Page 12 of Midnight Rendezvous (Sins & Sensibilities #4)

CHAPTER 12

I t was a dreadful, reckless idea.

It was also too late to stop now.

The wind tugged at her borrowed coat as she followed Alexander's carriage through the dusky, quiet streets, her mare trotting lightly behind at a safe distance. The clock had struck past midnight, and any sensible young lady would be tucked in bed, dreaming of bonnets or buttered toast. Not galloping through Mayfair in gentlemen's attire with the sole purpose of tailing a rake to a pleasure palace.

"I am only following him," she muttered through clenched teeth, "because he had a fever last night. And bruises. And a nasty gash on his brow. If he exerts himself, he might collapse. It's purely concern. Friendly concern."

Her horse snorted beneath her as if scoffing at the lie. Penny pressed her lips together and tried very hard to ignore the deep ache twisting in her chest since Alexander had told her—in that perfectly cold, devastating tone—that he was going to have a woman tonight. A lover.

Of course he would have lovers. He was a man, and men were allowed such... indulgences. She, however, had spent the last year pining in silence, growing older and duller while society waited breathlessly for the Duke of Merrick to claim her hand.

And now Alexander would claim someone else's body.

Penny's fingers tightened on the reins. Worse still, some traitorous part of her knew the truth. When he had taken her virginity, he had not shown her who he truly was. He had held back. Restrained himself. Treated her like spun glass wrapped in silk and modesty.

Because she was a lady.

Because in his mind, a wife was not meant for wicked pleasures.

Penny snorted aloud. She was beginning to detest that word— lady . All it seemed to mean was that she would forever be denied anything delicious or dangerous. She would always be expected to be dutiful and obedient, forever mindful of propriety and obligation. Always the one to sacrifice—because it seemed only women ever were.

Alexander's carriage rolled to a slow halt at the very end of the street. The townhouse before her was large, looming, with lit sconces casting golden light across the paving stones. Laughter and music leaked through the thick oak doors. Carriages queued up one after the other—sleek and expensive. Silk-shrouded ladies in elaborate masks and powdered gentlemen strolled in without hesitation.

Penny's breath hitched.

So this was it. Aphrodite.

Penny pressed into the shadows, dismounting quickly and passing the reins to the stable lad who worked there. She straightened the shoulders of her dark coat and marched forward with all the noble dignity she could muster while her heart beat like a terrified rabbit's.

Inside... she promptly forgot how to breathe. Decadence dripped from every inch of the place. The air smelled of sandalwood, candle smoke, and sin. Crimson and gold silk hung in sensuous drapes along the walls. A grand staircase curved upward, its railings entwined with ivy and lanterns. Scantily clad ladies in jewel-toned dresses with plunging décolletage glided past with silver trays holding champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries.

An Arabian theme dominated the décor—plush velvet divans, golden urns spilling rose petals, tapestries of sultans and dancers in erotic poses. Everywhere Penny turned, there was something more shocking.

A masked woman in a translucent chemise reclined in a corner, sipping wine as a gentleman slowly unlaced her corset. Another couple kissed with scandalous abandon on a nearby sofa, their limbs tangled. Penny blushed fiercely and looked away—only to see two men sharing a passionate embrace in an alcove.

Dear God .

Her heart beat faster, not from disgust but fascination. A soft sigh escaped her. Her gaze swept the room, searching for him—for Alexander. Part of her prayed she would not find him. The rest—the reckless, traitorous part—was desperate to catch just one glimpse, to know .

To see who he was when he wasn't holding back. She moved deeper into the main room, passing beneath hanging lanterns and brushing past a pair of giggling ladies holding feathered fans. Champagne was offered. She declined, her mouth dry, her pulse skittering wildly.

Then she saw him.

And forgot how to breathe. He stood at the far end of the room near the stairs, clad in black—perfectly tailored evening clothes, no cravat. His collar was open at the throat, and his hair was mussed in that devilish, rakish way that was distressingly appealing. Three ladies surrounded him, laughing and fawning. One even touched his arm. He barely reacted. His mouth curled in that slow, wicked smile she remembered all too well. The one that made her knees weak and her thoughts shameful.

Penny froze, unable to move, her body thrumming with unbearable sensation. She stood amid a haze of candlelight and decadence, her pulse thudding unevenly as she watched the Marquess of Raine approach Alexander. A masked blonde clung to the marquess's arm, laughing throatily at something he murmured. Whatever was said made Alexander chuckle, his low, rich laugh curling through the perfumed air and tightening something deep in Penny's chest.

Without another glance behind him, Alexander followed them up the stairs, his long strides fluid and confident. The blonde said something else, and he leaned in slightly, the angle of his head suggesting interest—perhaps even amusement.

A hot wave of jealousy pierced through Penny, sharp and unrelenting.

She should turn around. Flee this place of hedonism and spectacle. She didn't belong here. But it was as if her feet moved of their own accord, drawn by some reckless ache in her heart. She slipped among the gathering of masked guests and followed them up the stairs, her stomach knotting with dread and want and something far more dangerous.

At the top of the landing, the Marquess of Raine and his lady entered a gilded chamber, the heavy door closing behind them with a soft snick.

But Alexander... he did not follow. Instead, he moved to the wall just beyond the last sconce, his hand gliding over the ornate wallpaper. To Penny's astonishment, a panel slid open, blending so perfectly with the wall it might have been invisible without close inspection. No one else around seemed to notice. Then he vanished behind it, swallowed by the shadows.

Her breath caught as she approached the wall, lifting trembling fingers to trace the faint groove in the silk-covered panel. Her heart was a wild, fluttering thing in her chest.

She didn't know what lay beyond. What would she find? Him—with another woman? In the arms of someone more worldly, more daring? Her hand hesitated, the heat of humiliation licking at her skin.

And still—she stepped forward.

With a soft click , the panel opened, and she slipped inside into a long, narrow hallway dimly lit by a single flickering lamp. Alexander leaned against the far wall, his head tilted back, exposing the long column of his throat. His eyes were closed. A frown creased his brow as though caught in some internal war. But he was alone.

Relief burst through her so abruptly that her knees went weak.

He hadn't chosen anyone. Not yet. As if he felt her presence, his eyes snapped open and locked on her. For a long, breathless moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, he pushed away from the wall, his expression unreadable.

"You've come this far," he said, his voice low and rough, tinged with something dangerous and dark. "Might as well come all the way... friend ."

The way he said that word—mocking and sensual—slid over her skin like a physical touch. Penny swallowed hard, her pulse drumming. She had followed him into the shadows.

Penny stopped beside him, her heart a fluttering chaos in her chest. Before she could speak, Alexander's hands settled at her waist, strong and unyielding. With a sharp tug, he hauled her to stand directly before him, their bodies a breath apart. The intimacy of it made her gasp softly, but she didn't move. Couldn't.

A tremor slipped down her spine, and she hurried to cover it with words. "I followed to ensure that...well, that you were well."

" Oh ?" His voice was silken amusement, dangerously amused. "Is that why, little spy?"

Her cheeks burned, but she didn't answer. She could feel the heat of him at her back, his body radiating the kind of masculine energy that made her breath catch. She opened her mouth, but before she could frame a single excuse, he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"Look," he murmured. "Since you were daring enough to come...look."

And then she did. The wall before them wasn't a wall at all—it was a wide pane of polished glass, hidden between the wallpapered panels. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene beyond. Lord Raine was very much unclothed, his powerful form bared to the low flickering candlelight. The blonde lady with him was also naked, her limbs draped over him in sensual abandon. The sounds filtering through the passageway were unmistakable—soft moans, whispered laughter, the shifting of bodies seeking pleasure.

Penny's breath caught. "Why are you watching them?" she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief.

"They invited me," he said smoothly. "Raine's lover likes it when others watch her."

She blinked. " Why ?" she asked, too stunned to shape a more coherent thought.

Alexander chuckled softly, the sound a dark velvet scrape along her skin. "You sound aghast."

"I cannot imagine..." she murmured, eyes still wide. "Someone watching something so—so beautiful and intimate."

His hands flexed on her hips, a barely-there motion that sent a jolt of awareness through her. And then his next words struck like a thunderclap.

"The night I took you," he said lowly, "there was someone in the library. Watching."

The shock of those words made her knees nearly give out. She tried to whirl around, tried to look at him, but his grip held her firm.

Her breath came in shallow bursts. "No! Someone...was there?"

"Yes."

She shuddered. And then—she remembered. The sound. A muffled scrape of movement she had dismissed as the wind. " Oh ," she whispered, her lips numb. "Someone was indeed there."

"Yes," he repeated, quiet and calm. Too calm.

"Who?" Her voice was tight, stunned.

"A friend of mine," he said. "It wasn't intentional. He thought we'd leave. Then, when we didn't..." Alexander leaned closer, his breath warm against her temple. "He thought it rude to interrupt."

Her face flamed. Heat licked along her cheeks and down her throat. "That was an accident," she muttered, half-mortified, half-dazed. "So I will forgive it."

Alexander's low laugh ghosted over her ear, and her skin prickled.

Penny bit her lip hard, but even that didn't stop the way her body reacted. She was trembling—yes—but not from shame. Something deeper curled inside her, something she dared not name. Alexander hadn't let go. His hands remained on her hips, possessive, hot, the silence between them growing thick with awareness.

She knew she should pull away. But instead... she stayed.

A soft, breathy moan dragged Penny's attention back to the glass. The blonde woman had shifted on the velvet chaise, now languidly splayed beneath the Marquess of Raine. Candlelight bathed the room in golden hues, catching on the glint of jewelry still clinging to her wrists and throat, now incongruous against the pale expanse of bare skin.

The woman turned her face toward the mirror—toward Penny—and in that instant, their eyes almost met, separated only by glass and shadows. A tremor shivered through Penny's limbs as she realized the woman knew . She was being watched, and she liked it .

The marquess's hand slid between the woman's thighs with lazy intent, coaxing her body with skilled strokes. Penny caught the flush of pleasure on the woman's face, the way her toes curled against the edge of the cushion. The woman's hands, now gently bound in silk, rested above her head, her legs parted and tethered with languid grace. There was nothing frantic or frantically scandalous about the display—it was strangely elegant, shockingly intimate.

Penny's lips parted, her throat dry. "This...this woman enjoys being bound?"

The low hum of amusement in his chest vibrated through her back. "From your tone, I suspect you think it indecent."

Penny sniffed. "I simply don't see the appeal. It's ridiculous . Why would anyone want to be bound?"

She winced the moment the words left her mouth, remembering all too well that this was his desire. Shame crept in slowly—hot and quiet—for she realized it was reactions like hers that might drive men like Alexander to seek women like the blonde as their mistresses instead of their wives. That thought hollowed her. She swallowed tightly against the sudden swell of understanding.

"It is interesting that you are aroused." He said it softly, without judgment, but with infuriating certainty.

"I am not ." Her voice trembled.

"No?" he murmured, and in one fluid motion, he reached into his coat pocket, drew out a length of dark silk—his cravat—and, with deft hands, brought her wrists behind her.

Penny froze. The silk whispered around her skin, smooth and warm from his body. Before she could speak, the cravat cinched around her wrists, not tight, but enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

"What are you—" she gasped and found that his body caged her, controlling her motions so she could not move.

"As your friend ," he said with mock solemnity, "it's my duty to educate you on things you're curious about."

She struggled, just slightly. And found she couldn't move an inch. Not with his body behind hers, his hands steady, his voice curling like smoke into her ears.

"I am curious," she whispered, appalled by her own honesty. "But not like this—"

"Yes. Like this." His voice brushed her neck. "You don't want lies or pleasantries. You came here for the truth. So feel it. Don't move. Don't speak. Watch. "

Penny went still. Her heartbeat pounded beneath her skin, pulsing against the silk binding her wrists. The heat of Alexander's body surrounded her. She could feel the disciplined tension in his muscles, the restrained force in his breathing. He was so close, and yet...he wasn't touching her at all.

Before them, the scene beyond the glass unfolded in decadent, unhurried pleasure. The marquess was moving again, reverent in the way he kissed the woman's ankle, her knee, her thigh. Her sighs were delicate, a litany of surrender and desire. The candlelight flickered, casting molten shadows across their bodies.

Penny's breath hitched. I should not be watching this. I should not want to.

But her body betrayed her. That knot low in her belly coiled tighter with each languid movement, with each subtle shift of Alexander behind her. The silk was not cold now. It was hot. Her wrists felt sensitized. And the ache, heaven help her, the ache between her thighs was real.

She closed her eyes, but it didn't help. She still felt the press of Alexander's presence behind her. Still heard the faint sounds from the hidden room. Still felt seen , as if this moment—this reckless choice—had forever shifted something inside her.

And then, she heard his voice again, quiet and edged with something darker.

"Some women like their pleasure to be guided. To surrender. Not because they are weak... but because they trust."

Penny's lashes fluttered open. "And do you want that?" she whispered.

There was a long silence. He didn't answer.

"Watch," he murmured by her ear, the command sliding through her like velvet and heat. Penny went soft and pliant against him, her breath catching as her gaze locked onto the scene beyond the glass.

The Marquess of Raine knelt between the blonde's thighs, pleasuring her with slow, reverent strokes of his mouth and fingers. They were perfectly positioned—intentionally so—allowing Penny a full view of the woman's pink, wet pussy as his fingers slid in and out. One... then two... then three.

Penny gasped, her voice a tremble. " Three ?"

Alexander's voice curled against her skin like a sin. "Look at her face. Even though half-hidden by the mask, you can see the grimace of pleasure." His hand tightened on her hip. "Look at her cunt again... the marquess is inserting a fourth finger. Look at how her body trembles... and now, look at her face again."

Penny's eyes flicked back to the masked woman whose back arched, mouth parted in a cry of pleasure.

"She's feeling pain and pleasure," he whispered, his voice thick with dark heat, "and loving every minute of it."

A shiver ran through Penny—of shock, of arousal, of something she didn't yet have the words to name. She moaned low in her throat, hating the tight ball of need that settled low in her belly—hot, pulsing, undeniable. And still... she watched. Helplessly. Hungrily.