By the Devil, she is made to unman a saint: onyx hair, moon-pale skin, curves that beg a man’s hands to learn them by rote…
She watched him silently, chest heaving, hands around his neck. The proximity of her body was intoxicating. Jeremy wondered if his thundering heart could be felt. That would make her confident, knowing the power she held over him. He was not sure he wanted her to be too confident, though. Fierce enough to be a challenge but submissive when he wished it.
“Your proposal was very daring. Most women regard the brushing of hands in public as grounds for potential scandal. Holding a gaze for too long is seen as intimacy. Your boldness is refreshing.”
Still, she remained silent, watching him, biting her lip, color flaring in her cheeks. Never had he wanted to kiss a pair of lips more. The temptation was almost overwhelming. He reached the chaise and knelt, carefully laying her down.
“Allow me to tend to you,” he said, laying his hands on her left ankle.
He felt the muscles of her calf tense under his probing fingers. Gently, he felt for the nature of the injury.
“I fence and play many sports. One learns to read the messages of the body. I think a minor sprain is all you have suffered.”
She nodded mutely. He did not take away his hands but caressed her ankle, allowing his fingertips to drift up her calf, waiting for her to draw her leg away, to give a sign that she did not want to give so much.
She did not.
Eyes locked on his, she lay with her leg outstretched as he caressed her.
“Your notion of games was very… attractive. And imaginative. I must say, I certainly look forward to exploring some of yourideas...”
He lifted her feet so that he could sit at the end of the chaise, resting her soles on his lap. He casually unlaced one of her shoes, removing it gently and tossing it aside. She pursed her lips. He caught the hint of movement under the mask as of a raised eyebrow. Still, she did not speak, and he found her silence maddeningly sensuous.
He eased off her other shoe too, set it aside, and worked his thumb into the arch of her stockinged foot. Tension unwound from her shoulders by degrees; her lashes lowered, teeth worrying her lip. When she clutched a cushion to her chest, he plucked it away and tossed it behind him. He leaned over her, hands to either side of where her head rested on the cushioned arm of the chaise.
Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, savoring the decadent thrill of first contact.
Her lips were warm, soft—hesitant in a way he hadn’t expected. That hesitation was crumbling quickly, replaced by a hunger that rivaled his own.
As they kissed, his hand slipped into his pocket and emerged with the gleam of metal. Without warning, the cool snap of a shackle encircled her left wrist. He leaned back, fastening the other about his own right wrist. Her eyes widened as she stared at the restraint.
“When you wrote of wanting to be bound, each of us captive to the other’s pleasure, I found I could think of little else,” he rasped, voice low, threaded with a dangerous sort of amusement. “I haven’t slept in a week. And when I did… the dreams were—”
Mademoiselle de Rouvroy immediately snatched her raven mask away. Jeremy’s smile fell, and he found himself looking at a familiar face.
“You are not... cannot be. You are... Good God. I know you! You are—”
“Harriet Tisdale!” she blurted. “I'm sorry I did not speak up as soon as you entered the room! I do not know what I was thinking. I did not intend to mislead you, Your Grace! Well, I did, but I... I...” she stammered, face bright red and eyes filling with panicked tears.
“I know your brother! Christ, I have been to your house. Last time I saw you, you were just a girl!”
She hid her face in her hands. “It was my debut. Oh, this is such a mess! I have been a fool!”
Jeremy had tried to stand but had forgotten the shackle. It pulled Harriet's arm up, hauling her half upright.
“I'm sorry,” he muttered hastily, “I will unlock these and then... damnation, if Ralph finds out about this, he will call me out! I have no desire to kill my oldest friend or be killed.”
He fumbled in his coat pocket, searching for the key but not finding it. Awkwardly, he tried the other pocket, reaching across his body to do so.
“Is he here?” he asked, trying to distract from the embarrassing situation.
“No, he's in Bristol on business and then taking ship somewhere. I do not know where,” Harriet murmured.
He exhaled briskly. “Thank the lord above. It will be Calais in all likelihood, then Paris. He should be isolated from any gossip. He has a fearsome temper when roused, and nothing more certain to rouse him than his sister being...”
“Being… what?” Harriet put in slowly.
Jeremy stopped his frantic searching at the tone of her voice. It had been...anticipating? Under the panic of discovering who she really was, Jeremy could feel the same desire that had governed him just a few moments ago. If anything, that desire had just intensified. He remembered Harriet as a pretty debutante, but he had paid her little mind then.
