Should she ask him to? No. First, she wanted to find out what else he could do to her body. The man was a virtuoso, and she was his instrument. His finger kept up its gentle assault at her core and when another of his fingers slipped inside of her, she lifted her hips from the desk and wrapped her legs tightly around his hips. Gently, he settled her back atop the wooden surface while his thumb continued to rub her in circles and his dexterous finger continued to slide in and out of her wet heat.
His mouth moved to her ear. “I want you to come,” he whispered. They were beyond names now. Beyond caring what either had done or said. All that mattered was the insistent throb between her legs and the ache that was about to explode within her.
Another moment and…explode it did. She shattered into a thousand pieces, her cry hitching in her throat. His mouth returned to swallow it and his tongue ravaged her mouth again. “God, yes,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re every bit as passionate as I knew you would be.”
Her breathing came in hot, heavy pants. She couldn’t talk, could barely think as she settled back to Earth from the place she’d shot to among the stars.
He pulled his hands away and trailed kisses along her cheek.
She looked at him, her chest still heaving, nearly bereft. What had he just done to her? And why had he stopped there?
“I’m not…innocent,” she said, her breathing coming in hard pants. She hadn’t meant it to sound like a confession, but she feared that it had.
He pressed his forehead against hers and his sly smile returned. “That may be, sweetheart,” he said. “But I don’t bed women whose names I don’t know.”
He stepped away from her, leaving her stunned, and she barely had time to tug her bodice back into place over her chest before he opened the door to his room and glanced outside.
“All clear,” he announced, before scooping her up off the desk and setting her gently into the hallway. He dropped a kiss atop her head before saying. “If you want more, you’re going to have to tell me your real name.”
And then that dastardly blackguard had the unmitigated gall to shut his bedchamber door in her face.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beau hadn’t been listening to a word his friends said. At present they were in Clayton’s study and Beau was staring out the window across the rainy meadow, thinking about how badly he had wanted to make love to Marianne last night.
He could think about little else but their unexpected encounter. Actually,unexpecteddidn’t cover it by half, but he could conjure no better word at the moment. The events of the entire evening had been unexpected, from his reading the letter from the Home Office, to her overhearing Clayton—and what had happened after that had beenbeyondunexpected. He couldn’t think about it without getting hard. Damn. He was hard right now. He had to get himself together.
He still didn’t know why the hell he had done what he’d done last night. Clearly the woman had been ready and willing to go to bed with him, and God knew it had been an age since he’d taken a woman to bed, let alone someone he wanted as much as he’d wanted Marianne last night. But something about the entire thing felt…wrong.
He’d woken up this morning and realized what it was. Guilt. He felt guilt. Actual, true, guilt. And for someone who lied for a living, guilt wasn’t an emotion with which he was terribly familiar.
Marianne was right. He had been a damn hypocrite last night. He’d been angry and accusatory toward her when he’d been guilty of the exact same things he’d accused her of: lying about one’s identity and having secrets. She’d pointed it out to him, and he’d been confronted with his own inconsistency, and behavior reminiscent of a horse’s arse. He should have kept his hands off her entirely last night. He hadn’t been able to.
It had been a damn miracle that he’d stopped when he had. But he’d opened his eyes at one point to see her freckles and her gorgeous face and had been struck with that damned guilt. He had no right to take advantage of her. She might be lying to him, but he was lying to her, too.
He’d never made love to a woman under false pretenses, and he wasn’t about to begin now. True, he’d seduced them, kissed them, got them to make promises, and pleasured them. But he could honestly say he’d never taken a woman to his bed who didn’t know who he truly was. Something about doing so felt absolutely wrong to him.
He wasn’t about to make that mistake with Marianne. She wasn’t some lonely politician’s wife he was attempting to charm in order to probe her for information. He might not know her real name, but he knew he had real feelings for the feisty redhead. Different from any he’d felt during a game like this. He was attracted to her. He was intrigued by her. But most importantly, helikedher, and he truly believed she was beginning to like him. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to take advantage of that.
The look on her face when he’d set her into the hall had been priceless. A smile curled his lips. He would never forget that look. But then he winced. Would she ever forgive him?
“You’re still in, Bell?” Worthington’s question finally pulled Beau from his thoughts.
He turned from the window with a start to face his friends. “What was that?”
“Good God, man. You aren’t paying attention at all. I asked if you’re still in. No one’s discovered you’re not a real valet, correct?” Worth repeated.
How to answer that. Blast it. Should he tell his friends that one Marianne Notley (or whoever she really was) had discovered he wasn’t who he said he was? Although that alone didn’t necessarily disqualify him from the game. The debutantes were the ones who mustn’t learn they weren’t servants—and even then, there was a bit of uncertainty when it came to that. Worth’s former flame had found him in the stables, and for some reason (which Worth had declined to reveal) she was keeping quiet as to his identity.
Beau was entitled to a similar arrangement if he could secure Marianne’s silence on the matter. And there was the rub. He hadn’t seen her since last night, and at the time they had parted, she’d been far from happy with him. For all he knew, she’d spent the rest of the evening and this morning telling everyone who’d listen that he wasn’t who he said he was. He’d have no way of knowing if she’d kept his secret until he had a chance to speak to her again, which he intended to do at his earliest opportunity.
He decided to give his friends the most honest answer he could at the moment. “I believe that is correct.”
Kendall arched a brow. “Youbelieveit’s correct?”
“That’s right,” Beau replied, clasping his wrist behind his back and rocking on his heels.
“Sounds like someone recognized you,” Worth said next, a positively leering grin on his face.
