Ella settled in the carriage, beyond stunned at herself.
Dear God… She’d done it.
Despite the daring and sheer madness of her plan, it had worked. She’d found an expert in the art of pleasure, and knowledgeable of men’s wants.
Of all the unorthodox things she’d ever done—and Lord knows there had been plenty—her actions this eve would completely appall her three older sisters. They were all married with “proper, respectable lives.” Without a doubt, her late father, the ninth Earl of Claverton, was rolling in his grave at this very moment.
The sheer number of diatribes she’d endured from him over her desire to pursue a higher education in science and mathematics, before finally wearing him down, were too many to count. He began each one with a sharp reciting of her full name: “Luella. Elizabeth. Catherine…” Not a single choice nor decision she’d made in her life hadn’t horrified and, dare say, even mortified the lot of them at times.
What’s one more?
Her determination to advance her studies in areas “suited to men,” her activism in the suffrage movement for the betterment of women’s lives, her decision not to marry—mostly because there had been no offers to reject after several failed seasons—had all received a resounding, collective disapproval and disappointment from her siblings and sire.
She was thankful she at least had her forward-thinking suffragist Aunt Charlotte—her father’s “wayward” sister. Who, incidentally, may have found your rather spontaneous plan tonight a bit much.
But Ella had stopped apologizing and justifying herself long before her father’s passing four years ago. She was very much on the shelf. Free to pursue her passions and fight whatever injustices as she deemed fit.
Only, she’d never imagined she’d have been at the receiving end of a gross deception. One that she simply couldn’t let stand.
Octavius Whimple… Her lover. A fellow of the London Mathematical Society. Not overly handsome, but still pleasing to the eye. Just three years her senior, he equaled her height—a physical attribute every man she’d ever known found vastly unappealing about her, while most women found it mockworthy. Including her petite-sized sisters.
She’d thought Octavius was the perfect man for her.
Ella looked down, rubbed her gloved hands together, and shook her head in dismay. How could she have been so wrong? She’d been an utter fool, allowing him to use her affections against her.
He’d seduced her. Then he’d stolen her work.
The very paper she’d spent many months formulating and writing in the hope of having it published by the LMS and recognized by her peers—would be hers again.
By Christmas Eve.
Before Octavius could submit it to the president of the London Mathematical Society as his own at the Christmas ball.
The carriage door was snatched open. A wicked wind sent a sharp chill into the carriage. She shivered.
“Madam, where the hell do you live so we can take you home and get out of this damned blizzard?” Her rather put-upon gentleman had a scratchy disposition. But that wasn’t off-putting in the least. She’d known men sterner and far harsher. And despite his saltiness, she rather liked him. She’d put him through an ordeal and yet, here he was, trying to help her to safety.
She gave him the name of the street adjacent to the one she actually resided on with Aunt Charlotte, but not a house number. She could easily walk the short distance home, with her personal belongings in tow, despite the weather. Though her aunt would be surprised to see her. Ella had been on her way to the Scarboroughs’ London residence, with her trusted driver, intending to stay there with other invited guests until the culminating event of the Christmas ball on Christmas Eve, as she awaited Octavius’s arrival.
That is, until she hatched her brazen plan outside L’Anonyme.
And the gentleman who was now part of that plan cursed and shook his head. He turned to the men outside and barked out one word: “Home!” Then climbed into the carriage, slammed the door shut, and seated himself across from her.
Doffing his hat, he set it down beside him. She watched as he ran a gloved hand through his wet hair. One couldn’t help but notice this man was attractive in a way most men weren’t, including Octavius. His nose, cheekbones, and jaw were chiseled to perfection. His mouth had captured her interest on more than one instance this eve. And though she couldn’t tell the exact shade of his eyes, they were somehow dark, but light. So captivating.
She quashed her thoughts immediately. Those sorts of thoughts got you into this mess to begin with.
“Home?” she repeated, not sure what he meant.
“Yes. We are going to my home because it’s near. The road is treacherous. The weather worsens by the minute. As much as I’d rather you return home, I’ll not risk everyone’s welfare to do so.”
Ella’s brow shot up. “Oh, I wasn’t planning on staying with you.” At best, she’d hoped merely to arrange another meeting for a thorough discussion on seduction and conquest.
“I wasn’t planning on that either. I’m certain you’ll find the guest room comfortable, and if you’re hungry, the cook can prepare you something. I pray in the morning, you can be on your way.”
Not exactly the most hospitable words. He was irritated. But who in the world could blame him? She’d made a sufficient nuisance of herself. Worse, given the inclement weather, she was now forced to impose on him some more. What choice did she have?
Ella gave him a friendly smile. “Thank you. I accept your gracious invitation. I imagine you must be tired. I won’t burden you further. I’ll reserve my questions for tomorrow, before I leave. I’d like to take notes.”
“Notes?”
“Yes, so I may study them later at length.”
He closed his eyes briefly, took in a breath, and let it out slowly, as though he were striving for patience. When he met her gaze again, he studied her in silent scrutiny.
Anxiety began to gnaw at her belly. She prayed she hadn’t just pressed him past his limit. Having come this far, the last thing she wanted was for him to lose his patience and toss her out with her belongings here and now. He certainly didn’t owe her a thing.
“Is this man really worth all this effort?” he asked.
A sharp pain stabbed into her chest, making her wince, his question taking her by surprise. That horrible moment when she’d realized what Octavius had done swamped her mind before she could stop it. Quickly, she blinked back tears that stung her eyes, thankful it was dark in the carriage. Somehow, she managed to maintain her smile and nod, but had to swallow against the knot that had formed in her throat before she said, “More than you know.”
She was going to seduce Octavius in turn and reclaim all her hard work.
There were things he’d taken from her that she’d never get back—her innocence, her trust in him—but her paper wouldn’t be one of them. Bad enough she’d been forced to defend him tonight when Octavius was, just as this man astutely surmised, an utter and complete cad.
“Again, I do apologize for all the inconvenience I’ve caused you. I don’t wish to pester you any further. I’d simply like to have a name, any name, that I may call you. I don’t think ‘you there’ will suffice. By selecting an alias, we can remain anonymous to each other. You never have to know who I am, and I do not need to know who you are.”
“You’ve given me enough information about yourself to make it possible for me to ascertain your true name,” he said.
Ella shrugged. She’d given some information, but not all about herself or her achievements. “I supposed if you wanted to try hard enough, you might. Though I suspect you’ll not think of me again once I leave tomorrow morning, and you have my word that I won’t seek you out, nor attempt to learn your identity. So…what shall it be? Cornelius?”
“No.”
“Charles? John?”
“No and no.” He crossed his arms and looked out the window.
“What about Joseph?”
That brought his attention back to her. She could have sworn she saw surprise flash in his eyes—even in the dim light.
“Fine,” he bit out tightly.
“Wonderful! Since we’ll be discussing matters of an intimate nature, we can dispense with formalities and simply be Sarah and Joseph.”
Tilting his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes. “Sarah?”
“Yes, Joseph?” She smiled.
“Stop talking.” His tone was tinged with fatigue.
“As you wish, Joseph.” She settled back in her seat, feeling hopeful for the first time since this ordeal with Octavius had begun.
It was all thanks to this frosty gentleman.
She couldn’t be more grateful she’d crossed his path. By tomorrow, she’d be on her way with all the knowledge she needed. And renewed purpose.
* * *
Lewis made his way down the corridor toward his dining room the next morning, muttering a soft curse. After the farcical evening he’d had, he hadn’t slept well. His dreams had been invaded by a woman with big brown eyes and a bedazzling smile. Tantalizing him.
Calling herself Sarah.
Because it was the worst time of the year, when nothing good ever happened, he was greeted with snow squalls whipping about outside his bedroom window the moment he’d risen from his bed and thrown open the curtains.
That meant the likelihood of his unintended guest leaving this morning, or this day was…nonexistent.
How much longer was he to have the woman in his home? Until the bloody spring? He raked a hand through his hair.
Would she be as talkative during the day as she was in the carriage? God help him.
He’d retreated to his more intimate-sized home for solitude and solace. Already, this woman had turned his household upside down. He’d had Darius speak to the staff, and now Lewis’s confused employees were addressing him as “my lord” as they’d done before his father’s passing. They were also advised not to react in any way in the event they heard “Sarah” address him by his middle name—Joseph. Worse still, when he’d entered his home with her sometime after midnight, he was forced to speak loudly over his butler’s salutation so that she wouldn’t hear Your Grace. Like some sort of raving madman.
He hadn’t missed the curious looks he’d received from the man, knowing he was wondering if Lewis had lost his mind.
Lewis placed his hand on the door handle, having been informed that she awaited him to break the fast. He was hoping she’d opted to eat without him, as his servants had offered. But she’d declined.
Tightening his jaw, dismayed, he opened the door, and entered the room.
She rose from her seat at the end of the long wooden table in an instant, a bright smile lighting up her face. Lighting up the room.
He froze in his tracks.
Her lush dark curls were arranged to perfection, framing a face that was even more beautiful in the light of day. He couldn’t stop himself from drinking in every detail—from those tantalizing lips that made his mouth go dry, to those eyes…darker than he’d first supposed. So fathomless.
So completely and dangerously alluring.
Making his blood race. His sac tighten.
His cock pressed against the seam of his trousers.
For a second time, he found himself just standing there before this woman—like a mindless fool—devouring the sight of her, her slender neck, delectable earlobes he wanted to bite, and every mouthwatering curve of her body in her deep-blue dress. Something about her very presence obliterated everything else in the room. This woman had the face of an angel and the body of a goddess. And he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Damn it all to hell. You’re not bedding this woman.
It didn’t matter that his body was clamoring for her and that his instincts told him it would be so good with her.
He shoved every one of those notions away.
He made it a practice to limit his relationships with the fairer sex to impersonal, sexually recreational encounters at pleasure clubs. He’d sooner take himself in hand or walk through a blizzard all the way back to L’Anonyme before he’d bed someone who had the ability to unbalance him this much.
He’d learned his lesson a long time ago.
“Good morning, Joseph.” She approached him, and he had to root his feet to the floor to keep from retreating from her—and behaving even more ludicrously.
She stopped before him, still with that smile that beckoned him. “You look well. Did you sleep well?” Her dark brows quirked up in that adorable manner she had.
Three unwanted thoughts immediately swamped his mind.
One, he detected the light scent of jasmine. How he loved jasmine on a woman, and Christ help him, on her skin, it was divine. He all but nuzzled her neck just to draw the scent in deeply.
Two, he loved how her body was so perfectly proportioned to his. Down to his very marrow, he knew they’d fit together in the most spine-melting way.
And three, she had the sweetest little constellation of freckles on the bridge of her nose. He never even knew he liked freckles.
He liked hers very much.
She’s waiting for a response. Say something.
“Thank you. And no. Let’s eat.”
He turned on his heel and walked toward his usual seat at the opposite end of the table. Just as he reached his chair, he heard a clanking of dishes. Looking up, he realized he must have the same expression of surprise as his servant George presently sported on his face. The man stood opposite him, holding out the chair for her. But she wasn’t there. Instead, with some of her dishes in hand, she rushed to his end of the lengthy mahogany table, which easily accommodated sixteen diners, and plunked them down beside him, then sat before anyone could assist.
When she looked up at him, her smile returned.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Sitting beside you so we may enjoy our meal together. You don’t expect me to shout from down there, do you?” She inclined her head toward her former seat.
Lewis frowned. “Yes. I mean no. What I prefer is to enjoy my meal in silence.”
She lifted a brow, her smile still in place. Her expression suggested she doubted the validity of his statement. He clenched his jaw, keeping the oaths rushing up his throat from leaving his mouth, and met George’s gaze. The man hadn’t moved, confused as to what to do.
“It’s all right, George.” Lewis sat, then waved a reluctant hand for him to come forward with the remainder of the dishes she’d left behind. Within minutes, her place setting was completed, and George had received a warm thank-you from her before leaving with a bow to return to the kitchen.
She cast her gaze back on Lewis. “I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well. Nothing to do with your health, I hope.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that, Joseph. I slept wonderfully. You were correct when you stated the room would be comfortable. It was. And your home…” She glanced about the room, taking in his parents’ portraits, the ornately carved hearth with its crackling fire behind the brass fireguard, flanked by large glass-paned windows trimmed in gold-colored velvet curtains on either side. “Your home is lovely.”
Before he could respond, the servants entered with steaming platters of food.
He noticed that she glanced out the window multiple times as she was served slices of ham, sausage, and eggs onto her plate.
“Sarah…” Her head was turned yet again, watching the blowing snow.
Of course she isn’t responding. It isn’t her real name.
Her hand rested on the table. Lewis placed his hand on hers. She startled at the touch, her head snapping around to him.
“Sarah,” he repeated, removing his hand. Liking the feel of her soft skin more than he’d admit. “Given the accumulation of snow, am I safe to assume you haven’t any family or friend you can reach at the moment?”
“You are indeed safe to assume that. The conditions are rather extreme. I may require a few more days in your company…” She appeared somewhat unsettled. Or perhaps worried. He didn’t know which as he was no expert in deciphering women’s emotions. But he did notice that she’d glanced at his mouth. More than once since their meeting in the cab, in fact.
And he knew exactly what that meant.
The very last thing he’d do was dwell on the notion that his attraction to this woman was mutual.
He picked up his fork and forced his gaze to a more neutral sight—his food on his plate—uttering a single word in resignation to the circumstances at hand. “Right.”
* * *
Ella cast yet another glance out the window, a tad unnerved.
It wasn’t her concerns about the weather hindering her departure that was causing her turmoil at the moment. Nor was it that her friend Ernestine might be worried about Ella not having arrived yesterday, as it was likely she believed her departure had been delayed due to the weather.
It was none of those things.
It was the gentleman seated to her right that was having an unsettling effect—in an entirely different way—her skin still tingling where he’d touched her. She wasn’t prone to bouts of giddiness when it came to men, the way her sisters had been prior to their marriages. Never once had she met a man who’d incited any level of fluster and flutter.
Not even Octavius, if truth be told.
Yet, the moment Joseph had entered the room, he’d taken her breath away. He moved with a commanding masculine grace that had her completely riveted.
When she’d approached him, her stomach actually flip-flopped as she found herself gazing into his eyes, finally learning their true color. An unusual shade of gray. Like the summer sky before a storm.
His body was lean, strong. Sculpted by muscle that could be easily detected under his gray morning suit.
Without question, the night had cloaked much of his captivating good looks. He was the finest-looking man she’d ever seen.
Who knew they made men this striking?
His dark hair was slightly mussed and looked as soft as a raven’s wing. She’d clasped her hands to keep from brushing a stray lock from his forehead—just to touch it.
Clearly, her lack of sleep had her out of sorts this morning. The truth was, she hadn’t slept, despite the comforts of the room. She’d spent most of the night pacing, wrestling with serious misgivings about her entire plan to seduce Octavius.
She approached everything with deliberate forethought. Analyzing all aspects. Yet, she’d impetuously halted her cab last eve and gained entry to L’Anonyme—having learned about the club from a conversation she’d overheard at one of the notorious bookshops on Holywell Street days prior. She’d even managed to have a brief conversation with the proprietress of L’Anonyme, Madame Giselle. Who highly approved of Ella’s intended seduction, as one would assume she would, given the activities at her establishment.
Madame Giselle had even chosen a particular piece of jewelry, from the club’s own private merchandise, normally available exclusively for its members, that she felt would ensure Ella’s success. She didn’t know exactly how, nor why they would sell ornamental stones or bejeweled items there. But Madame Giselle assured her that whomever she chose to seduce would be delighted by it. Though generally prudent with her funds, despite having a considerable inheritance, she’d purchased the item.
Because she absolutely couldn’t risk failure.
Because she needed all the help she could get.
It was then and there that she’d decided she needed more than the jewelry made of jade. Obtaining advice on the art of seduction and pleasure from one of Madame Giselle’s own patrons would help cinch her goal. Likely more so than the jewelry—which she’d happily gift to Joseph as a token of her appreciation for his help.
Ella cut a piece of ham on her plate. “I can just imagine how delightfully festive your home will look once you deck the halls. This beautiful home full of garlands, doors adorned with wreaths, and the banisters with holly, ivy, and big bows of red.” She smiled. From the looks of his home and its very address, he was a man of considerable means. She stopped herself from delving any further into his identity. Just as she’d promised him.
“I won’t be doing that.”
She raised her brows. “Won’t be doing what?”
“Decking the halls.”
“Oh? Will you be going elsewhere for the holiday?”
“No.”
“Then why…?”
“Because I don’t care to celebrate it. And I don’t care to discuss it.”
There was a lot behind those few words. Though she was truly curious why he was so opposed to Christmas, she was going to respect his wishes.
So much for engaging in pleasantries.
Idle conversation had never been her forte, though she’d hoped it would somehow settle her pulse. His effect on her was beyond distracting.
Moving a slice of ham across her plate, having yet to eat a bite, she said, “I see. Whatever your reasons, I’m certain they are fitting and deeply personal. You needn’t worry that I will ask questions about it.” She glanced back at him and caught the surprise that flashed in his eyes.
Those disarming, unique gray eyes.
“I want you to know,” she continued, “how unusual this is. Everything I’ve done from your cab to this dining room is…well, far outside the norm. Even for me.”
He simply tilted his head slightly, and set his gaze on her. Studying her. It almost made her look down. When she’d made sure to always meet a man’s gaze squarely. Unwaveringly.
“I appreciate your regard for my privacy on the matter,” he said at last, clearly pleased.
She could have sworn that for a brief instant the slightest hint of a smile had whispered across his lips. It made her want to see a full smile on his handsome face.
She shoved that wish away.
He focused on his food.
“Do you have many mistresses?”
He started coughing.
George visibly stiffened as though someone had just pinched him.
Mentally, she groaned. If he didn’t have her so off-balance, she would have moved to a different topic with a bit more finesse.
“So much for private matters,” Joseph said dryly.
“My apologies. The change in subject was abrupt, but I didn’t think you’d mind the topic, since we agreed to have”—she glanced at George who was staring intently at an invisible spot on the opposite wall—“certain discussions. I didn’t know what else to discuss since you don’t wish to speak of the holiday. I’m not very good at inane chatter.”
“There are an infinite number of topics one could discuss without discussing Christmas. When in doubt, choose silence. Silence is always the right answer.”
She frowned. “It’s impolite to ignore someone you’re dining with. If you don’t wish to say, I’d like to move to the subject of that night with Alfred.”
Joseph quickly set down his fork. “Thank you, George. That will be all.”
The older man gave a quick bow, looking somewhat relieved. “Of course, Your…my lord.” He exited the room.
“Is kissing normal during the act?” She plunged right in. “There wasn’t much. There was quite a bit of labored breathing—on his part. Is that a good thing? I’m certain that providing you with as many details as possible is important—in order for you to aid me.”
“Actually, no—”
“He made odd noises. Does that mean he was enjoying it? Or in distress?”
Joseph took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I see you wish to have this discussion here and now. Didn’t you say you wanted to take notes? You haven’t any writing instruments.”
“We can begin now. I have many questions to ask. I’ll write down everything you tell me when I return to my room. You needn’t worry that I’ll forget. I learn quickly.”
“So you’ve said. All right. Let us get on with it.” He pushed his plate away, then moved hers away, as well. Folding his arms, he rested them on the table and leaned in toward her.
Her heart skipped a beat.
All that male beauty…so very close.
She chastised herself for these thoughts and physical reactions. Getting her work back was paramount. Before Octavius submitted it as his own.
Focus!
“Ask your questions, Sarah. Ask just one question at a time.”
She nodded. “I’ll begin with kissing. If one wanted to entice a man, how important would kissing be to him?” Not knowing what to do with her hands, she folded them on her lap, forcing herself to sit still and not fidget under the regard of those inebriating clear gray eyes. There was an intensity about them that she found far too thrilling.
Inciting her senses in a way no man ever had before.
“That would depend on the man—and his lover.” Now that he was this close, he dropped his voice an octave. It was so rich, so sultry, it sent a tiny shiver swirling down her spine and lancing into her core. She shifted in her seat, unnerved once more by her body’s response. “It is up to the lovers at play to decide what is important or enticing. There is but one goal for lovers to achieve.”
“Oh? What is the goal?” she managed to respond without sounding as breathless as she felt.
“Mind-melting mutual pleasure,” he murmured softly.
Those words reverberated through her entire body. Her sex clenched. Making her realize just how starved her senses were.
He slipped his hand under her chin, capturing it. Her eyes widened. “The lips are highly sensitive…” He lightly stroked her bottom lip. The sensation shot from his touch down to the tips of her breasts. She sucked in a soft breath. “Whether one engages in fucking, or making love, there’s no point to participating unless the pleasure is mutual. Giving pleasure…” He stroked her lip again, inciting the same delicious effect on her nerve endings. It took everything she had not to squirm again—especially when the lightest, most persistent ache was now pulsing between her legs. “…and receiving it. Anyone who offers you anything less than equal pleasure isn’t worth your time. Kissing shouldn’t be limited to a lover’s lips. You can kiss and taste your lover’s body. They should taste yours. Soft sucks of your nipples, or maybe you like a stronger draw. Sucks of that little nub between your legs until it aches so badly…until you’re dying for your release. Maybe even giving it a light, perfect little bite.”
She shot to her feet, the chair falling backward to the floor with a thud. “Thank you!” Her cheeks felt hot. Her blood roared in her veins. Worse yet, the very part of her female anatomy he’d just referenced felt slick and now throbbed with need. Quickly, she righted the chair and took a step back.
He was on his feet now, his brow furrowed.
“That…that is excellent information,” she told him, despite being mortified that she’d been rattled by mere words. “I’m going to return to my room and write every word of it down. Very good information, indeed. So detailed…”
Turning on her heel, she forced herself to keep to a brisk walk and not a full-out run to the dining room door. She’d never run from anything in her life. Yet, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. There was a knowing look in his eyes that told her he knew exactly what he’d done to her.
He’d undone her. With a handful of sentences.
Undone a woman who was used to being in complete command of her senses.
“Sarah…”
Dear God. His voice still had that sultry quality to it.
Grasping the door latch, she turned to him briefly, forcing herself to meet his eyes and not look away.
“I cannot wait to learn more.” She forced a smile. Learn more? You’re running out of the room as though you’re on fire. Which, thanks to him, she was. Her whole body burned with desire. “Thank you again,” she said as she stepped into the hallway.
Then she quickly closed the door before she embarrassed herself any further.