How To Vex A Viscount (12 page)

And between her legs, her still-hairless folds began to ache. She shifted on her seat, but nothing eased the throbbing.

Before he drew his hand back, he pushed the edges of the satin camisole aside, brushing her exposed skin with his fingertips as he did so. Now her nipples were scarcely covered. In fact, if the hard little points weren’t holding up the fabric, she’d be bared already.

Another lost hand, or even a deep breath, and . . .

“There,” he said. “Much better. No point in unfastening that contraption if the blasted thing stays in place.”

“We did not wager on touching. Merely on satin,” she reminded him.

“Perhaps we should amend the wager then,” he said. “When I win, I may touch whatever I see.”

Lucian drew his knuckles softly over the swell of her breast. A jolt of heat lightning streaked to her belly and stayed to simmer in an ever-tightening circle of warmth.

“Then we should adjust the wager the other way as well,” she said. “How shall you feel if I lay claim to your breeches buttons with each hand that falls my way?”

He chuckled. “Ah! Mlle La Tour, either way, I win.”

She’d blundered badly and she knew it, but she was momentarily saved when Nanette rapped at the door with their supper. If the maid noticed that Daisy was showing a good bit more skin than when she last saw her, Nanette was tactful enough not to show surprise. She laid out the fine china and silver for them, and left with a wink and a smile, but fortunately no comment.

Daisy lifted the silver chafing lids.

Oysters and chocolate.Aphrodisiacs both. As if Lucian needs that sort of encouragement!

Lucian helped himself to a couple of oysters while she poured tea for them.

“How did you find the assistant I sent ’round to represent me?” She dropped a lump of sugar into his tea and added a dollop of sweet cream.

“You mean Miss Drake?” he asked, dabbing at his lips with a linen napkin. “She’s competent.”

Competent! Was that all the man could say for her?

“I understand she’s an accomplished Latin scholar,” Daisy said primly.

“Is that why you sent her?”

“Well, yes, of course,” she said. “The dear girl did confess to me that she is extremely interested in Roman antiquities.”

“I’m well aware of the
dear girl’s
. . . curiosity about them,” he said.

“Then, too, she’s my hostess’s great-niece, so it was the politic thing to do,” Daisy said, wishing she’d never broached the subject.

“I was surprised that you didn’t send a man who could help with the actual labour,” he said as he selected a piece of chocolate and offered it to her.

He tease the sweet treat over her bottom lip before popping it into her open mouth. Daisy closed her eyes and let the chocolate dissolve slowly on her tongue.

When she opened her eyes, she found him studying her intently. Not her nearly exposed breasts. She would have expected that. Lucian’s gaze was fixed on her eyes. To divert him, she offered him a chocolate, taunting his mouth with it as he had hers.

“The money I sent will more than pay for labourers to do your digging. That way you and”—she barely caught herself before she said “I”—“you and Miss Drake can do the more scholarly work together.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that I’ll be working closely each day with an attractive young lady?”

Attractive! Well, that’s several steps up from
competent,
at least.

“Not in the slightest.” Especially since the competition for his attention was herself. “Were you hoping to make me jealous, Lucian?”

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m sure you’re a stranger to such an emotion.”

“
Bien
sûr.
For one’s heart must be involved in order to feel jealousy,” she said, remembering the real Blanche’s thoughts on the matter. “You and I . . . what we have is a pleasant diversion. Nothing more.”

“Well, good,” he said, agreeing with her assessment of their relationship more quickly than she’d hoped. “Then perhaps you’ll advise me in a matter of the heart.”

“Oui?”

“I plan to show a certain young lady that I admire her soon,” he said. “Perhaps you can help me know the right way to go about it.”

He wants me to help him woo Clarinda Brumley. Not bloody likely.

It wouldn’t be very ladylike, or even very Blanche-like, to voice such sentiments, but she could jolly well think them as loudly as she wished!

“Here is what you should do.” She leaned toward him, forgetting for a moment the way her bosom was poised for exposure. “Ignore the lady. If you are in the same room, do not even acknowledge her presence. Whatever you do, be as aloof as possible, and she will be panting in your wake in no time.”

“By heaven, mademoiselle! You make it impossible to ignore you.” He reached forward to circle an exposed nipple. When she started to pull back, he stopped her by splaying his whole hand over her breast, which was now quite bared. “We can touch what we see, remember.”

“So we can.” She willed herself to relax into his hand.

He continued his unhurried exploration of her breast, drawing his fingertips over her skin in feather light strokes. She seemed to have grown a second heart, and it pounded between her legs. Daisy narrowly resisted the urge to squirm in her seat.

“How will ignoring her make her want me?” he asked.

“It is clear you are not a student of human nature, monsieur,” Daisy said, trying to come up with a valid reason for such poor advice. Maintaining a courtesan’s composure while he taunted her nipples nearly had her grinding her teeth. “Since the Garden, we have ever wanted that which is forbidden. If you are distant, the lady will see you as a challenge and act accordingly.”

Not Clarinda Brumley, Daisy knew. That young lady had to be coaxed into each conversation, and if it were not about either fashion or gossip, it would be a short exchange indeed. If Lucian ignored Clarinda, she’d simply sit like an inanimate lump unless her mother pressed the issue.

And if Lady Brumley was affronted by Lucian’s slight, so much the better.

“If you’re sure,” he said doubtfully while the pad of his thumb thrummed her nipple.

“Absolutely,” she said, feeling like a plucked string. Her whole body seemed to vibrate in concert with her breasts.

One side of his mouth hitched upward. “Then I will implement your excellent idea. You really think it will work?”

“Indeed,” she affirmed, her tone breathless.

“Upon your word, I’ll try it, then,” he said, pulling back his hand.

Daisy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out for him to continue pleasuring her with his fingers. Who would have thought a woman’s nipples were so sensitive?

Lucian pushed back his plate. “And now, mademoiselle, I believe we have a card game to finish.”

Whether by accident or design, Lucian’s luck soured. Daisy found herself fighting to control the trembling in her hands as she undid his breeches buttons. More than once, her hand brushed his hardened groin in the process.

What’s he got in there? A lead pipe?

He was still covered by his drawers, but only barely, and he’d just turned up the losing hand.

He made a
tsking
noise with his tongue and teeth. “Looks like I can’t draw a winning card to save my soul.”

“Oh, my dear Lucian,” she said. “I greatly fear this game is of no benefit to your soul whatsoever.”

“Maybe not, but the rest of me enjoys it immensely.” Lucian stood, the better to present his remaining buttons.

She willed her hands not to tremble as she unfastened one side of his drop-front fly. The thin cotton fell forward and the tip of him was exposed above the cloth.

She’d seen artistic representations of penises in terra-cotta. The little Roman lamp sprang to mind. And a few male members carved in granite, most notably the one on the nude statue in Lord Wexford’s grotto in the centre of his garden maze. There were even one or two displayed in quiescent form in the classical painting in Aunt Isabella’s boudoir.

But this was the first one Daisy had seen in the flesh. Of course, she could see only the head, the dark skin pulled smooth around the tiny mouth at the tip. Already she could tell the little Roman lamp hadn’t been anywhere near life-size. Lucian’s penis leaned toward her of its own accord, straining at its cotton prison.

“Remember,” he said, his tone husky, “in this game, what we can see, we can touch.”

“From childhood, women are schooled to tell men no, to stop them from acting upon their baser instincts. If men are unable to control themselves and need women to keep them from succumbing to the rages of lust, why, I ask you, are we dubbed the ‘weaker sex’?”

—the journal of Blanche La Tour

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Daisy swallowed hard. To her surprise, she discovered her hand fairly itched to touch him.

But how to go about it?

A circuitous route seemed safest. She circled his navel with her fingertips. A narrow line of dark hair led downward, spreading when it reached his groin. She followed the trail. She teased along the tip of him, exploring the smooth head and the spongy flare.

When she brushed over the bit of skin just below the head, Lucian groaned. A small pearl of liquid glistened at the tiny opening.

There was undoubtedly a good bit more of him, but the flap of his fly was still fastened on one side. Daisy looked up at his face.

Lucian was gazing down at her. His snapping dark eyes were now hooded and hungry. He was having difficulty controlling his breathing.

“Will you play another hand?” she asked. “Or do you yield the next round to me?”

“I yield,” he whispered. “God help me, I can do nothing else.”

Daisy accepted his surrender with a smile and turned her attention back to his groin. She slowly unfastened his last remaining button and let the cotton flap fall.

“Mon Dieu!”

“You’re not seeing anything that surprises you?” A bit of worry crept into his tone.

“Not at all,” she assured him. Daisy reminded herself she was supposed to be Blanche La Tour, courtesan. She should be quite familiar with the amazing mysteries of a man, but it was hard not to be impressed by him. “A woman is allowed to appreciate male beauty when she sees it, isn’t she?”

He brushed her cheek with his knuckles and grinned down at her. “You are a wonder.”

She stroked his full length, revelling in the smoothness and warmth of his skin. She cupped his bag, fondling the twin lumps hidden inside. His breath hissed over his teeth.

“I haven’t hurt you?” she asked.

“No, but you drive a man to his knees.” He suited the action to the words and dropped before her.

He leaned in and kissed her again, but this time, the kiss was tinged with urgency. His hands once again found her breasts.

“Will you yield the next hand to me?” He breathed into her ear between kisses.

“I yield.” She palmed his cheeks and brought his mouth back for another kiss. “I can do nothing else.”

He pulled at the next ribbon, but the satin fouled into a hard knot. He gave the front of the camisole a good yank, completely freeing both her breasts, setting them on the camisole’s padded shelf.

Lucian pulled back to look at her. “You’re so beautiful.” Daisy’s flesh glowed under his unabashed approval. Then he flashed her a grin. “According to the rules set down, what we can see, we can touch. But we didn’t say it had to be with our hands, did we?”

Her nipples drew tight. She wondered if the touch of his mouth would still the ache or make it worse.

“No,” she said in a breathless whisper, “we didn’t say it had to be with our hands.”

His kisses started at the base of her throat and moved south. Daisy gasped when his mouth closed over her nipple.

Blanche’s journal had mentioned the pleasure to be found in having a lover suckle and tease one’s nipples, but the courtesan had woefully understated the case. Bliss spread over Daisy’s entire body, but she fought the downward pull in her groin.

She ran her hands over Lucian’s head, wishing he hadn’t lashed his dark locks back in such a neat queue. If he’d let it fly free, his wonderful thick hair would curl around her fingers.

Lucian kissed his way through the valley that separated her breasts and nibbled up to the other stiff peak. This time he bit down just hard enough to make her cry out.

His head jerked up. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” She gasped, clutching his shoulders for support. The ache between her legs was fast becoming unbearable. Lucian’s little love bite sent a streak of pleasure to the region that was so sharp, it was a knife’s edge from pain. “But that was positively wicked.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said with a smile. “I enjoyed it immensely. Are you certain you’ve no experience with this sort of thing?”

“Well, one hears things, of course, and I confess to having seen a few French postcards from time to time,” he admitted.

Daisy had heard rumours of those explicit pictures that no legitimate post would ever carry. Like the anatomically detailed ancient Roman art, a wealth of sensual information was said to be conveyed on those little cards.

“But no words, no pictures can come close to actual experience.” He held her close and rested his forehead against hers.

“Do it again,” she urged.

He didn’t need to be told twice. His mouth found her nipple again. The little nip sent the same jolt of white-hot urgency streaking through her. Daisy wondered if she’d missed the passage in Blanche’s journal about love bites or if her experience had surpassed the courtesan’s in this instance.

Lucian straightened to kiss her lips again, and she suddenly remembered his open fly. Her hands wandered from his shoulders, caressing his chest, his flat belly, and found his hot shaft waiting for her touch.

“Life-size is ever so much better than the pale imitations,” Daisy said when he released her mouth for moment.

He jerked back and stared at her. “Why did you say that?”