Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A day later, Gage could still taste the sweetness of Evangeline's warm lips, feel her thighs bracketing him and the sensual weight of her that had imprinted on his body. Devil take it, the kissing had been sublime—hot and sweet with just the right hint of ferocity.

He had been stunned into stupidity when she'd climbed over him at first. Flushing, he cursed his prim, starchy reaction for the thousandth time. He might be a virgin, but he wasn't a prude! There had been women in Dunalastair, ones he'd kissed and fondled. He wasn't a stone statue without needs—he'd simply been pragmatic and careful.

In truth, the only thing he hadn't done was the act itself. He wasn't a greenhorn, and yet her impulsive move had taken Gage by surprise. After all, what highborn young woman threw herself onto the lap of an unsuspecting gentleman and joked about testing the merchandise?

The kind intent on seduction , his mind supplied.

She had been bold in the maze, but only enough for a few more exploratory kisses. The threat of discovery was too great, and neither of them wanted to end their dalliance before it had even begun. Their agreement would include a private experiment of mutual satisfaction. One that was purely physical in which intercourse would be a foregone conclusion, a definitive performance with no emotional ties or empty promises.

There were no games with Evangeline, only a frankness and sincerity that he appreciated. Some might feel threatened by a woman speaking her mind, but he was not one of them, and he liked that fact that she'd wanted this for herself. She invigorated him. Inflamed him.

He'd never been a man much driven by base emotions, at least not around women. He controlled his urges—they did not control him—but around her , he was finding that his usual methods were severely lacking in efficacy.

As it was, he'd had to visit Lushing's London boxing ring last evening after the ball just to put his humors back to rights, and that had taken several hours. Even weak and physically spent, he'd still returned home and taken himself in hand in the bath. And now, it seemed he couldn't go a single second without seeing her again. With a muttered curse, Gage shook his head. He had to pull himself together instead of behaving like a desperate novice.

Gage was blessedly saved from his spiraling—and lustful—thoughts by Pierre, who had arrived with his laundered and pressed clothing for the evening.

He frowned at the valet. "Are you certain this green waistcoat isn't too bright?"

Pierre reared back in affront. "Bite your tongue, Your Grace. That green matches your irises exactly. Do you know how much trouble I went through to source that exact color? You don't even appreciate me."

Gage hid his grin. Obnoxious wasn't the least of the quirky valet's qualities. He was melodramatic, too. But he was rather good at his job, and the green was quite an excellent match.

"Don't get your underclothes in a twist, Pierre," Gage said, raising his hands. "And thank you. It's a fine color."

Dressed in his debonair set of evening clothing—thanks to Pierre and to Lushing's outstanding personal tailor—Gage eyed his reflection with approval before dismissing the valet. On the way out, he stopped in his study to glance at the sheaf of papers on his desk. Though he delighted in needling Huntington with expenses, Gage wasn't a complete spendthrift. He did not require paintings on every wall in his domicile or thick carpets on every floor. But now that he was in London, impressions had to be maintained, so the foyer, drawing room, dining room, and small ballroom had been elegantly furnished for callers, although the rest of the rooms in the manor remained bare.

Any extra funds went to the man he had employed to stay on Huntington's heels.

The reports thus far had been sparse, but Gage was convinced that Huntington would slip up eventually. As he'd stated, he'd never gotten his hands dirty. He paid others to do his work for him, and Gage suspected the man might have someone on his payroll who would be willing to talk for a price and expose the truth about Asher.

Tonight Huntington was expected to be at his social club before attending the opera, and Gage had intended to keep an eye on him there. But he suddenly had no interest in going to White's. His blood churned, restless, as he drummed his fingers on the desk.

"Your Grace," his butler said after knocking quietly on the study door.

Gathering the papers, Gage glanced up. "Yes, Jenkins?"

"A message has been delivered. The courier says he must await your reply."

Gage blinked. Was it his man with something new to report on Huntington? Excitement fired in his blood, but as he opened the folded square on the salver, a different kind of thrill grew. The note was written in a distinctly feminine hand.

I find myself in need of company.

Will you oblige me? ~E

There was no signature beyond the initial, but there was an address, which he recognized as the Earl of Oberton's London residence in Mayfair. She was playing with fire, inviting him to her father's home, but she wasn't one for half measures. She also wasn't foolish, which meant she had to be alone.

Smiling, he reached for a sheet of parchment and his quill, writing his reply with decisive strokes. A quote by Horace would not go amiss.

Yes, but remember, he who is greedy is always in want. ~V

Gage folded the paper, put his waxed seal on it, and retrieved a copper from his coin purse. "Give this to the lad." Gage handed him the note. "And I do not require my coach this evening. I fancy a bit of air."

"Very well, Your Grace."

Out of an abundance of caution, Gage took a hackney and then walked the remaining distance to Oberton's address. It wasn't that far from his own home, but he was on the outskirts of the fashionable district while she was at the center of it. Pulling the brim of his hat low, he kept to the shadows. It was hard for a man of his size to hide, especially when the streets were busy with well-heeled evening revelers spilling out of the well-lit residences, but he tried anyway.

He paused at the end of Oberton's street, glancing up at the stairs to the entrance of the palatial residence. Did she expect him to come to the door? There were eyes everywhere, and tongues would wag should the Duke of Vale be spotted calling upon this particular address at this time of night. He could be visiting the earl, but gossip thrived on the sensational, and he had no intention of giving the rags something to print.

"Over here," a low voice called.

Eyebrows shooting upward, Gage turned toward a side gate barely visible in the shadows, where he could discern the outline of… someone. "Hullo," he said cautiously.

"Move, you dolt, before someone sees you!"

Now that sharp tongue he recognized. As he moved swiftly toward her, the dark alley swallowed them both up, the gate there opening on well-oiled hinges. "What the devil are you doing out here?" he demanded in a soft voice.

"Having a tea party," she shot back. "What do you think I am doing? Waiting for you."

He frowned. "How long have you been outside?"

"Hush!" She pressed a bare palm to his lips, and heat raced through him at the brusque touch. "Not long. You'll alert the servants, and I had a devil of a time convincing them to retire for the evening, considering I'm supposed to be ill."

He did not speak as she led him into the house via unlit corridors, stuffing him into a dark room when muted voices emerged from the vicinity of the kitchens. Once all was quiet, they crept along carpeted hallways and climbed two staircases, and then she shoved him into another room, this one dimly illuminated by the light of a single lamp. It was a bedchamber, he realized with a jolt. Her bedchamber. The turn of the lock kicked him into alertness.

"I've dismissed my lady's maid," she began as she moved past him. "I'm sure she's in the arms of her beau, one of the grooms, right at this moment." Evangeline peered at him. "Don't look so stiff. I won't bite, well, not unless you ask nicely."

He folded his arms and grunted. "I'm not stiff."

"Not yet anyway." Good God, that tongue of hers would be his undoing.

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth before it reemerged glistening. "I seem to recall a boast of your ability to perform on your knees, Your Grace. Shall we see if you're up to the task?"

Gage stared at her, breath hitching. He had, in fact, made such a boast. Evangeline's eyes gleamed, her color high. An eyebrow vaulted in challenge as she held his stare, her own chest rising on shortened breaths and the air charging with desire between them.

Well then, never let it be said he wasn't a man of action.

Gage grinned and bowed. "I am at your service, my lady."

Evangeline's ears were hot. In fact, her entire face felt as though it were immolating. Dear God. She had invited an unmarried man into her chambers.

And not just any man—the Duke of Vale. Large, elegantly assembled, and yet, encompassed by that charged air of savagery, as if a wild creature like him could not be contained in such urbane clothing. He would be better off in nothing but a kilt, those dark auburn locks tousled and untamed, a great sword strapped to his back, chest bare and glistening with sweat. She swallowed audibly at the image and then tore her gaze away, deluged with nerves.

Be confident.

She should be. A woman's body was hers , as was her mind and her heart. And this—inviting Vale here, taking charge of her own sensual needs—was what she desired, she reminded herself.

"Make yourself comfortable," she told the duke, watching Vale where he stood near the door. "We have two hours before the end of the opera, when my father and sister return. I should like us to get to know each other better. I want to see you."

"I'm right here." She bit her lip at his troubled expression. At times, he was so overbearing and dominant, like when he'd rescued her from the mudhole, and others, he was as soft as one of the kittens she had in her care.

Button it, Effie. He's not a kitten, nor is he soft.

No, the Duke of Vale was all imposing, hard man, and she wanted to see him.

Swallowing audibly at the lurch of her pulse, she approached him and then leaned back on the nearest armchair, gripping the top of the polished wood for strength. She gulped. "No, you misunderstand me, I wish to see you undressed. Unless you have… changed your mind."

A pair of russet brows shot upward, but he shook his head. "I have not."

Thank God.

The hat, gloves, and coat went first. Then his jacket, cravat, and a gem-bright green waistcoat that matched his eyes rather sublimely. A white shirt remained tucked into his trousers as he knelt to remove his footwear. Evangeline's mouth went appallingly dry at the ripple of muscles in his back beneath the fine lawn, and her hand lifted to the pulse hammering in her throat. Heat raced through her, arousal an indecent flood between her thighs. When the shirt went, tugged over those straining shoulders, she held her breath, and then he straightened to his full height, fingers stalled on his waistband.

"More?" he asked, his voice low and deep now.

It took her a moment to realize he'd spoken. Her gaze shot up. A lock of hair dropped onto his brow, giving him a rakish air. Green eyes gleamed with desire, that troubled expression from earlier gone. Evangeline could barely focus her attention, struck dumb by the enormous expanse of chiseled flesh from his thick neck to the bulging pectorals and ridged abdominal muscles that arrowed down below.

Evangeline found her voice. "Yes, please. I wish to see all of you."

"What do I get in return?"

"You get to see all of me as well," she croaked when his fingers released the first of the buttons over his fly and more of those roped diagonal muscles came into view, including a narrow swatch of red-bronze hair below his navel. Unlike his chest hair, a lighter mix of bronze and reddish blond, this trail was much darker and led to…

Her brain fizzled completely at the enormous ridge there, practically holding his trousers in place. "Goodness, are you smuggling a caber in there?"

He barked a low laugh. "Dare to find out?"

"Yes. Now. All of it, Vale," she bit out, hands scrabbling for purchase against the chair. She wouldn't be surprised if her nails left gouges in the wood.

"So demanding."

" Demanding is a word men use for women they cannot control," she said. "I've already told you, Your Grace, I am not biddable by nature."

Those trousers hung precariously when he spread his hands wide. "How would you know? You haven't yet been to bed with a man. You might be as docile as a lamb."

She resented the suggestion. "Or a tiger with teeth and claws."

The duke smiled and let his clothing fall. "I look forward to the discovery."

But Evangeline could not form a retort for the life of her. The power of speech and rational thought had completely abandoned her. She'd seen pictures of men's genitals before in the tomes she'd studied, but nothing had prepared her for the reality that was Vale.

Godlike seemed too insignificant, though he could rival the marble sculptures of Zeus. Except for there . The duke was bloody enormous. Thick and veined, his phallus strained outward from its nest of dark red-brown hair. Even from where she stood, she could see a drop of fluid beaded at the tip. His testicles were tight spheres, resting at the apex of a pair of well-formed thighs. More moisture pooled in her own body at the erotic spectacle.

"Turn around," she commanded him in a shaky voice.

When he did, she closed her eyes and slumped against the chair. Hell, if he wasn't as perfect from the back as he was from the front. Tapered muscular back. Full, round buttocks. Bronze-furred, strong legs.

She opened her eyes and gasped. Vale had turned back around and closed the distance between them. He now stood inches away, towering over her and so close that she could feel the heat from his body. His very naked, very aroused body. That part of him bobbed dangerously close to her midsection.

"Am I to your satisfaction, lass?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Yes," she said in a breathless whisper.

His arms went around her, and she released her stranglehold on the top of the chair as she allowed him to turn her body away from him. Her mind caught up to what he was about only when he went to work on the buttons and then laces at her back. When the bodice gaped, she clutched it to her chest, feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment. What if she did not come up to snuff? She knew she wasn't the most voluptuous of women.

The blaze of heat behind her disappeared, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that Vale had folded his large body into the opposite armchair. "Now you," he said. "You started this. I want to see you, and I want to see what you do."

She blinked. "I beg your pardon? What I do ?"

"Strip, get into that bed, and pleasure yourself, Evangeline. Give me a show."

The growled directive made her legs quiver, but turnabout was fair play. Trembling, she did as he asked, discarding her clothing piece by piece. She kept her eyes on his, watching the black of his pupils swallow up the green as more of her skin met the air. His hand stroked lazily along his length. God, it was indecent how wet she was beneath her chemise and drawers.

Undoing the tapes, she let the latter fall and tugged off the garment. She resisted the urge to cover her small breasts before bending clumsily to unroll her stockings. When she was completely nude, she climbed on to the bed, reveling in the hiss of breath from his direction and sat with her back against the pillows. "Now what?"

"Spread your legs," he bit out. "Touch yourself. Show me how you do it when you're alone. I've thought of nothing else since you said it."

Evangeline took courage from the sight of him stroking his own swollen flesh and let her fingers wander down over her breasts to her stomach to her pale blond maidenhair, which was indeed mortifyingly wet. Reluctantly, she let her knees inch apart to his shuddering intake of air. Emboldened by the raw lust on his strained face, she dragged a finger through her slick folds and then reached for the slim case in her beside drawer. If he wanted a show, he'd get one.

"What is that?" he asked in a voice that was more groan than words when she removed the cylindrical carved piece of jade from its velvet confines. It was nowhere near his size, of course, she noticed with a belated huff of amusement when she held it up for his examination.

"Why, it's a billy club, Your Grace. I keep it nearby to bludgeon intruders." His eyes widened, and she laughed at his wild expression as she drew it down between her breasts. "Are you ready? Shall we begin?"

Damn his wilting self-control, that little temptress was going to kill him.

His heart was going to explode, and he was going to die right here in this chair, cock in hand, for anyone to find, and there wasn't a deuced thing he could do about it. Notwithstanding those perfect lips inflaming him so, the sight of her—a sheltered noblewoman—dragging the dildo down her body like a seasoned courtesan was pure temptation. Watching her had to be one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen in his life, and all she'd done was wave the sodding thing and tease him about it.

That isn't all she's done.

There were no words in the English language to describe Evangeline Raine in the altogether. He'd been stunned mute by the torturous reveal of all that creamy skin, the perfect teardrops of her breasts topped by berry-pink nipples that had flooded his mouth with water, and the sparse thatch of silvery wisps at her groin framing the heart of her that had glistened with arousal, the sight of which had been eminently gratifying.

Sitting propped as she was with a secret smile on her lips, legs parted and instrument in hand, she was a queen on her throne, and he, her devoted supplicant.

"It's not quite as big as you are," she said, hot eyes watching him grip himself.

His fingers cinched, enough to make him wince. Gage didn't want this to end too quickly, and he was already close. His skin felt too tight, his muscles quivering from the strain of holding his release at bay. "Show me," he ordered in a guttural voice. "Put it inside."

A blush spread over her skin as she dragged the jade piece down the center of her, mouth parting on a gasp when the smooth tip reached her entrance. Gage held his breath as she inched the instrument into her wet passage, one hand going to her nipple. A breathy moan left her lips, eyes glued to his fingers as he matched her movements. When she pushed in, he stroked down, imagining what those soft, slick depths would feel like. Heaven. Better.

Gage bucked into his fist, thrusting his hips, and her eyes widened as she unconsciously mimicked him. "I'm already close," she whispered, after only a few strokes. He knew exactly how she felt—both of them caught on the hair trigger of arousal—the weeks of mutual attraction building up to this .

"Find your pleasure, Evangeline."

She worked herself harder, her thumb skating across the bead at the top of her sex. He'd never seen anything lovelier than her coming completely undone, a small shriek escaping her lips as her body went rigid and then quivered as her orgasm took over. He savored the sight and sound of her caught in the throes of it, and then he was grasped in the grip of his own, his hot release erupting over his fingers.

When his body had stopped shaking, he slumped back in the chair, only to let out a grunt at the sight of two cats near the window silently judging him with censorious eyes.

Gage cupped himself on instinct, cringing at his sticky hands, only to hear a smothered giggle from the direction of the bed. He glared at her, still looking indescribably lovely in the aftermath, though she'd draped the edge of the counterpane over her middle. "It's not funny," he bit out. "They were there the whole time? Watching? "

"They're just cats, Vale."

"Cats who can take your soul to hell with one look," he muttered. "And they've judged me, I can feel it."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about." Limpid eyes dipped to his covered groin and then skated away. "It's not their fault they were prick-merized."

He choked. "That is not a word."

"It should be. Do you prefer cock-notized? How about caber-tranced?"

"You are ridiculous." One giggle turned into two, and then she was overtaken by a delightful series of snorts. Gage couldn't help it, he chuckled as well, mostly at the sound of her uncontrollable mirth. "You are lovely."

"I'm a mess," she said and glanced down again to his cupped hands. "As are you."

"By my count, we do have some time left. Shall I draw you a bath, my lady?"

That unguarded smile of hers made her radiant. "Great minds do think alike."

Gage rose on unsteady feet. "I have one stipulation however."

"Yes?"

"No cats." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Or mice. Or birds or any living creature beyond the two of us." He made a show of peering around the room. "In fact, I'm surprised that Lucky isn't in here, sniffing at parts that shouldn't be sniffed. Where's the little mud monster anyway?"

"I put her in Viola's room."

He exhaled and darted another fulminating glance to the two felines, half expecting them to pounce. "Well, thank God for small mercies. But please, promise me."

She collapsed in snickers at his expression when he shuddered. "I promise, Your Grace, your virtue will be entirely safe from prying eyes, canines and felines included."