JORDAN Nicole (44 page)

What in hell’s name was he to do now? If Roslyn hadn’t accepted Haviland’s suit, Drew decided, he would go after her himself. He wouldmake her wed him, even though she didn’t love him. And then he would spend the rest of his life trying to win her love.

Oh, God…she didn’t love him.

And she didn’t believe he could ever love her. He would have to show her that hedid love her. Rather desperately in fact.

He wouldn’t let Haviland have her, even if she loved the bastard. He wasn’t ever going to give her up. He couldn’t. Not a damn thing in his life made sense without her.

Yet he might be too late….

With a muted groan, Drew pulled out his pocket watch and realized that the time was already past noon. He would have to call on Roslyn to learn his fate—but he had to bathe and change his attire first.

Rising, he dragged himself to the door and emerged carefully from the library, squinting against the brighter light when he reached the grand entrance hall.

His majordomo was standing at attention but appeared not to notice Drew’s disheveled appearance and bleary eyes. Advisable, since a wise servant knew better than to show disapproval of his master’s foibles.

“May I assist you, your grace?” the butler queried quite properly.

Drew winced at the sound, for it only made his head throb harder. “Yes, Foslett. You can have a bath drawn for me, and then order my curricle made ready in an hour. And have the library cleaned and fumigated at once.”

“Very good, your grace. Would you care to see your messages? Two came for you this morning, but I disliked disturbing you. One is from Lady Freemantle.”

Constance,was Drew’s first thought. His heart skipping a beat, he sliced through the seal with his forefinger and read the short note.

Her ladyship reported that Constance had rested fairly through the night and seemed a little better this morning. And the physician was more optimistic that his patient would eventually recover.

It was some consolation, Drew thought morosely, that Constance’s prognosis was improving, even though his own fate was so precarious.

“Thank you, Foslett. What is the second message?”

“It is from Miss Roslyn Loring, your grace,” the butler said, handing Drew a folded sheet of vellum.

His heart somersaulted…and then continued beating erratically as he ripped open the missive.

Dear Duke, I would be pleased if you would meet me this evening at eight o’clock at Fanny’s special private residence, Number Eleven Crawford Place. I have a proposition to put to you.

Your friend, Roslyn.

Warring emotions of hope and dread battled inside him. What the devil did she mean by inviting him to meet her at Fanny’s private house?

Drew glanced at the butler. “You may send a reply to Danvers Hall, confirming my acceptance.”

“The message did not come from the Hall, your grace, but from here in London. I believe the footman was employed by a Miss Irwin.”

Drew frowned in puzzlement, but he wasn’t going to question what Roslyn was doing in London. He would simply pray that she was giving him a second chance at loving her.

Crawford Place, Drew discovered from his coachman, was situated only a short distance north of Hyde Park and boasted a dozen row houses that appeared elegant and quietly expensive.

It seemed surprising that Fanny Irwin would own a sedate residence in this genteel neighborhood, given her status as one of London’s leading Cyprians. Yet it surprised Drew more when he arrived promptly at the appointed time and the front door was opened by a masked woman in a shimmering gold domino.

His heart, which was already thudding with tension, started pounding wildly when he met the glimmering blue eyes behind the glittering mask. The seductive, mysterious beauty was none other than Roslyn.

That she wore her hair down, her pale gold tresses spilling in seductive disarray around her shoulders, surprised Drew most of all.

“Your grace,” she murmured in a low, husky voice as she stepped aside to let him enter. “I am delighted you could come. Welcome.”

Without waiting for his reply, Roslyn shut the door behind him, then turned and glided toward the nearby staircase. When Drew stood rooted to the floor, staring after her, she glanced over her shoulder at him and crooked her forefinger, beckoning. He hesitated a moment before gathering his wits and following her up the stairs.

He found his tongue as they reached the top landing. “I suppose this is Fanny’s secret love nest,” he remarked, trying to discipline his apprehension. “Does she entertain her more exclusive clients here?”

“No, never,” Roslyn said unexpectedly. “This is her personal hideaway where she can enjoy a few moments of privacy now and then. Fanny conducts business at her main residence and never invites her patrons here. She loaned this house to me for the evening.”

Impatiently wishing that Roslyn would tell him the purpose of her invitation, Drew accompanied her down a dimly lit corridor. “I admit I was surprised to receive your message,” he prodded. “You said you had a proposition to put to me.”

“Indeed, I do.” Roslyn sent him an enigmatic glance. “I want to be your mistress for the night.”

His eyebrows rose, but before he could reply, she led him into a large bedchamber that glowed softly in the light of myriad candles. Taking in the romantic ambience, Drew nearly found himself speechless again. “I can’t say I understand, sweeting,” he finally said.

“I want to pretend that I am your mistress and that you are my patron.”

Her response made his breath catch and his heart thud. He had no time to ask any of the urgent questions running through his mind, however, for Roslyn took off her concealing mask, then unfastened her domino and let it fall to the carpet.

Drew’s mouth went dry. She was dressed like a male sexual fantasy. She wore a red lace corset cunningly shaped to push up her high, ripe breasts and show her bare nipples, and black silk stockings held up by red garters, but nothing else. His cock swelled instantly at the lush sight of her, while his voice turned hoarse.

“What do you think you are doing, Roslyn?” he asked warily as she moved toward him.

Her eyes were dusky pools of temptation as she gazed up at him. “Making love to you, what else?”

“Hold just a moment….”

Her lips, full and wet, pursed provocatively. “You don’t want to make love to me, darling?”

“You know damned well I do. But if you intend to wed Haviland…Don’t torture me like this, Roslyn, playing these wanton games.”

“Oh, but I don’t intend to wed Haviland,” she remarked to his scalding relief. “I turned down his offer.”

Drew expelled a long, harsh breath, yet her declaration still couldn’t calm his anxiety. “Why did you refuse Haviland?”

“Because I don’t love him.”

He hesitated a long moment, almost afraid to ask the infinitely more crucial question. Finally he ventured to say even more hoarsely, “And do you think you could ever come to love me?”

When her smile wavered, Drew hardly dared to breathe. Then she laughed softly. “All in good time, darling. I must keepsome secrets, mustn’t I?”

Drew wanted to curse, to argue, to plead, yet he didn’t think it would help his cause. Not when Roslyn was so intent on her own inexplicable purpose.

Reaching up to untie his cravat, she slid the fine cambric from around his neck and tossed it to the floor. “You are wearing too many clothes. Let me take them off.”

“I can manage.” Not trusting his fortitude if Roslyn touched him, Drew forestalled her assistance by stripping off his coat and waistcoat and shirt himself. But when he reached for the buttons on his evening breeches, she smiled. “Please…allow me.”

Provocatively, Roslyn trailed a finger down his bare chest and over his flat abdomen to the front placket of his breeches. Drew sucked in a sharp breath as the teasing pressure of her fingers made his throbbing erection ache even harder. Yet he forced himself to stand still for her pleasurable torment.

To his growing frustration, she slowly unfastened the buttons, holding his gaze until she finally freed the thick length of his arousal. When she glanced down, irrepressible heat shot through Drew, not only because a beautiful woman was gazing at his burgeoning cock, but because the woman was his lovely Roslyn.

The heat assaulting him turned even hotter when she deliberately closed her hand around his swollen shaft.

Groaning, Drew grasped her wrist. “Roslyn…what the devil are you up to, tormenting me this way?”

Her lashes lifted flirtatiously, yet her eyes glimmered with tenderness and something resembling uncertainty. “Can’t you tell?”

It was that tender vulnerability that gave him hope. Whatever game she was playing, she wasn’t intent on revenge.

“I mean to seduce you, Drew,” she murmured, increasing the already erratic pounding of his heart. He recognized her strategy now; Roslyn was using his own lessons in seduction against him. He just didn’t know why.

But then, did it really matter? She would not want to make love to him if she believed they had no future together. And she was acting the siren, bewitching and alluring, pulsing with life and sensuality. He couldn’t possibly resist her.

“So you mean to play the temptress?” he asked hoarsely.

“Isn’t that what a good mistress is supposed to do?”

“I won’t argue with that—”

“Excellent, then don’t argue, darling.”

“—but you needn’t pretend to be a Cyprian,” Drew finished.

She flashed him a slow, enchanting smile. He forgot everything but the tantalizing promise in her smile…until she raised her face to kiss him lightly on the lips.

He reached for her then, desperate to pull her into his arms, but she danced away. “No, Drew, I want to be the one to make love to you. When you have removed the rest of your clothing, come to bed. I will be waiting.”

Drew gritted his teeth and stripped off his shoes and stockings and breeches in record time.

She was waiting for him as promised, stretched out naked on the satin sheets. She looked wildly desirable, her magnificent hair falling in a pale mane around her shoulders, her bare breasts enticing, her creamy thighs slightly parted in invitation.

Pure temptation, Drew thought, swallowing hard.

The smile lingered on her lips as she patted the mattress beside her. “Lie here with me, won’t you?”

Nothing on earth could have kept him from accepting her invitation. When he had obeyed, lying on his back, Roslyn placed her hands on his chest and rose up on her knees. “Be still, please.”

With effort, Drew lay there unmoving as she bent over him, feeling the warm press of her lips in the hollow of his throat, on his breastbone, over his rib cage, then lower. Sharp sensation shot through him as her hands began stroking in tandem with her soft lips, eliciting shivers of desire deep inside him.

His stomach muscles contracted when she trailed light, tantalizing kisses over his skin. And he found it difficult to breathe when her fingertips traced a sensual pattern down his manhood to the swollen sacs below. Every muscle in his body clenched—and that was before she bent down to his loins, where his aching arousal was thick and straining.

“Roslyn….”

“Hush, Drew. I want to give you pleasure.”

Her hands shaped the rampant length of him, making him throb, before she set her lips to the head of his shaft.

At the searing jolt, Drew inhaled against his raging need while his erection surged even higher. She was suckling him now, her tongue gently licking, swirling, making him ravenous for her. Groaning, he sank his fingers into Roslyn’s golden hair and surrendered to the gentle sorcery that enthralled him.

In only moments, he was half out of his mind with pleasure, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might come out of his chest, his hips straining against the alluring magic of her hot mouth.

Finally unable to bear her inflaming torment any longer, Drew reached down between her thighs, cupping her slick center, intent on making her as mad with arousal as he was.

“No, be still,” she murmured between moist, tantalizing kisses.

“Roslyn…I can’t wait much longer.”

Lifting her head finally, she gazed up at him with blazing-hot eyes, while her tender smile returned. “I cannot wait, either.”

To his relief, she shifted one knee over his outspread legs. Letting her damp cleft slide up his thigh, she lay fully on top of him, her silken body covering him, her hot, feminine core brushing against his phallus, caressing him.

Then slowly, she stretched up to kiss him, sliding her tongue slowly into his mouth in a heart-stirring claiming.

Drew kissed her back fervently, drinking of her warmth, cherishing her taste, her touch. When she pressed herself harder into him, the sinuous movements of her body inflamed his blood and the intensity of his longing.

He was nearly wild for her by the time she finally broke off the kiss and sat up to straddle him. Holding his fevered gaze, Roslyn braced her palms against his chest and lowered herself onto his pulsing shaft.

Feeling desperate now, Drew raised his hips and plunged into her waiting sweetness, deep inside her sleek, wet passage, seeking the fire and solace of her. He groaned as joy and pleasure created a riotous explosion of sensation in him.

It only made him hotter when Roslyn uttered a breathy whimper as he filled her. And the flush of heat and desire on her exquisite face told him she was feeling the same ardor for him.

Embracing him with her thighs then, she rocked her hips in a more urgent rhythm, demanding more from him. Drew whispered her name on a harsh breath. He was trembling now, shaking with his need for her, holding on with the last vestiges of willpower. Rasping her name again, he arched his back and thrust upward, his penetration increasing until he was buried as deep as her soul.

His desperation kindled a fierce flame in her. Roslyn began to move on him wildly, riding him, using her hips to stoke his frenzied passion. She was a ravenous temptress, demanding and wanton. She was flame-hot in her desires.

When Drew grasped her buttocks and pulled down hard, impaling her to the hilt, she finally gave in to her need, meeting him thrust for thrust, her moans increasing with the ragged sound of his, their mating raw and primal.