Tess made her way down the long candlelit passage, thankful for the carpets that silenced her footfalls. Dance slippers were wonderful for moving about quietly, and the fact that the servants were busy with the festivities downstairs made this the perfect opportunity to investigate Countess di Notari’s chambers. If only her muslin skirts wouldn’t whisper so loudly.
From her discussions with the footman, Tess knew that she was headed in the right direction, and once she made the next left, she would be at the door to the countess’s rooms. People tended to keep those things most precious to them near, so the bedroom was the ideal place for potentially sensitive items. What exactly, Tess had no idea, but if there was anything to uncover, she would soon find out.
Peering over her shoulder, she checked the hallway, and upon seeing no one, prepared to enter.
Nonchalantly, but with a bit of a widening of her eyes and drooping of her mouth, she opened the bedroom door, ready to pretend that she was more than a bit foxed and had gotten lost in the corridors.
Upon seeing the empty chamber, she swiftly entered the room and closed the door behind her.
Grand ivory and gilded Egyptian-inspired Thomas Hope furniture graced the chamber’s sitting room. The fire burned low in the hearth, indicating that the countess wasn’t expected here anytime soon. Good. She should have at least a half hour if she’d timed the festivities right.
Distantly she wondered if Heath missed her at the ball. She doubted it; he was too busy with his fiancée-to-be and her mother. Anger simmered within her, but she pushed it away. Why should she care how he wasted his time? What did it matter to her that he was courting a high-minded, toffee-nosed chit?
Oh, she’d done a little digging on Miss Penelope Whilom tonight, and Tess wasn’t impressed. And it wasn’t only the fact that the girl was related to George Belington, the toad.
A bump resounded. Tess jumped, but forced herself to calm. Someone had dropped something upstairs; she had not been discovered.
Blast, she couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Clear-eyed, cool, steady. Get results. Trounce Napoleon. King and country. She felt her body relax and her senses sharpen as she honed in on the task at hand.
Silently Tess moved into the chamber’s inner sanctum. The bed was large enough to swallow the countess whole. The frieze-adorned tester was supported by a headboard at the back and by fluted columns at the front. The bedclothes, pillows, bolsters, and feathered quilt would be handled by servants, so Tess doubted they held many secrets. Still, she removed her evening gloves and set down her reticule. Then she felt every pillow and bolster until she was certain nothing lay hidden within.
Straightening, Tess leaned over to examine the decorative needlework bedcover, curious about the odd design. The needlework depicted sloping cliffs overlooking the ocean, with waves foaming as they came up upon the sand. It reminded Tess of a beach she’d visited once along the English coast. The needlework was a bit sloppy, and it was an unusual choice given the Egyptian-inspired furnishings. She made a mental note of the depiction and filed it away in her head for later consideration.
Her hands grazed the fluted columns and along the wooden bedframe, finding nothing of note. Squatting down on her hands and knees she peered beneath the bed. Chamber pot, slippers—
“What the blazes are you doing?” a male voice cried.
Tess jumped, her heart in her throat.
Heath stood in the doorway dressed in his black and white formal attire, nauseatingly handsome and well turned out down to his shiny black shoes.
“You!” The breath rushed out of her in a heady swell of relief.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Heath’s handsome face was darkened with anger.
Gritting her teeth, Tess hissed, “Lower your voice!”
“Why? Is your paramour hiding beneath the covers?” His tone was scathing.
“Paramour?” She blinked. “Oh, botheration! You think I have an assignation?”
“Why the hell else would you be off in a bedchamber during a ball?”
“Can we please discuss this another time?” She had no idea what she would tell him, but would figure that one out later. Moving forward, she grabbed his arm, trying to propel him toward the outer sitting room. His muscles beneath her hands were knotted with tension, and she felt as if she were trying to push hardened cement. “You have to get out of here.”
“Why? So you can meet your lover uninterrupted?”
“Don’t be a dolt. I’m not meeting anyone.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Hush!” Tess froze. Female voices could be heard nearing the chamber. The countess! “We’ve got to move, now!”
His fists curled. “I’m not going anywhere until I—”
“Don’t say another word!” Her eyes scanned the room searching for an escape.
The voices drew closer.
“I should have that Lady Mares tossed out on her bottom for ruining my new gown!” The countess’s tone was incensed.
“Calm yourself, we’ll go to the dressing room and I’ll help you change.” It was Miss Gammon’s voice, rock steady.
Grabbing Heath’s chin and pulling his face down to hers, Tess met his gaze. “If you have any care for me whatsoever, pray keep quiet and follow my lead!”
His brow furrowed as the realization dawned that there might be more to this than he’d considered. At last there was some sense in his thick head!
Hooking her arm through Heath’s, Tess dragged him in the direction opposite the entry door, deeper into the chamber.
His cocoa brown eyes flashed with anger and inquiry, but blessedly he held his tongue.
They moved into a room bursting with colorful gowns, lace, petticoats, and shoes. The heavy scent of eau de carnation perfume filled the air. The dressing room to which the countess was headed! Tess’s grip on Heath’s arm tightened. Could this fix get any worse?
Tess spied another door, veiled behind the armoire. She threw it open and shoved Heath inside, falling in on top of him and closing the door just as a voice called from within the dressing room, “Which would you prefer—the white or the green?”
“The one I’m wearing!” the countess cried, entering the chamber. “This is all your fault, telling me to butter up that buffoon Mares and his bitch of a wife!”
Tess held her breath; her heart was racing. She was a puddle of fear on the floor of a dark tiny closet. A stream of light came in from around the casing, and the door was thin enough for her to hear Miss Gammon command, “Lower your voice.”
“There’s no one here, not even the stupid maid! Why are you always so suspicious? It doesn’t become you.”
Tess relaxed, barely releasing a tiny breath. They had no idea that she and Heath were here.
Heath.
Tess suddenly realized that she sat flanked by Heath’s muscular legs with her buttocks pressing deeply into the juncture between his thighs! She was glad for the darkness and for the fact that she was facing the door, as her face had to be as red as a tomato!
She swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
If she’d had any doubt that he was sensitive to her shocking position, she only had to feel the evidence of his awareness pressing like a tipstaff into her lower back!
Her shoulders pressed against his hard, broad chest, his arms encasing her in a cocoon. She was overly warm, burning up from the intimate contact, achingly aware of every inch of his virile form. With his every heavy breath skating across her ear, she felt the desire rising up in her like a torrent. Her own breath felt locked in her throat as she tried to suppress her passion.
But she was overwhelmed.
She closed her eyes, suddenly unable to concentrate on the words being spoken outside the thin door. In the darkness, there was only Heath’s body pressing enticingly against hers, the air heady with the earthy scent of him. Every hair on her body rose up with excruciating awareness of his maleness and his heat, igniting a desire in her she hadn’t felt in years. It was a mind-scrambling honing of the senses that left her pulsing with need.
Oh God. She didn’t know whether to be mortified or delighted that he was aroused, too. Or perhaps it was an involuntary reaction on his part? It was simply the situation, being pressed so close in a small space…
His hand slowly crept to encircle her waist, hugging her possessively. Her eyes flew open as her heart skipped a beat, and then thundered to a gallop.
Could he…?
Listening to his heavy breathing, and feeling the heat he emanated, she knew that he desired her. Perhaps as much as she wanted him!
His warm hand slid up her gown and cupped her breast. She bit her lip to quiet the cry aching to escape. Part of her was shocked. Part of her prayed that he would be bolder.
His hand kneaded the soft flesh of her breast. Her head fell back against his shoulder. She shifted against him, licking her lips and tasting desire.
His other hand moved to her thigh, singeing her with the contact. Of their own volition, her hips rocked, barely an inch, but his body tensed to iron and his member jolted with urgency.
His lips nibbled her ear, igniting a wave of yearning rushing through her. She sucked in a breath, the scent of desire thick in the air.
His fingers curled, clawing her gown upward, exposing her foot. Then her calf. Then her thigh. She swallowed, desperate for air. Her heart was pounding, her body aroused to a fevered pitch.
If that door opened, she would be discovered exposed on the floor of a darkened closet with a man she’d sworn would never touch her. But she couldn’t think of that now. She closed her eyes and her mind to all thought.
With his fingers clawing the gown up, he was rewarded by the touch of silken stocking. She felt his breath seize in his chest. All her senses were focused on those roving hands.
His fingers skimmed up her calf, then over her thigh to the private place between her legs. Her heart was hammering, her body flushed with desire, the crevice between her thighs wet with wanting. He stopped, his hand big and warm, cupping her with urgent persuasion. She knew that he could feel her desire and know how desperately she wanted him.
Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
Gently his fingers slipped past her undergarments and between the folds of her womanhood. Her back arched and she bit back a groan as her body flamed like tinder.
His fingers delved into her sensitive flesh, stroking, gliding, playing, driving her mad…
She was on fire. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her world coalesced into a swirl of colors, a plethora of sensations centered in her core.
Lost, she gripped his arms, holding on for dear life. Then she let go, falling, falling, falling…
“Did you hear something?” a voice called from very far away.
Heath tensed, halting his fingers.
Dazed, Tess opened her eyes in the darkness.
“You’re so suspicious. There’s no one here.” It was the countess.
Tess’s heart skipped a beat as realization dawned. Instinctively she closed her thighs, intimately wedging his hand between them. Her head swam and she bit her lip, trying to leash the desire surging through her.
“But I thought I heard something. From over there.” A movement drawing closer. “What’s in this closet?”
“My gardening gowns, the ones I won’t be seen in. Why?”
“I thought—”
“You were the one insisting we make it back to the party posthaste, what are you going on about now?”
“Mistress!” a young woman’s voice cried.
“Where have you been, Jane?” the countess demanded.
“I was helping downstairs like you’d instruct—”
“Oh, enough of this. I have a ball to host. See if you can repair this gown immediately.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Come along, Miss Gammon. You’re going to make nice with Lord Mares while I work on Lord Huntington. We’ve lost enough time as it is!”
Sounds of movement, then silence.
Tess exhaled, sagging against him.
“What now?” he whispered in her ear, his breath hinting of champagne.
Unable to speak, she didn’t answer. Her body was still flaming, and she wanted him so badly, she ached.
“We…we should probably see if the coast is clear,” he whispered.
She nodded, forcing her ardor to cool. At least he was keeping a clear head; there was still the possibility of being discovered.
Carefully Tess reached up and turned the knob, easing the door open a crack. Cool air rushed into the hot closet.
“They’re gone,” she murmured.
Heath’s hands lifted her waist, helping her rise to her feet and dropping her skirts.
He stood, adjusting his breeches. “I think there’s a lady’s shoe up my arse.”
“Was that what I was feeling?” She raised a brow.
“Much better—and bigger—than any lady’s shoe…” His smile was wicked and his eyes blazed with passionate intent.
Hugging her waist, Tess withheld the wild laugh bubbling up inside her. She felt so good, so sinful, and the desire in his gaze was more intoxicating than any libation.
“The mistress wants the gown repaired posthaste!” a young feminine voice declared from the adjacent bedroom.
Footsteps neared.
“She wants everything posthaste. It’s the only way she knows!”
Tess moved back toward the closet, but Heath had other ideas in mind.
Quickly Heath grabbed a voluminous shawl hanging on a peg and tossed it over their heads, covering them both. “Come on!” He pulled her out the dressing room door.
“What the—!” a female shrieked as they charged into the bedroom.
Tess spied something white flash as they ran. My gloves! My reticule! Partway under the bed!
Tess grabbed Heath’s arm, making him stop and move back as she snatched up her gloves and reticule. All the while he kept them covered.
Had the countess seen her possessions? Probably not, or she would have searched the room.
“I’ll give ’em credit for nerve, whoever those two are,” the servant commented, seemingly unconcerned. “Having at it in the hostess’s bedroom.”
The rest of her words vanished as Tess and Heath raced out the door and down the corridor.
Tess giggled. Heath chuckled. Together they laughed, carefree and giddy, running as if the devil himself was at their heels.