Never Trust a Scoundrel Page 16

  How could she win at that?

  Everything he did affected her now. She could not remember what it was like to despise him for his flaws—his gambling, his scandals.

  “If someone finds you here,” she said, “your own strategies will fail you. And I won’t find myself forced to marry a man I don’t love.”

  “That won’t happen. No one saw me enter.”

  He began to move, circling about the tub as if he wanted to see her at all angles. When he was behind her, she tensed, wondering if he was about to let her hair down, as he preferred. She looked over one shoulder and then the other, but all he did was lightly tug her earlobe.

  “You could pretend I’m not here,” he murmured. “I won’t mind.”

  “So I’m supposed to wash myself in front of you? I think not.”

  As if he hadn’t heard her, he continued, “But of course I might get wet. And I wouldn’t want my clothing ruined.”

  He walked to the end of the tub, and to her dismay, he shrugged out of his coat and laid it across a chair.

  “Stop that this instant!” she demanded, although just the sight of his broad shoulders covered with only light linen made something ignite deep inside her, a tiny flame that wouldn’t be ignored.

  “I think it would look far more suspicious if someone saw me with wet clothing.” He sounded as conversational as if they faced each other across a tea tray in a drawing room.

  He untied his cravat and slid it from around his neck. His gaze never left hers, and she found her mouth too dry to form words. He loosened his collar and opened the buttons at the top of his shirt. His bare throat was strangely erotic, but that was nothing compared to when he suddenly pulled his shirt out of his trousers and over his head.

  Her mouth sagged open before she somehow remembered to close it. He was perfectly formed, all smooth muscle and skin. In her only previous intimate encounters with a man, they’d been so rushed that most of their clothes remained on. This was the first time she’d laid eyes on a man’s naked chest, and she could now see why it was such a forbidden thing. He was magnificent. All she could think about was touching and exploring. She had a wild need to press up against him and—

  She realized that the facecloth at her bosom was floating away. She made a hurried grab for it, trying to spread it wide, and then suddenly he took it from her hand and lifted it away.

  She tilted her head back and stared up at him, and what she saw in his face made her forget about covering herself. Hunger, stark and needy, as if he would die without what she could give him.

  A distant part of her warned that this was what he wanted her to think; another part of her remembered that he could only do what she allowed him. Couldn’t he?

  But there was a traitorous wanton inside her, who reveled as his hot gaze moved across her naked breasts. The water was no cover, although it distorted as it lapped at the upper slopes.

  He reached for the soap, not taking his eyes from her, and lathered the facecloth.

  “What are you doing?” she asked faintly, already knowing, already scandalized and aroused.

  “You need to be washed.”

  His voice was hoarse, and it rasped along the edges of her nerves, as if he scraped his nails across her flesh. She gripped the edges of the tub, knowing she should stop him but feeling a rising thrill at the risk.

  He was her weakness, and she could not deny herself his touch. Just his touch, nothing else.

  She sounded desperate, even in her own mind.

  He lifted her left arm from the rim of the tub and began to wash it in slow, gentle circles. She closed her eyes and held back a moan. His ministrations felt wonderful and gentle. He worked his way up her arm, and she gave a little gasp as the facecloth brushed the side of her sensitive breast. He moved to the other arm and did the same thing, then to her shoulders and neck. Inside, her emotions swirled together, pleasure and awareness and rising passion.

  “Lean forward,” he whispered.

  Without questioning him, she did, expecting to feel the cloth scrub her skin. After a pause, she stiffened as she realized that his soapy hands were bare. He rubbed and stroked, sliding his large hands up and down her back. His strokes went wider and wider, until he just teased the edges of her breasts. She gave a moan and a shiver.

  She couldn’t think of any reason to stop him. That should have alerted her, but any silent alarms in her mind had long since faded away.

  He pulled her back, and as she stretched and arched with satisfaction, his hands slid from her shoulders and down over her breasts. The shocking pleasure of it eased a groan from her. His head was next to hers, and he nipped along her neck and shoulder. His hands kneaded and cupped her breasts, and when his fingers gently rubbed her nipples, she felt desire spread out through her body, racing along her skin, sensitizing every part of her to his touch. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, arched until her breasts were even deeper into his hands. His breath on her cheek was a hot caress, and it seemed only natural to turn her head and meet his lips with hers.

  Passion spiraled through her as his tongue invaded her mouth. She met it with her own, dueled and won her own entrance. He tasted of brandy and himself. She had a wild urge to pull him closer to lick more of his skin.

  He broke the kiss and slid his hands away from her breasts. “You’re still quite dirty,” he said, his expression serious.

  To her shame, she whimpered at the loss of his touch.

  But she didn’t have long to wait. He moved to the far end of the tub, and now she was able to watch him from beneath lowered eyelids. He soaped his hands, then took one foot and began to rub. She had not thought that her feet could feel such pleasure. He worked his way up her ankles and calves, but it wasn’t until he reached her knees that she could summon any intelligent thought.

  He wasn’t going to stop.

  She didn’t want him to stop.

  What kind of woman did that make her?

  With heavy eyes, she watched his concentration. Not every man would care about her pleasure, she knew from experience. As his fingers began to trail up her right thigh, she wanted to press her legs together, but they felt boneless and heavy, no longer at her command. All of her concentration and awareness was centered on the feel of his fingers, her burning skin, and the way the depths of her body felt on fire with need for his touch.

  Her legs sagged open, the cloth covering her floated away. His fingers combed gently through the hair covering her womanhood, and she bit her lip to stop her cries of pleasure. She rolled her head back and forth, body quivering, tense with waiting and wanting. At last his questing fingers moved deeper, circling, stroking, finding the center of her and stoking the fire. She had never imagined such pleasure, could not control her need to be ever higher.

  She was on the edge of a new sensation when something insistent intruded on her thoughts. She couldn’t push it away, couldn’t let herself relax until she knew.

  She opened her eyes and tried to close her weak limbs.

  He looked up at her in surprise. “Grace?”

  “This—this pleasure you give me…it doesn’t mean you’ve won,” she whispered hoarsely.

  His mouth quirked up in a tight smile. “No. When I’m inside you, you’ll know I’ve won.”

  She narrowed her eyes, gasping, even as he continued to gently stroke and tease her. “Never.”

  “You dare much,” he said, his smile widening into a grin.

  And then he came down over her, lifting her up so that he could take her nipple deep into his mouth. His fingers picked up the rhythm at her core, the water churned around her as she stiffened and gasped. An explosion seemed to go off inside her, and Daniel’s mouth was suddenly on hers, swallowing the cries she could not control. The shudders of pleasure moved through her, were part of her. She didn’t want them to end, so overwhelmed was she by how he could make her feel.

  At last she was able to open her eyes and truly see him. He didn’t look smug or victorious. He re
ached to brush a damp curl out of her eye, and she thought she saw…tenderness.

  It was gone only a moment later. She wondered if she had imagined it, because now he was wearing a faint smile, though there were marks of strain bracketing his mouth.

  “Have you been well pleasured, my lady?” he asked in a low voice.

  “You know I have.” She felt awkward, unsure of herself, because he had not received the same pleasure.

  She stared at him solemnly, and it took every ounce of shattered control not to reach out and touch him, feel that smooth skin. She knew he’d be hot to the touch, and she longed to press herself to him and experience more.

  But this was what he wanted. He was waiting for her to give in. With her mouth set in a grim line, she said nothing. His eyes grew shuttered, impassive, and at last he rose to his feet. In the instant before he turned back to his clothing, she saw the long ridge of his arousal, so obvious in his tight trousers.

  She told herself she would not feel guilty—she hadn’t asked for his attentions. As she silently watched him dress, he completed every button and tied his cravat impatiently. She knew he did this in case someone saw him strolling on the balcony. He did this for her, because she’d asked him to keep their challenge a secret from the beginning.

  Because if they were discovered, he would not marry her.

  She had always had a thread of cynicism moving through her; it came from having a mother who let her down so frequently. But she hated to feel it in herself now. She couldn’t trust him—but she wanted to.

  Impeccably dressed once more, he turned back to her. “Shall I help you out?”

  “I still have to wash my hair.”

  He bowed deeply, as if she’d done him some kind of honor rather than just allowed him the liberties she had. He walked to the balcony door, opened it, and closed it behind him.

  With a groan, she closed her eyes and sank beneath the water, wetting her hair. She felt tender and tingly and new inside, as if the insight into what could happen with a considerate lover had changed her. Now she knew what true unselfish intimacy was all about.

  What would she do tomorrow night if he came to her again? She would be in her own home—now his home, she thought with a start of sadness—but that wouldn’t stop him. He was determined, and time was counting down. She told herself to feel relieved that she’d rebuffed him again, but she knew better.

  Every time they were alone, she gave up more and more. If he pressed her harder, if he laid her down on the bed and rose naked above her, would she surrender at last? If she glimpsed that look of tenderness on his face again, the one that made her feel special to him, what would she do? The drowsy, pleasurable haze he inspired with his hands and mouth made her confused and certain of only one thing—that she wanted him. She wanted to burn like this again, and to know that he was consumed by the flames as well.

  Chapter 15

  Daniel knew he wasn’t himself in the morning. He ate breakfast in the dining room with Simon, Louisa, and Grace, and the three of them chattered away like old friends. He could barely pay attention to the conversation, so consumed was he by thoughts of Grace.

  Except for avoiding his gaze, she acted…completely normal.

  And he was terribly frustrated, in both mind and body.

  He had thought teaching her the pleasures she could experience would finally make her lose control. For just a moment when he’d stood above her bathing tub, he’d thought she would at last surrender to him.

  But she’d drawn on a deep reservoir of strength and sent him away.

  Fool that he was, afterward he had stood outside her room and tortured himself more by peering through the draperies to watch her washing her hair. And then she’d risen gracefully to her feet, all glistening nude beauty, and poured a bucket of water over her head to sluice away the soap. Her body had still blushed pink where he’d caressed her.

  He had groaned aloud, there in the dark, separated from the light and warmth that was Grace.

  He had returned to his room and paced for several hours, feeling for the first time that he might not win this challenge. He had satisfied her, but he’d been the one left wanting and needing her.

  He gave a start at the table, realizing that Louisa was speaking, although not to him.

  “I’ll be visiting London next month,” she was saying to Grace. “Please pay me a call. We can attend the symphony together, and I’m certain I can introduce you to many gentlemen you’ll approve of.”

  Simon cleared his throat but remained silent. Louisa pointedly ignored him. Daniel barely kept himself from frowning. Now Louisa was matchmaking?

  “How kind of you,” Grace replied, looking delighted.

  Daniel distanced himself from his confused thoughts, watching Grace’s look of interest. He should be happy for her. She had a dowry, and she needed a husband. Louisa would certainly find her someone nice.

  Someone Grace could trust. Because he knew he was not that kind of man.

  It was more difficult than normal to hide his bad mood when they took their leave of Enfield Manor. Rain was pouring down as the carriage began the day’s journey north. Keeping the windows raised made the carriage hot and stuffy, and Grace fanned herself occasionally, but there was also a restless nervousness to her that had her tapping her toes and fidgeting. She kept giving him curious looks, and he finally pretended to go to sleep. It wasn’t difficult because he’d had a restless night dreaming about her. He was finding himself vastly annoyed with this challenge and the difficulty of winning it.

  But hadn’t he been bored with his life before Grace fell into it? Hadn’t easily winning everything he tried proved no challenge at all?

  And now Grace was livening up his days, challenging his evenings, wandering through his dreams at night. Why was he even complaining?

  He found his temper improving through the morning, and by the time they reached the village of Hertingfordbury, nestled amidst rolling hills by the river Maran, he was looking forward to seeing where Grace was raised. But as his demeanor improved, hers wilted. What did she think would happen? Or was she afraid of how it would look to her staff for her to appear in company with a man?

  Her family property, Maran Park, was a prosperous farm that bordered the river and spread across acres of sheep pasture and grainfields. The manor itself was rectangular, two stories with a columned portico in the front, which made it handy to drive the carriage beneath to escape the rain.

  Daniel descended first, and then turned to help the women down.

  As Ruby started up the stairs, Grace took her arm. “I have not alerted the household to the new owner. Please allow me to do so before you say anything.”

  “Aye, miss,” the maid said, and disappeared inside.

  Daniel stood alone with Grace, trying to read her expression.

  “Is it good to be home?” he asked softly.

  She gave him a quick frown. “You mean your home?”

  He winced inwardly as he realized his stupidity. Of course for her this place would have good memories—and bad, because it was no longer hers.

  But he could not regret having been involved in a card game with Mrs. Banbury. It had brought Grace into his life. And Mrs. Banbury might have lost the properties to someone who wouldn’t care about preserving them for the family, like he did.

  But he couldn’t tell her that, for the game would be over.

  Daniel gave her a moment to collect herself. He had wanted to have her safely away from London while he had Horace Jenkins investigated. Daniel had also wanted to be alone with her as much as possible—which had worked well at Enfield Manor.

  But he had foolishly underestimated her reaction to Maran Park. He had taken it away from her, left her homeless, and she would be even more reminded of it here. Her sadness and his regret would not lead to seduction, not tonight.

  “I’ll introduce you to the steward and the housekeeper first,” Grace said with a sigh. “Their offices are in a corridor near the kitchens.”


  The meeting with the servants went as well as could be expected, Grace thought. The steward seemed unsurprised at the change of ownership, as if it were long anticipated. Her fears that someone would discover the wager hadn’t materialized, probably because they all just assumed that her mother had finally had to sell the property for the money. The weight of relief that lifted from Grace made her breathe easily for the first time all day. Her secrets were still safe.

  Daniel was competent and authoritative as he agreed that the staff should remain the same. After that, everyone breathed easier, and a cheerful kitchen staff served them luncheon in the dining room.

  Daniel sat at the head of the table, and Grace at his right. When the footman set down their plates and left the room, she forked through her mutton cutlets, and then finally looked up at him.

  He was chewing slowly and watching her.

  Something tugged deep inside her, a heavy feeling of budding pleasure, but she forced herself to ignore it. They would be alone in the house tonight but for the servants, and she needed all her powers of resistance.

  And all she could think about was that he had seen her completely naked.

  It had been difficult to spend the morning facing him, and she’d been relieved when he’d slept. But now, looking into his knowing eyes, she felt like she might never stop blushing. His hands had been between her legs, his mouth on her breasts. Even though she’d experienced all of these embarrassments with Baxter Wells, it had felt different. For one thing, she’d thought she’d been in love with Baxter, and he with her. With crudity, he had disabused her of that notion.

  “Are you going to look at me?” he asked softly.

  She glanced worriedly at the door to the kitchens, then back at him. “Of course.”

  “I am sorry that my being here hasn’t been easy for you.”

  She arched a brow in surprise. “It is difficult.”

  “I thought you might want to speak with your servants without me present, so I’ll take the carriage to visit my mother this evening and return for you tomorrow.”