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  Except for the scant clothing. And the luscious cascade of hair. And the body he fiercely wanted to ravage.

  He swallowed. Hard.

  “I don’t want to marry a stranger,” she went on, “and if I arrive in Spain with my virtue intact, that’s almost certain to happen.”

  “I told you, your grandfather will not force you into anything.”

  “I don’t think nearly as well of men of rank as you do. They’ve done little to make me trust them.”

  He cursed under his breath. She was not just speaking of Hunforth, was she?

  “Grandfather or no,” she continued, “the marqués appears to have one aim, and that is to get his heir. I’m not ready to oblige him in that respect. So I plan to get rid of my virtue before we reach Spain. And I plan to do it with you.”

  That roused images in his fevered brain which would have sent a weaker man crawling over broken glass to bed her. But he was not such a man. “You mean to make sure I lose my chance at regaining my estate. Is that it? You think to revenge yourself against me and your grandfather in one fell swoop by beguiling me into your bed? Ending my hopes for the future at the same time you end his?”

  “No,” she said coolly. “This isn’t about revenge. Don’t worry, you’ll get your precious property. If you do as I say.”

  That flummoxed him. “What do you mean?”

  She rose from the bed to pad toward him, a cat toying with its prey. “If you share my bed, I’ll make sure my grandfather never finds out. I can always blame my loss of innocence on Peter, assuming that my chastity proves as important to my grandfather as I suspect. But if you don’t share my bed, I’ll tell him about all the times you kissed me and touched me . . . all the places you touched me. And you will never regain your estate.”

  He froze as she circled him, her sweet violet scent engulfing his senses. “He will not care about that as long as I have not ruined you,” he lied.

  “Oh, I will arrive ruined,” she said silkily. Halting behind him, she whispered in his ear, “If not by you, then by the captain or one of his men.”

  In a fury, he turned to seize her by the shoulders. “The hell you will!” He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. “I will lock you up before I—”

  Hostias. She’d made that difficult by stealing the key.

  She stared at him with a taunting smile, a vixen sure of her power. “If you force me to turn elsewhere, I’ll make sure you get blamed for it. All the punishment and none of the pleasure. As you said when you blackmailed me, the choice is yours.”

  “Not much of a choice,” he ground out.

  “That’s why it’s called blackmail.” She began to untie his cravat. “Besides, you and my grandfather are giving me no choice. I don’t see why I should give you any.”

  He caught her hands, gripping them to keep from putting his own hands where they did not belong. “You think you have won, don’t you?”

  She gazed at him, clear-eyed. “Yes.”

  “You are a scheming little witch,” he hissed.

  A smile touched her lips. “Yes.”

  Torn between anger and admiration at her clever plan, he yanked her against him roughly, his arm manacling her waist. Though she gasped, she met his furious stare with eyes that shone luminous and triumphant in the lantern light.

  Surely she was bluffing about giving herself to another. But did he dare risk it? And why was he fighting, anyway? She offered what he’d been waiting for: the chance to kiss her, caress her, make love to her without repercussions.

  Yet that terrified him. Once he had her in his bed, he might never want to let her out.

  “Well?” She managed to imbue that one word with a wealth of meaning. “What’s it to be, Master of Mystery?” She stretched up on tiptoe to nip his ear, sending a jolt of desire flashing down his spine to stiffen his cock.

  He gripped her head in his hands. “You will regret this later,” he growled.

  “I doubt that very much,” she whispered with a mesmerizing smile. Then she kissed him, a sweetly innocent kiss that pushed him over the edge into madness.

  In a frenzy, he took her mouth, devouring it, plundering it, dizzy from the pleasure of it after being deprived of it for days. She was his for tonight, his, damn it, and he meant to brand her as his for all eternity.

  As he reveled in how eagerly she met his kisses, he swept his hands down to fondle her breasts, which might as well have been naked for all the protection her chemise afforded. Which he wanted naked now.

  He tore his lips free. “So you wish to lose your innocence to the devil?”

  “It’s not a matter of wishing, is it?” she said stiffly. “It’s either that or lose it to a husband who’s been picked for me, and I refuse to do the latter.”

  Annoyed by her persistence in believing the worst of her grandfather, he left her to go sit on the bed. When she started to follow, he said, “No, stay there.”

  A perplexed look crossed her face. “I thought—”

  He tugged off his boots. “You thought you would take charge. You thought you would lead me about by my cojones.” Tearing off his cravat, he threw it aside. “We will do this my way or not at all. Which is it to be?”

  “I don’t see why you care how it’s done as long as you get to do it,” she said.

  That ignited his temper anew. While he sat aching for her, she meant to go about losing her chastity like a general leading a campaign. She probably expected him to play the rutting pig and take her with blithe unconcern, so she could dismiss him once it was over, the way she’d dismissed him that night in the duke’s library.

  Well, his little seductress was in for a surprise. He meant to make her realize the enormity of her decision, be fully aware of what she chose. As aware as he was.

  “The ‘how’ matters a great deal.” He peeled off his coat and waistcoat, then tossed them aside. “So, do we do it my way? Or not at all?” He prayed she would not call his bluff. Although he did not want her playing the sacrificial virgin in his bed, neither would he permit her to turn to one of the others.

  She lifted her chin, offering him a maddening glimpse of her lovely throat. “That depends. What is your way? What do you want me to do?”

  “You can start by doing more than teasing me with glimpses of your body.” He leaned back on his elbows to scour every inch of her. “Take off your chemise, querida. I wish to see what I will be selling my honor for.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dear Cousin,

  One piece of interesting information has come out of our discussions with Señor Montalvo’s assistant, Gaspar. It appears that Diego Montalvo is a Spanish count! So . . . perhaps it really was an elopement. We begin to believe they traveled by sea, possibly to Scotland though more likely to Spain. A neighbor saw people boarding a steam packet in the wee hours of the morning on the day in question but was not close enough to confirm it as them.

  Your concerned friend,

  Charlotte

  Honor, hah! Lucy scowled at him. As if the scoundrel had any honor, trying to dictate the terms of this seduction.

  And what did he mean by expecting her to disrobe for him? Nettie had said men never bothered to do that with tarts—they just moved the clothes enough to get to whatever they wanted. Undressing entirely while he watched was far more intimate than she’d anticipated.

  “Take it off, cariño.” His commanding voice sent a delicious warmth pooling in her belly. The dim light left his face in shadow, but his eyes glinted hungry, hard, and eager as they devoured her. She found that terribly exciting.

  “But I’m naked underneath,” she protested weakly.

  “Did you not expect me to see you naked?”

  She had hoped he wouldn’t. “I thought you would . . . you know . . . do what you did at the Foxmoors’. Lift my skirts—”

  “And take you like a savage, so you can keep hating me once we are done?”

  Annoyed by how close he came to the mark, she crossed her arms over her ch
est. “Something like that.”

  “Abandon that idea right now.” Keeping his brooding gaze fixed on her, he rose to circle her as she’d circled him earlier. “If I must play the stud horse to your mare, I shall enjoy it. And make you enjoy it as well. I will pleasure you until you beg for more, even if it takes me all night.”

  “All night! But . . . but . . . Nettie will want to sleep here!”

  “I doubt your fellow conspirator will have trouble finding a comfortable berth.” He came up behind her to wrap his hand in her unbound hair.

  “Diego, we cannot—”

  “It is the only way I will agree to your scheme.” He tugged her head back just enough so his mouth could plunder the skin of her throat.

  A dangerous thrill coursed through her that shook her to her toes. Lord help her, how could she survive a whole night of such tender caresses?

  This was supposed to be swift, impersonal. That’s why she’d worn only her shift—to inflame him into dispensing with preliminaries. She’d thought he’d just lift the hem, do his part, and be done. No long seduction full of tempting kisses and sweet words.

  This was so like Diego.

  He released her hair without moving his lips from her neck. “I intend to take my time with you,” he said darkly, throwing her plans into confusion. “I will taste and touch every part of you—as often as I wish, as thoroughly as I wish.”

  A thrill shot through her that wouldn’t be denied.

  He laid his hand on her waist and slid it down her hips in an intimate caress that made her gasp. “You will not hide yourself from me tonight, mi dulzura. So if it is a quick deflowering you want, best to abandon that scheme right now.”

  The dratted devil thought to cow her into giving up her plans by threatening to make his seduction last all night. Well, that wouldn’t work.

  “I am sure Rafael would still welcome me in his bed,” she countered.

  His hand stiffened on her behind. “Go ahead, if that is what you want. He will be happy to rid you of your virtue in whatever manner you dictate. He is not as particular in his bed partners as I am.”

  She tensed. Would he really give her up to Rafael? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure. “You know I don’t want Rafael,” she rasped, relinquishing even that weapon.

  “And I don’t want to make love to a martyr.” He moved in front of her, far enough away to see all of her, close enough to touch her if he wished. “These are my conditions. Do you accept them?”

  “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” She couldn’t bear anyone else taking her innocence.

  She would simply use Nettie’s tricks for inflaming a man’s passions. Nettie had said men generally couldn’t manage more than one encounter a night, so all Lucy had to do was goad him into a quick seduction, and she’d be done.

  His smile was positively feral. “Then pray remove your chemise. Now.”

  A shuddering breath left her lips as she drew her shift over her head. Before she released it, she clutched it to her bosom. “What about you? Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?”

  “Not yet.” He reached out to tug the shift from her trembling hands. Fire flared high in his face as his gaze scorched the full length of her body, sparing no part. “Válgame Dios, you are even more lovely than I imagined,” he said hoarsely.

  She drank his adoring words like a sailor gulping down fresh water after months at sea. How she wished he didn’t excel at compliments. Every time he said something like that, she wanted to throw herself at him.

  He swept the back of his hand down her breasts, leaving her weak in the knees. “Do you know how often I have wished to see you in all your perfect glory?” He grazed her nipples with his knuckles, rousing them to aching points. “You have given me many sleepless nights, querida. Too many.”

  It salved her wounded pride that he’d thought of her as much as she’d thought of him. He slid his hand lower to caress her belly. When he covered her down there with his hand, she couldn’t suppress a moan. But when he delved between her slick folds with a long, teasing stroke of his finger, she caught his hand. She felt too exposed, too aware of her nakedness like this.

  “Please, Diego, take off your clothes, too.”

  He stared at her with slumberous eyes. “Why don’t you take them off me?”

  She sucked in a harsh breath. The man was diabolical. The very idea of performing such an intimate act for him made her feel more like a wife than a shameless wanton.

  But he didn’t want a wife, God rot him. Why keep acting as if he did? He was supposed to tear off his clothes, throw her down on the bed, and ravish her like a fiend. Not make love to her with the tenderness of a husband. Not make her heart ache for his touch, his voice . . . his love.

  No, she did not want his love. She couldn’t, mustn’t yearn for it. Not when he meant to hand her over to her grandfather at the end of this trip.

  She would have to hurry this seduction along. And that meant breaking his iron control.

  Sidling up to him, she went straight for his trouser buttons. With his thickened male flesh stretching the fabric to the breaking point, she had to struggle to release them, which reminded her of how he’d wanted her to touch him that day at the breakfast. She did so now, her hands stroking along the ridge of his arousal with each button she undid.

  He groaned. “Why didn’t you start with the shirt?” he gritted out.

  “Because this is the part that interests me,” she murmured.

  She had his trousers and his drawers unfastened in seconds and his flesh freed of the fabric even more quickly. As it sprang out like some impudent hound sniffing the air, she froze.

  It was long. Thick. Much more imposing than she’d expected.

  Good Lord in heaven. The harem tales had spoken of “swords” and “rods” and “lances,” and she’d assumed such terms were gross exaggerations. But they weren’t far off the mark.

  As she stared, his flesh grew even larger. Wondering at that, she reached out to touch it, but he caught her hand.

  “Don’t,” he said in a voice thick with desire. “Or your scheme will be spoiled before it’s begun.”

  She blinked at him, not sure what he meant. She only knew that he didn’t want her to touch him. Which, of course, meant that she had to do so.

  She slid her free hand to his back, ostensibly to pull his shirttails out of his waistband but really so she could slide her hand beneath his loosened trousers and drawers to caress his behind as he’d caressed hers.

  “I see what you are about.” He grabbed that hand, too. “You think to make me insane with need . . . and get your quick tumble, after all. It will not work.”

  Lifting her mouth to suck his whiskered neck, she deliberately rubbed her breasts against his shirt-clad chest. “It’s already working,” she teased, then tongued his throat.

  He tried to move back, but that slackened his grip on her wrists, allowing her to pull both hands free. Instantly, she returned to stroking his shaft with one hand while she took his hand in the other to press it to her breast.

  He gave up. With a growled oath, he lifted her bodily and tossed her onto the bed, pausing only long enough to shove off his trousers and drawers before stretching out atop her, covering her with his body.

  “Hunforth was right.” His eyes blazed at her as he spread her thighs apart so he could kneel between them. “You really are a reckless hoyden.”

  She might have been insulted if she hadn’t been trying to be one. “I do my best,” she said with a triumphant smile.

  She tore off his shirt, eager to see the fine chest she remembered from the duke’s library. As she smoothed her hands over the wide expanse of muscle and sinew and bone, he retaliated by sliding his hand between her legs to fondle her, roughly, thoroughly, possessively.

  “This is not over, you know,” he vowed as he dipped his mouth to tongue her nipple erect, then suck it so exquisitely that she arched up for more. “I still intend to make you beg. Later.”

/>   “We’ll . . . see,” she gasped, his motions below and above rousing her blood to a fever pitch.

  “We will indeed. The night is young.”

  She blinked. Could she have misunderstood Nettie about men only being able to make love once? Good Lord, what if . . .

  He drove out that thought by slipping something larger than his fingers inside her. And it was every bit as uncomfortable as she’d heard.

  This was the part she’d dreaded. With horror and fascination she’d listened to tales of what it was like to lose one’s innocence. She’d told herself lovemaking mustn’t be too awful, or women wouldn’t allow men to keep doing it, yet the idea of a man driving his thing into you hard enough to produce pain and blood sounded distinctly unpleasant.

  Yet as he inched inside her, it did not feel unpleasant. Uncomfortable, perhaps. Intimate, certainly. But not entirely unpleasant.

  It was embarrassing, however—and she couldn’t look at him while he entered her, couldn’t do anything but lie stiff beneath him.

  “Relax,” he murmured against her ear. “It will go easier for you.”

  “How do you know?” she said skeptically. “You’re not the one having a Maypole thrust inside your tender parts.”

  He uttered a choked laugh, then kissed her long and deep, distracting her from what he was doing below.

  Within seconds, she realized it was indeed better. Having him inside her warmed her in ways she hadn’t expected, in places she hadn’t expected.

  He froze, as if coming up against something, and drew back to stare at her. “Are you sure about this, querida?” he asked softly, poised over her like a panther on the verge of pouncing.

  This was it. The moment when she would lose her innocence. She swallowed her trepidation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  But she wasn’t at all sure. He gave a sudden fierce push. The tearing pain proved fleeting. But now he was planted inside her so intimately that she couldn’t escape him . . . or the reality of what she’d done.

  She’d thought that a swift loss of her innocence would keep her from yearning for him too much. She’d been wrong. Diego was brushing her cheek with tender kisses, murmuring soothing words, asking if she was all right. She nodded, but she wasn’t all right in the least. He was around her, above her, encompassing her with his delicious smell and his enticing body and his sweet endearments that made her want . . . and want some more.