Chapter Eight

P ercy bunched her nightgown in his fists and lifted the fabric until smooth skin met his palms. He shouldn't touch her, shouldn't breathe the same air for the risk of harming her.

But that look on her face had unmanned him. Trading insults like a luscious pirate, he'd mistaken her strength and composure for coldness because he couldn't entertain the idea she was not as frenzied in his presence as he was in hers.

Lady Daniella was not unfeeling or a seductress. She was beautiful and fierce, and Percy knew without asking she'd never encouraged a single man in her life, except one.

"I won't say a word if you kiss me."

He was a bloody arse. Gritty and with the same manners as that of livestock. If he had any decency left in his wretched soul, he'd walk away, leave her in her tidy room with nothing out of place save a few letters on her bedside table.

But his soul had been blackened years ago, before he'd even had a mind to wish it kept pure. He was rough and tasteless, but above all, he was selfish.

"Open for me," he demanded against her lips.

Her lovely legs spread wide and encircled his waist, not what he'd wanted, but perfection all the same. Tongue teasing the seam of her lips, her mouth opened next, and Percy felt he'd found heaven.

He pressed himself against her, feeling every inch of heat through the thin fabric.

She stiffened in his arms and asked, "What is that?"

Percy looked down at where their bodies met, realizing one of his knives had shifted inside the inner pocket. Holding her against him with one arm, he extracted the blade, watching her eyes track the flash of metal.

Her tongue licked her bottom lip, and her breathing went ragged.

Something close to reverence bubbled up in the dark hole where Percy's heart should've been. What perfection this woman was, to be aroused by something so hard and dangerous. Only a divine creature could love such things.

"Would you like to touch it?" he asked, careful to offer his weapon handle first.

She shook her head, but her focus didn't shift.

His blood roared in his ears. "Shall I do it instead?"

Her gaze shot to his, her pupils large and black. Her little teeth nibbled at her lip, unsure. "It wouldn't be—"

"Please don't say it wouldn't be right," Percy said, the blood in his veins pumping hot. "I'd give up all ten fingers to watch you take pleasure."

Her lips parted, her fingers bunched in his coat. "Yes," she said.

He didn't ask a second time.

Laying her on the rug by the dying fire, he caught the light on his blade and watched her body shudder in anticipation.

Sinking to his knees, he nudged open her thighs and used an arm to steady himself over her.

"Where shall I start, my lady?"

He rested the knife against her cheek, loving the moan that escaped her lips. Lifting the blade away, he moved it to the edge of her nightgown, where it had come untied at the base of her throat. "Here, perhaps?" He moved the blade away again. "No, not there."

"Please," she begged.

The sound was silk against his groin. A small and most unwelcome inner voice told him he was taking this game too far.

He didn't listen.

"I know." He caught the edge of her gown with the knife's tip and neatly cut the fabric away, leaving her exposed to the hips and giving him the most sensual view of her wet folds.

He swallowed and pressed the flat of the blade to her inner thigh.

Years of patience and training kept his attention fixated on every rush of breath between her teeth, every twitch of muscle in her face and hands, anything to indicate she was not pleased with his movements. But with every pass of the flat of the blade against her thigh, she clutched at the rug beneath her, lost in the sensation.

The mewling sounds she made—God, they were erotic.

His erection strained and pulsed in his trousers, nearly spending at the sight of her unguarded passion. Massaging the beast into a more comfortable position, the hand with the knife moved upwards but an inch and her gasp was of unadulterated pleasure.

He watched her head roll side to side and her hips make the most wanton little bucks, moving the blade back and forth, closer and closer to the glistening center of her.

And he couldn't wait a second more to taste her. Securing the blade under his arm, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and ran his tongue along the seam of her sensitive lips.

"My God!" she gasped.

He smirked and blew a stream of air across her bud. "Quiet, my dear. Wouldn't want to inconvenience the staff, remember?"

Her fingers tangled into his curls, nails digging into his scalp. "Again."

He smiled and pushed his tongue inside, the heat of her blazing, the sweet taste of her exquisite.

"Yes! Percival, please!"

His name on her lips was a command of the highest order, and Percy set about his mission with single-minded determination. Fingers parting her folds, he angled his mouth, finishing each thrust of his tongue to lick the bottom of her cleft.

Her pants grew short and breathy. Her hips rose to meet each intrusion as if designed. She was on the edge, waiting for him to bring about her fall.

Without looking, he pulled the knife from under his arm and flipped it, handle first. Timing his thrusts, he buried his tongue into her folds and pressed the heel of the knife against the center of her arousal.

She arched, hands coming to her mouth to muffle screams of pleasure.

Her climax rocked him to his foundation. Every squeeze of delicate muscle around his tongue choked the thoughts and ideas of what pleasure really meant. This woman had lain completely at his mercy—knife in hand—and she hadn't hesitated.

He lapped at her wetness, the taste of her addicting, the sounds of her aftershocks music.

It was blasphemy that such a creature existed without his knowledge. He'd had other women before her—no, there'd been no others and would never be again, not like this. Percy knew it in his bones.

He rocked back on his heels, surprised to find himself unsteady and lightheaded. The woman was a force, taking the very blood in his veins and turning it to euphoric mist.

Quieting, the awe in her voice was not unfounded. "There's no way a mere duke could be so divinely wicked."

He lay back, grinning, and willed his pulse and body to come back to Earth. "A man does like to make an effort."

"Was that normal?"

To think what had just happened between them hadn't been the work of the Devil himself was laughable. "No," he said, not needing to see her to know she was smiling with him. "That was extraordinary."

"Good to know."

He smirked at her prim tone and sat up.

She lay sprawled on the rug, the cream fabric surrounding her tousled hair and angelic face like the backdrop of sun filled clouds.

"You are a marvel, Daniella."

She smiled and the sun shone through. "A lady does like to make an effort."

He laughed and found himself lightly tracing the slope of her calf, completely at ease despite the marital consequences if they were discovered.

And yet... "I don't wish to be insensitive, but you must realize, despite what we just did, I have no intention—"

"Of offering marriage?" She snorted, though the flippant sound didn't match the sudden distance in her gaze. "Save the speech, Your Grace. I have no intention of making demands." She rose up on her elbows, her lovely hair draping over her shoulders to provocatively curl around her breasts. "I told you, I'm not one for hysterics." She paused. " Or one for gossip."

He believed her. She wouldn't mention their past encounter, or last. She was a woman of her word, a new and strangely appealing trait. But the close proximity of their estates, and the connection with Lord Bromley—the reason he'd left the disgusting equestrian wallpaper and polished checkered floors of Grandfellow in the middle of the night to tromp through the woods and peer into every bedchamber window on the third floor of the neighboring house until he'd found Lady Daniella reading snugly in her bed—complicated what could have been irregular rendezvous as Lord Bromley would no doubt realize his daughter's absences and the new Duke of Grandfellow's happened to coincide. Nor would a routine visit excuse work, seeing as Percy had no siblings, or aunts, or mothers, or women relatives of any kind to use as a front.

He sighed. This had all been so much easier when no one had known who he was or where he rested his head at night.

"What am I to do with you?" he said.

Her voice sounded sleepy when she replied, "I'm up for another apology if you are."

He laughed again, his side hurting from the frequency of use. She understood there'd be no honorable actions on his part and yet she wanted round two. "Insatiable." He was pleased and still painfully aroused. "We risked much doing it once," he said, reminding himself. Any number of household maids could've come at the sound of their raised voices. "It would be unwise to tempt fate a second time."

She huffed. "Tomorrow, then?"

And again, he laughed. Too much more and he'd hurt himself. "We shouldn't."

"We cannot stop!"

No, they couldn't. He'd risk pistols at dawn, hanging, and the altar to taste those silky folds again. Just the thought of what sound she'd make if he pressed the end of his knife's handle into her... he needed to leave before logic became the enemy.

She sat up and worried her lip with her teeth, her earlier light and passion gone. "I-If you're disgusted with how I responded to your knife—"

"Don't finish that sentence, or I'll put you over my knee." He softened his growling tone with a quick peck to her lips. "I liked it, all of it. The you part especially."

Her sigh of relief irked. Someone somewhere had said something they shouldn't have to make her so ashamed.

He leaned forward to kiss her jaw and promised, "Next time, I'll use three blades, one for each pleasure point."

Her eyes went wide, but her lips parted on a catch of breath. "There's more than one?"

"Many more."

She wetted those lips, and Percy had the urge to begin her instruction on pleasure immediately, starting with how that pretty little mouth could surround his cock and make a grown man worship and curse at the same time.

"Definitely more than a duke," she whispered.

Running his thumb across her lip, he let his defenses slip brick by brick, not seeing the harm now when she had just as much to lose. "I was an officer in the army. Lieutenant Cole of Her Majesty's Third Hussars." He grinned. "Among other stations and titles when it suited me."

Her eyes widened. "An officer?" That beautiful mind whirled behind those eyes before they narrowed. "But you're an officer no longer, not in the official capacity."

Percy blew out a stream of air through his teeth, his reaction alarmingly lacking panic. Who was he kidding? His defenses had crumbled away to nothing years ago in a dark courtyard with nothing but a brush of innocent lips and a will of iron that could pierce his coal-coated heart.

"I'm not an officer in any capacity anymore." He acknowledged her cleverness and loyalty to the promise she'd made him in that same courtyard with a foolish bit of honesty. "But I followed my orders religiously and credibly. I do still, but for a more honorable master."

"So that night at the Leishires' ball—"

"Was its own mission to protect a peer of the realm and his wife."

He waited for an incessant stream of questions. The woman had a knack for interrogation that would make the Home Office question their policy on recruiting ladies of the ton . But if he—Percy, the agent who knew everyone's response before they were granted opportunity to speak—thought he could predict the mind of Lady Daniella, he was a fool.

"Thank you." She stood and smoothed down her nightgown before padding to the washbasin and wiping away the evidence of her climax with a strip of flannel.

He watched her, caught between remaining silent to enjoy the erotic view of her lifting her leg while her hand disappeared beneath her torn dress, or asking stupidly, "You're thanking me?"

"Yes, for telling me the truth."

So polite, so straightforward. Then why was he so irritated? "I could still be lying. I could have woven a web of tales you've no hope of untangling to prove I'm right or wrong."

She didn't so much as look up from her task of washing her thighs. "You were honest, I know. You have a tell."

The hell he did!

"What is it?" he demanded.

"If I told you, you wouldn't do it anymore."

His gaze narrowed. "You're teasing me again." She must have been. "There's no way I'd give myself away, not even unconsciously."

She rolled her eyes and dropped her nightgown, sadly, to cross the room and give his left ear a good tug. "Your ear wiggles. Here, at the bottom."

Percy clapped a hand over the offending limb, horrified. "My ear does not wiggle ." Not a single body part on him wiggled , and if it did, it would be a full-fledged shudder of manly presence.

"Flinch? Twitch, maybe?" she offered. "I assure you, it moves."

Ludicrous. Percy prodded at the lobe of his ear, determined magical fairies or haunting ghosts were to blame before his own body would betray him.

Seeing her amused smile, he dropped his hand and his voice. "And your curiosities are satisfied, just like that?"

"Heavens, no," she said. At his silence, she explained, "When I thought you were a criminal intent on harm, I would stop at nothing to uncover your plot. But since you were skulking in the name of Queen and country, I retract my need for sleuthing, seeing as how it is none of my business."

His mouth worked, but nothing intelligible made its way out except, "I do not skulk."

She glanced at him, her face sincerely curious. "Do you creep? Prowl? Who knew a man could be so combative over descriptors that all mean relatively the same thing?"

"I'm not combative—" Percy clenched his teeth together, determined to wipe the smirk from her face. Damn, but the woman could needle him in far too fetching a way. Weren't nagging women supposed to be bothersome and gap-toothed? Not amusing and entirely too easy to spill one's secrets to. Lady Daniella. He'd rename her Lady Danger... specifically in regard to his apparently imperfect poker face. To be taken down by a woman who didn't know how many points of pleasure were on a woman's body... "I liked you better naked and moaning."

That smirk curled into a sensual smile. "Me too."

And now he was painfully aroused again. He reclined back on the rug. "You'll be the death of me."

"I was hoping we'd be friends instead."

"Friends!" His gaze jumped to hers.

"Another impossibility?"

"Men and women cannot be friends." He sneered. "There are emotions that get in the way of rational thought. Especially when they've..."

"Fucked?"

Percy bit his tongue and grunted. It was either that or push her on the bed and taste that dirty mouth again. He wouldn't ask where the lady had learned the profanity. She was known as a friend to the Duchess of Camine, after all.

"What a cynic," she said. "As if a woman couldn't enjoy physical pleasure without turning into a puddle." She straightened and rapped her knuckles on the mantel. "I'll prove it to you."

He didn't like that gleam in her eye, or how his entire body came alert to make sure it never faded. "How?"

"By spending time with me, in public."

"Everything but the public part was amiable," he said. In truth, he seemed to be the fool who couldn't keep his feelings from spilling over into something unacceptable in her presence. It would be better to part ways now and entrust the estate to a more qualified man. "If I so much as think of ‘public' in any proper sense, I'll cause a scandal to rival that of D.G. Rossetti."

She laughed. "Then there's no trouble. I have a talent for weathering scandals. And you have a duty to be present in society as the new Duke of Grandfellow."

Mad! She was mad! And damn it, it was catching. "And you'll be my faithful guide, Lady Daniella?"

"Call me ‘Danny.' In private, of course." She nodded. "We'll start tomorrow night."

Private. That sounded promising. "What's tomorrow night?"

"A ball."

"Oh, yes. A ball." If he took a running start, he could leap from the window and break all the bones in his body.

"It will be fun," she said.

He ran a hand through his hair at her bright expression. "I doubt that." Dancing, introductions, dancing . Forget the bones. He'd dive headfirst out the window and end all future torture with a quick smearing of the brain on Lady Bromley's bushes.

"Your definition of fun does not sound appealing," he said, hoping to dissuade her.

But the clever minx knew her way around a disgruntled man and how to appeal to his darker side. "Come now, Your Grace. To think a hardened spy would cower from a step or two."

One of her eyebrows arched in a silent challenge that Percy knew before she uttered her next words, he'd rise to meet no matter how many quadrilles were involved.

"I dare you."