Page 15 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)

CHAPTER 14

S he was a delight. Rochester could not deny that. And if he weren’t careful, he’d find it difficult to deny Evelyn Markham anything.

After she had climbed out of that window, she’d done nothing but argue with him about their destination. He’d grown accustomed to her input, so when she didn’t complain about the disguise or try to dissuade him from dragging her to a men’s boxing club, he didn’t know whether to be pleasantly surprised or disappointed that she hadn’t debated the sanity of it. She climbed into a coach, dressed in his clothes and one of his favorite waistcoats, then sparred with him, daringly confessing that she thought him a better lover than Casanova. Or at least a better kisser. Except he hadn’t truly kissed her, had he?

He smiled to himself—a cat’s smile, complete with yellow canary feathers sticking out of its mouth.

He reached across the seats, pulled on her hood, practically covering her face, then left her there while he made his case with the steward at the side door.

Avoiding the lobby where men joined in drinks and friendly games of cards, Rochester led Evelyn up the narrow back staircase. It was not lavish. Strong had saved every inch of the building for sparring rings, a full gymnasium, a men’s club out front, and, best of all, balconies with private rooms for viewing games from above. This is where he took Evelyn.

Wearing his boots, which were obviously too big, she nearly tripped over the last step.

“We’re finished with the stairs but keep the hood on.” They made their way down a hallway and into a private room with an indoor balcony. After he shut the door, he turned to her. “Now, you may remove it.” He helped her shrug out of the gray wool cape that swallowed her whole and draped as far as the floor.

She brushed her hair back off her forehead and pulled the pins out because they were no longer doing their job. Then she shook the long tresses in a waterfall of silk butterscotch brandy. She took a cleansing breath. “I thought the whole building would smell of sweat.”

“We’re two stories above the ring. Like tiers at the theater, there are rooms underneath us. Some for gaming, some for billiards, and some for relaxation. Like this one.” He smoothed out his lips, drinking her in. The clothes may not have fit, but they did outline her legs enough to captivate, and he knew the shirt would freely fall open without the cravat to hold it in place.

“Remind me why you had to be here?” While she talked, she strolled the room. It was the size of a small parlor with a table and chairs for gaming, a bar with spirits, and this one had a sofa. His favorite had a billiard table, but he wanted her to feel comfortable.

“I promised a good friend I’d be present for the bout. If I miss it, he’ll know and ask questions I’m unwilling to answer, which I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”

“Will he look for you?”

“No, I sent word with the doorman that I’m here.”

“If I guess who it is, will you tell me?”

“No.”

“Rochester,” she exclaimed.

“I keep my friend’s secrets, Miss Markham. That includes yours.”

“What harm is there in knowing?”

“Because the next time you see him, you’re liable to say something that will get me in all manner of trouble.”

“Like the pebble in your shoe?” She smiled eagerly, sat on the sofa, and yanked off the clunky boots. She pulled the paper from the toes and then shook both boots upside down. The ringing clatter of a coin dropping on the floor got his attention, and he watched it rolling on its side for a second, then warbling into a circle before chiming flat.

And there it was, his whole existence laid out in a shilling on the floor.

She scrambled to pick it up. “Aha! Now I have something to wager with.”

“Darling, you have many assets to wager with. But that one is worth a great deal to me.” Palm up, he waved his fingers toward himself.

“It is mine now.” She held it to her breast, and he had to admit that she might look better in his waistcoat than he did.

“When I say it will be a pleasure to take it from you, I mean it with all my heart.” He pressed his mouth into a straight line. He couldn’t be more serious. He’d grown quite accustomed to that damn shilling in his shoe, so when she ventured toward the open balcony, his heart stuttered. And when she leaned over it with her hand out, the coin pinched between her fingers, his stomach dropped, but not because of the shilling. It was the sight of her recklessly leaning over the balcony.

“Evelyn, Goose,” he soothed. “Be careful, and back away from the railing.”

She chuckled, closing her fist around the coin, turning her back to the solid rail edge. He practically dove forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him. Holding her too hard.

“You want it that badly, do you?”

His breath labored in competition with his driving pulse. “I’m sorry.” He let her go. “I clearly overreacted.” He suddenly felt embarrassed, his face burned.

She pulled back, perplexed, still holding the shilling to her breast. “You’re frightened, shivering with fear. What is it?” She took his sweating hand, and he angled his face away, closing his eyes, concentrating on his next breath. If she weren’t there, he would have bent over at the waist, held his knees, and sucked in oxygen until his head cleared.

“It’s nothing. I didn’t want to see you stumble over those breeches and fall over the balcony.”

She looked down at her stockinged feet. “That’s not it. You’re thinking of your mother’s fall, aren’t you?” She held his hand to her cheek. “It’s all right. I understand. But the balcony rail is solid, and it’s too high for me to tumble over.”

“Yes, but not the trellis that broke under your feet.” The memory was too fresh.

“This isn’t a trellis.”

“And that’s not your shilling.” He felt his anxiety wane. He shook his head, taking in deep breaths, disgusted with himself; he closed his eyes. “It’s not your fault. Keep it.” He walked to the balcony edge. He had never feared this place before. He’d leaned over the edge countless times, enjoying a match, roaring with the crowd, drinking, and gambling in this very room. But he couldn’t stand seeing her in peril. Not that this qualified.

What the hell was he doing?

He watched the floor below as Darrington stepped into the ring. He banged his hand on the outside balcony wall. Then turned to see her watching him. “Come here. Let me show you.” He spoke softly.

She measured her steps carefully, walking toward him, reaching out when she got close enough. He grabbed her hand, pinning it under his arm as if they were stepping out to dance.

“Do you want the shilling back?” Her voice shook, her eyes shone with genuine concern.

He smiled at her and shook his head. “No. We’ll deal with it later.” When she kept watching his profile, he said, “I’m alright, Evelyn. Truly. You just scared me, and not many can do that, so consider yourself remarkable.”

“I am, aren’t I?” She teased him.

“Very much.” He leaned in, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

The boxing ring pulled her attention, and he could tell she was cautious not to lean over the edge, although he could sense her enthusiasm. “That’s Hugo Darrington,” she said, smacking her left palm against the ledge excitedly.

The clang of a gong sounded, and he kept a close eye on her for an appalled or womanly reaction like fainting, although he couldn’t imagine that from her. Punches were thrown, grunts echoed in the distance, and dust danced in the light of the gas lamps.

He gave her hand a little squeeze. “We haven’t spoken about your plan in days.”

“Must we, now? Darrington just landed a hefty cuff to the other man’s jaw.” She turned to him. “Do you really like this?”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t mind it, I suppose, but it seems silly to put oneself in the way of broken bones and crooked noses.”

“These chaps play with rules that keep them fairly safe. They fight for the sport like I play billiards for sport. Perhaps like you vex me for sport.”

“That’s not a sport, you fool.”

“And there you are again calling me a fool, Miss Markham. I swear to you that I pulled very high marks in school.”

“I never said you weren’t smart.” She smiled brightly like she’d won a round. He almost heard the winning herald of the gong.

Without a trace of frustration, he purposely took on a casual tone. “Tell me again why you refuse to consider this baron?”

She pulled her hand from his, turning sideways. He faced her, resting an elbow on the balcony while she stared at him as if he were daft.

“Must I say it?”

“Yes.” He nodded for emphasis, needing to hear the truth from her luscious lips.

“Because he’s not you. Don’t you know that?”

He did. Or he thought he did. A rush of heat and pleasure flooded his veins. “Are you saying you have tender feelings for me?”

When she shook her head, his heart skipped. “No. I am saying I have more than tender feelings for you.” She held his gaze without a hint of guile.

Although he had suspected it, he never allowed himself to believe it. He stared at her, stunned by her honesty.

“So now you know all my secrets. And Rochester, I do hope our friendship doesn’t suffer for that truth. I am not requesting an account of your tender regard, but mine has been set for some time.”

He captured her wrist and pulled her away from the view below and back into the room where they would not be visible. His palms felt warm against her flushed cheeks, and he brought his mouth down hard on hers, feverishly crushing her lips to his while desire answered the call.

He’d wanted this for so long. Good sense had kept him in check, but his heart had been damaged by that shilling, by midnight draughts, by a masquerade that neither of them cared to join when each other’s company was far more enticing. He understood the calamity of this brazen exchange, but right now, he could only think of her sweet tongue in his mouth.

He pulled back. Her eyes were owlish, her gaze sobering. When he opened his mouth to apologize, she slid her hands around his neck, gripped the edge of his hair, and brought him back into sweet contact. Her tentative kisses belied the little gasps hinting at the ardor beneath. He licked her lips, sucking at the plump bottom one, feeling her inexperience and her desire all at once. It was sweet, decadent, brazenly forbidden, and he wanted it all. She clung to him as he placed feathery kisses along her jaw.

“Tell me what to do,” she pleaded, an aching whisper that made his heart beat madly.

“Oh, Goose, just kiss me back. That’s all I require from you but not all I want. You can be sure of that.”

She lifted her fluttering gaze to his, her beautiful green eyes dark with passion, and looked at his mouth as if she were as starved for him as he was for her. She stretched to meet his mouth, parting her lips over his. She copied the dance, a nip, a lick, and when she tasted his bottom lip, he growled, opening his mouth over hers, coaxing her with his tongue. His arms held her tight against him, an unbreathable space between them, her breasts soft against his chest. She tasted like euphoria and freedom, redemption, and peace.

The kiss turned more erotic as she mingled his tongue with hers, an exploding sensation building from need and desire. He wanted to fill her. He wanted it so badly.

He released her, his fingers in the knot of the cravat. “Damn me for tying this right perfect.”

She looked at his hands, making a mockery of the knots. “Would you like some help?” She teased him, and his frustration fell away to something more sobering as if his oxygen-starved brain finally caught up with his gentlemanly good sense.

With his index finger hooked in the folds of knotted silk, he sighed. “I can’t,” he said. “We can’t.”

She pulled his hands away. “You don’t speak for me.” She studied his face. “I can.” With that, she loosened the double knot, slipping the silk through the loops until both her hands worked it free, holding out the ends. All that was left were the two buttons that barely held the shirt together.

With his hands at the back of her head, he pulled her in, kissing her fiercely, tearing away all defenses with a drugging kiss, the kind that says now, and yes, and everything. He popped the two shirt buttons free so his palms could spread the fabric wide over her shoulders before he realized the waistcoat was in the way. But oh, her skin was so soft. He enfolded her against him, kissing her neck, and every time he sucked her skin, she moaned.

He wanted to hear her moaning under him, her soft whimpers as he nipped and teased her nipples. He cupped her buttocks, driving her hips into contact with his erection. No amount of fabric could deny his need, and he seized a pleasurable moment rubbing himself against her.

And then the little minx did something that razed him, undid all the promises he’d made to himself. She traced her finger down his chest, his stomach, right over the ridge of his cock. He pressed her hand to it, showing her the rhythm and cursing his clothes. A husky moan came from his throat, and he could have spilled it all right there.

She bit her lip and said, “I think I did something right.”

“Too right, my love.” His arms went about her shoulders while he caught his breath and willed his cock under control.

An arm under her knees, he swooped her up and laid her on the sofa. With one snap, he whipped the cravat from her neck and made quick work at the buttons of her waistcoat. With the fabric spread wide, he stepped back. The vee opened well below her breasts. He’d seen the soft swells above her neckline, but he’d never seen this. The edge of the white shirt stopped short of her nipples, and the dusky points showed through the fine cloth.

“No stays?”

She grinned. “Are you complaining?”

“God, no.”

When Rochester laid her down, Evelyn lost all wisdom.

She abandoned her conscience for his drugging kisses. She absorbed his growling, uncontrolled moans when she touched him. For a moment, his need was in her hands, quite literally, and she discovered a power she didn’t know she had. It made her bold. It made her wish to explore more of him.

He leaned a knee on the sofa beside her hip and bent his head, kissing her throat and leaving a wet chill in his wake. A wayward curl of dark hair fell across his forehead, and she smoothed it back.

“You’re so perfectly put together, and then there’s this reckless hair, like its purpose is a rebellion against your fastidiousness.”

“Is that good?” He kissed her nose.

She nodded.

He held her gaze, licking his lips. His throat convulsed, and she smiled inwardly that she could create such intense feelings in him.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” He breathed hard like he’d been running a race.

“What do you want to do with me?”

“I want to lose myself. I want to make love to you right here.”

“Is it all right that I wish the same?” She smoothed that unruly curl again. “Dalton Rochester, I love you. I have for a long time.”

He opened his mouth, but she placed a finger against his words.

“I don’t hold you to emotions you don’t have. It doesn’t matter. All I want is a week of not thinking about every proper thing. I don’t want to be a part of someone else’s plans. I just want to be me for a while, and you’re the only person I feel safe enough to try.”

With his arms braced on either side of her, he bent his head and kissed her softly, with tenderness and control. She preferred him out of control, like his wild hair. His arms were solid, bunched muscle under her palms, and she wanted to pull off his shirt. She loosened the cravat at his throat, and he took it from her and finished it. He sat back and removed his waistcoat and then pulled his shirt over his head while she watched intently.

His body was a masterpiece; the sight made her mouth water. She still lay there with his shirt pulled wide, the waistcoat open, and the edge of the lawn fabric barely covering her breasts. Holding the fabric between her fingers, she gave a stirring look and pulled one side down until her nipple popped free. His beautiful eyes laid her to waste, like he dared not touch her, but he’d certainly take his fill.

He subtly shook his head. “Why? Why for me?”

“Because I’m yours, Rochester. And I don’t want to be anyone else’s.”

“I can’t finish this.”

“You better.” She began unbuttoning the fall of his trousers. But he held off her hand, giving her a lazy lift of his brows.

He pulled the tail of her shirt from her breeches, then slid his warm hands up her torso. She would have offered to completely undress, but then his fingers grazed her nipples, and she couldn’t speak. He kissed her belly, he nipped her ribs, and then he closed his mouth over the peak of one nipple, drawing it in like he’d done to her neck, only this was different. His tongue was a torment of pleasure, and his teeth made her wild with wanting. She wanted to part her legs; she wanted him there. As she struggled between moans, he unbuttoned her breeches and pulled them free of her legs, kissing his way back down, parting her thighs, he licked the center of her, and she gasped, wanting more of the same, the exquisite torture of his tongue inside her. She had no idea that this erotic pleasure existed between a man and a woman.

Was it right? She faltered, reaching down, cupping his cheeks, and bringing his mouth back to her. He lay between her thighs, his trousers still on, pressing against her. She reached for the buttons again, and this time, he let her do it. And when she reached to stroke him, he felt like silk. Hard, hot silk. Groaning sounds of pleasure against her lips, he moved against her hand, and her hips raised to meet his.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not that way. Let me show you how.” He placed his hand over hers and taught her how to run her thumb up the middle to caress the head of his erection. Then he let her go, and she explored him with her hands while she measured the good of it by his uncontrolled growls.

His hands were between her thighs. She felt wet and on fire, thrusting up to meet his fingers that played the same game that his tongue had. He lay over her, kissing her deeply, and she continued stroking him. He sat back, held her hand to his shaft, and with the other, he pleasured the very core of her until she was panting and writhing. As he held her hand against him, she reached between her legs, holding his hand there, while his fingers were deep inside her until she shuddered with a quaking wave of pure ecstasy. He rested with her until it subsided, and then she began stroking him again, now with both hands. His guttural sounds so contentedly loud in her ears made her wonder if they echoed in this place, and then he reached behind him, grabbed a shirt, and held it over her hands.

She was in awe of the way he so freely gave up himself without a stitch of embarrassment. There was great trust in this intimacy they had shared, and it felt like it belonged to only them. His cock pulsated against her fingers, a steady beat that felt familiar, like her heart. And there was warm, sticky messiness, too, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. As his face relaxed and he breathed out a long sigh, he gazed down at her, a sheepish grin across his handsome face.

“Don’t move. I’ve got this.” He wiped her hands before he wiped himself, then went to the basin, poured water over a bar towel, and gently washed her hands, smiling into her eyes the entire time. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at that ruby waistcoat quite the same again.”