Page 20 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)
Chapter Eleven
“Norgrave will be vexed with us for leaving the masquerade without telling him.”
Tristan silently agreed, but not for the reasons Imogene assumed.
He and Norgrave had often shared a woman or two.
Bending a female to their will and overwhelming her with their passions had been adventurous and extremely satisfying.
He could not summon any regrets about his past, or the countless females with whom he had honed his skills as a lover.
If he had suggested to the marquess that they forget about the wager and slowly introduce Imogene to the carnal delights of taking multiple lovers, he had little doubt that Norgrave would have eagerly amended the terms of their wager.
Even so, Tristan had kept his mouth shut.
He had lied to the man who was almost a brother to him, and he would continue to do so.
When it came to Imogene, he had discovered that he was a selfish man.
The thought of Norgrave kissing and touching the lady sitting beside him could provoke him to violence.
Imogene was not one of the nameless and faceless fucks that he and his friend had shared when they had figured out what they could do with their cocks. She was a goddess among women, and she deserved to be worshiped.
He was her devoted acolyte if she would have him.
Imogene had been concerned about abandoning Norgrave, because they had arrived together.
Tristan observed her and his closest friend together, and he noted only friendship in her gaze.
Occasionally, regret flashed across her expressive face, but it occurred when the marquess tried to coax a kiss from her.
In public, she was content to have two gentlemen court her, but there would be only one man in her bed—and that man was him.
Imogene leaned back against her seat and sighed. She had not removed her black half-mask when they had slipped away from Ranelagh Gardens, and he was content to leave the disguise in place so she would not be recognized when they disembarked from the coach.
He kept his hands to himself until they had reached their destination.
“Where are we?” she asked sleepily.
“A quiet place where no one will try to steal you from me,” he said, his voice gruff as he recalled Norgrave’s attempt to pull her into an alcove. He did not want to contemplate what his friend had in mind, when he was filled with his own lusty thoughts.
The coachman opened the door, and he took her hand to help her descend the few steps. Imogene yawned. “Is this your residence?” she asked, squinting at the house that was barely visible in the darkness and lamplight.
“When it suits me,” he said, reluctant to reveal that the house was where he had built his reputation with the notorious balls he had held over the years and the many lovers he had escorted through the front hall and upstairs to one of the bedchambers.
“I inherited the house from my mother. Before her, my grandmother used it as her dowager house. It has a rich history.”
Most of it she would never hear from his lips.
Even in the shadows, the colorful patches on her skirt were visible as he escorted her up the walkway to the front door. He paused to remove the key from his waistcoat, and used his fingers to find the keyhole.
“I am surprised you do not rent the house this time of year,” Imogene said, resting her cheek against his arm.
“Over the years, I have considered it,” Tristan admitted.
He grunted with satisfaction when the lock yielded.
“Most of the furniture belonged to my grandmother. My mother had her bedchamber decorated to her tastes, but she did little else to the house. No one resides here, but the servants visit once a week to keep the floors and furniture clean for when I invite guests.”
Her sudden stillness made him apprehensive. He wondered if she had guessed the reasons why he brought people to this house instead of his private residence. “How often do you entertain guests here?”
Tristan shrugged. “It depends on the year.” He paused. “Norgrave has a key and my blessing to invite whomever he wants.”
“What about you?”
“You are the first guest I have invited here in over a year,” he answered truthfully. “I sometimes come here when I need to think. The quiet is soothing, and no one would think to bother me here.”
She stepped into the house, and wrinkled her nose at the slight staleness scenting the air. “Not very recently.”
“No,” he said, shutting the door and turning the key. “I have been too distracted by an enchanting blonde who knocked me off my feet.”
Imogene’s laughter filled the front hall. “How long do you plan to tease me about our first meeting? I cannot believe I was so clumsy!”
Tristan lit a candle behind her before he pulled her into his arms. “You were perfect. I have never been so flattered, even though the dragon caught us together.”
She winced. “You have to cease calling my mother a dragon. She has enough reasons to dislike you.”
“Is it important to you that she likes me?” he asked, untying her half-mask so he could see her face.
“Yes.”
The simplicity of her reply understated how complicated their relationship had become. Nor would it deter him from what he longed to claim.
Picking up the candleholder, he took her hand and led her toward the stairs. “Come with me.”
Hand in hand, they made their way up the stairs. Tristan had lit the candle for her benefit. He had lost count of how many times he had climbed the stairs, only to fall into bed with or without a lover. Abruptly he halted and startled Imogene.
“Is something amiss?” she whispered.
How could he tell her that he had made a mistake? He did not want to lay her on the same mattress where he had bedded so many women in the past.
“For a minute, I lost my way,” he lied. “This way.”
His mother’s bedchamber had the newest furniture, but he avoided the room. He released her hand so he could turn the doorknob of one of the spare bedchambers that had been used for guests. If the servants had been shirking in their weekly duties, he would sack them all.
Fortunately the room was free of noticeable dust and the room smelled faintly of freshly laundered linens. He set the candle down on a table beside the bed and he reached for the woman who often invaded his thoughts when he should have been working.
“Come closer, my lovely and impudent Columbine. Your Harlequin has been hungering for a taste of your honeyed lips,” he growled against her mouth.
Playing along, she rubbed her hips against him. “My husband might protest,” she whispered, tilting her head and offering him her neck.
Norgrave had considered dressing up as Columbine’s husband, but he disliked the notion of being the cuckolded husband to Tristan’s Harlequin. The plotting Pantalone held more appeal, but he had also been deceived.
“If we are careful, no one will ever know about us,” he said, nipping her ear with his teeth. He did not know if he spoke for Harlequin or himself.
Without warning he swept her off her feet and into his arms. Imogen gasped and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. “Harlequin—Tristan!”
“Right on both counts,” he said, teasing her mouth with his. He carried her to the bed and eased her down until her backside settled onto the soft surface. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded.
His hands shook as he removed the red spencer, peeling her slender bared arms from the snug sleeves. Tristan went to work on the buttons of her dress. Proficient at his task, he set about removing layer after layer of clothing and discarding them until she sat in her shift.
Imogene crossed her arms over her breasts, but she had only managed to draw attention to the mounds of flesh. “Are you undressing, too?”
“Aye, my love. Soon,” he promised, lowering himself onto his knees so he was positioned between her legs. His hands slid up her calves to the garters tied above her thighs. He undid the bows, and slowly revealed her pale, shapely legs and bared feet.
Tristan pressed a kiss to the inner portion of her right knee. His mouth lingered and teased, a hint of what he longed to do. “I want to start with the arch of your foot and nibble my way up your body.”
It was obvious she was nervous, and her mouth trembled as she attempted to smile. “Am I allowed to do the same to you?” she asked.
“Only if you wish to see me spill my seed before I have the opportunity to make love to you properly.” Beneath the garish Harlequin costume of triangular patches, his cock had thickened in anticipation.
The patterned fabric concealed his arousal, but once he removed it she would be aware of the power she had over him. “You can torture me later.”
Tristan moved closer and gently pried her arms from her chest. Her nipples poked enticingly through the thin linen, begging for his attention.
Without asking for her permission, his mouth covered one of her breasts.
He suckled her nipple, dampening the fabric while his hands slid higher, lightly caressing her outer thighs until he found her hips.
“Tristan?”
He tugged her closer so he could rub his body against hers. The subtle musk of her arousal was an intoxicating scent that had him salivating for a taste.
“Aye, darling.” The strap slipped free from her shoulder, revealing a glimpse of her rose-colored areola. He nipped and pulled the fabric with his teeth, revealing more until her puckered nipple was exposed.
She started at the initial contact of his tongue curled around the delicate bud and he opened his jaw wider so he could draw more of her flesh into his mouth. Her hands were not gentle when she pulled his head closer, begging him to take more.