Knave's Wager

The distance between them had closed to mere inches. He was so near he must hear her heart pounding. There were many sensible things to say, any number of proper speeches, all of them dismissals.

All she could say was, “Don’t.”

“Lilith.”

Slowly, she raised her head. In his green eyes burned the same compelling ardour she’d tried to ignore last evening.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Is there to be no happiness for us?”

“My lord, I beg you—”

“Julian. Not your lord, but yours.”

He raised her trembling hand to his lips, then turned it over and kissed the palm.

Lilith had battled with her treacherous self all night, and believed she’d conquered at last. She’d thought Reason and Right had won. Her will must be stronger than her need. More potent even than physical desire, that need encompassed the happiness he spoke of. He’d given her joy she’d never before dreamt of, just as the guilty misery he’d brought her was beyond even her long experience of pain. Into her life as well he’d driven passion, which she’d never known at all until he’d touched her.

But her will had conquered all this madness, she reminded herself as his lips pressed her wrist and her limbs grew weak. She pulled her hand away.

At that moment came a soft tap at the door. Lilith retreated from the marquess.

The door opened, and Cawble entered with the tea tray. Apparently unmoved by the presence of a gentleman in his mistress’s private study, the butler calmly set the tray upon a table by the small, well-worn settee.

Lord Brandon bit his lip and strode to the fireplace.

The butler had brought but one teacup. Politely, he enquired whether madam required another.

“No,” she said. “His lordship is leaving.”

His lordship threw her a reproachful look.

“Leaving shortly,” she added weakly.

Cawble exited.

“You are leaving,” she said more firmly when the door had closed. “You will return those papers to me, my lord. I am not at the workhouse door yet, and even if I were, I should not accept your carte blanche. That is what you mean, though you put it so prettily. I am not a fool, though at times I seem to behave like one. Still, having no experience with men of your ilk, I cannot be as well-armed as I could wish.”

A shadow crossed his features, leaving his eyes dark and uneasy. “You can’t believe that,” he said. “After all this time, you can’t believe my feelings aren’t genuine. You must believe I love you.”

Too tender. Too sincere. It was a dangerously beguiling voice, uttering those melting words.

“I can scarcely believe you have so little conscience as to give your desire for mere pleasure the name love.” she said. “Mere pleasure, or the sport of ruining me—I don’t know which. I shall never understand you,” she added wearily, unhappily. “But if there is any pity in your heart, I beg you to leave me in peace.”

He hesitated, his face stiffening. Perhaps, at last, she’d touched whatever he had of a conscience. She waited, praying he’d go quickly, because the sorrow in his countenance was weakening her with every passing second.

He moved at last, but not to the door, and by the time his arms folded round her, all her resolve was crumbling.

“I can’t leave you,” he breathed against her hair. “Don’t talk to me of pleasure, when I haven’t known a moment’s peace since I’ve met you. Oh, yes, this is fine sport—to scheme and wait, just for a word or two—to want to touch you, hold you, care for you—and know all the while that what I want can only hurt you. You drive me mad Lilith. What am I to do?”

All the same, he knew what to do. His fingers raked her hair and drew her head back, and his mouth was claiming hers before she could answer. Then it was her body answered, as it always did.

His mouth was hungry and seeking this time, and the hands tearing the pins from her hair moved urgently, impatiently, until the whole heavy mass fell loose upon her back.

She knew heat, and the wild rhythms of her quickening senses. The scent of sandalwood... the throb of muscles tensing under her fingertips... cool, crisp curls brushing her face and throat... a trail of kisses like sparks leaping into flames. Strong hands moulded her to the lean, powerful length of him in a hungry meeting that burned up all her will and left Reason in ashes. He was the Devil, consuming her, body and soul. She could not withstand him. She only craved.

Her hands moved to his neck, to pull his teasing, tormenting mouth harder against her own. In the growing turbulence, she never knew how they came to the settee. In his arms, where she had to be, she was lost to all the world. Only his world existed: his mouth and hands, caressing, inflaming... his heart, pounding its fury against hers... and his voice, low, and ragged with longing as fierce as her own.

Somewhere, miles away in the storm, a bell tolled.

Julian was about to tear off his neckcloth when he heard the sound again. A chime. Coming from somewhere. A hall... in a house.

His hand paused at the knot of his cravat. Her house. He groaned as reality thumped down upon him. A house, filled with servants—and a niece and companion like to return any minute. What time was it?

He had not counted the chimes, and he could not reach for his pocket watch, because a lady was in the way.

Her eyes, dark with passion, opened, and a shaft of pain shot through him. Gad, those eyes. Oh, and that mouth, swollen now, ripe and so inviting. He bent and kissed her lingeringly, then groaned again, because it must stop. Now. Now, he commanded himself as her hand crept to his hair.

He took the hand away and kissed it. “My love,” he said hoarsely. “I must go.”

She blinked once, twice, uncomprehendingly. Then the world must have come back to her as well, for the colour rose in her cheeks even as the smoky passion ebbed from her eyes... and left them troubled.

That, he thought, would not do. He kissed her again, then wished he hadn’t, because there could be no surcease for him this night, and holding her in his arms with no hope of consummation was only torment. He’d been tormented enough, all this long while. Was it an hour, two? Or only minutes?

He couldn’t think, not with her warm body pressed against him. But the body began to struggle, and a hand was pushing at his chest.

He drew back slightly.

“You said you were going,” she said, panting. “Then go.”

He looked at her. Her hair was a riotous tumble of gleaming, fire-tinted curls. At her throat, a mere three of the long parade of tiny buttons were undone. That had been accomplished with so much difficulty, he thought a lifetime needed to undo the rest.

“You might at least contrive to appear sorry,” he complained as he helped her sit upright. “Obviously, you have no notion the agonies I suffer at having to stop.”

The teasing note was in his voice only, not in his heart.

He should never have been so incautious. What might have happened had he not chanced to hear the clock chime?

“You would have had no difficulties if you hadn’t begun.” She pushed her heavy hair back from her face.

“Don’t say that, Lilith,” he said quickly, appalled at the ominous glistening in her eyes. “Don’t make me feel like a criminal for loving you.” He took both her hands in his. “Look at me,” he commanded softly.

The smoky blue gaze swept his face.

“I can never hurt you,” he said. “I only wanted to hold you for a little while. No, that isn’t true. You know I want more—but I can be content with what you’re willing to give.” He smiled wryly. “If not, I should have ravished you by now.”

“Indeed. In my own house, filled with servants—in my study, no less. And my niece—Good heavens! What time is it?” She jerked her hands free and jumped up so quickly she nearly knocked him off the settee.

He recovered his balance and drew her back down beside him. “Not so late,” he said. “But I shall not go without a promise.”

“No pro

mises. Oh, Julian, please leave, do.” She tried to pull her hand free again, but his grip was firm this time.

“In a moment. But I must see you again—-and not in a crowd of Argus-eyed friends. Drive with me tomorrow.”

“Oh, certainly. In Hyde Park, I expect, at five o’clock.”

“There’s no reason we may not take a turn in the park. My new curricle is ready. Surely you can ride in an open vehicle, with my tiger to lend us countenance?”

“No.”

“My love,” he coaxed, “only a short drive. Can I not have you to myself now and then?”

“You’ve had me to yourself half the night—and see what comes of it. Oh, heaven help me, what is to be done with you?” Her searching scrutiny of his countenance made him uncomfortable. “You’ve the Devil’s own tongue, and all his arts, I’m sure. You’re like the bad angel, whispering in my ear—and I always listen.”

All of which was to say she’d consented. His heart should have soared, because she’d listen, too, when he coaxed her to a small but luxuriously appointed house in Kensington that had been awaiting her some time now.