Page 17 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)
CHAPTER 17
T hree days later, Thomas took Agatha’s hand, helping her step gracefully from the carriage. The vibrant sounds of laughter and the distant strains of the orchestra echoed from Countess Rafferty’s townhouse. Arriving just minutes before midnight, they avoided the receiving lines, ensuring a more discreet entrance. Agatha looked breathtaking, her light blue ballgown clinging to her figure in a way that made her seem almost ethereal. The gown shimmered under the moonlight, and the soft curls of her dark blonde wig framed her face, enhancing her already striking beauty. He watched as she lifted her fingers to the pearl necklace at her throat, remembering her shock when he’d gifted it to her yesterday—and how adamantly she’d insisted on returning the necklace and earbobs after the ball.
“Are you ready?”
Agatha nodded, her cheeks faintly flushed. “I wish Ronald were here. He said he always wanted to attend a ball.”
This was a sentiment Thomas heard often; however, his brother would change his mind the moment it was time to leave. “We will bring him along next time.”
Her eyes brightened, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Will there be a next time?”
Thomas hesitated, surprised by the sharp realization that he wanted to take her to all the places she longed to see. “Why not? I enjoy spending time with you.”
That awareness cut through him like a honeyed blade. He couldn’t quite understand why, but the desire was there to know what made her happy, sad, or worried, undeniable and unsettling. Agatha lowered her lashes, hiding her thoughts. He extended his arm, and she delicately placed her gloved fingers on his forearm. Together, they walked toward the countess’s townhouse.
For the last days, their lessons had been devoted to perfecting her grace, refining her accent, learning the subtle art of flirtation, and dancing the waltz. Afterward, they would drink together, discussing the wicked possibilities of intimacyandthe importance of sexual needs and compatibility. Though she could not have the choice to pick her lover, Agatha was undeniably curious, quick-witted, and so innately sensual that she often stole his reasoning. She had also become more forthright in her questions, confidently setting boundaries.
There would be no flogging, whipping, or spanking. She would not tolerate a ginger root inserted anywhere. She would not act like a governess chased and ravished by the master. She would permit forced pleasure. She would allow all manner of sexual positions.
The glint of curiosity in her eyes as they spoke had made him harder than a mere physical touch ever could. They had covered countless topics, yet her gaze still held a sweet innocence that tugged at something deep inside him.
Agatha had become dangerously good at everything, often making him lean into her allure before snapping back when she gleefully exclaimed that she’d seduced him with her newfound wiles. When her mock frustration surfaced at failing to captivate him, she’d flutter her lashes comically, and he’d laugh despite himself.
She had a sharp mind for cards, too, and the revelation that her father had taught her, using those moments to practice his card-sharp techniques, had saddened her. Agatha had real talent—she could likely win a fortune if she played at the gambling dens. But he’d seen the deep disgust in her eyes when she spoke of those places, and he understood. If it weren’t for the predatory nature of the gambling halls, her father might not have spiraled into such dishonor, unable to tear himself from their grasp.
“Lord Radbourne and Lady Belladonna,” the butler announced as they entered.
Agatha made a small, startled sound. “You gave me a name that’s a deadly flower.”
A ripple went through the crowd, and Thomas watched the visible reaction of many to her beauty. Covetous male eyes watched her all around the room, and she seemed oblivious to all.
“Goodness ... this home is magnificent,” she whispered, awe lacing her voice.
The chandeliers above, adorned with hundreds of glowing candles, bathed the ballroom in a warm, golden light. Thomas knew Agatha must find it all excessive. He imagined that affording even a few candles for the year had been a struggle for her family. They strolled leisurely around the fringes of the ballroom, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
“Quite a few people seem to be staring at you, their alarm and curiosity barely concealed behind their fans,” Agatha said.
Thomas chuckled. “It has been a few years since I last attended a society ball.”
“Why the absence?”
“Many assume that a bachelor’s presence at these events signals he’s ready to marry. I am not interested in the nonsense that comes with their assumption.” His eyes landed on his good friend Oliver, the Marquess of Ambrose, and his wife Lily. Thomas guided Agatha toward them, noting the subtle tension in her posture. Only because he had spent so many hours observing her did he catch the fleeting moments of nervousness. To others, she was the picture of cool elegance, an untouchable beauty with a quiet air of hauteur.
“Thomas,” Lily said warmly, her face lighting up with a smile as they approached. “It has been too long.”
He did not mention that he saw her only a few weeks ago. “Lady Ambrose,” Thomas said, bowing over her hand with a practiced charm. “You grow more beautiful with every meeting.”
Her golden-brown eyes sparkled with humor. “You are ever the charmer.”
Thomas turned to Agatha. “Allow me to present my friend, Lady Belladonna. Agatha, this is Lily, the Countess of Ambrose, and Oliver, the Marquess of Ambrose.”
“Oh, how beautiful you are,” Lily exclaimed, her eyes widening in admiration. “I would love to design and make a gown for you.”
“You sew?” Agatha asked.
Oliver stiffened, his blue eyes flicking to Agatha in warning. A brief flash of discomfort passed across Lily’s face. She perhaps thought Agatha would judge her for being a seamstress, a part of her past that society did not easily forget, even if she had married one of London’s most eligible bachelors.
“I do,” Lily said, her tone carefully measured. “Though I am a marchioness, it is a passion of mine. I am overseeing the opening of an exclusive boutique that ladies will shop from only by invitation. We’re creating gowns more beautiful than those in Paris.”
Agatha’s smile bloomed, transforming her poised beauty into warm radiance. “That’s wonderful. I sew, but I’m not as talented as my sister, Maggie. She dreams of becoming a premier modiste.”
Lily’s eyes lit up. “You sew ... and make clothes for others?”
“Yes,” Agatha said with an eager nod. “But I am not skilled enough to rival those gorgeous Parisian gowns.”
“I daresay I shall invite you to model my latest creation. Many will sigh with envy and send me many letters begging for a similar style.”
Thomas exchanged a bemused glance with Oliver, watching their women engage in a lively discussion about fashion. He stiffened slightly. She’s not my damn woman .
Still, as he observed Agatha’s ease and joy in conversing with Lily, he felt inexplicable satisfaction even as Thomas rejected the reason—Agatha’s contentment.
Agatha never imagined she would have such fun at a ton ball. The room was elegant, aglow with hundreds of candles suspended from crystal chandeliers. A twenty-piece orchestra filled the air with music, mingling with laughter, light chatter, and the delicate fragrance of ladies’ perfumes. She felt a thrill of success throughout the night. Thomas introduced her to several people, and though some recognized her name as a fabrication, they were too polite to ask. It titillated Agatha to know she didn’t belong, yet they couldn’t tell, or this notion of propriety prevented them from prying. Some lifted their fans and whispered she was a mistress, and only Lord Radbourne would dare. Others whispered she was a distant cousin, and some said she was an actress.
She laughedandcharmed, and many seemed to fall under her spell. Still, it was exhausting, for the only people she could be her true self around were Thomas, Lily, and her husband Oliver. The love and tenderness in the marquess’s gaze as he looked at his wife nearly made Agatha blush. That tender yearning on Lily’s facewhenever she stared at her husband brought a hot lump to Agatha’s throat. It was a rare and beautiful thing to witness. She had been careful to avoid the main floor of the pleasure palace, but she recognized a few gentlemen in attendance tonight. One particular man caught her attention, for Ellen often spoke about him, wishing he would ask her to be his mistress.
Thomas handed her a glass of champagne. “What is that look on your face?”
Agatha discreetly lifted her chin to a couple dancing. “Is … is that not Lord Eglinton?”
“It is.”
“And his partner ... is that his wife?”
“That is indeed Lady Eglinton.”
Shock sliced through Agatha. “He visits Aphrodite often and always asks for Lady Hettie or Lady Ellen.”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass. “Are you not shocked?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s natural for a man to keep a mistress and have several lovers.”
Agatha stared at him as if he had grown two heads. “There is nothing natural about dishonor,” she said quietly. “You may think me na?ve, but a man and a woman make a vow—a promise before God when they marry. A promise of faithfulness, loyalty, and love. If a man breaks that, he’s a dishonorable bounder who deserves to rot. I cannot fathom the hypocrisy of your society—to look down their noses at others while holding such a view.”
“You’re right,” he said with soft intensity. “That’s why I’ve always said I’ll never marry.”
A nameless agitation rushed through her body. When he explained why he avoided balls, she assumed he was not ready. “You … you don’t plan to marry? Even years from now?”
A cynical look entered his gaze. “I can’t imagine having just one cunny for the rest of my life, nor am I inclined to change my mind because of this mystical love that changed my friends’ opinion on the matter. So, no, I will not be marrying. I have others who will inherit.”
He was such a paradox. Agatha knew Thomas had a sense of honor, yet he was a libertine. She realized that his honor kept him from marriage—so he wouldn’t break his vows. A sharp ache bloomed in her chest. She took a slow, deep breath to steady herself against the emotions flooding her.
This ache, this piercing awareness that felt trapped beneath her skin, the wild flutters in her belly, and the maddening desire to walk into his arms and rest her head against his chest were aggravating reactions to this man. Whatever she felt would never be mutual, and she despised how helpless she felt, tumbling into something so unfamiliar, something she couldn’t control.
The orchestra struck up, violins filling the room with an alluring melody.
“Will you dance with me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He led her to the dance floor, guiding her into position. Agatha could feel the eyes of the guests on them, but the moment his arms wrapped around her, all anxiety melted away. Her skin felt sensitized, her heart pounding as if in rhythm with the music. She could even feel the warmth of her breath trembling over her lips.
As the sensual strains of the waltz enveloped them, they began to move. Their bodies flowed together effortlessly, each step imbued with grace andquiet elegance. The earl’s intensity was almost unnerving. Neither of them spoke, and Agatha was grateful for the silence—it allowed the tension between them to stretch, simmer, and deepen with every movement of the dance.
Agatha was more acutely aware of herself than ever before. Since the night he had teased and tormented her until she lost count of her climaxes, there had been no further carnal intimacy between them. Instead, over the past few days, he focused on refining her speech, how she walked, and how to subtly tease a man. A simple brush of her fingers along the lapels of a jacket, a coy smile beneath lowered lashes, leaning just close enough to tempt and then pulling away when he attempted a discreet touch—all designed to ignite desire while holding it just out of reach.
Thomas had taught her that most of the art of seductioninvolved denial of need, stoking and building hunger until it was unbearable.
Agatha wanted more than kisses … and it did not feel as if it was in pursuit of lessons. She wanted Thomas. She wanted to haunt him as he had started to haunt her. Memories of the night her legs were splayed high on his shoulders, her sex opened to his debauchery would sometimes resurface at inappropriate times, catching her off guard and sending her heart racing.
Like now …
“I would like another lesson,” she said.
His mouth hitched into a small smile. “I suspect you have something in mind that you want to practice.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
She could feel a flush creeping up her cheeksandwished she could control her reaction. “You will see once we return to your private apartments at Aphrodite .”
As the final strains of the waltz faded, Thomas guided her off the dance floor. He led her towards the exit, bypassing the crowd.
“Are we not going to bid farewell to Lord and Lady Ambrose?” she asked, surprised by their sudden departure.
“No.”
As they walked outside, his fingers rested at the base of her spine, making her acutely aware of every point where they touched.
Once they were settled in the carriage, Agatha’s pulse quickened as the temptation to crawl into his lap and kiss him simmered just beneath the surface. She longed to feel his mouth on hers, to surrender to her desires. But she resisted, her fingers curling into her dress as she held back.
The ride to the pleasure palace was short, yet it felt interminable. When they arrived, he took her hand and led her through the halls of Aphrodite to his private quarters. The air crackled with expectation. Once inside, he closed the door behind them, the soft click echoing through the room.
He turned to her. “What lesson do you want tonight?”
She stared at him for a long moment, her heart hammering in her chest. Then, with a confidence that surprised even herself, she lifted her chin, met his gaze, and said, “Remove all your clothes … boots ... everything. Until you are naked.”
A flicker of something—desire, amusement, or maybe even challenge—crossed his face. His mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile. Thomas began to unbutton his coat, his movements deliberate, the sound of each button coming undone loud in the charged silence.
Agatha stared as he shrugged off his coat, tossing it aside. Then, with painstaking slowness, he began removing his boots, his eyes never leaving hers. Her gaze traveled over the sharp planes of his body, tracing every movement as he peeled away the layers. He undid his waistcoat, revealing the broad expanse of his chest beneath the fine linen of his shirt.
When his shirt finally joined the pile, her breath hitched. His skin gleamed under the soft light of the room, every ridge of muscle defined and carved in perfection. He held her gaze, waiting to see if she would falter in her demand. But she didn’t.
“Every flick of your tongue should be deliberate, as if you are tasting him, learning him. Let him know you are in control .”
Her friends’ teachings whirled in her thoughts, and she softly said, “Keep going.”
He smirked, a devilish glint in his eyes, before reaching for his trousers. There was no hesitation in his movements, only confidence and an undeniable allure that sent a pulse of heat rushing through her veins.
As he stepped out of the last of his clothing, standing before her completely bare, Agatha’s mouth dried. He was magnificent .
“Should I turn around?” he teased.
“Yes.”
Thomas chuckled but complied. His thighs and calves were thick and powerful, stomach and buttocks lean and delineated with muscle. The raw masculinity of his body was overwhelming, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak or move, only stare. Every inch of him exuded power, control, and an irresistible sensuality. A thick stalk of flesh twitched and increased in size under her stare.
Goodness .
Thomas arched a brow as if daring her to continue with her next command.
At her silence, he drawled. “What now, Agatha?”
“Now I practice what I have learned on you.”
“Oh?”
That sound felt like a purr rasping against her sensitized skin. Her belly tightened. She wanted to practice everything on the earl, not because she wanted to know for future loversbutbecause he would like it, and she wanted to see him come apart for her. It was dangerous, for it pushed her closer to losing a piece of herself to him, a piece she might never regain. Agatha took a steady breath, her desire tightening inside her, and with a soft, sultry smile, she stepped closer to him, fully prepared to take control of the night.