When Tempting a Rogue (17 page)

He turned his full attention to Vienne. “What sort of favor?”

She smiled. “Nothing you need concern yourself with.” She gestured to the chairs before them. “Shall we sit?”

Trystan waited until she had seated herself and then took the chair to her left. “I beg to differ. I think the favor you promised concerns me very much.”

She took another sip from her glass. He watched her throat as she swallowed. “I agreed to spend time with her.”

The most wanton and delicious images flickered through his perverted mind. “How so?”

Her head turned, pinning him with her sharp gaze. “You will take your mind from the gutter, Trystan Kane. I’m merely going to spend time with Lady Gosling as a friend.”

Heat burned in Trystan’s cheeks. How had she known what he was thinking? “Friends?”

“Yes. She doesn’t have any, you know. Theone—Lady Gosling—believes I might be the
only
woman in London confident enough to be a friend to her. I told her I was not so sure about that, but she insisted and so here I am.”

He shook his head as the noise of the crowd grew. The play was about to begin. “I don’t understand why you would go through so much trouble for one evening with me. You could have just asked.”

She smiled. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I rather enjoy catching you off guard.”

His gaze locked with hers. He would not blink. He would not look away. “Just tell me why, Vienne.”

She sighed and refilled her glass from the chilled bottle. “Because I wanted to. Is that good enough for you?”

No, it wasn’t, but it would do for now. Later, he would find out why she orchestrated all of this.

Suddenly Trystan found himself hoping that his companion for the evening expected more than a play and dinner.

Much, much more.

Chapter 10

S
he would undoubtedly regret it at a later date, but Vienne was determined to seduce Trystan before the evening was over.

It was not a good idea to mix business and pleasure, but in this case she was beginning to think she might go mad if she didn’t do just that. She was jealous of other women, wondered where he was when he wasn’t with her. She wanted his attention directed at her and her alone.

And she needed to know that he still desired her—that, even though she was creeping toward her mid-thirties, she was still attractive.

It was a mere four years between them, but it had seemed so much greater during their affair. Back then, he was still a young man whose experiences with the world were all the indulgence and adventure that wealth could afford. Vienne on the other hand, had felt ancient right down to her bones. Even then. Life had aged her inside, and she felt the difference between them might as well have been thirty years. Until Trystan started making her feel young again—and that was when she’d gotten scared.

She was scared now as well. Obviously she had never quite gotten over him. That old attraction had reared its head the first night he had sauntered into her club and flirted shamelessly with Sadie. Being with him had begun to consume her thoughts until she was convinced having sex with him was the only way to end the foolish obsession.

After all, sex took the shine off every relationship. Once the prey was brought to ground, men moved on. It was a lesson she had learned from Marcel—one she practiced in her own relationships, leaving before she could be cast aside like rubbish.

Once Trystan had scratched her itch, they could get back to being business partners and nothing else. She hoped. If that didn’t work, she had no idea what could possibly be done.

The theater had been mildly diverting—at least the actors seemed to be having a good time. Several times she and Trystan had burst out laughing at their antics.

Dinner was lovely. He had it brought up to his apartments rather than a private dining room. Perhaps he had an itch that needed scratching as well. They dined on surprisingly light but delicious fare: salads and lobster in a delicate garlic-wine sauce followed by champagne and succulent ripe fruits they ate with their hands.

“Your taste has improved,” she commented teasingly before biting into a plump dark cherry. “I remember you being strictly a beefsteak-and-potato sort.”

Trystan grinned and popped a grape into his mouth. “When you travel as much as I have, and love to eat as much as I do, there is little else to do but jump in and sample local cuisine.”

“Which were your favorites?” Other than growing up in France, she hadn’t done much traveling. She always meant to, but she was so busy there never seemed a good time.

“Italy is impressive, of course. And there were several dishes I fell in love with in India. If I had to choose one country with the best food, it would probably be Greece. Wonderful olives, meat, and desserts, which, I am convinced, come straight from the gods. Have you ever heard of baklava?”

She shook her head. “What is it?”

“Heaven,” he replied in all seriousness. “Layers of crisp pastry filled with nuts and dripping in honey. Messy, and the only time I’ve ever licked my fingers in public.”

A little shiver raced across Vienne’s shoulders, which were fully covered by her gown because of the fading bruises. An image flashed in her mind of Trystan hovering over her, lifting glistening fingers to his mouth.

“Vienne?”

She jerked her head up. “What?”

He was frowning at her from across the table. “Are you all right? You seemed far away and your color became very high.”

A strangled giggle bubbled up from her throat. She sounded like a madwoman. “I’m fine. Forgive me. You make me want to visit Greece.”

“You should. You’d love it there.”

Anyone else and she would dismiss that comment with the thought that they had no idea what she might like . . . but not this time. If Trystan said she would enjoy Greece, she probably would. That alone should make her run as fast and as far as she could. The last time she’d trusted a man as much as she was trusting Trystan Kane, it had gone very, very badly—ending in ruination in every way possible.

That she didn’t want to run scared her even more. She wanted to stay and poke this dangerous relationship with a stick just to see what might happen.

They had not discussed business all evening, and it was lovely.

“Jack tells me you threatened him with physical harm if he hurt Sadie.”

Vienne perused the platter of fruit, searching for something interesting and exotic to try. She’d never tasted mango before, so she selected a slice that was a rich orange color and juicy. “I did, yes. She is my dearest friend.” She popped the fruit in her mouth. It was delicious! Tangy but sweet at the same time.

Trystan smiled. “Enjoying the mango?” She nodded. “Good. So when you ‘swapped’ this evening with Lady Gosling you did so to . . . protect me?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” She plucked up another slice of mango. “Lady Gosling is too much for you. Let someone like your brother Archer have her.”

A strange expression came over Trystan’s face, transforming it from good-natured to dangerous with the most subtle of change. “Too much? I am not man enough for her, is that what you’re saying?”

Vienne actually drew back. She did not like that look. “Of course not.” She didn’t add that any man was “man enough” for the woman. “What I mean is that you are not . . . You are an honorable person and . . .
Damn it, Trystan!
She is the kind of woman who would take everything you offered and give nothing in return, and you deserve better.”

His expression turned droll. Thank God that “look” was almost completely gone. “But my brother does not?”

She waved her hand. “Lord Archer has played the game long enough to know how to insure his needs are met.” She could not believe she was discussing his brother in this manner.

Trystan leaned one arm across the table and poked the back of her hand with one long finger. “You and I have not communicated in years. You have no idea how good I’ve become at playing games.”

She swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. “You are right, of course. But I would like to believe that you still treat women with respect. It is rare in my experience that a man finds almost as much pleasure in a woman’s satisfaction as he does in his own. I would hate to discover you had lost that gift.”

The tips of his fingers trailed along the backs of hers. In the soft light his eyes looked almost violet. “Tell me the real reason you are here tonight, Vienne. You did not go through this much effort to protect me from Lady Gosling. You did this because you don’t want me to make love to any other woman but you. Isn’t that right?”

His touch did strange things to her head, making it impossible to think straight. Perhaps it was the champagne, but she was unsteady inside herself. And when he put the question to her in such a blunt way, with that delicious voice of his and those pretty, pretty eyes. . .

“Yes,” she rasped. “You must think me the most horrible woman on the earth after the way I treated you those many years ago, but I am selfish, Trystan. I want you all to myself, and I keep hoping that if I just give in perhaps I will stop thinking about it so very much.” It wasn’t until she finished speaking that she realized she had been speaking in French. Good God, was she going to have to repeat it in English? She had done well simply to get through it the first time!

But Trystan’s fingers curled around hers. His thumb stroked the back of her hand with featherlight pressure.
“D’accord,”
he said.

She blinked at him, not just because he’d spoken in French and presumably understood what she had said, but because his reply was the equivalent of saying “all right.” As though she had asked him if he wanted a cup of tea.

“D’accord”
—she lifted both brows, as high as they would go, it seemed—“That is all you have to say?”

His fingers tightened. He pulled her forward, so that their faces were but inches apart. There was nothing but his face—his eyes. The rest of the world faded away. “We’ve spent more than enough time talking.”

Vienne’s lips parted as a sharp thrill raced through her veins. It was just as she remembered but more acute, deeper. The only man who had ever truly quickened her blood and made her want to believe in fairy tales, and she was about to play with fire once more.

She was either incredibly stupid or a changed woman because she did not get up and run away. In fact, she lifted herself out of her chair and closed the distance between them to press her lips to his. He opened his mouth for her and she didn’t hesitate to slip her tongue inside. He tasted of champagne and mango . . .
Delicious
.

Trystan stood, pulling her with him, neither of them breaking their kiss. His tongue stroked hers; his teeth nipped at her lower lip. She shuddered in his arms, pressing herself against the long, lean length of him.

His hands moved to her shoulders, then down her sides, avoiding the areas on her back where she was still a little sore and slightly bruised. Her heart swelled at his consideration.

Vienne was impatient. It had been so long since she’d last been with him, and that night at the Angelwood party only heightened her appetite for him. Her fingers crept up to his cravat and untied the elegant knot. Slowly, she unwound the length of silk and pulled it away from his neck, dropping it to the floor. Next she moved on to the buttons on his coat and pushed the fine black wool off his shoulders and down his arms. Eyes closed, she tossed it to the side.

Trystan chuckled against her mouth, warm breath mingling with hers. “Madam, you have absolutely no regard for my clothing.”

She shrugged, and flicked her tongue along his full lower lip. “No, sir. I do not. Feel free to have as little regard for mine.”

To her intense relief, he kissed her again and put his nimble fingers to work unfastening the myriad buttons on the back of her gown. Why couldn’t she have been sensible and worn a gown that perhaps wasn’t as pretty but was easier to remove? Her mother always said her vanity would bring her nothing but trouble.

He took his time, teasing her by being so infuriatingly slow. She moved on to his waistcoat, and after ridding him of that, pulled his shirt from his trousers. The faster she rid him of his clothing, the sooner she could assist in removing her own. It didn’t matter who was naked first, just so long as they both ended up bare as the day they were born.

He was still working on her buttons, so she slid her hands beneath his shirt and slid her palms up his smooth, muscled back. His skin was so warm. Vienne pressed against him. It wasn’t close enough.

Finally the top of her gown sagged around her shoulders and Trystan’s skillful hands pushed the fragile silk down her arms. She pulled back so that the gown could simply crumple about her feet, leaving her still wearing entirely too many clothes—corset, shift, and stockings.

She pulled his shirt up. He obliged by lifting his arms so she could pull the fine linen off altogether. Then she took a moment to admire his naked upper body.

As a young man, Trystan had been English pale and whipchord lean. Somehow over the years he’d gained a little color, and his skin had a faint tan cast. He was also bigger than he had been, which only made sense considering he was now a man and not a boy. His shoulders were broad, the bones standing out beneath his skin. His arms were thicker and more defined, the upper half curved with muscle. But it was his chest that fascinated her the most. She had seen a few chests in her lifetime; some of them quite impressive, but none like this. Trystan looked as though an Italian master had sculpted him into being. His pectorals were well defined above slashes of muscle and ribs, and his stomach would have been almost concave were it not for the ropey muscle there.

“Magnifique,”
she whispered, tracing her fingers down that satiny flesh, marred by only a fine trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers.

“Merci,”
he replied, a smile in his voice. He had loosened the laces of her corset while she admired him, and now set to work popping the hooks in the front. “This is very pretty.”

It was pale yellow satin embroidered with tiny flowers. She wore it because it displayed her breasts to best advantage. She gasped when Trystan caressed the top of one breast before peeling the corset away. “Thank you.”

He tossed the corset aside as she had his coat, not bothering to see where it landed. It was on the floor, and would remain there until she had need of it again. That was all she had to know.

Vienne stood perfectly still as Trystan’s hands settled first on her shoulders, then slid down her arms. His fingers bunched the gauzy material of her shift and pulled it taut against her body. Instinctively her nipples hardened and a thrill of sensual pleasure struck between her thighs, moistening the delicate flesh there.

She drew a deep breath, pushing her breasts against the thin material. He made a low sound deep in his throat. “I want to rip this thing right off you.” His voice was a growl.