To Pleasure a Prince (8 page)

Pressing her back against the bookshelves, he ravished her mouth the way he wanted to ravish her body, until the taste of her so filled his senses that he actually contemplated lifting her skirts and—

She pushed hard against his chest. Only then did he stop kissing her.

“We should not be doing this, Marcus. Someone might find us here.”

Frustration made him growl, “And that would not do for my lady, would it?”

“If my brother found us, it would not do for
you,
either.”

He smiled grimly. “It might. Foxmoor would demand satisfaction on the dueling field, and I could—”

“Don’t even think such a thing!” she cried, covering his lips with her fingers.

They stood frozen a moment. Then she traced his mouth with a gentleness he wasn’t used to from anyone. He dragged in a ragged breath, but didn’t stop her.

Until she ran one finger along his scar.

“Don’t,” he murmured.

Curiosity glinted in her eyes but she changed the direction of her exploration, slipping her fingers down to caress his jaw. “Your beard is soft. I expected it to be prickly.”

Her tenderness unsettled him. “It’s no different from other hair,” he said gruffly. “It’s only prickly after it’s shaved off. But I’m surprised an elegant female like you would even touch a man’s beard.”

A coy look crossed her face. “Believe it or not, sometimes elegant females try things they’re not supposed to.”

“Right.” That was why she’d let him kiss her. Apparently even La Belle Dame craved excitement occasionally and couldn’t get it from her idiot suitors. He bent his head to nibble her earlobe. “Try anything you want with me,” he whispered. “I won’t tell a soul.”

She jerked back, her face aflame. “I didn’t mean—” She broke off at the sound of the doorknob turning, then wriggled out of his arms just as the door swung open.

Iversley stepped inside, then froze. His gaze swung from Marcus to Regina. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said tersely.

When Regina turned to face Iversley the reserved expression she generally wore was already in place, banishing the tenderness of a few minutes before. Marcus wanted to howl his frustration.

“It’s no problem.” Her voice was as unruffled as if she’d just been taking tea. “His lordship and I were merely talking.”

Marcus knew she was perfectly in her rights to preserve her reputation. But with his blood still in wild riot, he reacted to her calmness as if it were an assault.

“Yes.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Lady Regina was explaining to me why she prefers private duets to public ones.”

The gaze she swung to him was so hurt that he realized her reserve had been only a facade. Anger flared in her eyes, and she slapped him. Hard. “Go to the devil,” she choked out. Then she fled.

As soon as she was gone, Iversley shut the door. “You deserved that.”

“I suppose.” Marcus rubbed his jaw. For an elegant female, her ladyship had quite a swing. And quite a little temper. “But I was merely stating the obvious.”

Iversley shook his head. “Any other woman you set your sights on might put up with your grousing and your insults, but not Lady Regina, society’s reigning—”

“I don’t have my sights set on her.” Marcus strode over to the table with the whisky decanter and picked up the glass he’d left there.

“Liar. I’ve seen how you look at her.”

“No differently than I look at any other attractive female.” His hand shook as he poured himself more whisky. “I’m sure I look at your wife exactly the same.”

“If you did, we’d be dueling at dawn,” Iversley said dryly. “Because you look at Lady Regina as if you want to bed her.”

God help him, he did. “Any man who looked at her would want to bed her.” He downed the whisky. “What of it?”

“Be careful, is all I’m saying. She’s not…er…”

“My kind? We were doing just fine until you interrupted us.”

And until I insulted her.

No, he wouldn’t chastise himself for that…or for her look of betrayal. She’d experimented with kissing the Dragon Viscount, then turned around and expected him to pretend it hadn’t happened because
she
was ashamed. A pox on her. “Why are you here, anyway?” he asked his brother.

“Katherine said you were getting drunk. I didn’t think that was wise. Of course, if I’d realized you were engaging in another vice—”

“Didn’t you hear Lady Regina? Nothing happened. So go back to your guests and send someone for me when dinner is served.”

“All right.” Iversley opened the door. “But take my advice—next time you engage in ‘nothing’ with Lady Regina, you might want to lock the door.”

As his brother left laughing, Marcus gritted his teeth. Damned interfering relations. Louisa with her matchmaking duets, Katherine with her lectures, and Iversley with his annoying observations. They were blind to the truth—that Foxmoor and his sister represented everything wrong with polite society that Marcus had spent his life avoiding. Foxmoor was a schemer, and Regina…

Well, he hadn’t figured her out yet. No one had forced her to come in here to “explain,” so why bother? Was she genuinely sorry she’d balked at singing with him, or did she have some other motive?

It hardly mattered. After her slap, she couldn’t possibly mean to continue their bargain. She would make that clear later, and he could demand that Foxmoor stay away from Louisa, too. So he would win.

And there would be no more kisses. No more tender caresses, no more—

With an oath, he slammed his whisky glass down on the table. There wouldn’t have been any more kisses, anyway. Lady Regina’s little adventure had surely taught her what he already knew—they were not suited for each other in any way.

Too bad he already ached to kiss her again.

If your dire looks and somber reproofs do not work, you can never go wrong by bringing the young lady’s male relations into the picture.

—Miss Cicely Tremaine,
The Ideal Chaperone

C
ad! Impudent oaf! Blackhearted devil! Him and his “private duets”—she would make him regret his insults, just see if she didn’t.

If he insisted on believing she had cut him publicly, if he refused to listen when she tried to explain, then she washed her hands of him. Let him spend the night growling at everyone who crossed his path. She would not stay to endure it.

A lock of Regina’s hair drooped onto her neck, and she groaned. No doubt that devil had dislodged her Platoff hat with all his rough handling of her. He’d probably done it on purpose, too, so everyone would see that she’d been doing something scandalous.

Ducking into an alcove that contained a mirror, she examined her attire. Thankfully, her hat was secure, except for the lock of hair that had come free of its pins in the back. Quickly she repinned it. If not for her cheeks flushing as pink as her overskirt, no one would guess she’d just been engaging in the most outrageous behavior with that…that boor of a man.

And he thought he knew how to please a woman—hah! He didn’t know the first thing about it.

She caught sight of her unnaturally red lips and winced. All right, so perhaps he did know a thing or two. He kissed well. Quite well. Beyond well. He could make a woman forget her name and her reputation and everything in between when he gathered her close to press his hot mouth to hers—

Drat the man, why must he affect her like this? She should have slapped him much sooner, the second he’d given her that first rude buss on the lips.

Or perhaps when he’d dragged her into his bold embrace. And certainly after he’d dared to thrust his tongue into her mouth, so deliciously that she’d wanted to find out how it would be if she let him kiss her a little…bit…longer…

Her knees buckled, and she jerked herself upright. What was wrong with her? He’d had her acting like some shameless wanton, coaxing her into letting him do wicked, heavenly things to her, and she hadn’t even protested!

But that was because he’d kissed her so daringly that it had knocked all her will to resist right out of her.

Until he’d turned nasty again. She scowled. That was the trouble with the Viscount Draker. One minute he was kissing her tenderly and asking her to call him Marcus; the next he was biting out insults.

And she had no idea how to handle it. Men did not generally behave this way to her. So why did he? And why was she letting him get away with it?

Afraid to face the answer to that question, she gave her gown and her hat one last check, then sallied forth into the fray. The concert had apparently ended, and now people were milling about Louisa in the drawing room. Her brother, of course, was one of them.

He approached her with a smile. “I see you’ve rejoined us. Where were you—administering one of your famous lectures to Draker? I suppose you expected him to react more appropriately after you snubbed him.”

“I did not snub him!” she practically shouted. Then realizing that people were watching, she lowered her voice. “And no, I was not lecturing him. But I tell you one thing, when you and Louisa are married, you’d better treat me well, considering all I am putting up with to bring you together.”

“Of course. You’ll have my undying gratitude, dear girl.”

“And stop calling me ‘girl,’ ” she grumbled. “I’ve been a full-grown woman for years. You know I hate your calling me that.” Which is precisely why he did it, of course. Lord Draker wasn’t the only one who delighted in annoying her.

Before Simon could answer, dinner was announced. Regina uttered a heavy sigh. She’d forgotten all about dinner. Lord only knew what sort of mischief Lord Draker would engage in at that event.

At least she didn’t have to sit near him. As the second-senior-ranking gentleman guest, the viscount was placed at his hostess’s left while Regina was placed at Lord Iversley’s right at the opposite end of the table.

She braced herself, expecting her host to say something about what he’d seen in his study. When several minutes passed, and he didn’t mention it, she thanked heaven that he was a gentleman.

They talked of his estate in Suffolk, her father’s love of horses, and Lady Iversley’s interest in poetry. That last one she skirted quickly, since she could count on one hand the number of poems she knew.

Occasionally she cast furtive glances down the table to where Lord Draker sat just on the other side of their hostess from Simon, the highest-ranking male guest. Would Lord Draker be rude to her brother? Foist yet more breaches of etiquette on the company? Could he at least dine properly?

Apparently he could. He used a fork rather than eating off his knife like other country folk, he didn’t hog the best dishes, and despite what she’d feared from the whisky she’d smelled on his breath, he did not drink overmuch. Only some wine, and that at a moderate rate.

The only thing that bothered her was his apparent enjoyment in talking to Lady Iversley, whom he addressed most familiarly by her Christian name. Regina didn’t want that to annoy her. But it did.

Had he ever brought “Katherine” down to his famous dungeon? Probably not. Somehow Regina could not envision the poetry-loving Lady Iversley in the throes of wild passion in the viscount’s dungeon. Especially when she had a handsome new husband who so clearly doted on her.

Lord Iversley had fallen silent, so she ventured an impertinent comment. “Your wife and Lord Draker are good friends, are they not?”

“Draker has been a good friend to us both in the past year.” He added, with a trace of irony, “He’s like part of our family.”

“Is that why the two of you agreed to bring Louisa out?”

“Yes, but she’s such a sweet girl, we were glad to do it.”

“I confess I didn’t realize his lordship had any friends at all, since he goes into society so little, and when he does, he’s so…so…”

“Rude and badly dressed?”

“I would have said ‘unpolished,’ but you’ve hit it exactly. He is very lucky to have found a friend like you who will overlook his behavior.”

He toyed with his fork. “As I did earlier, you mean? Did my friend…er…do anything in my study for which I should take him to task?”

Her smile froze. “No, of course not. I am perfectly capable of handling men who…do not know how to behave.”

His lordship chuckled. “I could tell. Although I fear it will take more than one slap to teach Draker how to behave. He has a tendency to be thickheaded.”

“Really?” she said dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“But he’s had a rough go of it through the years, so I hope you’ll be patient with him. Or do I presume too much from your coming here with him?”

She blushed. “Yes…no…It’s hard to explain.”

He eyed her closely. “My wife and I have been hoping that something—or someone—would drag him out of the hole he’s dug for himself at Castlemaine. Now that someone has, I would hate to see him disappear back into his hole before he’s had a chance to acclimate himself to the world.”

“So would I.” Lord Draker might be annoying and arrogant and determined to hate everyone and everything, but he did not belong hidden at Castlemaine, no matter what he said.

Earlier, she’d glimpsed the softer side of his lordship—Marcus, who could be tender and even vulnerable. Who experienced life only through his books because no one would dare his foul temper long enough to drag him into the light.

Did
she
dare? Could she even do it?

She set her shoulders. Of course she could. She had a wager riding on it, after all, and she meant to win, if only to see his lordship better his life. She would live up to her nickname and show him no mercy. She would haul the cantankerous Dragon Viscount into decent society kicking and screaming, no matter how rude he got or how many insults he lobbed at her.

Fortunately, he did nothing at dinner to test her new resolve. The rest of the evening passed quickly, and to her vast relief, the party broke up shortly after dessert, leaving Marcus no chance to create more trouble. Not that it would have made much difference to the guests. Everyone there already treated him as if he had the plague—he could hardly make that worse.

Nonetheless, he stayed to the bitter end, probably because he wanted to spend every possible minute with his sister. A lump settled in Regina’s throat as she watched him and Louisa say their good-byes. His abiding love for his sister was one redeeming characteristic of the dreaded dragon.

But as soon as they’d entered the carriage, Marcus’s belligerent manner returned. He kept his brooding gaze on her while Cicely fidgeted and Simon talked about the evening.

When Simon took a breath, Marcus finally spoke. “I was considering the opera for our next engagement, Lady Regina.” He added tellingly, “Since you’re so fond of music.”

She tensed, not only because of his veiled reference to their aborted duet, but because he threw out the statement as if it were a challenge. Only she wasn’t sure exactly what the challenge was.

“Did you have a particular opera and theater in mind?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed on her. “I thought we might attend the Italian Opera House in Haymarket tomorrow night. It’s Mr. Naldi’s benefit performance in
Le Nozze di Figaro.
I hear he’s spectacular.” He inclined his head toward Simon. “Your brother and Miss Tremaine are welcome to join us, of course. Louisa has already said she’d like to go.”

“You have a box at the opera?” Cicely’s shocked tone was vaguely insulting.

Marcus’s eyes glittered. “No, but Iversley has kindly offered me his.” He glanced over at Simon. “Unless Foxmoor has one he would rather we use—”

“Feel free to use mine if you like,” Simon said, “but I’ll have to bow out. I promised…er…a friend that I would attend his dinner tomorrow evening.”

Regina caught her breath. She’d forgotten that Prinny had invited them both to Carlton House. And since the dinner had been discussed earlier at tonight’s soiree, Marcus couldn’t help but know where Simon meant to go.

A bitter half smile touched the viscount’s lips. “Ah, of course. And Lady Regina will be going with you.”

So
that
was the source of his belligerence. He thought she planned to renege on their bargain now.

“I would rather go to the opera,” she put in, peeved that he could think her so easily discouraged.

Skepticism showed in his features. “Tomorrow night. With me.”

“Why not? Cicely and I both love the opera.”

“But my lady, the prince—” Cicely began.

“Will understand,” she finished. Or at least she prayed he would.

Marcus’s gaze locked with hers, and a change came over his face that sent a delicious shiver along her nerves. His eyes smoldered with wanton promises, reminding her of their time in Lord Iversley’s study. When his hot gaze dropped to her mouth, she quickly averted her own gaze.

Lord, what had she agreed to? An opera box could be very intimate even with other people there, especially when the lights went down. She swallowed, nearly changing her mind, but she was no coward.

“Speaking of music,” Simon put in, “what did you think of Miss Tremaine’s harp-playing, Regina?”

“Oh, I didn’t hear it.” Too late she remembered why she’d missed that performance. “I…er…was…well…”

“I was showing her Iversley’s study,” Marcus put in.

Her gaze shot to him, but his expression was dark and unreadable in the dimness of the carriage lamps. Panic assailed her. Did he mean to ruin her, the fool? If he even hinted what the two of them had been doing—

“Iversley has quite an extensive collection of books that Regina wanted to see,” Marcus went on, flashing her a faint smile, “so I gave her the grand tour.”

Regina released her breath. Thank heaven the man had
some
sense.

Cicely had stiffened next to her, but Simon merely snorted. “Regina wanted to see books? I can’t imagine that. I’ve never even seen her crack a book open.”

“Haven’t you?” Marcus kept his gaze fixed on Regina’s face. “She seems far too clever to have avoided books all her life.”

Her heart fluttered. He actually thought she was “clever”?

No, of course not. By “clever,” he meant “calculating.” Marcus would never pay her a compliment.

“Oh, she’ll endure hearing a story read from time to time,” Simon said, “but Regina has little interest in things that can’t play for her, whirl her about the floor, drive her in the park, or take her shopping.”

Humiliation flooded her face with heat. Cicely laid a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off, preparing to give her brother a sharp retort.

Marcus spoke first. “Your sister may not be the contemplative sort, but tonight has shown that she does have deeper interests. Like music, for example.”

She tensed and eyed him defiantly, daring him even to mention that horrible scene in the drawing room.

“She sings beautifully,” he went on, “and could clearly appreciate Louisa’s performance. And I’ve heard she plays the harp very well. I only regret I wasn’t able to hear her play tonight.”

She gaped at him. That was definitely a compliment. Apparently he could be a perfect gentleman when he wished. Astonishing.

Now that she considered it, why choose the opera, of all things, for them to attend? He didn’t seem the sort to enjoy opera, but she had mentioned enjoying it earlier. Could he actually be doing something to please her?

Or was this a trap? Lord, she never knew what to think. His mercurial moods would drive any reasonable woman daft. Marcus possessed several advantages—wealth, a title, a clever mind. He might attain a respectable position in society if he would only behave. So why did he persist in his boorish behavior, even in his sister’s presence?

The carriage slowed, and she glanced out the window to find that they’d arrived home. The gentlemen disembarked first, and Regina hung back so that Simon had to accompany Cicely up the stairs.

Leaving her to Marcus. With the lights from the Foxmoor town house behind him, his face was in shadow as he handed her down, but she could feel his sharp gaze on her, piercing her to her very soul. And when she took his arm, and they turned toward the stairs, her heart pounded. Even after all that had happened, he had this disturbing effect on her, as if she teetered on the edge of a cliff, and he merely waited to push her off.