CHAPTER FOUR

Viscount Stone made Wren itch.

Not like the time she survived a terrible spider bite. Or when she'd accidentally brushed against a bush of stinging nettles. It didn't rest atop her skin, affording her the ability to scratch away the sensation. Instead, it burrowed beneath, running along her veins to the most inappropriate of places.

Her breasts became unbearably heavy, sensitive points straining the fabric of her bodice.

And her… pussy —a word overheard one afternoon between two stablehands discussing a new maid—began to ache with a warmth she'd previously only experienced in the privacy of her bed late at night.

Stone leaned closer, and instinctively, she retreated, her head knocking into the glass door at her back, causing the entire cabinet to rattle precariously.

"Careful, little bird. Wouldn't want to break our hostess's prized possessions." The low taunt froze the breath in her lungs as she stilled.

He pressed indecently near.

If someone wandered into the room, she'd be ruined—since even a mousy-looking spinster couldn't cavort with a rake unscathed—yet the knowledge did nothing to loosen Wren's muscles. Her knees locked in place. Her arms remained at her sides rather than shoving the wicked viscount away.

It seemed she rather liked being pinned so tightly in place by him.

"Perhaps Miss Sharpe played the game and won this Season." A long finger toyed with one of her short curls. "But we both know that doesn't matter."

"What I'm proposing is a mutually beneficial arrangement for the duration of the party. You will keep me from ruining a decades-long friendship, and in return, I shall—" Stone bent to whisper hotly in her ear "— ruin you in the best of ways."

The promise of passion tempted Wren.

Sitting on the sidelines while life continued to pass her by had left a bitter taste in her mouth. One she determinedly ignored most days, masking it with gaily friend visits or lively family chats. Listening intently to the descriptions of exasperating husbands, rambunctious children, and, in her parents' case, plans for another exotic adventure because they loved to travel.

Wren always matched their enthusiasm, but she rarely had an opportunity to contribute more to the conversation than the subject of her current read or the newest trick she'd taught the family dog, Puddles.

I could hardly share about a dalliance with London's most notorious rake either.

But it would be a secret worth having. Something she could reminisce about during all those times she felt left out with her married companions.

Staring into Stone's sinful brown eyes, Wren made her decision. "What are the parameters of this arrangement? Of paramount importance is keeping it discreet. I won't sacrifice my good name to save you from tarnishing yours even more."

"Naturally," he agreed, that distracting finger of his continuing to gently tug on a curl before releasing it, only to repeat the cycle. "I'm well-versed in clandestine affairs. For every liaison the ton knows of, there are several more behind it with no one the wiser."

"I'm not sure if that should comfort or concern me, my lord."

"Drake. If we're to become intimately familiar with each other, the least we can do is use our Christian names, Wren ." One syllable had never sounded so decadent until his mouth was the one shaping the four letters with his lips.

"Can you stop that, please?" She swiped at his hand. Thinking clearly was difficult enough without the added distraction of Drake touching her, but he ignored her exasperated plea and went back to playing with her curls.

"I can't help it. They're so springy," he said, fascinated. "Why on earth do you even have your hair this short? It's not the fashionable thing."

"Come to me when your hair hangs down to your waist and drags your head back with its heavy weight or incites the most frustrating of headaches."

"Surely there's something a doctor can do for you if it's pain you're avoiding."

"I also like the convenience of it. If it's not to your taste…" The words trailed off, daring him to end their agreement before it truly began.

"I didn't say that. I just find it mighty curious. Although everything about you seems to have that effect on me."

This man. Wren huffed and rolled her eyes heavenward. "To think I'm only one of many who've been on the other end of your charming flirtations. It's every woman's dream to be a curiosity, an oddity."

"Eccentric," he provided.

There's that word again.

"So what will it be? Will you help a poor fellow and save him from himself? Or shall I give in to my beastly urges with the innocent Miss Sharpe?"

Wren knew he was teasing. Despite his bad reputation, she got the sense that he wouldn't actually betray his friend or dally with a young woman's virtue.

An old spinster's on the other hand…

"I suppose a diversion wouldn't be the worst thing."

A slow smile spread on his handsome face. "Excellent. Shall we consummate the decision then?"

Her brows rose. "Consummate?" she squeaked. "Here? Now?"

Goodness! Were her spectacles fogging?

Drake paused, confusion wrinkling his brow before understanding dawned, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "I swear I've laughed more in the past twenty-four hours than I have the whole Season prior. As much as I would enjoy that sort of consummation, little bird, I suggest something a little more appropriate to our current setting. A kiss."

"Oh." A hot blush seared her cheeks. Of course, he wouldn't want to do that in this parlor. A kiss made more sense even if Wren felt a slight twinge of disappointment.

"However, your enthusiasm is appreciated. Be sure to save that for later, hmm?" A wicked gleam lit a fire in his golden-flecked gaze, the flames promising a burn unlike any Wren had ever experienced. Her lashes lowered as he neared, his mouth pausing to hover a mere breath away from hers.

Anticipation built in her veins, and a disgruntled sigh ballooned in her throat the longer Drake dragged out the moment.

What was he waiting for?

Then Wren felt the sharp sting of his teeth on her bottom lip. Her fingers covered the wounded spot in shock. "You… You bit me!"

"You were being impatient," he retorted, his hand loosely circling her neck before his thumb tapped the center, indicating he heard her restless exhale. "Patience, darling. All good things come to those who wait. Or shall I say all good little spinsters come if they wait?"

Drake didn't expect an answer.

At least, she hoped not. Because words were impossible as his tongue swiped across the small bruise before taking advantage of her surprise and diving between her parted lips. He tasted of chocolate rather than tea, and Wren thought it quite unfair that her favorite drink may forever be connected to the memory of her first kiss.

To a kiss with London's most notorious rake.

Not that it wasn't delicious in the most decadent of ways with the sure strokes of his tongue. The rhythmic caress of his thumb on her neck. The slight rumble of approval vibrating from his chest to his mouth, electrifying Wren from the tips of her fingers down to her slipper-covered toes.

No, this kiss paired perfectly with the sweet heat of her morning chocolate, but it wouldn't do to linger on Drake and his talented mouth in the future—one where she was but a name on the long list of women the viscount had bedded.

She wouldn't be the first, and she certainly wouldn't be the last.

Wren would fall somewhere in the middle, lost and forgotten, and she wondered if it was a mistake agreeing to Drake's proposal. Was it truly better to experience passion once and live with the knowledge that she'd never have it again?

Did the risk outweigh the reward?

I suppose I'll find out…