Lorraine Heath - Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

Eleanor distracted him from his purpose. He’d brought her back to the scene of their first meeting, because he planned to gently lead her into revealing why she’d truly been in the gardens that night. He needed her to trust him enough to confide in him, so he could get to the bottom of this matter. The policeman inside him knew that.

But the man inside him had other ideas. He’d embraced her notion of enjoying the present, and that meant ensuring that she enjoyed it, that there be no subtle interrogation, no prying.

A boom sounded as the first burst of fireworks filled the sky. With her arm intertwined with his, she used her free hand to squeeze his arm as she exclaimed, “Oh my word.”

The fireworks could be seen for miles, and many a night while walking through Chelsea he’d spied them, until he became impervious to their magnificence. But watching Eleanor, he remembered the first time he’d seen them scattered across the velvet blackness and how they’d taken his breath away. He’d felt then the way he felt watching her-as though nothing would ever compare.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her eyes wide, her lips parted in wonder. Her hair wasn’t nearly as tidy as it had been when they’d begun their afternoon outing only a few short hours ago. Wisps had worked their way free of the pins and now framed her face. Even as he wanted to touch them, to tuck them into place, he yearned to remove her hat, release all the pins, and watch her hair tumble down her back. He wanted to pull her farther back into the shadows. He wanted to live up to his reputation as a scoundrel. He wanted to seduce her into revealing her secrets, he wanted to seduce her into revealing her body.

The sky was again lit with a flash of white stars that shot in all directions before fading into the night. Eventually she would fade away as well from his life. But at that particular moment she was still in it, vibrant and lovely, a touch of innocence, a touch of daring.

“My God, but they’re so beautiful,” she whispered reverently.

“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

Her attention turned from the sky to him. He’d promised her they’d not leave until after the fireworks, but he was of a mind to create his own sparks. There were shadows aplenty, and as the next boom sounded, he snaked his arm around her waist and urged her away from the gathered crowd and the gaslights. She offered up only token resistance, no doubt initially forgetting that they weren’t supposed to be influenced by the past this evening. Impatience had him lifting her the last few steps, and then he was ensconced in heaven: her rose scent filling his nostrils, her taste tempting him to seek more as her mouth reshaped itself to fit seamlessly against his. Like some sort of clinging vine her arms wound around his neck, her fingers scraping up his scalp, becoming entangled in his hair. He was taken off guard by how desperately he wanted her.

Nearly a week had passed since he first became aware of her existence, and yet he felt as though he’d known her a lifetime. It was inconceivable that he could harbor such strong feelings for a woman about whom he knew so little.

With a hushed moan, she pressed her body nearer to his, her breasts flattening against his chest. Of their own accord, his hands slid down her sides to her hips, pushing her against his hard, tortuous arousal. He was acutely aware of her slight stiffening, as though taken aback by what he had no ability to hide from her. Of course she’d be disarmed by it. She was a lady in the truest sense of the word.

With a crude curse to emphasize the differences in their stations, he tore his mouth from hers and backed even farther into the shadows.

“Mr. Swind-”

“Christ, Eleanor, I would think after that blistering kiss we could dispense with formalities.”

“You’re angry.”

“Not with you. Finish watching the fireworks. I’ll join you momentarily.” Once this horrendous ache left him in peace.

“I can see them from here.”

“Eleanor,” he ground out, hoping the impatience in his voice would be enough to drive her away.

“James.”

His name whispered so sensuously and with such longing was nearly his undoing. She was too innocent to understand the torment she could so effortlessly inflict on him. What in God’s name was he doing with her?

He felt her tentative touch on his cheek, was aware of the slight trembling in her fingers. Covering her hand with his, he turned his face into her palm and pressed a kiss to its heart. Regret flooded him. Regret over his past. Regret over his true reason for being with her. Regret that he could so easily set his orders aside and seduce her nearer with no thought to how she’d feel afterward when she realized he was there because of duty. Christ! He was no better than Rockberry.

Swindler had no doubt that Rockberry had used her sister to his own ends. He was guilty of the same. Even as he had the thought, he prayed some noble cause guided him. Prevention, protection. He’d gone to work for Scotland Yard because he wanted to save people as he’d never been able to save his father.

The tension left his body, the ache dissipated. He drew her into the circle of his arms, guiding her so she faced away from him. Where moments ago he’d longed to see her hair released from its confines, now he welcomed her bared nape by pressing a light kiss there before whispering near her ear, “You do tempt me, Eleanor.”

“I thought you were a scoundrel.”

“One with a conscience it seems.”

“And if I don’t want you to have a conscience?”

“Then we are either headed toward heaven or doomed to hell.”

As the carriage traveled swiftly through the streets, she didn’t want this magical night to end. Leaning against James, her head on his shoulder, was scandalous, and yet she seemed unable to help herself. She wanted his arm around her, but she knew that was far too much. It was enough that he held her gloved hand in his.

Whenever she’d imagined a kiss, it had never involved a man boldly sweeping his tongue through her mouth, exploring every inch of it as though he owned it. With James’s kiss, the heat had swirled in her belly and rolled outward until even the tips of her fingers and toes burned.

Oh, he was very skilled at seduction-her James Swindler. Yet as he caused pleasure to build within her, it was as though he revealed things about himself as well. He was strong, confident, accustomed to having his way-yet he acquired what he wanted not by force, but by persuasion. She thought she could have easily disappeared into the shadows behind the trees with him, never to return and never to regret it.

The kiss had shaken her to the core. Judging by his reaction, it had done the same to him.

Had Rockberry done this with Elisabeth? Had he charmed her, kissed her, pushed her away, only to lure her back in?

She didn’t want Rockberry to intrude on her thoughts tonight, not when they were so filled with James. She wished she’d come to London for another purpose entirely, wished she’d been the first daughter sent, wished she and James had crossed paths a year ago when she wasn’t consumed with grief and the need for retribution. It was horrible to hate someone as she did Rockberry. It tainted even the most glorious moments, made her feel as though she didn’t deserve them because her sister had never experienced them.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

Once again she was amazed how he always seemed to know when to speak and when to remain silent.

“How different I was before Elisabeth died. How I wish you’d known me then.”

“I like you very much now.”

“Tragedy changes us, not always for the better, I think.”