If You Deceive

Chapter Five

As soon as the carriage started off, the Scot yanked the curtains closed, reaching over Maddy to draw them shut on her side. Once he'd cast them into darkness, he peremptorily dragged her over the bench and onto his lap.

"Wait! What are you…? You can't just…"When he flicked his tongue against her earlobe, pleasure rippled through her, quelling her need to put distance between them. She sighed, "Ohhh."

"I fulfilled my end of the bargain," he began, his words rough. "You'll fulfill yours now."

"Where do you think you're taking me?"

"To my home."

"Yourhome ?" She shook herself. "As much as I'd like to be one of the many strange women to be entertained in your bachelor apartments—"

"Again, you'd be the first," he interrupted.

"Am I supposed to believe that?"

"Believe it or no'. It's the truth."

"What is it about me that has wrought such changes?"

He leaned back, seeming aggravated—at her or the situation? "I'd bloody like to know."

He wasn't feigning these things. Maybe he felt with her the same awareness, the same sense of familiarity, that she felt with him. Her attraction to him had been instantaneous and furious, so strong she felt as if she'd been plowed down by a locomotive.

Could he possibly be experiencing the same?

This was all madness anyway—she hadn't even seen his face. "Scot, if it's any consolation, I'm behaving completely out of character as well."

"Then what do you say we figure this out afterward?" He curled his fingers under her chin. "There's no reason for me no' to be kissin' you senseless right now."

Senseless?Part of her wanted him to render her senseless, to make her pant, while another part of her still couldn't believe any of this was happening. As he drew in, her eyelids eased closed….

His lips were warm and firm as he grazed them against hers, and that mere coaxing contact made heat race through her. When she parted her lips for him, he slipped his tongue in to slowly stroke hers. Never had she experienced anything so blatantly erotic as how his tongue flicked and teased.

Never had she felt such an awareness that kissing like this was meant to be a prelude to sex.

She found herself lapping back—which doubled the sensations. He clutched her closer, groaning into the kiss, deepening it. She squeezed his shoulders, reveling in the power she felt in his muscles. She craved it, wanted his strength, wanted his arms around her.

Their tongues twined again and again, sending her to heights of need she'd never imagined. He must be feeling it, too—he adjusted her on his lap, groaning when his thick erection pressed fully against her bottom. She swore she felt the heat of it even through their clothes and couldn't help but imagine stroking it in her palm. In all her fantasies, she'd never dreamed of howhot it would be. She wriggled in his lap….

He drew back, gazing down at her as though in shock, his lips parted, breaths ragged.

"I-I never much liked kissing before," she whispered, aware that she was, indeed, panting.

Brows drawn, he rasped, "Aye, me neither."

She whimpered, needing more. He cursed in answer. They both set in again.

He leaned her back against his unyielding arm so he could take her more thoroughly, slanting his lips over and over until she felt boneless and unguarded.Senseless… She moaned against his lips.

But he broke away again, appearing wary. "That was…that…"His eyes narrowed. "You keep kissing me like that, and this night will be over before it begins."

He was obviously so worldly and experienced, and yet she'd still pleased him. He continued to please her. She was excited, for some reason happier than she'd been in months. "Scot," she murmured, threading her fingers into his thick hair, "I'm glad I invited you on my escape."

"Already, I'm verra glad to be here."

It suddenly struck her as miserably unfair that her husband wouldn't be someone like this god who held her, who set her afire with every clever flick of his tongue.

But what if she could gethim to marry her?

True, she still hadn't seen his face—and she didn't know his name. But to be fair, she could probably go out on a limb and guess that the Scot hadn't been widowed three times. And to be fair, shehad seen the count's face.

Between this man's fierce kisses, her irresistible attraction to him—and a good deal of the decidedly potent punch—this struck her as abrilliant solution to her problem. "Scot, I don't suppose you're rich and looking for a wife?"

"One out of two. I'll never marry."

"Never, never? Or do you mean not until after a few years more of bachelorhood?"

"Never." He was emphatic, seeming irritated by the mere subject.

"Oh. Well, I really can't be going home with you," she said, just as the carriage rolled to a stop. He set her on the bench and opened his door—in front of an imposing red-brick mansion.

"Where are we?" she asked in confusion.

"In Grosvenor Square."

"Thisis your home?" she said, without looking away. It was grand and bigger even than Quin's! White columns proudly stood sentinel alongside wide marble steps. Pristine gardens were generously illuminated with hidden gaslights.

"Aye, my home."

She quirked an eyebrow. She could easily imagine herself as mistress of it.

When he reached for her hand, she said, "Wait! I can't just go in with you like this!" Though she was dying to see the inside.

"We had a deal."

"But not to go home with you!" They weren't that far from the Weylands'. What if someone saw her?

"This idea really bothers you?" When she nodded, he leaned out and commanded, "Drive," before shutting his door. The carriage rolled on once more. "Matters naught. I can take you in here as well as I can in a bed."

"Take me?" Her eyes went wide. "I thought the bargain was only to touch."

He pulled her into his lap again, his big hand resting on her hip with casual familiarity, as if they'd sat like this a hundred times. "Just trust me. I'll make it good for you. You'll have much diary fodder," he said with a hint of a grin.

"You can have me, Scot. Completely. By noon tomorrow. That will give me enough time to skim over your account books, and for you to get a special license. We can be wed before lunch."

He grasped her chin. "Understand, lass, that nothing on earth will move me to marry.Nothing ."

When she realized he was just like Quin, her heart sank. "I understand." Unfortunately, she did and perfectly well—this was the second time today she'd heard that same sentiment, the second time she'd been turned down flat. Some men just weren't the marrying kind, no matter how much theyshould be.

Which meant girls like her picked through the leftovers of gouty old counts.

"Make sure that you do," he said, warning clear in his tone.

She absently nodded. At every turn tonight, she'd had her decision to marry Le Daex reinforced, but she shuddered to imagine the man heaving and grunting over her as he took her virginity. She, who adored beautiful men, wouldn't lose her virtue to one. Yes, it was unfair, and suddenly—or, after the liquor and the Scot's firm lips—it was intolerable.

She'd weathered misery after misery since her father had been shot, heaped on her as though by a cosmic jest. Like an animal caught in a snare, the more she struggled, the worse it seemed to get. She expected so little in return for her constant sacrifices, but this one aspect of her life—deciding who would introduce her to lovemaking—she could control. And her instincts were screaming that she could trust this mysterious stranger.

She nibbled her lip. Le Daex could be fooled to think she was untouched. Maddy's landlady and best friend in Paris had been a virgin at all three of her weddings….

The Scot had told Maddy he'd be inside her tonight.

At that moment, she realized he was right.

"Very well."

"Verra well, what?"

"If you wanted more…" She could feel him instantly pulsing harder beneath her.

"You're…you want me tae take you," he rasped, but it sounded like a question.

"Yes. I want more than the terms of our bargain," she murmured. "I want you."To show me this…to give me this night to secretly treasure.

"What has changed your mind?"

She sighed. "My reasons are my own, Scot. Do you care anyway?"

He smirked, flashing white teeth. "No' in the least."

"So, um, in light of this, don't you think we should take off our masks?" she asked.

"It adds something, do you no' think?" He skimmed the backs of his fingers against her cheek under her mask.

She wasn't shy by any means, but this was her first real encounter, and she had concerns about the desirability of her sparse frame. In other words, her breasts were small. The mask would help conceal heated blushes, and it suited her fine. Especially since this would be just one night—a single night of mystery and need. And then of endings. "Yes, I suppose it does."

But he wasn't listening, appearing captivated as his fingers glided over the line of her jaw. "So delicate," he said absently, seeming not to realize he'd spoken aloud. Somehow she knew this wasn't a mere seduction. He was exploring her, his eyes dark with curiosity. "I've no' had a woman like you before."

"Like me?"

"So slight." He traced the shell of her ear, making her shiver. "I'm almost afraid to put my hands on you."

"Oh, don't say that."

"I saidalmost . Nothing could stop me from taking you tonight." He trailed his fingers down, running the pads over her collarbone. As he brushed lower, her breaths grew harried, her chest rising and falling madly under his touch. When he reached the edge of her tight bodice, he worked his fingers inside. Slowly delving, pressing deeper…deeper…until the tip of his forefinger met her throbbing nipple.

"Oh, my God," she moaned, clutching both of her hands on the back of his neck.

"Delicate…and sensitive." He languidly rolled her swollen nipple, rasping, "You like that."

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she nodded.

When he withdrew his hand she wanted to keen, but she was mollified to see that he'd begun an attempt on the laces of her bodice. The ties, however, were thin and difficult to manage even for her. After fumbling for several moments, he gave a growl of frustration and curled his big fingers inside the fabric.

When she realized he was about to yank, she opened her mouth to sputter her outrage—she'd gone into debt to afford this dress!—but then, he released her. With a frown of concentration, he endeavored it again.

Something in her softened toward him—even more. "Let me, Scot," she said, removing his hands with a tender kiss to each palm.

At different points in the evening, she'd noticed that he would hesitate, drawing back for the briefest moment as though to take time to think. He did that now. She'd begun to wonder if she was behaving incorrectly—thiswas her first affair—or if what was happening between them was just completely different from what he was used to. She suspected the latter.

Once she'd freed the laces at last, he pulled wide the edges of her gown. As he unhurriedly tugged down the gauzy cups of her corset to bare her, she swallowed.It's dark. He can't really see me…. When cool air caressed her breasts, she willed herself not to turn her face away or to cover herself with her hands.

He hissed something in a foreign language, possibly Gaelic.

"What did you say?" she asked nervously.

"I said I'm goin' tae kiss these all night." He ran the backs of his fingers over both of her nipples, his gaze flickering over her face, gauging her response. She sucked in a breath and felt the tips hardening even more, right before his eyes.

Then he cupped her with his hot, scratchy palms. "You could no' be softer." He covered her small breasts completely, kneading until she grew sensuously warm and wet between her legs.

Exactly how had she been living without this?

When he removed his hands to shrug out of his jacket, she found herself arching forward for them. He made a grated sound that might have been a chuckle. "Greedy lass," he said, but she thought he was pleased. He returned his hands to her. "Then undo my shirt for me." He might have been making fun of her, but she didn't care. Her need urged her on.

As she struggled with his buttons, he leaned down to nuzzle her nipples, his hot breaths making them throb, but he didn't suckle her, only teased until she was squirming on his lap, writhing over his jutting erection.

He finally set upon her breasts with his hot mouth. "Oh, my God," she whispered as he dragged his tongue over her stiffened nipple. When she vaguely perceived his hand under her skirts, his fingers ascending from her knee to her thigh, she said, "Scot, I…please go slow. I want you. Oh, God!" she cried as he closed his lips around her aching peak, sucking her hard. "B-but can't we go slower?"

He drew back. "Why?" he asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"I just think…maybe I would be more comfortable."

"I've been long without a woman," he said, his voice strained as he removed her from his lap to the bench. "I'll do it slowly for the rest of tonight." He wadded up his jacket and placed it behind her. "But for now, I need tae be inside you." Her other nipple received the same fierce attention as the first as he pressed her back.

"Oh, God…that feels nice." The way he touched her was proprietary, possessive—and a bit…rough. So why was she arching in delight? "But, Scot…you see…"

He leaned up then, meeting her eyes. "What is it?" His shirt gaped open, displaying his chiseled torso to her fascinated gaze, and she lost track of what she'd been about to say.

She couldtouch him. This was what she'd wondered about,dreamed about. She frantically yanked off her tormenting gloves to caress him. She sighed with delight when the muscles of his chest tensed and flexed to her touch so perfectly, as if she'd trained them over years.

She placed her palms flat and rubbed down over rigid indentations and swells, in a heaven of sensation, her fingertips tingling with delight at each new texture…his firm, smooth skin…the crisp hair in a trail just below his navel. She savored his reaction—his lids sliding shut, his jaw slackening.

Nearly dumbstruck with pleasure, she scarcely noticed that her skirts were suddenly rucked up to her waist.