A Regency Courtesan's Pride: More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan

‘Oh, dear. I believe that is three points to me.’

‘I know that,’ she said, staring at the table where his ball happily rested to the right of the red. Blast. She hadn’t made a mistake like that since she’d been a young girl.

She looked up at his face and saw his broad grin. Damn it. The sight of him half-naked had scattered her wits.

A smile pinned on her face, she let her eyes sparkle and fluttered her lashes. ‘Might I ask if you have a preference?’

His look of astonishment, quickly followed by a flare of heat in those dark eyes, was all the reward she needed for her daring.

Her satisfaction didn’t last long, because he was eyeing her like dinner had finally arrived. What on earth had made her give him the choice?

‘The other garter, I think, and both stockings. And then it is my turn to shoot.’

And she would be the one who was naked. Her stomach dipped down to her feet.

‘I will forgo the rest of the game,’ he said, his eyes gleaming wickedly, ‘if you will permit me to remove those items.’

Her stomach sank even further, dropping away in a rush. As if she’d fallen from a high place, or dropped into a well.

He raised his brows.

Dash it all. It was the only way to retain a shred of propriety and honour. Letting him take off her stockings and feeling those wonderfully strong warm hands on her naked flesh all the way to her knee sounded dreadful. Dreadfully delicious.

And not nearly as awful as being required to undress, should he down his next shot. He had missed once. He might miss again. Her mind went back to that odd drop of his shoulder, when usually he moved with such elegant grace and surety. He’d done it on purpose. Missed his shot. To give her a chance to win. And she’d muffed it.

No wonder he’d laughed.

She closed her eyes briefly. Then he deserved his reward. Her insides quivered. Excitement. Anticipation. Wicked. She was nothing but wicked.

She nodded.

She sat on the nearest chair. ‘Your hands must go no further than the top of my knee, nor your gaze.’

The corners of his mouth curled in a sensual smile. ‘Do you play the part of Portia, now?’

She lifted her chin. ‘And will you play the part of fair Antonio or be the lesser man?’

‘A hit,’ he said and bowed. ‘I will abide by your rule most cheerfully.’

She carefully arranged her skirt so that no more than the top of her left stocking showed below the hem. It had slid below her knee.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and sat back on his heels. ‘A delectable sight.’

‘I trust you to keep your word.’

She could not see his face, but his shoulders shook a little as if he was trying not to laugh. She saw no humour in the situation, for he had cheated. She was sure of it.

Her skin tingled with the anticipation of his touch. She bit her lip as he hooked one finger into the fine silk and rolled it down over her ankle. He eased it over her heel and off. ‘That is one.’

There. Not so bad. No caresses or touches driving her mad.

His fingers went to the hem of her gown, gathering up the fine material until he reached her knee. She tried not to look, or to guess at his reaction. A rake like him would have seen lots of ladies’ limbs. Her legs were long and well muscled from striding about her property like a man, when she wasn’t conducting business, also like a man. He would find no feminine softness beneath her skirts. He’d probably find her unappealing.

She stared at the wall opposite and gritted her teeth.

The tug on the bow of her garter was like a tug at her centre. Wicked sensations pulsed in her core. She felt naked, exposed, yet when she glanced down to watch, her hem had risen only on one side and not a fraction above the edge of her stocking. But he knelt so close, concentrated on his task with such focus, she could feel his warm breath brush her thigh through the layers of gown and chemise. It tickled unbearably.

He pulled the garter free and dangled it before her face. ‘Two,’ he said.

She swallowed. Resisted the urge to pull down her skirts. Ignored the fire she could feel burning on her face. She did not fear him doing anything she did not permit. She feared she might permit him to take liberties. But she would not be so cowardly as to go back on her word, not after his generosity. ‘Well, go on.’

He cast a swift glance upwards. ‘Your wish is my command.’

Oh, how she wanted to hit him. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and yawned instead. But as soon as he returned to his task, she lowered her lashes, pretending to close her eyes, and watched as he ran a finger beneaththe edge of her stocking. A second finger joined the first. He made great play of stretching the fabric over her knee. Her insides turned liquid as if they had melted. Her limbs grew languid. She hauled in a deep breath.

He leaned down and placed a kiss on the bared skin. A swift brush of warm dry lips.

She gasped and gripped the chair arms tighter. ‘You go too far.’

‘Such beauty deserves worship.’

‘You tease me, sirrah.’

He looked up, his eyelids heavy, his lips sensual. ‘Not about something as lovely as this.’

A warm glow suffused her skin. Her body clamoured for more than a whisper of touch. She must not succumb to him. She’d sworn never to let a man take her for a fool. She was her own woman. Now and always. Only with him she seemed reckless. Dangerously so.

Was it reckless to keep one’s word?

She bit her lip. ‘Continue.’

He rolled the stocking, as neatly as any maid would, careful not to damage the cobwebby silk. Another inch of skin, another kiss. Thrills coursed through her blood. She held herself rigid against their temptation, but she couldn’t stop watching.

He continued to roll and kiss every inch until the stocking reached her ankle. He shaped her calf with his palm, lingering there as if he’d exposed a treasure. Her insides tightened with desire and longing.

He sighed, a waft of warm gentle air against her skin, then pulled the stocking off. He rubbed the ball of her foot with his thumb. Her body hummed with pleasure. He massaged her arch. She wanted to purr like a cat. Her back stretched. Her shoulders loosened. Dazed, she stared down at his broad naked shoulders, the curve of his back, the movement of muscle beneath. He was lovely.

She yearned to touch him. If only she dared.

Gently he lowered her hem, and rose to his full height, smiling down at her. Clearly waiting for sign from her as to where they would go next.

When she said nothing, he gave a slight nod. ‘I think it is time I bid you goodnight.’ He put on his ring, tucked the rest of his jewellery in his coat pocket and slung his discarded clothing over his shoulder.

He looked just like a pirate carrying off his booty.

She half-wished the booty included her.

Her heart knocked against her ribs. Her body trembled with the urge to join him in his chamber. To enjoy his beautiful body and the pleasure he would give.