A Little Deception Page 11

  ‘What?’ His eyebrows arched over his blue eyes as if in faint censure for spoiling the moment. ‘My dear, I assure you I have no intention of hounding you for such a trifle. Now, where were we?’

  The pressure of his lips on hers increased, pushing away the faint concern she felt at his words. He must not think she’d trade … this … for what she owed him. She opened her mouth to speak and the tip of his tongue which had contoured her lower lip, plunged in, deepening the kiss.

  She gasped, feeling her legs buckle as he caught her fully in his arms, pulling her against him. There was no mistaking the all-consuming nature of his desire but what frightened her was the force of hers. Her head spun with wicked, unexpected thoughts while strange, intoxicating sensations coursed through her body, making her skin prickle and causing her to push her breasts against his seeking hands. It was behaviour she’d never imagined indulging in. It was wanton… She had plunged into dangerous territory. Uncharted territory, at that.

  ‘Not here,’ she protested, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Rampton looked down at her, saw the deep blush that had spread over her porcelain fine skin, and was impressed. The lady could even blush on demand. He glanced at the room, in which the only furniture was two large, but quite unsuitable armchairs, and a collection of occasional tables and tried to master his ragged breathing.

  ‘I think it’s time to show you the secret passageway,’ he suggested.

  ‘I should be most interested.’ She sounded breathless. Eager.

  Smiling, feeling like the cat who had got the cream. Actually, he felt in physical pain at having to truncate these passionate proceedings. He offered his arm and with courtly grace, led her across the courtyard to the tower. Obviously she could not wait for this moment, either. He glanced down at her and imagined her naked, writhing beneath him, eyes vacant with lust, skin flushed and covered with the moist sheen of their love-making labours. Oh, he would show her just what a wonderful lover he was; she’d not want to leave his bed until she was forced to do so in order to return to her island home.

  He was surprised at the stab of disappointment he felt at the thought. Still, he was not a man who wasted time on the preoccupations of the heart. His was a remarkably resilient one, thank God. His mother had taught him there was no room for sentiment and he was not a man to pine for foolish fancies when the action of the present was all that mattered.

  And the moment for action was upon him. He increased his pace. It had been thoughtless to have started proceedings in such a cold, bare room when he’d intended to shepherd her to his nice, big comfortable bed, however he’d found himself unable to exercise his usual restraint. He slanted a glance down at her wide-eyed look, focused on her kiss-swollen lips and felt a jolt that, extraordinarily, seemed to travel from his groin to the region of his heart.

  She paused amidst their progress. ‘Tell me some of the legends about the heroic Delacroix men,’ prompted Lady Chesterfield – his soon-to-be-mistress he thought with an even greater jolt of excitement as she pressed against his side and smiled up at him - almost as if half a bottle of champagne had gone straight to her head rather than that those wicked natural impulses of which he had lately heard so much had finally come to the fore. He laughed, his mood expansive.

  ‘Ah, so many of them. And not all so heroic, either. Not all Delacroix were men of honour.’

  ‘Unlike you, my lord?’ she suggested, upon a faint hiccup.

  ‘You flatter me, madam,’ he said, hoping his look was not too obviously salacious. An English rose. He had said it before, but how apt was the description, for in the summer sunshine, her bonnet tied demurely under her pretty little chin, she was like a piece of Dresden china but in his bed where he’d have her in less than two minutes she’d be transformed into the goddess of his lustful imaginings. How would her breasts feel when freed of their confines? Would they be pert? Or ripe? It didn’t matter. He was so hard he could barely walk. He tried to swallow. Normally he didn’t like surprises but he was looking forward to this one. Would she be like an unleashed wild animal when her clothes were off – like Catherine Barbery? He shuddered. Now was not the time to make comparisons, but to focus all his expertise on this exquisite woman who’d kept him waiting so long.

  Clearly she was an accomplished coquette. Good God, she’d kept him on the barest thread for longer than any mistress. Two thousand pounds and she was his. Indeed, he’d have absolved her of twice the amount and believed he’d got the bargain.

  At the foot of the tower he lifted the latch and pushed open the door. It gave way, protesting on rusty hinges and they stepped into the gloom. Closing the door behind them, they were plunged into darkness and immediately he felt her pull away.

  ‘I don’t think …’ she began, but her coyness seemed unnecessary now they’d come this far. He laughed again.

  ‘My male vanity is wounded. I’d have imagined you’d draw closer to me for protection.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Rose chided herself for being foolish. Lord Rampton was taking her, at her request, to see the hidden passageway. Hadn’t he already proved he was a gentleman of honour by pulling away at her first display of reluctance?

  ‘If you’re afraid of the dark we’ll open the door to the outside and let in the light. I had thought to give you a sense of the authentic. Remember, these Catholic priests made their escape in the dead of night, their lives hanging by a thread.’

  He pushed open the door to let through a weak shaft of sunlight; then, taking Rose’s hand, he led her up the spiral stairs.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Rose asked as they reached a room on the next level.

  ‘You are impatient,’ said Lord Rampton as if something amused him. ‘It’s nothing but a room full of dust sheets. It’s the room on the next level that’s of interest.’

  ‘Where does the secret tunnel lead?’

  ‘From behind the bed down a back staircase and under the courtyard to the park beyond.’

  ‘From the bed,’ Rose repeated faintly. Her light-headedness was beginning to give way to her natural caution. The heady desire she’d felt when he’d been kissing her was fast being replaced by concern. She should not be allowing a gentleman to lead her alone and into the dark, to an unknown destination. Her years of training, her innate common sense, should have her pulling her hand out of his and stumbling back down the stairs and into the sunshine. Her foreboding was growing. There was still time to save face. To save her reputation.

  Lord Rampton continued to propel Rose forward. ‘You did say you wanted to see the secret passageway.’

  Was that the faintest note of exasperation she heard? She caught herself up. She was being foolish.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She was finding it hard to breathe. Whether it was because of the many stairs or caused by his nearness, she had no idea. And now she was on the second landing and Lord Rampton was throwing open the doorway to a sumptuously decorated room. His bedchamber? she thought, in sudden horror, as she took in the intimate details: the dressing-table on which was laid out his brushes and combs, the shaving-stand, the brocade banyan draped casually across the end of the bed. And what a bed it was! Exquisitely carved with a headboard depicting a hunting scene, there was nothing fainthearted about the rest of it. Instead of the conventional brocade counterpane it was covered by what appeared to be an enormous bear skin.

  ‘And so the secret passage begins here?’ she said, hoping her voice didn’t tremble as much as she feared it did.

  ‘Yes, my love.’

  Rose looked up, half in surprise, half in fear. The endearment was both music to her ears and an alarm bell. Lord Rampton closed the door behind them, catching her to him so suddenly that she stumbled and fell into his arms.

  ‘Please—’ she began, but his mouth, hot with desire, drowned out anything else she might have said.

  For a split second she thought to push him away; but her simmering desire so clearly answered his own, combusting into desperate passion and the p
ulsing desire to push the boundaries of her sensual experience, that resistance wilted before it was even born.

  His arms were strong and tight around her, and she sagged against him, another attempt at protest dying upon her lips as he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

  She’d never felt a man move above her as he did now, covering her with his body and kissing her eyes, her nose and throat. In mere moments, of course, she’d return her two feet to the floor and profess her desire to end matters there. She’d tell him she wanted to take it slowly. Yes, that’s what she’d ….

  Dear Lord, what was he doing? All thoughts of acting upon her good intentions evaporated as she gave herself up to these new sensations which threatened to drown her in a surfeit of pleasure. He’d somehow managed to undo the back of her dress and now his mouth was hot upon her exposed breast. What started as a cry of objection became a cry of pleasure as molten desire coursed through her, making her surely the most willing captive that ever existed.

  ‘You are exquisite, Lady Chesterfield,’ he murmured as he kissed the hollow of her throat.

  Opening her eyes, she was reassured by the intensity of his smile. No respectable woman would allow herself to be in such a position but she was prepared to take the chance. She was not just another conquest. He not only desired her, he wanted her for his …

  Common sense returned.

  What a fool she was! He’d forever hate her if he discovered the truth.

  Struggling out from beneath him, she made an ineffectual attempt at restoring modesty, pulling her skirts back over her knees. How many women had been brought to ruin by such naivety?

  But with a deep chuckle and, as if she had no more strength than a butterfly, he pushed her onto her back once more. ‘You’ve tried my patience long enough, you little minx, though I’ll admit your merry little dance has nearly killed me with the need to have you.’

  Mesmerised, unable to move, she watched him remove his boots, then his coat and waistcoat. Her mouth dropped open as he fumbled with his breeches, revealing lean, muscled white flanks dusted with fine dark hair beneath his shirt.

  Only when he raised his eyes to hers did self-preservation kick in and she jerked herself into a sitting position.

  His laugh drowned her small shriek as he threw her back onto the bed whereupon he had her clothes off in record time and was now lying above her, his body a warm, sensuous cage. One in which she would have been quite happy to flounder in captivity if there were not her future to think about.

  Yes, she wanted him, but not like this. The realization flashed through her mind that she had never known quite what the joining of a man and woman entailed as she caught sight of his rampant manhood which terrified and excited her in equal measure. Her body seemed to pulse with the desire to receive him while her mind railed against such sinfulness.

  What kind of woman was she? Terror and mortification gripped her. She managed to twist her head away and with a gasp forced out, ‘Please—!’

  It was an ill chosen protest, for of course he interpreted is as a plea for more.

  ‘You are a delightful enigma, Lady Chesterfield,’ he rasped, between hot kisses. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life.’ He paused a moment to brush a lock of hair back from her face. She could feel her heart hammering. Surely he could feel it too. He would attribute it to desire, not panic, and she had only herself to blame.

  She opened her mouth to speak. To tell him the truth, but a contradiction of emotions rendered her mute. Her body was willing him to continue his pleasuring, while her mind railed at her wickedness. She had been a fool. A naïve, innocent little fool, but would she ever experience such pleasure again? She was unlikely to have another chance at love. Why should she not simply succumb to enjoyment … just for once?

  It was not worth the risk.

  Lord Rampton’s voice, husky with passion, made her pause. ‘I wanted you from the moment I met you, my love.’ He kissed her ear as he cupped her face. ‘No woman has stirred my senses as you have.’

  They were words she longed to hear but a lifetime of training dictated that she should make her escape.

  Now he was creating even more wicked sensations, and the words she’d been trained to say would not come. Her desire for this man was stronger than anything she had yet experienced.

  His mouth was upon hers again and his kisses were working their magic. His clever hands were seeking out her most sensitive parts, gently massaging the tops of her thighs with feather-light strokes which only seemed to stoke her need for more, his explorations moving into the most forbidden territory, making her gasp. She was out of control. Drowning! Drowning in hot, sensuous pleasure!

  It was terrifying and it was exhilarating.

  It was sinful.

  She should galvanize every ounce of restraint in order to extricate herself from his irresistible embrace, but where was her will? She’d never known what love and desire were until now. Arching her body, she heard the ecstasy in her groan as if from someone far away. He moved above her, the wild, irresistible scent of him filling her nostrils, the mastery of his mouth working its magic as he suckled her breasts, kissed her lips. She skimmed his smooth, hard flanks and felt more insistently the pulsing of her womb as his manhood pressed against her belly.

  It was madness but she’d do it. Give herself to this man for this one time only; yes, take the chance for it would be the only chance of love she’d ever get and she had a lifetime of loneliness to fill with the sustaining memory of these burning few short moments.

  She stilled as she felt him position himself at her entrance. Trembling, she sucked in a shuddering breath as she prepared herself. She was ready to do this. With this one man only for she …

  Loved him.

  Loved him for making her feel what no other man on earth had ever made her feel. Loved the humour deep beneath his ironic, masterful façade.

  He tilted his head and his words came out as a soft rasp. ‘What did you say?’

  Surely she’d not spoken of her love aloud? She opened her eyes to see his fleeting confusion but she shook her head, arching against him, not wanting to lose the moment now that she had steeled herself.

  His breath was coming fast and shallow. Lust glazed his expression, twisting his lips into a wicked, colluding smile as he ground out, ‘My God, Lady Chesterfield, but you are–’

  On the periphery of her consciousness Rose registered the heavy footsteps upon the stair, growing louder as they approached. She tensed, momentarily, then cast concern from her mind as she moved beneath this man she loved and desired, blind to all but her own desire.

  A grave error she now realised as she heard the door being wrenched open on creaking hinges, before gasping at the cry of rage that echoed through the room. ‘What in God’s name is this?’

  She felt the momentary shock of the man above her before he pulled back and rolled off her, drawing her into his embrace to cover their nakedness. He needed almost no time to collect himself before he was demanding of the interloper in a low, accusing growl, ‘I might ask you the same question, bursting into my bedchamber like this.’

  She was impressed at Lord Rampton’s ability, even under such duress, to play the cool, affronted party. Trembling, she ventured a quick look over his shoulder and saw Charles upon the threshold, his normally pale and placid face suffused with outrage.

  Advancing to the centre of the bearskin rug which carpeted the floor, he stabbed a finger in their direction, struggling to force out his words. ‘What are you doing?’

  Rose buried her face in Lord Rampton’s chest, her body burning with shame as she tried to soak up all the warmth of that moment, for it would be a cold place she was going to be living in, soon, she realised.

  His lordship did not flinch as he continued to shield her. Her brother was visibly shaking. Charles’s rages were few but unpredictable, so when he hissed, ‘If I’d thought to bring a pistol I’d shoot you through the heart’ she exhaled in relief,
silently endorsing Lord Rampton’s rejoinder which he uttered in a tone of unconcern, ‘I’m relieved at your lack of foresight’ before he added, ‘Your wife might have taken exception to such overexcitement – though I would suggest a little more excitement in the marriage bed might not have seen her here.’

  ‘Wife?’ expostulated Charles, his pale face mottled purple with rage.

  Rose swallowed and pressed her forehead against Lord Rampton’s warm, hard chest, dread and weary acceptance swamping her as she felt his arms tighten when she tried to withdraw.

  Charles could have only one response to this and the silence seemed an eternity as she awaited the inevitable unmasking. Waited for the moment when her hopes and dreams would be reduced to cinders and she was exposed for the fraud she was.

  ‘That’s not my wife.’

  She groaned softly as she felt Lord Rampton stiffen in shock at Charles’s next words: ‘That’s my sister!’

  The Consequences

  Chapter Nine

  ‘MISS CHESTERFIELD.’ Miss Chesterfield. The name should have provoked rage; instead, Rampton was dismayed by a surge of feeling that was so far from rage as to render him no better than a slavering schoolboy when confronted with the object of his adolescent obsession.

  ‘Show her in,’ he said, struggling for the self-possession that had always been second nature to him and tossing aside the reading matter which had failed to engage his attention for the past hour.

  So, she had come to state her terms.

  Having been caught well and truly in flagrante delicto, he accepted he had no one but himself to blame. Experience with women had tuned his antennae finely when it came to sensing all manner of ruses calculated to inveigle him into matrimony. But Lady Chesterfield – Miss Chesterfield, as it turned out – had slipped entirely under his guard.

  Stonily he faced the door while he waited for her to enter, the events of the past week flashing through his mind. For twenty-four hours after she’d been hauled off by her brother, Rampton had paced his study like a caged lion, fuelling his anger with the multiple lies and untruths she’d fed him as he tried to relive exactly the moment at which he should have become aware of her deception. Any half-intelligent man would have sensed that not all was as it seemed at the very outset, he told himself.