She wanted him.  God help her, she wanted him, and if she was any sort of a woman she would have him — on her terms, of course, not his, never his — and she would have him tonight.  It was a seductive thought.  A delicious thought.  One that flared to life on the kindling of her own rising desire . . .

His hands pressed against the small of her back now, molding her, holding her, drawing her right up against the rock-hard length of him, pelvis to pelvis, until her head tipped back under the onslaught of his kiss.  Her arms came up to encircle his neck, the heavy velvet coat now sliding from her shoulders, tumbling off her back, and landing in a crumpled heap at her feet.  But she never felt the cold.  There was only his lips against hers, his breath mingling with her own, her hands roving across his shirt and tracing the fascinating interplay of muscle, ribs, and hard, flat abdomen just beneath the fine lawn.

Eva pulled back, resting her hot forehead against his chest and breathing hard.

"If you do that again I shall have to kill you," she said without conviction, trying to catch her breath as she stared somewhat dazedly down at their feet.

"And you think that threat will deter me?"

"You know I feel nothing for you."

"Then you are a magnificent actress."

"I loath you.  I've loathed you ever since I found that you were the one who was sabotaging our spying efforts here in France . . .  The matter of the aphrodisiac was just the frosting on the cake."

"Hmm, yes . . ."  His hand, so warm despite the night air, stroked her nape, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin just behind her ear.  "I wish I could make the same denial, but I fear I've been fascinated with you from the moment I first saw you, when your cousin brought you to my brother's wedding."

"Lust, nothing more.  Ignore it and it will go away."

"I have tried to ignore it.  It has not gone away."

"Find another woman, then."

"I don't want another woman."  His voice dropped to a husky murmur, and she felt his breath against the side of her neck.  His lips.  The whisper of a kiss — dark, forbidden, dangerous.  "I want
you
."

Hot tremors shook her body.  He could break her heart.  Take it apart, stomp on it, and walk away without a backward glance.  Fear almost paralyzed her — but Eva had no use for fear.  If this was frightening her, it was all the more reason to confront it head on.

"What do you say, my lady?  You are an adult, a widow, no blushing innocent who's ignorant of what she'll find in a man's bed.  And unless I'm mistaken, you're as eager as I am to finish what we already started in mine.  But I'm not usually mistaken, Eva.  Let me prove to you that men can be very . . .
interesting
, indeed."

Her knees began to weaken.  "I have . . . work to do at the ball."

"You have work to do for me.  But pleasure before business, no?"

He took her arm.  Fear and wanting warred within her.  The night pressed in around her, icing her skin, trying to freeze her blood, but Blackheath had ignited something that was burning her from the inside out and could only be satisfied in one way, and one way only.

And then, a sudden idea occurred to her.  A wicked idea, so totally perfect for the occasion, so totally in line with her own plans, that she could barely contain her triumph.

Her relief.

"Very well, then, Blackheath," she murmured, looking up into his shadowy face.  "I'm no champion of the male gender, but I'm willing to give you a chance to change my mind about it.  You and I will return to my rooms, but" — she narrowed her eyes — "it will be on
my
terms."

"And they are?"

"Complete domination."

Up went one black, arching brow.  "Dear me, this night promises more excitement than I'd originally anticipated . . ."

"And I'm telling you right now that if you disappoint me in any way, I swear I'll kill you."

"In that case, I promise to do all in my power to leave you completely . . ." — his lips curved in a slow, dangerous smile  — "satisfied."

~~~~

They returned — individually — to the ball and, pleading a headache, Eva excused herself and left the great noisy chamber.

She had seen Franklin eyeing her with raised brows, obviously not fooled by her excuse.  He had seen her with Blackheath.  He was certainly wondering why she was consorting with the enemy.  But Eva had a plan, and Blackheath would be the perfect man on whom to carry it out.

He was waiting for her, as promised, at the foot of the great stairway that led to the guest rooms on the mansion's upper floors.  It was quiet here; not even a servant was about.

"Last chance to change your mind," he murmured, with a challenging little smile that said he knew she would not.

Eva took his offered arm.  "I am not such a coward as all that.  Though you'd like everyone to think you're the devil incarnate, I am most assuredly not afraid of the big bad wolf."

"Really, now?  Then why, might I ask, are you trembling?"

She gave a flippant little laugh to cover her nervousness.  "Anticipation."

He only smiled, a thin, knowing smile that made her insides twist in a knot.  So, she'd lied.  A bit.  She
was
afraid of the big bad wolf, because wolves were perfectly capable of tearing out your heart and eating it.  And Eva was all too aware that her heart, which had been feasted on before, was dangerously close to finding itself on an offered platter.

Stay calm!  YOU are in control.  He has consented that you will be in control!  You have nothing to fear, as long as you don't start imagining he's something he's not, as long as you don't start dreaming little-girl dreams about him, as long as you don't start deluding yourself that he's any different from the rest of his abhorrent gender . . .

She raised her head, haughty, flirtatious, in command once more.  Yes, she was in control.  She just had to convince herself of the fact.  They reached the top of the stairs, and, her heart pounding, Eva led the way to her room.  The closed door looked ominous.  And exciting.  What would lay beyond that door, tonight?

She turned then and faced her companion with a hard stare.  "Let me remind you, Blackheath.  This is on
my
terms."

"Ah, yes."  His smile gleamed.  "Complete domination."

"And remember, I am perfectly capable of killing you if you deceive me in any way."

"I know you are, my dear.  It is one of many reasons why I find myself so fascinated by you."  He reached out and placed his palm against the door just behind her ear, effectively trapping her between his arm and dark, ruthless face.  His voice dropped to a seductive whisper.  "You see, I
adore
dangerous women."

Eva tensed, her heart beginning to race.  "You may not adore them so much if one decides to kill you."

"Ah, yes.  Kill me.  That is a threat you seem to revisit quite often, madam.  Perhaps, before this night is over, you will convince me of how . . ." — he smiled — ". . . dangerous you really are."

She gave him a level stare.  "I would be most happy to."

He merely laughed, and Eva felt a brief stab of fury that he would dismiss her so lightly.  But then, he had done much the same when she'd broken into his apartments back at the castle, blatantly turning his back on her when she held a gun on him, as if to prove that he did not take her as seriously as she did herself.

But then, that's one of the reasons you're so fascinated by
him
isn't it?  Because he respects but not fears you, as so many other men do.  Because he is totally unfazed by the fact that you could so easily kill him.  You enjoy his courage.  You have met your match, Eva.

And she would best her match.  She would.

She merely smiled at him and glanced pointedly at his arm. It was still blocking her way.  After a deliberate pause, he finally removed it.  Eva pushed open the door.  A fire burned in the hearth, and a candle stood on a lowboy with curved, spindly legs in the French fashion, its light casting a warm orange glow over the lacquered wood, across the fine Turkish carpet on the floor, and bringing out the lights and shadows from the heavy drapes at the windows and around the bed.

"Have you no maid?" Blackheath asked, raising a brow.

"I gave her the night off.  It took her hours to prepare me for the evening.  She deserved no less."

He was standing just behind her.  She could feel his heat.  His hunger.  He was very close, and though Eva was a tall woman, he somehow managed to make her feel quite diminutive indeed.  She resisted the urge to shudder.  She must be mad to be doing this.  Mad to let the Duke of Blackheath into her bedroom.  Into her life.  But she was doing this for her country.  And there were far less agreeable things she could do than inviting one of the deadliest men in England into her bed.

Detachment.  It was the only way to both enjoy Blackheath's body and keep her own heart safely locked up where he could never reach it.  Detachment.  It was the only way that she'd be able to keep from fantasizing that he was something he was not, to keep from imagining things that could never be, to keep from dreaming of something that would never happen.

Detachment.

And then he was kissing her, and she knew she was fighting a losing battle, for there was no way anyone could detach from
this
.

His hands, so broad, skillful and warm, cradled her jaw, her cheeks, tilting her head up to his.  She lost herself to the kiss.  Her senses began to swim, and from some distant part of herself, she felt pressure behind her legs.  A moment later he had swept her up in his arms, her feet dangling, as he carried her effortlessly toward the bed.

Somewhat breathless, Eva struggled to reclaim control.  "
My
terms, Blackheath."

"But of course."

"So put me down."

He smiled.

"Put me down,
now
."

With a sigh, he did so, then stood eyeing her with a lazy, confident smile that made no promises whatsoever.

And yet, made all the promises in the world.

"Undress me," she said.

He raised a brow, clearly fascinated, despite himself.

"You men are always the ones to indulge us in your sexual fantasies.  Well, tonight you will be indulged in mine."

"I
do
like the sound of that," he murmured, deeply amused.  "I daresay I will enjoy your little . . . indulgences, Eva."

"I can assure you, you will."

She stood quite still, barely daring to breathe as he approached.  He came right up to her, until he stood so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, hear the breath moving through his lungs, feel it stirring the tendrils of hair at her temples.  He let his fingers graze her cheek; unflinchingly, she met his gaze.  He pulled a pin from her hair.  Another.  And yet another.  A thick, powdered tress tumbled to Eva's shoulder, then down her back.

Another.

She shut her eyes, her nerves on fire, her knees so weak she feared they would give out beneath her.  She heard the thin tinkle of pins hitting the floor.  Shivered as Blackheath's fingers brushed the delicate shell of her ear, the nape of her neck . . . the line of her jaw.  More hair tumbled down.  The horsehair pads atop which her coiffure had been piled fell out.  Eva stood before him, heavy masses of hair, stiff with powder, spilling down her back.

He reached for her —

But no, not yet.  She mustered a coy smile, then walked a little distance away; there, she shook the powder from her hair until it was its natural, vibrant red once more, glowing like claret in the light of the fire.