Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Vingt-et-un was proving to be highly entertaining.

Evangeline had never had so much fun in all her life, but the most gratifying thing of all was the disgruntled look on the Duke of Vale's face. That, and his state of undress, which she was taking more delight in than she probably should. His waistcoat was gone, revealing the bulging muscles beneath his shirtsleeves. The others at the table had lost various pieces of clothing as well, but she had eyes only for him.

While the others at the table were ruddy with an unending flow of liquor, the duke drank only water. Her opponents' drunkenness made it easier to keep track of the cards, but she had to be careful with Vale. He might be large and gruff, preferring grunts to actual words, which she believed he did on purpose to aggravate her, but those observant eyes took in everything.

"You, my lady," an older, shirtless gentleman across the table slurred. She blinked. Was that gold dust on his chest? How droll! "Are a sorceress."

Evangeline laughed, looking over her hand of cards. "Am I?"

"I cannot concentrate for the life of me," he grumbled.

The only other woman at the table—Persephone, she called herself—tittered beside him. She was a beautiful woman in a peacock-trimmed mask, black ringlets coming undone and bright splotches of color in her bronze cheeks from the wine she'd consumed. She lifted a hand to the older man's arm, which he caught and pressed to his lips. "I should think that's because you're a poor player, my love," she told him.

Oh. They were together. Or at least they might be in short order.

"My luck turned when she joined the table," the man complained.

Persephone winked at her. "Or perhaps you underestimated her skill." Her eyes flicked appreciatively to Vale. "I, for one, hope she continues to win. The view is rather nice from where I'm sitting." She leaned forward, offering the table a healthy look of the ample bosom threatening to spill from her dress. "You're that Scottish duke."

Like all the other gentlemen, Vale was maskless… and recognizable.

A lazy smile curled his plush lips. " English duke. Scottish mother."

"I see," Persephone crooned and touched her hand of cards to her mouth, eyelashes fluttering in a coquettish manner. "Well, I find you eminently fuckable, Your Grace."

Evangeline gaped. Goodness, were women here always so forward? At the woman's overt advances, a possessive instinct inside of her reared up in instant ire, but Vale just smiled. "That's nice of you to say."

"Nice is the last thing I am, but you'll find that I am as generous with praise as I am with my attentions," she drawled, teasing a fingertip over her décolletage and leaving no doubt to anyone at the table that she was talking about intimate acts.

To Vale's credit, his eyes didn't follow the woman's finger, his stare instead remaining fixed on Evangeline. Would Persephone change her mind about the man at her side and proposition Vale? Could he refuse under the terms of the evening if it was ladies' choice? She felt her brows furrow. She hadn't thought to ask Vale about consent at these parties, but fervently hoped it would apply, otherwise that would make the women just as bad as the men, if they simply took what they wanted.

Evangeline, at least, was secure in her knowledge that Vale wanted her to pursue him. Although admittedly she'd lost sight of that pursuit as she'd focused her energies on the card game.

But perhaps winning wasn't the idea here after all.

Evangeline glanced down at the three cards she held totaling twenty points and called for another card. With the count the way it was, she would go over. When she received a five, she lost for the first time that evening as Vale won with a paltry fifteen, one eyebrow raised as if he knew that she had lost on purpose. Watching him through lowered eyelashes, she held out one gloved arm.

"Will you do the honors, Your Grace?"

She couldn't help her small intake of breath when he flicked that piercing green stare over her, a feral heat moving in their depths. Everything and everyone around them disappeared when he took her hand in his, fingers skating up the length of her forearm to the first button near her elbow. Her pulse tripped as a fingernail grazed the tender strip of skin above the edge of the glove, the light scrape making her nipples pucker.

Evangeline sank her teeth into her bottom lip, breath hitching as the first mooring came loose, then the second and third. Her lungs shrank with each one. She could feel the attention of the others at the table as if the two of them were putting on a private show, but she could barely take them in. She was utterly preoccupied by those long, thick scarred knuckles—the contrast of his calloused palms with the fine kidskin of her glove mesmerizing. Vale's hands weren't delicate. They were rough and worn, hard and strong like the rest of him.

The rest of him…

Dear God, all she could think about then was his thickly hewn, naked body that had crowded her bedroom armchair. Heat blazed through her, a series of arrowed pulses striking her aching nipples and right into her throbbing, molten center. When the last button came loose, Evangeline bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, but even that tiny lash of pain did nothing to corral the intense pleasure brewing inside.

A smoldering pair of eyes collided with hers when Vale tugged the tip of each finger, and as the glove finally, inexorably, slid off, Evangeline felt her body seize and then release in a languid, undulant wave. Goodness, did she just…

No.

But, oh, so much yes.

Her lids fluttered shut as she rode out whatever it was that had just detonated in her body, a balmy bliss feathering across all her nerve endings. It was an orgasm, that much she knew, but unlike any she'd ever given herself. A warm grasp engulfed her hand, the sensuous rasp of skin making her relaxed muscles quiver anew.

"Well, that was enlightening," Persephone drawled from across the table, her voice thick with desire. "Your Grace, might I entreat—"

But Evangeline didn't give her a chance to finish, her fingers going tight around the duke's palm as she rose. "His Grace is taken for the evening," she interrupted, and then remembered her own thoughts on consent. "Unless, of course, he has changed his mind."

"I have not," came the instant gravelly answer.

When she finally met Vale's stare, the black of his pupils had almost swallowed up the green of his iris, blown out by lust as she was certain hers were.

"My loss," Persephone said without rancor, fanning herself. "Let me know if you fancy a bit of sharing. I'm open to a partner or three in the bedchamber."

"Not tonight," Evangeline murmured. Not ever.

The woman chuckled. "I don't blame you. If I were in your shoes, I would keep that one under lock and key for my own private entertainment. If he can do that with a look and a fistful of buttons, I'm envious of what awaits you."

Evangeline was suddenly of the same mind. Unable to look at Vale for fear that her carnal yearnings would be easily read, she cleared her throat and took her leave of the card table. Gathering his discarded belongings, the duke offered her his arm as they strolled in the direction of the refreshments room.

Despite her calm outer mien, her insides felt like lava. She was dreadfully in need of a cool drink, one that wasn't wine, or she would truly release her moral inhibitions and climb Vale like the sublimely sinful mountain he was. Right in front of everyone. She had a feeling that these particular guests, including Persephone, would approve of such a spectacle. Evangeline shivered, feeling that wicked throb resume between her thighs.

Without warning, Vale yanked her into a small alcove between two marble statues. Evangeline promptly lost her breath when his huge frame blanketed hers from the front, one palm gathering her wrists above her head as his body imprisoned hers against the wall.

"That was interesting," he growled in a tenor so low it rumbled through her bones. Evangeline's knees wobbled, knowing instantly he meant her orgasm. That was one word for it.

"Mortifying," she whispered.

"Magnificent," he countered. His fingers cupped her jaw, thumbs feathering over the skin beneath the edge of her lace mask. "You were a woman in her element. Fierce. Provocative. Undeniably sultry. Every single man in that room wanted you."

"Did you?"

He took her hand and guided it downward. Evangeline's eyes widened at the thick, huge, straining ridge she found there. "How did Persephone say it? ‘Eminently fuckable,'" he drawled, and she giggled.

"I think this state of yours might be quite painful and require immediate attention," she said huskily. "Vale… I need…" Her fingers closed over the fabric of his trousers, gripping the rigid flesh beneath and making him groan. "I want to leave."

"Patience, leannan." Good heavens, that voice. That word . Though from the sound of the gravel in his tone, impatience was grinding him to bits, too. A muscle flexed in his jaw as though he was fighting for control not to have his wicked way with her. Why was he fighting? She wanted to be wicked. He pressed his forehead to hers as he gently shifted her palm back up to his chest, away from his hard sex. "No more."

"Why not?" she whispered. "I can help."

"I know you can, but if you continue to do that, I will be walking around with wet, sticky trousers." Hunched over her, he grunted. "At the moment, I'm trying to think of the most dreadful things I can think of, not how good your hand felt."

Evangeline frowned in confusion, and then his meaning clicked about what he was trying to do—diminish his arousal. While she wanted nothing more than to stroke him to oblivion, it was his body. "I think my cats might have formed an attachment to you. My maid found your cravat in one of the cat beds the other morning."

A strangled noise resembling groaning laughter rumbled from his chest. "That is working, thank you."

"I had to tell the maid that it was my father's and then steal it from the laundry before anyone discovered that it wasn't his." She laughed softly. "My animal friends do seem to have a terrible habit of either destroying or pilfering your clothing."

"Incredibly suspect. I'm beginning to think they've been trained to do so."

She snickered. "Alas, our diabolical scheme of world domination via extorting naked dukes has been exposed! Whatever is this villainess to do?"

"World domination?"

"They are cats, Your Grace." She walked her fingers over his shoulder. "If they aren't plotting to take over the world, then what do you think they are doing?"

Her fingernails scratched at his arms in the imitation of claws, making him shudder.

"You are devious but effective, lass," he replied with a chuckle and then straightened, the tension easing from his bunched muscles. "Shall we find a drink and discuss alternate plans for domination?"

Evangeline's breath stuttered. " World domination."

"That's what I said."

That was, emphatically, not what he'd said, the tease!

When the duke handed her a full glass, she drank it without questioning what it was. Water, thankfully. Indecent fires and thirst temporarily quenched, she peered up at him, grasping at the first thing she could think of that wasn't sensual in nature. "Why don't you ever imbibe?"

"It dulls my wits," he replied easily. "My father and brother were habitual drunkards. I'm not a teetotaler, by any means. I enjoy the bite of a dram of fine whisky on a cold evening from time to time. My mother's distillery produces some of the best in Scotland."

"Do you miss it?" she asked at the hint of pride in his tone.

"Scotland or the whisky?" he replied with a smile.

Her pulse galloped. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? One quirk of those plush lips and her brain turned to mush. "The former."

"There are things I miss about it," the duke said, leading her toward a pair of doors that led to a narrow outdoor terrace. They weren't alone, but the cool air was welcome and refreshing. "I miss the wide-open hills, the people, the old keep, and even my mother, bloody tyrant that she is."

"What's she like?"

"Fierce and formidable with a spine of iron and a heart of gold." He gave a light shrug. "If she hadn't taken me back home to Scotland with her, I would have turned out just like my brother. He was with us for several years, but then my father insisted that his heir belonged in England with him. My mother could not refuse. Thankfully, he did not summon me. The rush of drinking and gambling would have been too much to resist, and I might have found myself at a similar end."

Those words were soft but bitter. There was a story there, but Evangeline didn't want to pry. When Vale turned her and pulled her against his chest, she had a perfect view of the backlit ballroom through the doors.

"I should love to visit one day," she said.

His chin came to rest on her crown. "Perhaps you will get that chance."

With you , she wanted to add, but that was a hollow wish. Their liaison was only meant to be temporary. And without emotional attachment.

The truth was, she should not be enjoying this—enjoying him —so much. While their physical draw was undeniable, she liked how easy it was to talk to him, too. For the first time in her life, Evangeline did not feel spoken down to or belittled by a gentleman who wasn't her father. She was well aware that she was treated like a leper because of Huntington's influence, but not all men were like his set. Her friends' husbands seemed to be cut from a different cloth, as was Vale.

But you're not looking for a husband, remember?

She bit her lip hard. No, she was out for a lover. Muddling that with warm emotions and fantasies of happily ever after was a recipe for disaster. Evangeline knew that. No feelings, no strings, no heartbreak. That was the whole purpose of carving out this kind of agreement.

Exhaling, she twisted her arm and reached between their bodies to find what she was looking for. There. Not quite as hard as before, but something to work with.

"What are you doing?" Vale rasped when she boldly fingered his manhood.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked.

He swelled in her palm and pressed his body closer. "No."

Evangeline smiled. "Very well then. A little wet fabric never killed anyone."

She was going to kill him , that was the plain truth.

Gage groaned into her hair as he went from half-mast to full sail in the time it took for her fingers to find purchase. They were lodged well enough into the shadows that no one could see what she was doing, not that it would matter if they did. This kind of party favored the voyeurs and the sybarites.

He glanced through the terrace window toward the lewd dance currently playing out in the ballroom. Gage spotted Persephone, the brunette from their card table, draped over the older gentleman who had bemoaned Evangeline's card skill. Neither of them wore much at all, nor were they making any effort to conceal their desire for each other.

However, while Gage wanted Evangeline to be free to explore her adventurous side, he did not want her to suffer for it, if her identity was exposed. But then he couldn't think much more on anything when a firm palm slid up his length in a breath-snatching slide. He hissed as her fingers rounded the tip of him, and then had to lean all his weight on the stone balustrade when she gently circled his sensitive crown.

"Damnation, Evangeline," he groaned through his teeth, nuzzling the shell of her ear.

"Am I doing it right?" came her breathless whisper.

A huff of laughter left him. "Any touch of yours is right."

She continued to work him in endless, maddening strokes and circles, the light touches driving him crazy. He needed her to grasp him harder, but the excruciating torture of the drawn-out pleasure was worth keeping his lips pinned, and he wanted to last. Unable to keep his own hands still, he let them drift down the silky sides of her waist. When he got to the flare of her hips, instead of the mass of crinoline, he felt firm womanly flesh. The sharp inhale of breath tempted him to skim lower, tracing her outer thighs.

Desperate to confirm what he already knew, Gage tugged at her satin skirts, fingers creeping down as he greedily lifted the fabric of her hem. He opened his stance and reached under, letting the scarlet lengths drop to pool over his wrist. One fingertip wandered up to the lace edge of a stocking, tracing it from the outer part of her thigh to the inner.

Hell if she wasn't wearing drawers beneath her chemise either! Images of her sprawled out on her bed assaulted him, visions of that rosy pink flesh on wanton display while her fingers pleasured her beautiful body. He had watched, but he hadn't touched. Was her skin as soft as it had looked, supple and satiny? Would she be as drenched now as she'd been that night?

Gage couldn't wait to find out.

Inching forward, his knuckles brushed the silky hair at the juncture of her thighs, her body jerking in his arms. His finger dipped lower to skim the seam of her, and he grunted in pure male satisfaction at what he found there. She was hot, wet, and slick with arousal.

"I want to make you come again," he whispered, and bit into her earlobe, sucking it into the heat of his mouth as his finger made a second upward pass, catching the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her sex in the process. She whimpered and writhed, hips jerking.

"Vale," she gasped, working his cock as she rolled her hips forward begging for more.

He stilled and tapped her wet flesh. "Gage."

"Gage, please." The instant breathy capitulation pleased him more than the sound of his given name on her lips.

He obliged, brushing the pad of his pointer finger through her slippery folds, the slow slide making her squirm with need. When he lowered his palm and pressed that finger into her, she bucked and took him to the first knuckle. They both moaned at the sensation, the hot, greedy grip of her passage sublime. He could feel her walls pulsing around him, and his cock thickened.

"You feel so good, Evangeline," he said.

Her hips rocked, sucking at his finger. "I need more of that."

With a groan, Gage pushed farther in, wishing it were his aching cock buried in all that wet, slick heat. Apparently, she must have been wishing the same, because the fingers on his length squeezed hard . Lightning arced up his spine, the pressure of her fist and the tight clasp of her silken depths too much to take. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the pleasure coursing through him, and when it broke, his entire body seized. Gage let out a muffled shout as he erupted, the white-hot bursts of his release making him see stars.

His fingers didn't stop their work, even when blinding light obliterated everything in his brain. After a few frantic strokes, his thumb grazing over her clitoris in time with the finger edging in and out, she went rigid, head falling onto his shoulder as her body convulsed around him in slow, sweet undulations that had his cock pulsing in renewed release. With nothing short of reverence, Gage rode out the orgasm with her until the last delightful ripple.

"You are a fucking goddess," he whispered.

"Gage," she said, her palm falling to stop the slow movements of his. "Too much."

His tongue would not be. He had the urge to drop to his knees, revel in the delightful mess he'd made. But such urges would have to wait for when he could take his time and enjoy it, when they were in private with no fear of interruption.

Instead, Gage dropped her skirts and banded his arm about her waist to draw her close. He felt sticky and damp in his trousers, but not even that could take away from the exquisite weight of her in his arms, sated and boneless.

"This is madness," she whispered after a beat, still breathless.

"What is?"

"This thing between us, admit it," she told him. "Have you ever felt anything like it with anyone else?" She shook her head, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. "It's like I can't control myself when I'm around you. Earlier… with the glove. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. Is that normal?"

"No. I've never experienced anything like this either."

She turned to face him, her lovely face flush with the afterglow of her release. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

He didn't have an answer that made sense. They were attracted to each other, but even attraction didn't always translate into explosive pleasure for all couples. The truth was they connected in a way that made any physical touch between them something more… something much too real. Something that felt right . But the rightness of what was growing between them was a perilous slope. Gage knew that as well as he knew his own weaknesses when it came to gambling. Because this was him gambling with so much more than just his body.

She did not want marriage or a husband. She fiercely valued her independence. He planned to return to Scotland. Their agreement was supposed to be a pleasurable interlude, but they hadn't even done the full deed, and already it was more complicated than he'd ever expected it to be. Evangeline Raine was fast becoming a delectable addiction.

One that might have the power to ruin him.