Confessions at Midnight

Chapter Eleven

Carolyn blinked. Out of all the possible things he could have preferred, such as a kiss-and after that teasing touch to her hand and the simmering heat in his eyes, which seemed like such promising precursors to a kiss-what he wanted most was to see her scar?

Damnation. How could she have thought him charming and intelligent when clearly "irritating" and "nincompoop" were far more apt descriptions? Before she could even think up a reply to his request, he lowered himself to one knee in front of her and his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her gown to lightly grasp her left ankle. Warmth raced up her leg, and even as her mind commanded her to move away from his touch, her body refused to obey.

"Is it on this ankle?" he asked, setting her left foot on his upraised knee. He removed her shoe and gently massaged her instep.

A soft gasp escaped her, then she pressed her lips together to contain the moan of delight that threatened to escape at the delicious kneading. Pleasure skittered up her leg, settling low in her belly.

Dear God, she adored having her feet rubbed. And he was so good at it. And it had been so long since she'd felt such exquisite bliss. His caress was going to melt her spine. She'd wilt into a boneless, quivering mass of ecstasy then slither right onto the tiles.

"This ankle?" he repeated.

Not trusting her voice, she merely shook her head.

"Ah, the right ankle, then." But instead of releasing her left foot, his hands slowly moved upward, over her calf, never ceasing their delicious rubbing. Her fingers clutched the brocade cushion as she struggled not to squirm in delight.

When he reached her knee, she watched in shocked, wordless wonder as he slipped off her ribbon garter then slowly rolled down her stocking. The whisper of silk sliding over her flesh tingled heated tremors through her, but they faded to insignificance at the incredible sensation of his hands against her bare skin. After he set aside her stocking, he slowly pushed her gown and petticoat up to her knees.

Her bare toes curled against his muscular thigh. The sight of him on one knee before her, his dark head bent to study what he'd just uncovered, shivered an illicit thrill through her the likes of which she'd never experienced.

"Such lovely, creamy skin," he murmured, his fingers skimming lightly up and down her calf. "So soft. So smooth."

He lifted his head. The heat in his gaze seared her. Trapped in the inferno, she watched him lift her foot and press his mouth to her instep.

Another gasp escaped her, this one followed by a low moan she couldn't contain.

"You're correct." His warm breath whispered over her foot, eliciting a barrage of quivers that tickled over her every nerve ending.

"C-Correct?" she managed, sounding as breathless as she felt.

"There is no scar on this ankle. It is, in fact, the most perfect ankle I've ever seen."

The realization that he'd most assuredly seen plenty of female ankles should have appalled her. Instead she could only take in the breath-stealing reality that he was seeing-and caressing-her ankle.

He then kissed his way up her shin. Another shiver of delight trembled through her. After reaching her knee, he set her foot gently on the floor and a groan of protest rose in her throat at the loss. Before she could give it voice, however, he lifted her right foot and afforded it the same sensual treatment he'd lavished on the left. The only sounds in the conservatory were the rustle of material as he pushed up her gown, then slid off her stocking, and her own shallow, rapid breaths.

"Ah, I see the culprit," he murmured, setting the stocking on top of the other one. He minutely examined the inch-long bit of puckered skin just above her anklebone.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, brushing his fingers over the mark.

She'd barely felt the cut, but as she was incapable of stringing together that many words, she merely whispered one syllable. "No."

"'Tis almost necessary that you have such a minor flaw. Otherwise you'd be absolutely, frighteningly perfect." He studied the scar for several more seconds, then heaved an exaggerated sigh. "I'm afraid this minuscule mark doesn't count and you are absolutely perfect."

She licked her lips. "I assure you, I'm nothing of the kind."

"And I assure you, you are underestimating yourself."

He brought her foot to his mouth-his lovely, sensual mouth-but instead of kissing her there, he lightly traced his tongue over the imperfection.

A startled "Oh!" escaped her. His eyes darkened at the sound, and he repeated the gesture. What little of her spine remained seemed to evaporate.

"So beautiful," he whispered against her ankle. His hands skimmed slowly upward, caressing her skin, pushing her skirts higher. The heat of his palms touched her through the thin muslin of her drawers.

His mouth followed the same upward trail his hands forged, lightly nipping, kissing. Over her shin, her knees… how was it she'd never known that the skin behind her knees was so very sensitive?

An insistent pulse throbbed between her thighs. Her feminine folds felt slick and swollen and heavy. When he urged her legs apart, she didn't resist, and he insinuated his broad shoulders between her knees. The small part of her mind that wasn't lost in the heated fog of stunning arousal tried to interject, warn her that this was not the path she wished to go down, but that small bit was quickly overruled as sensation swamped her.

While his mouth continued its leisurely journey along her inner thigh, one of his hands strayed upward and found the opening in her drawers.

She gasped at the first touch of his fingers against her folds, a sound that tapered off into a long, vaporous sigh of pleasure as he teased her sensitive flesh with a wickedly light, circular motion. Helpless to resist the lure of such tempting pleasure, her head fell limply against the padded back of the settee and her eyes drifted shut. And for the first time in years she allowed herself the luxury of doing nothing save feel.

He slipped a finger inside her, and her entire body clenched with a pleasurable spasm. "So tight," he murmured against her thigh. "So hot and wet."

Hot, yes… she felt so hot. As if her skin were stretched too tight and consumed with fire. He stroked her with maddening leisure, each caress melting away her inhibitions, dissolving her modesty until she writhed against his hand, impatient for more. He slipped another finger inside her, pumping slowly, drawing a long, ragged moan from her throat.

She felt his other hand at her waist, then his fingers slipped from her body, dragging a soft "No" of protest from her. When she felt him tug at her drawers, she lifted her hips and he slid them down her legs.

His avid gaze riveted on her exposed sex, yet rather than experiencing any of the shyness she might have expected, her entire body tensed in an agony of anticipation, awaiting his touch. Instead, however, he plucked the rose from her lap.

"I've dreamed about doing this to you," he said softly, slowly trailing the velvety petals up her inner thigh.

She sucked in a quick breath at the tremor that shimmered through her. "You have? When?"

"Last night." He brushed the flower along the cleft of her sex, and she forgot how to breathe. "And the night before. And the night before that." Another light sweep over her swollen folds. "And numerous nights before that."

He looked up from his wicked ministrations and pinned her with his heated gaze. Then he placed the rose on the settee. "Have you ever wondered what it would feel like for me to touch you like this?" he whispered, slipping a finger deep inside her.

A sigh rushed past her lips, and her eyes slid closed. Dear God, surely he didn't expect her to answer questions when he was making her feel like… this? As if her insides had turned to a flow of warm honey. As if she were about to simultaneously melt and shatter.

"I've wondered," he said, teasing her most sensitive nub of flesh in a manner that shot liquid fire to her core. "More times than I can count. And still you're more beautiful than I ever imagined."

His fingers once against glided over her folds, inside her, teasing her toward the rapidly approaching climax building at the base of her spine. He pressed his lips to her knee, then kissed his way up her inner thighs, insinuating his shoulders farther between her legs, splaying them wider. And then time seemed to stop as his tongue glided over her aroused sex.

For several seconds her body tensed, but then her initial shocked reaction evaporated into a low groan of helpless pleasure. She forced her eyes open. The sight of his dark head buried between her legs, the sensation of his lips and tongue and fingers caressing her folds, was the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced. The musky scent of her arousal rose in the warm air, mingling with the fragrant flowers. She slumped lower on the settee, and with what sounded like a growl of approval, he lifted her thighs, setting them over his shoulders.

Lost in sensation, she closed her eyes and reveled in the magical torment his mouth and fingers wrought on her, each teasing lick, every relentless stroke touching her deeper, pushing her closer to the brink. When she soared over the edge, a sharp cry escaped her. Her back arched and her fingers bunched in the muslin of her ruched up gown as an intense climax throbbed through her. When the spasms subsided into mere quivers, she collapsed, breathless, limp, and utterly sated.

She felt him trailing light kisses along her inner thigh, and managed to drag her heavy eyelids open halfway. His eyes burned like a pair of flames. Gazes locked, he slowly lowered her boneless legs from his shoulders. Then he moved closer, leaning over her, until only inches separated their faces.

"Say my name," he demanded in a rough, husky rasp.

She licked her lips and struggled to find her voice. "Lord Surbrooke."

He shook his head and skimmed one palm up her leg, slipping it beneath her to curve over her bare bottom. He pulled her closer, until the hard ridge of his erection that strained against his breeches nestled against her sex. "Daniel."

The feel of him pressed against her so intimately momentarily robbed her of speech. After swallowing, she whispered, "Daniel."

A bit of the tension in his face abated, and with a low groan he slowly lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips parted, welcoming the invasion of his tongue. He tasted of brandy and of her, an utterly foreign combination that intoxicated her. The inner fire he'd stoked and just sated roared back to life, demanding more. Her fingers sifted through his thick hair, urging him closer. He flexed his hips, pressing his erection tighter against her, and at that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to rip open his breeches and thrust all that lovely, hard flesh into her hungry body.

Instead, however, he lifted his head. Confused, she opened her eyes and found him regarding her with that same intense expression.

She blinked several times, then reality returned with a thump. She glanced down the length of her body, taking in the gown bunched up around her waist, the pale skin of her abdomen, the light brown curls at the juncture of her widely spread thighs. His hips nestled tightly against her.

Surely she should be appalled at her wanton behavior, at the liberties she'd allowed him. Liberties her husband had never taken. Or even attempted. Yet instead of appalled, she felt more alive than she had in years. As if she'd emerged from a dark, lonely cave into a sunshine-filled meadow bursting with color and life.

The proper, sedate lady she'd been her entire adult life insisted she tell him this interlude was a mistake. One that could not be repeated. But rather than mistake, the only word she wanted to say was…

Again.

She could lie to herself, but the irrefutable truth was that she wanted more of the passion they'd just shared. Her mind acknowledged her guilt and tried to list all the reasons she shouldn't allow this to go any further, but she shoved all that aside and listened to her reawakened body, which refused to be silenced. She was attracted to this man. Wanted him-in a purely physical sense. So long as her heart remained uninvolved and they were discreet, there was no reason to deny herself this pleasure. He'd said he didn't want her heart, and had no intention of offering his own. They would share their bodies and nothing more. Just as the Anonymous Lady had done in Memoirs.

"The dogs are barking," he said quietly, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "Which means Samuel has returned."

A fissure of panic rushed through her and she struggled to sit up, but he shook his head and gently pressed her back down. "We have a few moments. Barkley will see to things, and neither he nor Samuel will come in here."

"How do you know?"

"No one is allowed access to this room except me and Walter, my groundskeeper." The pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip and he frowned, as if puzzled. "I've never brought anyone here before."

He sounded surprised to have admitted that last bit, and certainly she was surprised to hear it. "Why not? It's such a beautiful room."

"It's private. My… sanctuary. I told you I don't like to share." His gaze roamed her face and he looked… troubled? "Except, it seems, with you."

His expression cleared and he leaned forward to nuzzle the sensitive skin behind her ear with his warm lips.

"My God… you are so beautiful," he whispered, his words ending on a groan. His teeth lightly grazed her earlobe, shooting a barrage of tingles down her neck. "My extremely lovely, very dear, greatly talented, highly amusing, extraordinarily intelligent, possessor of the most kissable lips I've ever seen as well as an excellent memory, and who tastes like flowers… everywhere, Lady Wingate." He lifted his head and a whiff of amusement entered his eyes. "Do you think we might perhaps be on a first name basis now?"

A heated blush suffused her entire body. "I suppose… Daniel."

His smile flashed. "Thank you… Carolyn."

The way he said her name, softly, slowly, as if savoring its taste upon his tongue, shivered a dark thrill of delight through her.

With obvious reluctance, he slid his hand from beneath her bottom then reached for her drawers. The ease with which he helped her don her discarded clothing proved he was as adept at dressing a woman as he was at undressing one. And he'd certainly proven he knew what to do once he had her disrobed. She wasn't entirely certain her liquefied knees would ever fully recover.

After he'd slipped her shoes back on her feet, he rose and extended his hand to help her rise. Her gaze riveted on the front of his breeches, which were directly on her eye level. The snug material clearly outlined his thick erection.

Perhaps it was the privacy afforded by this cozy, flower-scented room, illuminated only by silvery skeins of moonlight, that made her daring… as daring as she'd felt while wearing Galatea's mask. Or perhaps it was the way he'd made her feel… so lush and womanly and shockingly free. But whatever the reason, as she allowed him to help her arise, she boldly dragged her free hand up his muscled thigh and cupped his arousal. He sucked in a quick breath and his eyes seemed to glaze over.

"You pleasured me, yet asked for-and received-nothing in return," she murmured, experiencing a deep surge of feminine satisfaction when he rolled his hips, seeking more of her touch.

"I hardly received nothing. Indeed the pleasure was all mine."

She cocked a brow and shot a significant look downward. "This…" She lightly stroked him through his breeches. "… indicates otherwise."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, trapping her hand between them. "If you're suggesting you're in my debt-"

"That's precisely what I'm suggesting."

His eyes seemed to breathe smoke. "I believe that makes me the luckiest man in England. Consider me at your disposal."

"A very intriguing offer."

"I'm delighted you think so, especially as you didn't when I first offered."

"I was always intrigued. Just not willing."

"But now you are."

"Obviously."

He rubbed himself against her hand. "I'm extremely happy to hear it."

Her lips twitched. "Obviously."

Clasping her wrist, he dragged her hand up and pressed a fervent kiss against her palm. "Unfortunately, now is-"

"Not an ideal time."

"No. I want to make certain all went well with Samuel's errand and that Cook and my maid are seeing to Katie. Then I'll escort you and Gertrude home." His gaze searched her face. "And as much as I want to continue this right here, right now, I want you to have some time to think. To settle things in your mind. I don't want you to have doubts."

"You're not afraid that after thinking things over I'll change my mind?"

His fingers tightened over hers. "'Afraid' is a lukewarm word for the terror I feel at the possibility. Carolyn… the desire between us is the most potent I've ever experienced. I know we would be extraordinary together. But only if it isn't tarnished with regrets."

"I don't regret what we've shared this evening."

"Excellent. I just want to make sure you feel the same way in the morning." He brushed his mouth over hers then continued along the curve of her jaw. "And as hope springs eternal that you will, are you free tomorrow, around noon?"

With his body pressed to hers and his nipping kisses disrupting her thoughts, it was impossible to recall if she had any plans, but if she did, whatever they might be, she intended to reschedule them. "I am."

"Excellent. I'll plan a surprise."

"What if I don't like surprises?"

"You'll like this one. I promise."

A quiver of anticipation rippled through her. After one last lingering kiss, he stepped back. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her through the French doors then into the corridor and back to the foyer, where they encountered a pacing Samuel. He halted when he saw them.

"Cook's puttin' a broth together," he reported without preamble, "and Mary's in with Katie and Gertrude."

"How is Katie faring?" Daniel asked.

"She's sleepin'. Gertrude said Katie was sore and tired, but otherwise fine. If Lady Wingate don't mind, Gertrude offered to stay until Katie wakes up, so she ain't frightened to see a stranger." He looked at Carolyn. "Real thoughtful, your Gertrude is, milady."

"Is that all right with you?" Daniel asked her.

"Of course."

"Samuel will escort her home after Katie awakens." He turned to Samuel. "I'll escort Lady Wingate home now. She has a busy day ahead of her tomorrow and needs her rest."

A blush scorched Carolyn's cheeks at his seemingly innocent words. She quickly said good-bye to Samuel, who handed Carolyn her cashmere shawl and thanked her for helping Katie.

"It was my pleasure to assist you, Samuel," she said with a smile. "And Katie's good fortune that you found her."

She and Daniel left the house. The instant the door closed behind them, he glanced around. After clearly satisfying himself that no one lurked about, he clasped her hand and tucked it beneath his arm. She noted he matched his steps to her shorter stride, for which she was grateful, as she was in no rush to leave his company and the walk to her town house would require less than two minutes.

She was considering asking him into her home but saw a lamp burning in the foyer window, which meant Nelson was waiting up for her. Discretion would hardly be served by bringing her lover home at three a.m.

Her lover.

The words reverberated through her mind. Any guilt she might have felt was buried beneath the avalanche of anticipation that trembled through her.

"Cold?" he asked.

She looked up at him and shook her head. "No. In fact, quite the opposite."

A slow smile curved his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, a loud bang sounded from across the street at Hyde Park. At the same instant something whizzed past her, mere inches from her nose, then the stone urn on her porch exploded.

Before she could even draw a breath, Daniel yanked her down and shielded her with his body.

"Wh-What was that?" she asked.

"That," Daniel said in a tight, grim voice, "was a pistol shot."