Lessons in Indiscretion
Read Lessons in Indiscretion Online
Authors: Karen Erickson
Lessons in Indiscretion
By Karen Erickson
Widowed Lady Julia Renwick is still young enough to crave a man’s touch; but she’s too old to think that the Earl of Bedingfield could see her as anything more than a family friend. Garrett Walker is handsome, charming and only 26 years old—the perfect catch for any one of this year’s debutantes.
Garrett has no interest in the maidens vying for his attentions. He wants only Julia. With just two weeks left in the season, he makes a bold move by asking her to dance. When she counters with a shocking request of her own, Garrett eagerly agrees.
Soon, they are stealing away for passionate encounters at every society event they attend. Garrett introduces Julia to excitements she never knew existed, and her newfound confidence quickly attracts other eligible men. It’s not long before Garrett realizes he must find a way to keep the lady all to himself…
18,000 words
Dear Reader,
I feel as though it was just last week I was attending 2010 conferences and telling authors and readers who were wondering what was next for Carina Press, “we’ve only been publishing books for four months, give us time” and now, here it is, a year later. Carina Press has been bringing you quality romance, mystery, science fiction, fantasy and more for over twelve months. This just boggles my mind.
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London, 1825
“Care to dance, my lady?”
The murmured words tickled the skin on her nape, sending chills down her spine. Pressing her lips together, Julia scanned the crowd, desperate to keep her expression calm.
Her stomach turned over, and her knees weakened. Literally weakened. All at the sound of a deep voice coming from behind her and the sensation of warm breath breezing across her skin. Her reaction toward the gorgeous and charming Earl of Bedingfield was foolish, hopeless.
Yet there it was, almost frightening in its intensity. He knew it too and teased her with his presence at almost every ball, musicale and soiree she attended, which were many since she’d accepted every invitation she received in the hope of seeing him. It had been years since she’d attended a season, and she wanted to make the most of it, despite her lack of wardrobe or funds.
Tonight, if she was brave enough, she’d let her…feelings for him be known. Not that they were feelings.
No, pure lust was not an emotion. It certainly drove her to distraction and made her think of him constantly, but she didn’t have any feelings for him beyond reasonable fondness since she’d known him for so long.
But she lusted. Coveted. Wanted him more than she had any other man she’d ever encountered, and that included her deceased husband. Guilt abandoned her at the realization. She wasn’t dead. She had every right to search out a man, take a lover, find her pleasure. She didn’t want marriage.
She wanted Bedingfield; temporarily, of course. There was something about him, a certain charisma. The way he spoke to her, looked at her—he wove a spell around her.
“Surely you jest. You’ve never asked before,” she replied, continuing to stare at the dance floor, wondering at the breathless quality of her voice. She rested a hand briefly over her rapidly beating heart and willed herself to calm down.
She could do this. She knew she could. He was what she wanted. He just didn’t know it yet.
“I never jest when asking a lady to dance. Will you do me the favor, Lady Renwick?” He moved before her, elegantly handsome in evening dress, the stark black jacket making his shoulders impossibly wide, his chest impossibly broad. Images of being held in his arms as he swept her into a waltz flitted through her mind, and her fair skin heated. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the telltale blush. The air between them fairly crackled with sensual awareness.
She’d never danced with him before, but his request went perfectly with her plan. She had a purpose this evening, one she’d never pursued before. Since coming out of mourning, she’d been terribly lonely and had toyed with the idea of taking the occasional, very discreet, lover. She’d just never found a man who interested her enough to do so.
Until Bedingfield.
Once she considered him, the choice was made. She was going to take a lover. And Bedingfield was the one she wanted.
But she wasn’t the only one. Accompanied by their overeager mamas, fresh-faced debutantes crowded the sidelines of the ballroom, vying for the attention of the most eligible bachelors, the titled gentlemen with much to offer. Gentlemen like Lord Bedingfield.
“Aren’t there plenty of other, more appropriate, ladies whom you could ask to dance?”
“I’m not interested in them.” His smoldering blue gaze met hers, full of so much intensity and heat that it very nearly singed her where she stood.
She swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. Men did not make her nervous, and she’d been preparing for this moment for days, weeks.
She was older than him—not by a scandalous amount, but enough to make her feel the difference. And he was so handsome—tall and broad with dark brown hair worn a little too long that tended to curl at the ends, the most gorgeous blue eyes that a woman could drown in if she weren’t careful, a body made for sin and a lush, full mouth—he undoubtedly knew how to pleasure a woman in a variety of ways. He was the catch of the season, had been for more than a few seasons, and could have his pick of the ladies. His absolute pick.
Yet he was in front of her, reaching for her hand, a slight smile curving his delectable lips. She had no choice but to offer her hand in return, because she wasn’t rude. She would never turn him away.
She didn’t want to turn him away. His asking her to dance made her curious. What were his intentions? Was he interested?
She hoped so.
He wore no gloves, such a faux pas, but he always did whatever he wanted. The moment their hands touched, a jolt shivered up her arm and settled low in her belly.
Her eyes widened as he swept her into his arms and led her onto the dance floor. For such a large man, he moved effortlessly, guiding her with an ease born of years of practice and natural grace. With one hand clutching hers and the other settled at her waist, he immersed them into the crowd among the swirling dancers.
His touch burned through the fabric of her gown, her stays and her shift as if they didn’t exist, and she shivered.
“Cold?” He tipped his head toward her, his lips turned in the slightest smirk. He’d felt her tremble, and she didn’t want him to realize exactly how her body reacted to such a simple touch.
“A little,” she lied blithely, returning his smile. After making the mistake of allowing their gazes to meet for a prolonged moment, she felt trapped. Ensnared. Stunned silly by the heat and hunger reflected there.
As they passed the other dancers, their whispered words broke the spell, and she wished she hadn’t heard them. Most likely they were questioning why he would ask her to dance over someone more deserving.
“I believe we’ve shocked people.” He sounded pleased with himself.
“Is that why you asked me to dance? So you could cause a bit of scandal during an otherwise uninteresting evening?” Perhaps she’d been wrong about his intentions. Had he only wanted to use her to amuse himself? The thought hurt, and she hoped he would deny it.
Bedingfield frowned. Even then he was the most handsome man in the room by far. “Of course not. Do you think so little of me, Lady Renwick?”
She frowned as well, and her steps faltered. “There is a new Lady Renwick, you know.” She purposely ignored his question.
“Yes, but you are still Lady Renwick, at least in my eyes.” His gaze sharpened as he scrutinized her. “Unless you are allowing me the privilege of calling you Julia.”
The sound of her name dropping from his lips gave her far too much pleasure. “If I were to allow you to call me by my given name, then surely we should be on a more…intimate level with each other.”
He lifted a dark brow, and her stomach fluttered. He was incredibly arrogant, which she found incredibly arousing. “Intimate level, hmm? Now that intrigues me.”
“Does it, my lord?” He spun her in a quick circle, the move so sudden she grew dizzy, and she wondered if he’d done it on purpose.
“If we’re moving our friendship to a more
intimate
level, as you called it, then the least you could do is call me Garrett.” He dipped his head close, his mouth hovering just above her ear. “Hardly anyone calls me by my first name anymore.”
A quiver moved through her entire body at his husky voice, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, his expression predatory, as if he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of the room.
Triumph surged through her. She hadn’t been mistaken. The attraction between them wasn’t one-sided. He wanted her.
But could she seduce the renowned seducer?
She’d known Bedingfield since he was a young man, when he was just Garrett Walker, heir to his father’s title. The late earl and her husband had been friends, and their families had often entertained together. She remembered Garrett as a good-looking boy, smart and serious when needed, as well as charming, with a slight mischievous streak.
Attractive then, he’d grown into a man who exuded a raw sensuality. A certain knowledge lingered in his eyes, the way he moved, the way he spoke. Rumors abounded about his many conquests, though there had never been any real confirmation, at least not from the little gossip she’d heard. He chose his lovers discreetly and most likely left them more than well satisfied.
“You used to call me Garrett,” he continued when she hadn’t answered. “Quite often, if I remember correctly, when you and your husband would visit our country house for the summer.”
“Well, yes. But it wouldn’t be proper to take such liberties in public.” Not only would it not be proper, but she wanted to see Garrett’s reaction.
“Always polite, aren’t you, Julia?” He slid his hand from her waist to trail it down her back in a soothing gesture, and her breath lodged in her throat. “I apologize if I went too far.”
“No.” She shook her head, curling tendrils of hair bouncing against her cheeks. “There’s no need for an apology.”
His other hand tightened about hers, and he slowed his steps. “Come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me. Please.” He smiled. “I rarely beg, so consider yourself special.”
“Bedingfield, I don’t know what you’re about, but—”
“Please.” His smile disappeared. Ravenous lust flared in his eyes, shimmered off his tense body in waves that wrapped all around her, suffusing her with heat and longing.
“All right.” Her voice trembled the slightest bit, and she silently cursed her nervousness. “I wanted to speak to you regarding a private matter anyway—”
A little gasp escaped when he jerked on her hand and led her through the crowd. He escorted her off the dance floor and toward the open doors to the terrace. She hurried to keep up with his long strides, and when they went outside, the late-spring breeze cooled her skin.
Lit with a few torches and a smattering of candles on the round tables, the space was practically deserted, for the evening had just begun.
Bedingfield didn’t linger but took her down the stairs and into the garden, choosing a meandering path that grew darker with every step. Beneath their feet, the gravel walkway crunched, and the leaves of the trees rattled with the breeze.
She came to a complete stop, digging her slippered feet into the ground so he had no choice but to stop as well. “Where are you taking me?”
He turned to look at her, his sharp features defined by moonlight. The silvery glow spilled across his skin, casting him partly in shadow and giving him an aura of mystery. Her breath lodged in her throat at his dark beauty, and he squeezed her hand gently as if to soothe her. Yet his touch didn’t soothe. It made her heart beat faster, her nipples tingle and the area between her legs dampen. Her lips parted, she was finally ready to ask the daring question that had haunted her all night, but he spoke first.
“I wanted to be alone with you.” One tug of his hand and she toppled toward him. She reached out to steady herself and landed with her hands on his firm chest and her fingers curling into the fine material of his jacket. His arm came around her waist, and he hauled her close. So close she could feel the pounding of his heart beneath her hands and see the moonlight glinting in his eyes.
“Funny, since I wanted the same thing.” When she saw his pleasant surprise, triumph surged over her bold confession. Surely he was the one who approached the ladies first. Had he ever had a woman solicit an affair from him before? Was she the first?
Or perhaps he wasn’t interested after all. Might she have read his intentions incorrectly? Did he want her? Did he? Oh my, it had been so long, and her skills in the art of seduction—or lack thereof—left much to be desired.
“Now I’m intrigued.” Bedingfield bent his head and brushed her temple with his cheek. He was so tall and broad and…hard. Muscular. Her husband hadn’t been this fit, though of course he had been much older than she when they married. Much older than Bedingfield was.
He was young and strong and a most magnificent specimen of masculine perfection. And she couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like unclothed.
Her cheeks flamed at her indecent thoughts.
“Garrett,” she started, and he smiled when she said his name. The sight of his smile made her skin tingle everywhere. “My lord, I need to ask you a question.”
Blast it, she was losing her nerve, and she wanted to smack herself. All alone, far from the mansion where the ball continued on, they were in the dark, in the garden with the moon shining upon them. It was the perfect time to tell him.
So why did she have to go and say such a thing?
“A question? You sound so serious, Julia. Perhaps we can discuss it later.” He brushed his lips against her forehead, warm and damp and lingering on her skin, and she melted. Clutched the lapels of his jacket so tight she would surely wrinkle the fabric.
She found she didn’t care. If she let go, she would slither to the ground.
“But I want—” she sucked in a sharp breath when he kissed her cheek, her jawline, dropped a kiss on her ear, “—I want to ask you now. It’s important.”
“Mmm, is it more important than this? I’ve wanted to be with you for months. I believe you’ve wanted it too.”
He cupped her chin with his strong, elegant fingers, tilting her face up so their lips were almost aligned. His breath feathered across her face, smelling of brandy, and she breathed deep. Her mind whirled at his revelation. He’d wanted to be with her for months? She hadn’t a clue. Oh, she’d sensed the attraction between them but had firmly believed it was wishful thinking on her part.
Perhaps she’d been wrong…
Anticipation curled through her, and she wanted to savor this moment. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him so badly she could hardly think.
“Will you kiss me, Lady Renwick? Julia?”
Her lips parted, she was ready to answer, and he swooped in, taking advantage.
And heaven help her, she let him.
She tasted sweet, just as he’d known she would. They’d been playing a game for months. He’d watched her, plotting when to make his move, hoping she would be agreeable. Her flirtatious glances from across the room implied she would. The witty banter they shared while standing around the punchbowl at some boring function had started to become agonizing foreplay, torture he sought out just so he could speak to her. Even if the words were meaningless comments about the weather, they were better than nothing. At least he got to hear her lilting, sweet voice, watch the movement of her lips, spy a fleeting glimpse of her tongue.