Gaelen Foley - [Inferno Club 06] Read online

  The whole world was out of sorts, including him. Nothing made sense anymore, so why should he follow his usual rules?

  Longingly, he cupped the luscious stranger’s breast, soft, generous, and round. Yes, tonight maybe all he needed was warm human contact, some kind of connection.

  Whoever she was, he would take the release she was offering. Then, maybe once he’d cleared his head, he could finally start to get on with his life. Begin to let go of his anger, though anger sometimes seemed like all that he had left . . .

  Grace honestly did not know what was wrong with her. Her body was now willfully ignoring clear orders from her brain. He was just too delicious.

  Push him away! That’s quite enough! her usual prim side yelled at her. Who did he think he was, anyway? This man had no right to grope her, kiss her, treat her like a toy made for his amusement. Not her, of all people!

  A preacher’s daughter. A Sunday school teacher!

  But her long-starved flesh seemed to have other ideas about who she was, secretly, deep down.

  Maybe in some shadowed corner of her heart, she wasn’t so different from the ex–soiled dove, Marianne.

  Well, she might be the soul of respectability, but in his arms, she learned for certain—if there had been any doubt—that she really wasn’t an angel, as George and so many others liked to believe.

  Oddly enough, she was glad of the reminder as this stranger showed her another, wilder side of herself. Her flesh thrilled to his fevered stroking. Her skin glowed, awakened by him; her lips swelled like blossoming roses beneath his masterful seduction; her toes curled in complete insubordination.

  But while her nerve endings tingled with forbidden pleasure, her conscience was at a loss.

  This had to stop. Had to.

  She was not a hussy like some of those women in the ballroom. She was a lady, a good influence on others, and she most assuredly did not go around sharing torrid kisses in dark rooms with tall, dashing spies.

  All right, that’s quite enough, big fellow. Panting, she flattened her hands against his chest but forgot again to protest, marveling at the wall of muscle in front of her. Fortunately, he seemed to get the message anyway and let her up for air with a low rumble of velvety laughter.

  “My, my, you don’t know what you want, do you, sweet? You’d better figure it out fast, or I’m going to make the decision for you.” He tilted his head to come in for another kiss.

  “No—we can’t!” she panted with an air of desperation.

  “We already are.”

  “But I don’t even know you!” she whispered, her chest heaving.

  “So? I like your eyes,” he answered, studying her with a roguish little smile made to devastate the female heart.

  “Sir! This is most improper!”

  “Indeed,” he agreed in a hearty murmur.

  “You mustn’t—”

  She couldn’t talk with her mouth full as he swooped lower, his warm, clever, questing tongue dancing with hers.

  Grace felt faint with the unbearable temptation.

  But when his fingertips skimmed her neckline, something about the expert tug at her clothing thankfully brought her out of this decadent enchantment.

  What was she doing? This was insanity.

  He was still kissing her as she flicked her eyes open wide. “Floor or the couch, chérie?”

  Such a question! She stopped and looked at him in shock.

  “You’re right,” he breathed, “who cares? Just make love to me.”

  She quivered violently.

  And just when she thought she was going to have to resort to kneeing him in the groin—a ploy she’d heard worked well, but had never tried—he reached under her backside and lifted her up off the floor, setting her gently on the scrolled, padded arm of the sofa.

  “There we are, nice and cozy,” he ground out as he slipped the hem of her gown upward over her knee and stepped between her legs.

  Dear God! She started to panic in earnest. This had got entirely out of hand.

  Now that she was pinned on the arm of the couch unable to kick him, the only weapon that came to mind was the pearl-tipped hairpin buried in her chignon.

  With a gulp, she reached up and slid it out of her hair, and as it brought her long tresses tumbling down about her shoulders, she braced herself.

  And did what she had to do.

  She jabbed him in the arm with it.

  “Ow!” The famous hero released her abruptly and stepped back, clapping his hand to his opposite biceps. “What the—?” He looked at her in astonishment.

  Grace held perfectly still, her eyes wide, her heart pounding. She dearly hoped he wasn’t the most soulless sort of assassin, but then, he worked for the Crown, so he had to obey the law like anyone else did.

  Right?

  She continued to brandish the five-inch hairpin like a miniature sword while he checked to see if his arm was bleeding.

  “What did you do that for?” he exclaimed.

  “I told you to stop.”

  “No, you didn’t!”

  “Well, I thought it!”

  He looked at her in exasperation. “Well, I apologize for failing to read your mind, dear lady.” He shook his head in bewildered indignation. “Excuse me, but I thought this was what you wanted. You’re the one who was in here waiting for me.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I was not!” She gasped, her cheeks turning scarlet. “Is that what you think?”

  “Weren’t you?” he exclaimed.

  Egotistical brute!

  “Of course not!” she cried. “I was minding my own business! I-I had to fix my hair!”

  He considered this, then flashed a knowing grin. “Right,” he drawled.

  And she lost her temper. The one that nobody back in Thistleton even knew she had. “Oh, how can anyone be so arrogant?” she uttered as grandly as Lady Windlesham herself. “What, sir, do you take me for?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” he replied, scanning her person from head to toe, but his eyes danced.

  She noticed as the moonlight sparkled in them that they were wolf-gray and altogether shrewd.

  “Humph!” Unwilling to honor his cocky response with an answer, she hopped off the arm of the sofa and was relieved when he allowed her to walk past him unmolested.

  In high dudgeon, she paced a few steps away to put him at a safer distance, then she pivoted in a sweeping turn and folded her arms across her chest. With a lift of her chin, she fixed him with her sternest look of Sunday-schoolmarm disapproval.

  It usually worked on the nine-year-olds, anyway.

  “I am no liar,” she informed him. “I certainly did not ask you to close the door and douse the candles. That was your own doing. But then, I expect men like you go around grabbing ladies and kissing them whenever you fancy!”

  He quirked a brow. “Funny, I thought you were enjoying that as much as I was.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Please leave. Now.”

  He glanced toward the door. “Afraid I can’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t make me go out there. Carnivores. They’re after me.”

  “Well, you can’t stay in here!” she declared though it took her a moment to figure out what he meant. Then the whole, sordid picture crystallized in her lust-besotted brain. “Oh, Lud,” she said under her breath.

  He had mistaken her for one of those shameless hussies who had been thronging him in the ballroom.

  He frowned as he, too, finally began to realize his mistake. “Well.” He turned away scratching his cheek. “This is all very awkward.”

  “I daresay—!”

  “My apologies, Miss, er—might I ask your name?”

  “Now you wish to know who I am?”

  “Better late than never,” he said with a shrug.

/>   “I think not.” She shook her head decisively, though it went against everything in her to be rude. “I’m afraid it’s best if we just part ways without further introduction. Then perhaps we can both forget this unfortunate debacle ever happened.”

  “Is that what this was?” he murmured, while Grace ignored a twinge of guilt at her own white lie, for in actuality, she already knew who he was. No introduction was required, at least not on her end of things.

  As for him, it was just as well if he never learned her name. It was safer that way for her reputation.

  “Very well,” Lord Trevor replied, and though he looked a little nonplussed by the contrast of her cold treatment after such a fiery kiss, he managed a taut bow. “As you wish. My deepest apologies, madam, for this regrettable mistake.” He hesitated, as though he might say more, but then he thought better of it. “Well—that is all.” Pivoting, he headed for the door.

  Grace watched him warily, her heart pounding. But when she heard voices in the hallway, she gasped and zoomed after him, grabbing him by the arm. “Wait!” she whispered.

  He looked askance at her with a devilish smile. “Change your mind?”

  She shushed him in exasperation. “Listen! There are people in the hallway!” she whispered, raising a finger to her lips.

  “So?”

  “If you step out there now, and someone sees me in here—alone with you, in a darkened room—my reputation will be ruined! To say nothing of my family’s. You are not allowed to ruin me,” she whispered angrily.

  “Well, there goes the whole aim and purpose of my life,” he drawled under his breath. “Very well. Don’t look so terrified. I’m sure I can find another way out of here.” Giving her a sardonic look of reproach, he turned away and crossed to the French doors, opening them to step out onto the small balcony overlooking the garden.

  Grace followed him uncertainly.

  He peered over the edge to assess its distance from the ground below. Then, gripping the railing with a lackadaisical air, he swung one long leg over the side.

  “Be careful!” she warned in a whisper, which earned her another long-suffering look.

  “Thank you for your concern, Miss—?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Stubborn,” he taunted, then lowered himself deftly off the outer ledge of the balcony. From there, he took a long step sideways onto a cast-iron rose trellis affixed to the exterior wall of the mansion.

  Down this makeshift ladder the ex-spy proceeded to climb as nonchalantly as if he did this sort of thing every day.

  Which perhaps he did, for all she knew.

  Except for one small snag.

  “Ow!” she heard him mutter as she leaned over the railing, following his progress in begrudging admiration.

  “What’s wrong?” she called down in a loud whisper.

  “Thorn! Not that you care. You won’t even tell me your name. I’ll live,” he assured her in a grumpy tone.

  Grace refused to smile.

  Upon reaching the flowerbed below, Lord Trevor stepped off the trellis and briefly lifted the middle joint of his finger to his mouth to ease the little wound.

  She could not deny that she was somewhat amused.

  “Good-bye,” she called as loudly as she dared.

  “Good-bye yourself,” he shot back.

  She frowned. Well, nice meeting you, too. Then she watched him go marching off into the shadows.

  Glad he was gone, she supposed that was the last that she would probably see him. After he’d taken such pains to flee the “carnivores,” it seemed unlikely he would return to the ballroom.

  She, on the other hand, had better get back down there in short order, or someone might eventually notice she was gone. You’re dreaming, she thought, recalling her apparent invisibility to others downstairs.

  Oddly enough, however, she wasn’t feeling so lonely anymore. The prospect of returning to the ball seemed even duller now, knowing that Lord Trevor would not be there. Nevertheless, she realized George might be looking for her even now to claim his dance. Better fix my hair. She could still practically feel his clever fingers running through her hair, his sensual touch on her skin . . .

  Scandalized by her own thoughts, she scrabbled about to find a candle and tinder in the room. Laying hold of one at last, she struck the flint with hands that still trembled, but finally managed to bring back a flicker of light.

  Then came the task of remaking her chignon. In short order, she had twisted her long, light brown hair into a smooth rope. She looped it around her hand to form a neat bun, then tucked the edges under and inserted the long hairpin she had poked him with to hold it all in place.

  There. Now she looked like the Reverend Kenwood’s virtuous daughter again.

  In the glass, however, her cheeks still glowed coral pink. Nervously pulling up her neckline again, she frowned at her reflection.

  What a barbarian he was, grabbing at her so! No one had ever touched her body like that before in her life. She still felt foolish and overwarm, guilty and unsure. It wasn’t my fault, she assured herself, smoothing one last stray hair into place. He’s the one who started it.

  In any case, he hadn’t even meant to do it. She understood that now. He had thought she was one of those awful women stalking him and had reacted accordingly.

  He had only kissed her to be rude. Of course, he had apologized. Egads, there was no point in dwelling on it. Forgive and forget. The man had made a mistake.

  A rather startling mistake, one they had both enjoyed . . . Indeed, every woman ought to be kissed like that just once in her life, Grace thought, as another sigh escaped her. The main thing was, it wouldn’t happen again.

  Her heart sank. Back to being a spinster.

  But she wasted no time in sneaking out of the parlor. She opened the door a crack, glanced to the right and left, and finding the hallway empty, headed back to the ball.

  Awkward. So, so very awkward.

  Comically so—even though the humor was at his own expense.

  Trevor could not believe he had made such a mortifying blunder, but it just went to show how out of sorts he was, and besides, as mistakes went, this was one he had thoroughly enjoyed.

  It had also made one thing very clear: Perhaps it was time he started paying attention to life again, get his bloody head on straight, and come out of his dark fog of angry, bitter brooding.

  Whoever she was, the little minx had certainly jarred him out of his disillusioned rut.

  Half-amused, fully chagrined, and still smoldering from head to toe with thwarted lust, he headed for his carriage, hands in pockets.

  Still, the question would not leave him alone. Who was she?

  A little terror, that’s who. He could not believe she had jabbed him with her hairpin—all to escape his kiss, which he had doled out as if he were doing her a favor.

  Tickled by the irony, even though he himself was the butt of the joke, Trevor paused reluctantly and glanced back over his shoulder at Lievedon House, all its windows warmly aglow.

  Hang it, he was torn about whether to go home now as planned or venture back inside and stay a little longer.

  Try to find out who she was . . .

  He shook his head to himself, well aware that his apology had been inadequate. What she must think of him!

  He knew how a gentleman ought to treat the fair sex: Unlike his Order teammates, he had sisters, after all. He had never been a serial seducer like Beauchamp, nor took twisted pleasure in the kind of stormy, hot-and-cold affairs with dangerous females that were Nick’s Achilles heel.

  But now he felt like a villain, for it was obvious in hindsight that the lady he had groped like a drunken libertine was a genuine nice girl.

  A nice girl! Imagine that. He had lost faith that they existed. It made him all the more intrigued. And all the l
ess willing to accept her refusal to tell her name.

  He could learn it easily enough, of course. He did have some experience in gathering information.

  But maybe she was right. Maybe it was better to leave it alone, as she had said—a secret kiss with an intoxicating stranger. God knew he’d had his share of those, he thought, letting out a wistful sigh.

  Somehow, this felt different. He looked at the house again. Then a fleeting memory of her clinging to him in a dizzied swoon of very virginal passion flashed through his mind and made his nether regions pulsate with long-starved need. Right. All of a sudden, his mind was made up.

  This would not do. Honor had its demands. He had misused a lady: He, of all people, could not possibly leave it at that. He had to go back and tell her again—properly, without sarcasm—that he was sorry and that she needn’t fear at all for her good name.

  Which he fully intended to learn.

  At the very least, he owed it to himself to find out who she was. For the first time in ages, he felt a stirring of hope. Whoever she was, she symbolized, well, something. He wasn’t quite sure what. It was enough to have seen there were still good women out there in the world.

  While all the others fawned on him—exactly what he didn’t need—she, with that little pinprick, had neatly popped the bubble of his own dark focus on himself.

  Aye, she had done him a favor, he thought wryly. He owed the girl his thanks. And why not?

  He had nothing else to do tonight, nowhere else to go.

  And nothing left to lose.

  Laura and her new beau obviously weren’t coming, so maybe now he could finally relax. Go back in, have another drink, he mused, and at least try to enjoy himself like a human being again.

  With the taste of that beguiling girl’s innocent kiss still lingering on his tongue, Trevor surrendered to his curiosity, drawn back toward the light.

  The iron chandelier glowed, hung from the mansion’s airy, half-round portico. He crossed beneath it, walking back into Lievedon House.

  Rejoining the fray, he made a mental note to try to steer clear of those vexing hussies and keep to the company of men while he made his inquiries.

  One way or the other, he was determined to find out who the devil he had just kissed.