How To Vex A Viscount (16 page)

Daisy crossed to the mirror and turned this way and that, examining her reflection once more. She couldn’t see a bit of herself in the exotic creature who stared back at her.

Except the eyes. Behind her mask, they were enormous, full of trepidation. She was about to share a part of herself with Lucian, a part she hadn’t even dreamed existed until recently. It was rather like discovering a treasure and then sharing the secret’s existence with a fellow adventurer.

What if he didn’t like the treasure she had found?

Her heart drummed against her ribs. A quick rap snapped her head toward the door.

“Come,” she breathed softly in English, then remembered herself and switched to French.
“Entrez, s’il vous plaît.”

The door slanted open, and Lucian stood bathed in the brighter light of the hall. She forced herself not to run to him. He bowed smoothly and then entered, closing the door softly behind himself. The room was plunged once again into dimness, lit only by a single candle and the small fire in the grate.

“Hello . . . Blanche,” he said, hesitating over her name for a bit.

Had he been about to call her Clarinda?

Irritation bubbled in her chest. Daisy Drake in the morning, Clarinda Brumley in the afternoon and now Blanche La Tour by candlelight. How did the man manage to keep all his women straight?

Maybe she wouldn’t be bringing him along on any treasure hunts this evening.

Lucian moved quickly to her side, but stopped shy of taking her into his arms. He leaned toward her, and Daisy closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. Her eyes flew open in surprise when she felt his lips buss her cheek instead. He stepped back an arm’s length away from her and ran his gaze over her.

Slowly. Deliberately. As though he were memorizing her.

“I’ve missed you,” he said simply. “I know I haven’t visited you in a while, but please know you are always in my thoughts. I was an oaf last time we were together. Dare I hope you’ve forgiven me?”

He smiled at her, and Daisy’s heart expanded in her chest till it threatened to burst through her ribs.

Then reality washed over her.

Always in his thoughts? Did that include the time he kissed her as herself? She’d have sworn he didn’t have Blanche on his mind while his tongue was making love to Daisy’s mouth. The man’s duplicity was growing by the moment.

“Of course I forgive you,” she said.

After all, this was nothing but a play. Her heart couldn’t be hurt if she simply remembered that none of this was real. She was a modern woman. She was Blanche La Tour, who took her own pleasure without a by-your-leave from any man. The heart had nothing to do with it. She waved him to one of the comfortable chairs by her flickering fireplace, then settled into the opposite one herself.

“It is good to see you, Lucian. How does your excavation progress?”

A decanter of port was on the small table between the two chairs. She allowed him to pour a glass for each of them while he told her of his most recent discoveries.

“But I regret to report that we are no closer to finding the treasure than when you and I first spoke,” he finished with a troubled sigh.

“No closer? How can you say that?” Did he think she worked for nothing every day? “Haven’t you learned more about the ancient thief Caius Meritus? Don’t you have a new theory about the reason for the theft?”

One of his brows arched in question. “I see you’ve been in communication with Daisy Drake.”

She bit her lower lip. She had to tread carefully or she’d tip her hand. “Bien
sûr.
She is my agent in this venture, after all.” Then on impulse, she added, “Tell me, now that you have spent more time in her company, how do you find Miss Drake?”

“How do I find Miss Drake?” He swirled the wine in his glass and inhaled deeply before tasting it. “Granted, my experience with the fair sex is thin, but everything in me warns against discussing one woman with another.”

Daisy forced an amused courtesan’s laugh. “There is no danger when the woman asks for your opinion.”

“My opinion on Daisy Drake,” he said with a crooked grin. “Candidly?”

“I would never have you be less than candid.”

“Very well, but remember, you asked.” He leaned back in his chair. “First, Daisy is whip-smart and doggedly hard- working.”

“Commendable,” she said with a sinking sensation in her gut. “But not very exciting.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. She’s exciting, all right.” A broad smile spread across his handsome face. “You should see her when she’s just come in from a rain shower. The dear girl has no idea how transparent wet muslin becomes.”

Daisy very nearly spewed port out her nose. She covered her mouth with her hankie and coughed violently.

“Her breasts are nearly perfect, dark nipples that perk right up through the wet cloth. They remind me of yours, Blanche, and that’s high praise,” he continued, ignoring the sputtering sounds she couldn’t suppress. “Yes, Daisy Drake is as exciting as they come. Oh, I’m sorry. Have you choked on something?”

He hurried to her side and leaned her forward to thump her back. Daisy waved him off. “No, no, I’m quite all right.”

“Was that too candid?”

One more cough pushed through her throat. “Well . . .”

“Because if it was, I apologize. But you did ask how I found her, and—”

“So I did.” Her cheeks flared with heat. It was one thing to display her breasts as Blanche. For Daisy to have done such a thing without even realizing it was mortifying in the extreme.

Still, she had invited him here this evening with a definite goal in mind. All she could think about was Lucian’s touch, her hope that he would be delighted with her little point of pleasure. And she could summon the daring to venture that with him only as Blanche. She grasped her courage with both hands.

“But let’s not dwell on Miss Drake now,” she said. “I assume she relayed my message to you.”

“Yes.” He dropped to one knee beside her chair. “She told me you were ready to show me something I wanted to know about.”

Daisy nodded, not quite willing to trust her voice. She swallowed hard. If her tone quavered, perhaps he’d attribute it to her coughing fit. “The place that drives women wild,” she whispered.

Delight glinted in his dark eyes. “You honour me, Blanche, and I confess that curiosity about that blessed spot is driving
me
wild, but in truth—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—there is something else I’d rather have you do.”

She blinked, not sure she’d heard him properly. She was ready to share her deepest secrets with him, but he seemed to be turning her down. Something inside her wilted.

“What?” she heard herself ask.

“I want you to remove your mask,” he said. “I do want to know all you wish to share with me, but most important, I want to know you.” He turned one of her palms up and placed a soft kiss in the centre of it. “Please.”

Jupiter!
If she took off her mask, this little farce would be up, and she was not ready for it to end. The way his father hated her family, Lucian would never dally with her as herself. That one kiss he’d forced on her was merely his insufferably superior masculine way of proving a point.

“I never reveal my face to my lovers. You know that.” She pulled her hand away.

“Oh, so I’m to be your lover now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It was inferred.” He gathered her into his arms. “Daisy Drake is keen on inferred meanings, you know.”

“No, I wouldn’t know,” she said stiffly.

“And here I thought you and she were great friends.” He kissed her lips, a light, teasing kiss. “How about if we manage things so I can’t actually see your face?”

“And how shall we accomplish that?”

“We could blow out the candle and bank the fire,” he said as he delivered baby kisses along her jawline. He finished the string of nibbles with a light nip on her earlobe.

She closed her eyes as pleasure sparked down her neck. “No, the moonlight is too strong.”

“Blindfold me,” he offered.

Several tantalizing possibilities popped into her head. Blanche had devoted an entire journal entry to naughty little love games involving blindfolding one partner.

“You won’t peek?” she asked.

“On my honour as a gentleman, I shall not peek.” He raised his hand to solemnize the oath.

“You won’t remove your blindfold without my leave?”

“If I must remain forever in darkness, I shall not remove it until you give the word.” The smile in his voice teased her ear, but she knew he would keep his promise. Lucian had always been a stickler for honour, even when he was a knobby-kneed boy brandishing a wooden sword.

“Then I accept your terms, milord.” She rose and rummaged through the drawer of her dressing table for a silk scarf to bind around his eyes. “Prepare to lose one of your senses, monsieur, but be forewarned: you may find your remaining ones considerably heightened.”

His smile was sin incarnate. “I am counting on it.”

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

—William Shakespeare

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lucian settled into the wing chair and closed his eyes as the dark cloth blinded him. Her clever fingers brushed his hair as she knotted the fabric behind his head. He waited, but every inch of his skin simmered with expectation. This was her game. He’d let her take the lead.

For now, at least.

Her fingertips ran through the back of his hair, smoothing it down, her touch feather light. He heard the rustle of silk as she came around to stand before him. Lucian was fairly certain the beautiful “courtesan” who now took his hands and raised him to his feet was in reality Daisy Drake.

But there was still a niggling doubt in his mind.

How could Daisy know so much about tormenting a man? She was, in many ways, an unusual young woman. From their encounter at the museum and her work at his excavation, he knew she possessed a healthy curiosity about things of the flesh. But she was also the wellborn daughter of a well-moneyed family.

Would she really have engaged in that wicked little card game with him? Was it Daisy Drake’s hand that had stroked his cock, fondled his balls and nearly made him disgrace himself with a total loss of control?

He hoped to discover the truth of the matter this night, even without the use of his eyes.

She stepped closer to him. Her jasmine scent weaved an intoxicating summons through his brain. Yes, he’d definitely smelled the same perfume on Daisy, but muted. More like a memory of the scent rather than the actual fragrance. As if it had been grafted into her skin and become a part of her essence.

Her skin.

She allowed him to pull off her gloves. He took his time revealing her flesh to his touch. Drawing out the exploration clenched his gut and drew his balls tight. He played with her bare fingers, lacing his with hers, caressing the soft backs of her hands and supple wrists. He brought one to his lips and sampled the thin skin there.

Her pulse jumped when he lingered.

Would a true courtesan react so strongly to a simple kiss? Wouldn’t her responses be jaded by frequent and much more erotic stimulation? His insides knotted in a confused tangle.

Or perhaps that heightened sensuality was what made a courtesan so desirable. His father had told him once that a top-tier bird of paradise could make any man feel like cock of the walk. A courtesan’s passion was pure artifice, of course, but it was damned pleasurable artifice.

Lucian kissed and nibbled his way up to the crease of her elbow. She trembled beneath his lips, and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

Lucian would stake his soul that small gasp was no whore’s trick.

“Have you removed the mask?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Then allow me.” His hands slid up her arms to her bared shoulders, up the satiny column of her neck.

She’s too tall,
he realized suddenly. He’d always perceived Blanche as being much more delicate, but if he hadn’t been blindfolded, this woman could look him squarely in the eye. The crown of Daisy Drake’s head would fit snugly beneath his chin.

His belly spiralled downward. Was that disappointment? Had he been hoping she was really Daisy?

“You’ll have to remove my wig first,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Gladly.” He tried not to let puzzlement creep into his tone. Would a courtesan have a catch in her throat over allowing a man to take off her wig? He lifted the powdered confection from her head, and she took it from him.

“I need to return this to its stand,” she explained. He heard the tip-tapping of her heels across the hardwood.

Then there was a clatter and a loud thump.

“Blanche, are you all right?” He put a hand to the blindfold, but remembered his oath in time.

Silence.

“Blanche?” He’d give her another heartbeat or two and then the binding was coming off his eyes, oath be damned. Then he heard muttered curses—the same string of invectives Daisy had used over the ruined mosaic—and then the scritch of fabric rustling, the scuffle of heels on hardwood.

“Oui, I’m fine,” she said.

His hearing grew more acute with the loss of his vision. When she made the return trip across the room, her gait was different. Was he hearing a limp?

“Did you fall?” he asked.

“My skirts are too long,” she said defensively. “I should have worn my hoops.”

Or perhaps her shoes are too tall,
Lucian thought. Could she be wearing a pair of those ridiculous Venetian platforms that had become so deucedly popular?

If so, maybe she wasn’t too tall to be Daisy.

Her scent told him she was closer. He reached out a hand to find her and came into contact with a soft breast. She was dressed
en déshabillé,
as she’d been on the first night he visited her. He’d noticed before she blinded him with satin that her frilly corset ended in a half shelf beneath her breasts. Only the thin fabric of her chemise stood between him and her warm, smooth skin.

“There you are,” he said.