Something Reckless (3 page)

Penelope shook her head with a start. Every word that unknown man had written was already burned into her mind. She picked up a fluffy towel from the tray and slowly dried her fingertips, never taking her eyes from the letter. It called to her. Taunting her.

What if the letter gave her some clue as to the author? What if it contained some valuable piece of information? She would be remiss if she didn’t read it again. Read it fully.

Wouldn’t she?

Her shaking fingers already reached for the missive and she sank down lower in the water as she unfolded the pages. With a furtive glance around the empty room, she began to read.

The familiar words on the first page washed over her just like
the hot water in the bath. She lingered over each one, taking her time to absorb every description. And slowly she came to realize that she wasn’t just reading the letter, but imagining in detail what the writer described.

She could almost see him now. A faceless man, his body strong and ready, crossing the room to her. Looking at her, watching her as this stranger claimed to have done for many months. Would he like seeing her in the bath as she was now? Her entire body only protected by a clear wave of clean bathwater?

She shivered at the idea of a man seeing her this way. One who wanted her. She imagined him touching her breasts as he had described in the letter. Holding their damp weight in his palms, covering them with his fingers, dragging his thumbs over her already distended nipples.

A little cry of pleasure escaped her lips and shook Penelope from her fantasy. What was wrong with her? What was she doing, allowing some stranger’s vulgar words to arouse her?

And yet, her gaze fell back to the letter in her hand. Slowly, she lifted the first page away and read the second, the one she had only skimmed for a name earlier.

Have you ever felt your own arousal
,
Penelope? Not felt it in your gut or as a vague
,
passing thrill. I mean
,
have you touched yourself and felt how your body changes? Have you ever let your fingers play along your own skin and touch the slick evidence of your desire? Stroke your folds until you find the little clit hidden within. Played until your body spasmed with pleasure so intense that it borders on pain?

I have imagined you doing so. Longed to see you do so.

Penelope sucked in a harsh breath and shoved the letter away,
throwing it back on the silver tray with enough force that the bar of soap there clattered.

Despite the warmth of the bath, she trembled at the words. They awoke memories she’d long hidden. Yes, she
had
touched herself, brought herself pleasure in the faraway past. Long before she saw how far desire would drive a person, she had been open to such activities in the furtive darkness of her bedchamber.

At one time, she had even looked forward to experiencing more sensual delights with some faceless future husband. But her eventual marriage had forced her to realize that passion was a weapon to be wielded. And pleasure wasn’t inevitable, but something that could be snatched away at a whim.

And yet, reading her mysterious admirer’s words didn’t only force memory but sensation. Her sheath clenched at nothingness, her nipples tingled fiercely and her thighs clamped together, which served nothing but to increase her desire.

Almost of its own accord, her hand dipped beneath the water, sliding across her skin with purpose. She shut her eyes as she let her fingers graze her nipples, tensing when ricochets of pleasure rewarded her touch. God, it had been so long since she felt like this.

And she wanted more. Even though she knew it made her a hypocrite. Even though it went against the cold façade she’d worn so long in public.

Her hand slid over her stomach and finally her fingers slipped through the soft patch of hair between her thighs. She rested her hand against her mound for a long moment, eyes squeezed shut as the frank words the unknown author had written taunted her.

Have you ever let your fingers play along your own skin and touch the slick evidence of your desire?

Slowly, she dipped her hand down and touched the swollen flesh between her legs. A little moan escaped her lips as she stroked along the folds there. They
were
wet and from more than the mere bath. She pushed deeper and came in contact with the hidden nub of flesh the letter writer had alluded to.

Stroke your folds until you find the little clit hidden within.

Clit.
She’d never heard it referred to in that manner before. She circled her fingers around the hard little bud and gasped as a warm wash of pleasure spread from the point of contact through her body. Focused and powerful, the feeling multiplied, widened, until it seemed her entire being was focused on that one tiny spot.

She circled harder, lifting her hips slightly to reach for the pleasure. It felt good, but she wanted more. More.

Shaking, she brought the opposite hand to join the other. Increasing the pressure, she turned her head, bit her lip to hold back the cries that might bring her staff to investigate.

There was something coming. She felt the wall of pleasure building to a crescendo, but she couldn’t reach it. It was right there, over the edge.

She opened her eyes in frustration and found herself staring at the letter again. Somewhere in London, there was a man who claimed he wanted to watch her do exactly what she was doing right now. The idea made her hips arch helplessly and the pleasure jumped.

When she shut her eyes this time, she pictured that faceless man. Standing at the end of the tub, leaning over the water. His
breath short, his bare, muscular arms straining in an attempt to maintain control. She could almost see him watching her. Waiting until she exploded to join her.

“Oh, oh,” she couldn’t help but groan.

Yet still, it wasn’t enough. She pressed her fingers against her flesh, panting in frustration. The pleasure was so keen it was almost pain. She needed relief. She needed more.

She concentrated hard on the image of the man in her mind. What if his hands slipped beneath the water, strong fingers gliding up her bare legs, reaching higher and higher until they tangled with her own? Pushed her own aside.

Grinding down against her clit, she pictured him lifting her hips, spreading her legs wide, opening her body to him. She’d had very little experience with such true passion. Yet it didn’t take much imagination to believe such a man would circle his thumb around her clit just as she was doing. And then drive his fingers deep within her womb.

She cried out as she did what she imagined that man doing. Still, she danced on the edge of utter madness. Tears pricked her eyes, tears of impending release mixed with wild frustration.

The man, he was the key. What kind of man would take her so wickedly? Play and toy with her? She needed a face for the faceless. A voice for the words he had written.

And suddenly a face appeared, a voice echoed in her ears.

Kilgrath.

The moment she overlaid Jeremy’s handsome face on the blank countenance of her imaginary lover, her hips bucked wildly. Her sheath fluttered out of control against her driving fingers and she let out an echoing wail of relief that broke the silence in the
room. Her back arched and she was vaguely aware of the water sloshing wildly, churning over the edge of the tub as she rode out the intense pleasure.

Penelope collapsed back into the water with a final groan. She felt weightless, boneless. Utterly spent and satisfied.

For countless minutes, she laid in the rapidly cooling bathtub, simply feeling the aftereffects of desire and release. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes and faced her cold, empty room.

And the reality of what she had done.

The letter that should have been distasteful to her had instead aroused her to untamed, out of control levels. She had surrendered to her base needs and wants, thwarting all her own impassioned statements about the need for control from those who ruled the
ton
.

And worse, the very worst, she had done it all while imagining Jeremy Vaughn, Duke of Kilgrath, as her illicit lover. A man she knew for a fact to be a flagrant seducer, a man who had lied to her face not three hours before. One who stood for everything she claimed to despise.

“What have I done?” she murmured as she sat bolt upright in the tub. More water sloshed over the edge and she looked down at the floor. The shiny wood was splattered with puddles, proof of how far her desire had taken her.

Rising, she stepped out onto the damp floor. She rubbed herself dry swiftly and then went to work soaking up the pools of spilled water. She didn’t want the servants to see the results of her passionate outburst. She didn’t want any evidence to exist that she had utterly surrendered.

Utter surrender was a luxury she couldn’t have. Even if she wanted it.

Which she didn’t.

She only had to fight to remember that, despite the distracting presence of Jeremy Vaughn or the erotic words of her mystery author.

Jeremy paced around his parlor, restless and agitated as he recalled the events at the ball tonight. Why, he could not say. All had gone as planned, perhaps better than planned. He’d managed to approach Penelope, garner her interest, and see, quite clearly, that she was hiding a most passionate spirit.

All in all, it was a successful night. So why did it feel wrong?

“Great God, Kilgrath,” Anthony Wharton said from behind him as he set his fourth sherry of the evening down with a smack. “The entire room saw you with that little bitch. It is the talk of the
ton
, you know. The libertine and the crusader.”

Jeremy turned to his old friend with a scowl. Wharton had followed him home, already half drunk. Now he was far past half and a large cause of Jeremy’s foul mood. Wharton had been raging about Penelope and how she “stole” his mistress for at least an hour.

“If we are the talk of the
ton
, then I have done my job,” Jeremy drawled as he returned his gaze to the dark night outside. “I want them to wonder what is afoot between Penelope and me. That way when I reveal her as a hypocrite, they will all be hanging on my every word.”

“How are you going to reveal her as anything if you befriend her?” Anthony slurred.

Jeremy spun on his heel and strode across the room. Snatching the drink from his friend’s hand, he downed it in one swig and snapped, “If she thinks I’m her friend, she’ll trust me. All the better to catch her in my trap. And I have other plans already in motion.”

His mind shifted to the letter he’d had delivered to Penelope’s home right before he departed for the ball tonight. The missive detailed every observation he’d ever made about her lush body, about all the things he’d wondered if she’d ever allowed herself to experience.

What would her reaction to that be? He could only hope his erotic words would open Penelope further to an ultimate seduction. That his two assaults would work in tandem. By day, he would be the Duke of Kilgrath, her unexpected ally. By night, a mysterious, faceless lover who awoke her desires in the shadows.

“Plans? What, seduction like Crawford and Dunfield suggested?” Anthony barked, breaking the pleasant spell of Jeremy’s fleeting fantasies. “Bah. I still say she won’t change her mind, no matter how many orgasms you give her. If she can even find pleasure. Frigid—”

Jeremy cut him off with a scowl. “If seduction won’t change her mind of its own accord, blackmail will.”

Anthony let out a sigh. “And if those don’t succeed, there
are
other ways to handle a woman like her.”

Jeremy cocked his head, surprised by the suddenly lucid and utterly cruel glitter in his friend’s drunken stare. That focused expression was troubling.

But no. He shook off the thought. Wharton was a hothead, nothing else. He was rambling without thought. The words were meaningless. But his friend was in a total drunk and needed to sleep it off regardless.

Jeremy turned Anthony toward the door. “Trust in me, friend. I have the situation well under control. Now, my driver will take you home and be sure you get inside without killing yourself. Good night.”

Anthony pushed back against him momentarily, but finally acquiesced and allowed Jeremy to guide him to the parlor door and a waiting footman.

Once his friend was gone, Jeremy went back in to the parlor. Tonight he’d made the first step to conquering the beautiful and troublesome Penelope Norman. And he had no intention of failing in any way.

Penelope lifted her hands and raised her voice over the fray of chattering women. “Ladies, ladies, this chaos does us no good.”

The babbling crowd quieted a fraction, and a few of the ladies turned their heads toward Penelope. She sighed as she looked over the small group of about ten women, half of whom had given her the cut at the ball a night before, but were now in her parlor to “support” her. But what was support when it was all done in secret?

“Each of you has the power to help our cause,” Penelope insisted, harking back to the argument she had been making from the very beginning.

“Power?” Adela Forster, the Marchioness of Chartsford repeated with a sniff. “What power do
we
have?”

Penelope looked at the young woman with a sad frown. Although Adela sometimes seemed haughty and abrasive, she was a very pretty woman, dark haired and bright eyed, with the most beautiful skin Penelope had ever seen. But her uncommon beauty had not protected her from a highly unhappy marriage to one of Jeremy’s best friends.

Jeremy. Color filled Penelope’s cheeks at the thought of him. The thought of what she had done last night while fantasizing about him. No one could ever find out about that shame.

“Penelope?” Adela repeated. “Do you have no answer for me?”

Penelope shook off her thoughts with a frown. “The men of the
ton
will not change until their wives and mothers and sisters stand up and say that they do not condone their behavior.”

An older woman, Lady Pendergrath, nodded. “Lady Norman is wise beyond her scant years. My experience has told me that men generally want peace in their homes. If we do not give it to them, they will ultimately change their wicked ways.”

Adela shook her head and tears filled her eyes. Ones she blinked away with a scowl.

“I have made clear my thoughts on the matter of my husband’s…” She blushed. “His activities outside of our marriage. Do you know what David said to me? He told me he liked me better when I was pliable and uncaring about what he did.” The
other woman clenched her fists. “I was never pliable, nor uncaring. Merely silent.”

Penelope resisted the urge to touch Adela’s shoulder, offer her comfort. She didn’t think the other lady would appreciate the gesture, especially in front of others. She was far too proud.

The group began talking at once again, dissolving into arguments between those who thought they would only make things worse by standing up to their wayward husbands and those who felt it could change their world for the better. Penelope lifted her hand to her eyes and rubbed her temples. What good was fighting for something when half those in the war didn’t dare go to battle?

Before she could make any attempt to silence the group a second time, they did so themselves. An unnatural hush fell over the group, punctuated only by harsh whispers whose muted words Penelope didn’t understand.

Slowly, she lowered her hand and looked at the door. She staggered back at what she saw. Jeremy Vaughn stood there, leaning in her doorway, a smug smile on his handsome face. A smile that hit Penelope in the gut and forced her to recall her loss of control in the bath the night before. Heat burned her cheeks, and she wanted to run away.

But she couldn’t. Instead, she strode forward, hands fisted at her sides.

“Lord Kilgrath,” she said, her voice strained. As she drew nearer to him, she hissed, “What are you doing here?”

He looked down at her with a completely innocent expression. One that was woefully out of place on such a sinful face. “I heard
you were having a meeting regarding your thoughts on the behavior of the men of the
ton
. I thought I would come and see if I could offer any insight.”

Penelope’s nostrils flared and she shoved her hands down straight at her sides. As she kept a withering gaze on Jeremy, she called over her shoulder, “I believe we have covered a great deal of ground today. Why don’t we adjourn to the Rose Terrace for tea?”

The women in the room got to their feet slowly, still whispering and glaring at Jeremy as they passed by. As the last few filtered from the room, Kilgrath gave Penelope a smile and offered her his arm.

Penelope reeled back at the idea of touching him. She wanted nothing to do with his heat. It would only court more images for her dark, forbidden fantasies.

“What are you doing?”

His smile fell a fraction. “Going to the Rose Terrace. I could use a spot of tea.”

Her jaw fell open in shock. “
You
are not joining us, Your Grace.”

“You mean you wish to talk to me privately?” he asked, tilting his head closer. Close enough that she caught an intoxicating whiff of his spicy male scent. It was a pleasing and dizzying combination of sandalwood and something that was purely Jeremy.

“Yes,” she said.

He smiled. “I thought a woman of your caliber couldn’t take the risk of speaking to me alone. What did you tell me last night? That it would discredit you? And yet, less than twenty-four
hours later, you demand I stay with you alone in this parlor. Has something changed?”

She pursed her lips. Damn him. Even though he couldn’t know just how much had changed since her verbal exchange with him the night before and this afternoon, his words still reminded her of that fact.

In just a few short hours, she had become an utter hypocrite.

“You certainly have not changed, my lord,” she said, hoping her voice was cold even though her heart was throbbing madly. “So please stop trying to convince me that you have.”

She made to push past him, but Jeremy caught her arm and held her in place. Just as she had feared, heat equal to that of a furnace rushed from his touch and settled in the worst possible places. She looked up at him, her throat dry and full, her traitorous mind taking her to places she ought not allow.

“You have not permitted me to convince you of
anything
yet, Lady Norman,” he said softly as he released her and took a step back as if to prove he wasn’t touching her out of any attraction.

Her stomach sank unexpectedly at the thought.

“Why should I believe in your miraculous alteration?” she asked, rubbing the place where he had touched her. It felt…burned. Branded.

He cocked his head. “Because it proves you are correct in your assessment that a man
can
change. Think of it, my lady. What a boon I could be to your cause. I know of my own reputation. If I came out on your side, in support of you, it could change the tide of your movement. Are you so proud and do you hate me so much that you will not even consider my offer to assist you?”

Penelope’s lips parted in surprise. “I-I don’t hate you. Hating
you would imply I knew you or cared for you. I-I don’t.”

He looked at her for a long, charged moment. Then he shrugged. “I would like to prove myself to you. I can help you if you let me. If you do not know me, nor care for me, you cannot truly know my heart nor my intentions. And yet you still judge me?”

Penelope stared at him. Damn him, he was correct on so many levels. If Jeremy were truly changed and worked beside her, it would add needed credence to her words.

But how could she believe he had changed? Or even wanted to change?

“And how do you intend to prove yourself?” she asked, slowly.

A little hint of a smile tilted his lips, arrogant, like he already knew he’d won. “I can show you exactly what it is you are fighting against. Secretly. Anonymously. Then you will understand your enemies all the better.”

She tilted her head, both confused and intrigued.
Show
her? What in the world could he possibly mean by that?

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, pacing away from him and trying to look bored by their conversation. She didn’t want him to realize just how aware of him she was. Just how curious he made her. About what he could reveal. About who he was.

When she peeked over her shoulder, he was smiling again, but this time it was feral. Despite herself, her stomach clenched. Her nipples hardened in an instant. He was looking at her with such…desire.

And even though that fact only proved he was lying about the changes to his wicked personality, she wasn’t angry. Not at
him, at least. No, her anger was all self-directed because she was drawn to him.

“May I take you somewhere tonight?” he asked quietly.

She started at the question. “What?”

“I think I can better explain my meaning by
showing
you, rather than explaining.” He moved closer. Just a fraction. “Allow me to take you somewhere, and I think everything will come clear to you.”

Penelope shook her head. This was a game, but she couldn’t understand the rules, or even the goal. What was he trying to gain?

“If this is some way to get near me—” she began.

He stared at her in shock, like he’d never even considered such a thing, and yet again she blushed.

“Please,” he said softly.

Penelope stared at her hands, fisting them together reflexively. Her mind spun both with all the reasons she should refuse and the reasons she should accept his offer. Of all the dangers and all the benefits.

And most of all, it spun with the fact that she
wanted
to take his offer. To see whatever he would show her. To be alone with him, if only for a little while. Perhaps if she did, he would reveal himself to be the cad she knew him to be, despite his grand claims of change. Then this silly spell of desire would be broken and she could return her attention to matters at hand.

At the very least, doing as he asked would appease him, and perhaps she could convince him to stop trying to play her for a fool, especially in the inconvenient presence of others. She couldn’t afford any scandal or misunderstanding his sudden in
terest in her could cause.

“Very well,” she finally murmured, letting her gaze come back up to his face.

He smiled, this time something more genuine. “Very good. I shall send a carriage for you at eight tonight.”

She nodded wordlessly. “And now you should go. Your presence is of some upset to my guests, I think. Until I’m certain of your true intentions, perhaps we should keep our association a secret.”

He tilted his head. “Very well. Then I shall see you later tonight. Until then, Penelope.”

With a little salute, he backed from the room. It was only when he was gone that Penelope realized her breath was short and her hands were shaking.