Читать книгу Reckless in Pink - Lynne Connolly - Страница 8

When he’d stepped into the brothel, Dominic’s first urge was instinctive. He wanted to shake her until the teeth rattled in her head and then hold her close so that nobody would see her or know her. What the hell was she doing here? From his vantage point across the street, he’d seen her arrive, but hadn’t recognized her. He did now she’d thrown her hood back. She was sitting wide-eyed, watching his quarry.

A half mask and powder did not disguise that straight nose and those sensual lips. He’d know them anywhere. The curl of red-gold hair missed when her maid had powdered the rest of her locks only confirmed his firm belief. Lady Claudia Shaw had once more ventured to a place she had no right to occupy.

If anyone else recognized her, she was done for. Didn’t she realize that men she might have met in a ballroom earlier in the evening might come here to carouse before the night was over? The idiotic woman didn’t have the sense she was born with.

He sent away the chairmen who’d brought her, swearing he’d take care of her. How she managed to charm two ruffians like that he’d never know, but he hoped it wasn’t the same way she’d charmed him.

When she opened her mouth, he let his instincts take control. A kiss was just what he needed, but it served the purpose of hiding her face from view.

Their lips touched and he almost lost his mind. He’d been dreaming of that warm, soft mouth since he’d kissed it before. Her pink lips moistened, her mouth open—it had been too much.

The tang of cheap wine nudged his taste buds and then was gone, replaced by her heat and her special flavor. He wanted to sample every part of her. The delicate skin at the back of her knees would taste different than her navel. He badly wanted to claim the sweet, dark heart of her for himself.

His cock rose to her command, even though she would not know it. He’d had the forethought to sit next to her and not haul her into his lap, as he longed to do.

Most of the doxies were thus occupied, even the two fawning over his quarry sitting on the other side of the fire.

Hell and damnation, what was he thinking? He wasn’t here to kiss a woman, however tempting she happened to be, but to watch the man he’d been following all night. Although he hadn’t planned to enter the house, but wait until the man emerged, when Lady Claudia entered he’d followed her in. Spies and traitors came in both sexes.

He couldn’t believe Claudia was a traitor. For one thing, she belonged to a family adamantly and publicly opposed to the Cause. For another, she wasn’t. He didn’t believe it.

Her lips tasted sweet, of wine and raspberries, or some sharp fruit. Delicious, but leaving him wanting more. With an effort of will he pulled away, but not too far. “What the hell are you doing here?” he murmured next to her mouth. Lovers’ talk of a very different nature, but he kept smiling.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she mumbled breathlessly.

He’d done that to her, made her bosom heave and the heat rise to her face. The notion made him absurdly proud. “I am on business.”

She pulled away sharply, almost tumbling off the end of the short bench they sat on. Automatically he reached out and pulled her back, keeping hold of her arm. When she tried to shake it off, he kept hold. He was hard-put not to bruise her because she made a concerted effort to get away.

“Sir, can I ’elp you?”

The bawd stood over them, glaring at him.

“We’re quite all right, madam.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing her. Yes, she knew who Claudia was. Didn’t the girl have any sense of self-preservation? The madam had extortion material for the rest of the season, if not longer. “I’ve come to retrieve her. I’m her…betrothed.”

“I see. Well, call if you want anything.”

He had to get Claudia out of this room before someone recognized her. He’d been so close, too. His plan thrown completely awry, he accepted he’d have to wait until another night to trap the man. Damn the woman.

Yet he couldn’t blame Claudia as wholeheartedly as he perhaps should. She’d created a pile of trouble he’d have difficulty recovering from. It would take time he didn’t want to spend on the problem. When he’d tracked the Pretender down, he hadn’t quite believed his luck until he realized the damned man had the intention of flaunting himself over half London. If he’d stood in front of Kensington Palace waving his arms and yelling, “Arrest me!” he could hardly have been more obvious.

When Claudia tried to speak he kissed her again and then stood, dragging her to her feet. “Come with me, sweeting. We’ll find somewhere a little more private.” He flashed her a message with his eyes, opening them wide and then shaking his head slightly.

She looked a little stunned, but put her hand in his and let him draw her to her feet. He glanced at the table and took her wineglass too.

Madam Finch showed them the way to the stairs. “Any door that’s open upstairs, sir.” She nodded when he handed her a few gold coins. She bit every one before she handed him a candlestick and allowed them to climb the rickety flight of stairs.

Every tread was an adventure, wobbling underfoot or uneven enough to throw a man off his balance. He trod carefully, memorizing the characteristics of each stair. Very few failed to make some kind of sound.

Upstairs, three doors out of the five were wide open. He kept going until he reached the one at the end, away from the two closed ones. He put the candlestick and wine glass on the table set just inside.

The door slammed behind him, probably the result of the worn nature of the timbers making it tilt. She jumped and then stumbled, and he was forced to catch her before she fell. Not that it was a hardship. Warm and ripe, she filled his arms beautifully and he would have had to be made of stone not to kiss her.

Part of him did feel as if it were made of stone. His low groan vibrated against her impossibly soft skin, and she opened her lips on a sigh.

Taking advantage, he tasted her, but took care, afraid she would pull away if he thrust his tongue deep, as he wanted to do. Instead, he touched her lips gently. Exaltation surged through him when she responded by opening her mouth wider. He slid the tip of his tongue along her teeth, and then deeper, caressing her tongue with his. He held her as tightly as possible, but not tightly enough. His instincts drove him to grind his erection against her warm body, but he couldn’t get close enough. Yards and yards of fabric were sandwiched between them, cushioning his reaction to her.

She’d granted him access to her mouth. He shouldn’t be so greedy. Avid possession swept through him. A primitive rhythm began deep inside him, a beat as old as time, his pulse drumming in his ears and around his body. Tearing at the strings of her mask, he got it off her and tossed it aside. She didn’t protest, and he didn’t stop kissing her.

He delved deep, working hard to keep his kiss within civilized levels. When she leaned into him, as if trusting him to hold her steady, he lost his mind.

This woman would be the death of him. How he could react so strongly beat his understanding, but he did, and he responded to the lust roaring through him.

Supporting the back of her head with his hand, he feasted.

He lifted his mouth to adjust their position and seal their mouths together more securely. She spluttered a word against his mouth, but he was too far into this to stop now. With one hand around her waist cinching her tightly he held her, directed her as he wanted her.

She went limp and moaned against his mouth. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, and then down her neck. All the places he’d wondered about. He wanted the rest, but a soupçon of sense remained, nagging at the back of his mind. He dismissed it because he wanted one more thing, just one, with a desperation he couldn’t control.

He touched the upper slopes of her breast, grazed his fingertips along the wonderfully silky, soft skin. Her delicate shiver gave him tacit permission to carry on. Only a few seconds to ease her breast from the deep décolletage of her gown, and then it was in his hand.

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice barely above a breath.

Her nipple crinkled and the tip grew more prominent, changing from its original rose pink to a duskier shade. He wanted to taste it more than he wanted to take another breath. He sucked it into his mouth. Claudia followed her choked-off cry with pressure on the back of his head as she pressed him closer. She smelled of sweet, hot femininity, her delicate taste a compliment to her lovely skin.

Letting her nipple go, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

“You are bad for my self-control, my lady,” he murmured, his lips touching her skin with every word. “We cannot continue, or I will take you further than either of us wish to go.”

“What you’re doing… It feels so good.”

Her soft, dreamy tones gave him a jolt, and brought him back to reality.

Tugging at his head, she murmured, “There’s a bed over there.”

That brought him right back down to earth. Lifting his head, he took one last lingering look at the bounty exposed to his touch and kiss, and then tucked it away. “We don’t want to go anywhere near that bed,” he murmured. “They don’t change the sheets between clients, you know.”

Her face flushed as she stared at the bed. “I-I can’t believe I did this…”

“Hush.” He stroked her cheek.

She pulled away. “What am I doing? What on earth have I done?”

Needing to reassure her, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Nothing anyone need know about. I’m as much at fault as you. You’re intoxicating, my lady. The moment I saw you I wanted you, and had you been different, I’d have made you an offer then and there. A disreputable one, I’m afraid.”

“Oh!” She clapped her hand to her mouth. “I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended.”

Backing off hastily, she tugged at the folds of her fichu and covered the upper slopes of her bosom.

“Be complimented, at least in the confines of this room.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strode toward the door and back again. “We must keep our voices low. This is not a house of friends.”

Stilling, her hand to her bosom, Claudia stared at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” Groping in her pocket, she found a couple of folded papers. She stepped forward, her shoes on the boards the only sound in the room. Raucous carousing came from below but here all was quiet.

Dominic scanned them the papers she gave him. She owned this place. This house had belonged to a relative, recently deceased, and now it had come to her. Bequeathed rather than inherited. Interesting.

His lips compressed tightly together, he lifted his head and silently handed back the papers. “You have the originals safe?”

She nodded. “I wanted to see the place for myself before my brothers sold it. It’s mine, in trust. Nobody can touch it.”

“If they sell it, that will cast aspersions on you. Your family is famous for its loyalty to the Crown. You have fought against the Jacobites, one family in particular, have you not?”

A frown creased her brow. “The Dankworths, yes. The feud started with a stupid boundary dispute centuries ago. At least, that’s what I was always told. Then, after the death of the last Stuart monarch, something mysterious happened.”

He lifted a brow.

“I don’t know what it was!” she said, with more than a touch of exasperation. “I’m a woman. They don’t tell me delicate matters, and this one seems to have been hushed up. The Dankworths went abroad in support of the Stuarts, and my family took the opposing camp. Ever since, society assumes our main disputes are political.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it seems to get very personal.”

She glanced up, into his eyes. The jolt of blue fascinated him. Nothing could prepare him for that candid regard.

“I see.” He spread his hands. “Did you notice anyone downstairs? In particular, I mean?”

She bit her lower lip and frowned. “A fat man with two women dancing attendance on him kept staring at me.”

“God in heaven, give me strength! Don’t you know who that was?” After what she’d told him, surely she knew?

She shook her head.

“Your brothers are right. They should not have allowed you out of the house without an escort. That, my dear, is your family’s avowed enemy. Charles Edward Stuart, otherwise known as the Young Pretender. He prefers people to address him as ‘Your Highness.’”

* * * *

Claudia heard his words in a state of dull acceptance. Of course it was. What else could go wrong with her inheritance? Perhaps she’d discover that they sold smuggled goods here, too. Or counterfeit coins, or something else equally disreputable. “Why would I know him? The pictures of him show a slim, handsome man, beautifully dressed.”

“After the ’forty-five he turned to drink,” Lord St. Just said. “And women. He has a regular mistress, and he beats her. He has not yet married. Some of us believe it’s because he has not given up hope of the throne. In that case, he will marry a princess. Perhaps one of the King’s daughters or grandchildren to unite the two branches of the houses.”

“Who are you discussing when you say, ‘us’?” She picked that out of his words as worth further information. Clubs and secret societies abounded, and he might be with one of those. “What are you doing here in any case? Did you follow me?”

He spoke so quietly she could hardly hear him. Was it to make her move closer? Stubbornly, she planted her feet to the floor.

“To answer both of your questions, when I was in the army, I rendered some few services to the intelligence unit. Therefore I have some experience in the field, and my superior officer requested that I visit someone in Horse Guards.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I am working for the British government. I am only to follow Stuart. That’s why I’m here tonight. I was watching. I only came in when I saw you. I wanted to know where he was so I could take him quietly. Some factions would prefer that he be arrested and brought to trial for treason. Others wish him to leave, so they can forget him.”

“Yet others want him to be king,” she said quietly. That was the part she was familiar with. “What does this house have to do with it, apart from having him in it?”

Instead of answering her directly, he said, “Pick up your wine and hold it to the candle.”

Suspicious of his meaning, she nevertheless did as he asked and held up the glass. It was engraved, as many were, but she hadn’t explored it properly. Now she did.

The design was of a thistle and a rose twined together, with a crown over the whole, blatantly a Jacobite drinking glass. Some of his supporters had a bowl of water to hand. They’d pass the glass over it before drinking to symbolize the king over the water.

If this house had these glasses, had they bought them to please their new customer, or was it a known house? “This is a traitor house?” Distastefully, she put the glass down as if it held poison. “The wine is sour. That seems appropriate.”

“Yes, it’s a traitor house. They call themselves loyalists, so take care what you say here.” He stepped closer.

Claudia clutched the folds of her skirt, ready for another onslaught. She could not resist him. He could do whatever he wanted to her. For the first time she wanted someone safe with her, instead of chafing at the bit to get away.

This powerful man presented a potential danger to her. She’d never resist him if he pressed her to give him more than a kiss.

When he laid a finger over his lips, she nodded and swallowed. Now she stood away from him, she could see him properly.

This man appeared more like the man in the park than the one at the draper’s. He wore his own dark hair tightly tied back. His hat, which had tumbled off his head in their previous bout of passion, was undecorated. He wore no rings, had no embellishments at all on his person. His clothes were sober and respectable but not made of expensive material. Fancy lace didn’t decorate the sleeves, only a small ruffle of linen.

He’d been a soldier, and not in an ornamental regiment, and now he looked every inch the man of action. This man understood danger, had probably seen death, and she was more than half afraid of him.

“Don’t raise your voice,” he murmured, his tone far too intimate. “In this house, no room is safe, not even the ones with closed doors.”

Taking her hand, he led her to the other side of the small space, to a spot by the begrimed window. “Please, don’t fear me, ever. I will never offer you violence. I swear it.”

She believed him. “I was startled because you look so different.”

He gave that lazy half smile that remained a constant, however he looked. “I’m the same person.”

“Is this who you are? Not the man of fashion?”

“I am both,” he said. “I find great amusement in my other appearance, but I have to confess to you that I allow my valet to select most of my clothes. I begin, and then I grow bored.”

He touched her chin, so softly she hardly registered it.

“I wanted to retire completely from the service, but I had the skills and they knew where to find me. Once I have done with the task, that life is over for me. My parents are aging and they worry about me. I left the army for them, and I will leave this, too.”

No one showing that degree of consideration to his parents could be as severe as this man appeared. Moreover, he kissed like an angel. Or a devil. Already tingles rose up her arms, in the secret places of her body and he drew her so that she found herself leaning in to him. “What do we do now?”

“We leave,” he said simply. “I’ll continue this another time. I know where he goes now, and I am learning more than we imagined about his habits. He’s visited London before, you know.”

“In fifty-one.” It was supposed to be clandestine, but word had got out.

“And after. He’s made quite a habit of it.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “How does he get away with it?”

He smiled, and then bent and kissed her, so swiftly she had no way of stopping him, even if he had wanted to.

“I’m sorry. Don’t look at me that way,” he murmured against her lips.

She smiled, her mouth caressing his. “Why not?”

“Because it makes you irresistible. You are adorable like that.”

She bridled. “Like a kitten?”

“Exactly like,” he said, unabashed. “Not at all like the wild Lady Claudia Shaw”

“People condemn where they don’t know. If I have done something slightly wrong, they exaggerate.”

Leaning forward, he placed his hand on the wall behind her head. “They wouldn’t have to exaggerate this escapade. What were you thinking?” He frowned. “How did you do it?”

“I went to the pleasure gardens, and then I told my brother I was joining my mother at Lady Colm’s.”

He rolled his eyes. “You run rings around them all.”

Before she could think of her actions, she reached out and grabbed his arm. She couldn’t get her hand half way around it, but she didn’t let that give her pause. “You won’t tell them, will you?”

After regarding her for a fraught moment in silence, he said, “I have to. Because you’re here, in this house, at the same time as he is. The Pretender.”

His words brushed her face, like an invisible caress. She arched up without conscious volition. “Kiss me again.” She could think of nothing else when he was this close.

With a groan of surrender, he complied, but he did not embrace her as he had before. He kept one hand propped above her head and the other at her side, caging her in delicious captivity. This time he kept his kiss tender, and when she opened her mouth for him, he barely dipped his tongue inside, delicately teasing her.

Eagerly, she chased him with her own tongue and found him waiting for her. Dominic sucked gently, as she touched the tip of her tongue to the roof of his mouth. Then she nuzzled his teeth, sharp and predatory. He did not scare her. He aroused her.

He was far more dangerous like this, tempting her to explore and discover for herself what these wonders were like. Oh, she’d been kissed before, but never with such care, such attention, as if she were the only woman in the world.

That was it. He made her feel special. As if she really mattered. At home she was loved but as one of a family of six, not as a whole, for herself. As a twin, one of a pair. Society loved them for that, but she did not. She wanted to be herself.

She opened her eyes. He was watching her, his dark, stormy eyes fixed hungrily on her features. The contact sent a new sense of awareness through her, and she moved back, although she had nowhere to go. Her back rested against the wall behind her, and as she stared at him, the chilly damp of the plaster seeped through her clothes. “I should go,” she said.

“I will take you.”

Turning her head, she glanced out the window and turned back to him in alarm. “My chair, it’s gone!”

“I sent them away. We’ll get a hackney,” he said. “You may say you were taken ill and you never went into Lady Colm’s.”

She nodded. “I want more kisses.”

With a sudden powerful push, he moved away from her. “Then you’ll have to want. You’ll get no more here.” He spoke in firm, loud tones now. “Come. I’ll pay the madam and we’ll move on.”

His sultry smile reminded her of the part she was playing here. Claudia should feel dirty, but the notion excited her, sent passion burning deep inside her.

“You like the idea, don’t you?”

She put up her chin and shook out her skirts. “What idea?”

“Customer and whore.”

The words sent a shaft of heat to her center, that spot between her legs that dampened when arousal struck her. She should deny it, be indignant and protest that she didn’t know what he meant. Maybe flounce to make her point.

She did none of these things, but stared back, meeting his eyes boldly. “Yes.”

Silence ticked between them until he smiled lazily.

“Good,” he said. “Lovers play games, do they not?”

“We’re not lovers.”

“We are nearly lovers.”

She couldn’t deny that. Nearly was very different to actuality. The idea of lying in that bed with him, completely naked, turned her insides to fire, but she would not let him know. He had that admission, and that was all he was getting.

“The idea is amusing, you must admit.”

To her relief he played the game. “Very amusing. Madam, shall we go?”

When he stepped forward, she lifted her face, already prepared of his kiss, but he merely bent and swept the mask up from the floor.

“Turn around.”

When she obeyed, he fastened the ties deftly. Then he pulled her cloak back around her and tugged her hood back over her head. He caught a lock of hair, sending a shot of pain through her. When she lifted her hand to free the curl, she found him there. “You should ensure your maid covers all your hair next time. That color is singular.”

“My sister has the same. Our father used to, before he turned grey. My cousins on his side of the family have it.” She didn’t like to think she was so easily identified.

“It’s yours alone,” he murmured, tucking the offending curl into her hood. “There. Keep your head down and we’ll scrape through this.”

Her adventure was ending and she regretted it. “This is still my house.”

“That is what concerns me.”

He opened the door for her and took her downstairs. After handing the landlady the extortionate sum of a guinea—it would hire a room for a year if this house was not engaged in nefarious activities—they were allowed to leave.

Outside, he threw back his head and took some deep breaths, as if the very atmosphere in the house were tainted. It did stink of wine, tobacco, and other smells but she’d known worse. Pigsties, for instance, if they were not cleared out.

“Do you want to close this house?” she said. If he did that, maybe she could have it renovated. People of fashion lived around here. Cheek by jowl with less reputable houses, to be sure, but it could be achieved.

He glanced down at her. “Not immediately. Pretend we are lady of the night and her man for the next hour. We’ll draw less attention that way, and you may escape notice.”

He drew her to his side by curving his hand around her waist. She didn’t resist. She felt safer with him this close, anyway, and it worked as their disguise of whore and client. She rested her head on his shoulder. He must be six inches or even more taller than she was, so his shoulder was at a convenient level for her. Very convenient.

His chuckle vibrated her body pleasantly, rousing her senses.

“If the house remains open, I know where to find him. He has regular places he likes to visit. I was unaware of this one until tonight, although it does not try to hide itself. Those glasses are not easily concealed. Other subterfuges are more clandestine and easily denied. It speaks of overconfidence, or…something else.”

She glanced at him. He was frowning. Just then they walked into the brighter light of the Piazza and his features became better delineated.

She liked his face like this, without that society frivolity and lazy droop of his eyelids. Alert and strong, the lines carved with care by some celestial builder, this man appealed to her.

“Do nothing,” he said. “I’ll visit you tomorrow. Will your family be in?”

“I do not know.”

“I’ll send a message and ensure I can obtain an interview.”

Alarm streaked through her. She liked him, she was attracted to him, but that sounded far too much like he wanted to pay his addresses. She’d only met him twice! “What kind of interview?”

His glance at her face held amusement but also tenderness. “To discuss this situation. Not me and you—we’ll brush through this if you do not make a habit of running off to brothels—but the house and its contents. Your involvement in the affair.”

Affair. That word meant more than politics, threats to the Crown. She could see the knowledge in his eyes. He meant it.

He had kissed her like he meant it, after all.

“You mean that I own the property. My great aunt left it to me and she hadn’t visited London in years. I just wanted to see it.” She sighed. “I want somewhere of my own, a place I can close the door and know that nobody will come in. I love my family, of course I do, but just once—”

“If you keep sighing like that your bodice will give way,” he said. “While I would much appreciate another view of your lovely body, I don’t think this is quite the place.”

Aware she’d pushed her bodice down as far as she dared and consequently was not as securely laced in as usual, she drew her cloak closer around her. “You’ve seen that already.”

“I have. Only a taste. I want more, Claudia. You’re a respectable woman, so I’m going to have to wait.”

He gave her such a look of deep melancholy that she burst out laughing, her embarrassment forgotten. At the time, embarrassment had been the last thing on her mind, but now, brought back to a sense of reality, it could have suffused her. It should have, except he was right.

She wanted more, too.