The silver in his gaze darkened. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
A breath caught in her chest at the husky timbre of his voice.
“Are you spoken for?” Rhys asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you committed to someone else?”
He sounded uncertain, and instinctively she recognized such a state was unfamiliar to this man. His hesitancy did not quell the fear rising in her heart. With a kiss, he had shown her what little control she truly had over her passions.
Dear God, what have I done?
She had almost made love with this man at a ball, in a library…on a desk, with her brother, mother, and some of the most influential people of society only a few paces away in the ballroom. She had wanted to lose herself in him, to lay her body across the desk and offer herself up to him. With a few stolen moments in a darkened library, Rhys Tremayne had rewritten Georgiana’s knowledge of herself. She had abandoned all sense of decorum, and her wits needed to be regained.
“Georgiana—”
“Don’t,” she snapped, despising the tears prickling behind her lids.
The hands that had been reaching for her lowered slowly, and an indefinable emotion pierced his silver-blue eyes.
Tension threaded through her. “This…” She pressed a hand to her lips. “Whatever this is will never happen again.”
The strong line of his jaw grew even more rigid. The air was thick and tense with silence. After a few seconds, he gave her a curt nod. “As you wish.”
Why did he have to be agreeable at this moment? Why did she have to feel so uncertain? She took a deep breath, collected her panic-stricken and very aroused senses, and retreated a few steps. He moved with her and cupped her cheeks in his hands and tilted her face to his. He searched her face intently, and his predatory gaze pierced her with a flood of erotic awareness. He desired her still despite her impassioned rejection, the force of his need was tangible, and her heart quivered.
“Good-bye, duchess,” he murmured and pressed the softest of kisses to her lips.
Her lashes fluttered close, but she fisted her hands to her sides, fearing she would pull him to her and offer herself up for his seduction. Good-bye.
Yet she did not move.
“What are you afraid of?” he murmured.
“Myself.” The admission had rushed from her before she had the presence of mind to contain her thoughts.
“I watched you at the ball. Though your lips smiled, your eyes were empty of enjoyment. Just now, you came alive, and you burned us, duchess. The thing you should fear is retreating to that hollow place.”
She stared at him helplessly. How could he have seen so profoundly into her heart, when her stable of friends could not see beyond the mask she showed to the polite world?
“You speak nonsense.”
“I do not. I know emptiness when I see it, for I have endured it. Perhaps for a different reason, but I saw your eyes, my lady. We will be lovers.”
It was at that moment she realized he was a man who liked to win and conquer. With such a drive, she could understand how he would become so powerful the government had used his secrets to tip the scales of war.
And he had set his sights on her.
How would she resist his advances? A startled jolt went through her. Therein lied the distressing conundrum. She did not want to resist. This was the first man in her whole life that had made her experience an extraordinary passion.
Something reckless, wild, and improper stirred inside her. “Perhaps we will be, Mr. Tremayne. I ask the question of you—how can two people of such wildly different backgrounds and circumstances have a very discreet night of pleasure?”
With a pleased, wicked look and an arrogant tone, he said, “I am The Broker. I have the means to arrange many very discreet nights of pleasure. Perhaps I’ll send you an invitation soon, with explicit instructions for you to follow.”
“Then I shall look forward to it…Rhys, and perhaps I will respond. I make no promises.”
She fixed her dress, tidied her hair, and exited the library, her heart racing, feeling more alive than she’d ever felt before, but with so many things she held dear now endangered.
Chapter Six
The duchess’s lips were full and soft, and they’d trembled so lightly against his. Her taste, mysterious and sweet, a beckoning lure to madness. Hers was a mouth to savor. He’d never believed hunger could swallow him up and leave him trembling with the need to ravish and plunder.
With long strides, Rhys left the library and the townhouse. Once outside, he took a deep breath of chilled night air into his lungs. He needed the long walk home to clear his head and regain his perspective. Because everything had been indelibly shifted the instant he’d tasted her.
“Lydia, Joanna, Grace,” he whispered in the cold night air.
How in God’s name had the encounter with her in the library devolved to an almost seduction? He’d wanted to meet with her, to calculatingly assess if she had any need he could fulfill in order to draw her into a web of his making. Instead… Hell, he would ruminate on their encounter for the rest of his natural life, and he would never understand what the hell had happened.
A clank in the dark had Rhys pushing all thoughts of the perplexing duchess from his thoughts. Though he was in the upper West End, he needed to be vigilant always. Moving with stealth through the night, and with an awareness of every darkened corner, he made his way home within several minutes. He let himself in and prowled toward his study. Rhys entered and crossed the room to the small table near the fireplace, picked up the crystal decanter, and splashed brandy into a glass. He downed the contents in one long swallow, then refilled his glass.
The unsettled feeling still lingered, the ache in his gut growing worse. What he needed to do was visit the gambling club and take a woman for the night. It had been months since he’d bedded a woman, more because of his busy lifestyle than lack of want. That’s what he would do, head down to The Asylum, procure one of the working girls, and tup her for the night to purge the duchess from his thoughts.
Yet the visions that crowded his thoughts were of her, seated deep on his cock, riding him, her head thrown back, her breasts arched perfectly to his mouth. The images came out of nowhere, searing and intense. Rhys’s hand tightened violently around the brandy glass.
How can two people of such wildly different backgrounds and circumstances have a very discreet night of pleasure?
God damn it.
Why did he even want her? She was not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, nor was she the most provocative. But he had never felt this depth of desire to bed any of them, much less hold a conversation.
It’s her eyes.
They held mysteries and secrets he wanted to unlock. Devil take it. He was being fanciful, and he was not that sort. He thrust his free hand into his pocket, staring into the flickering fireplace. Rhys was never the type of man to shy away from what he wanted. He’d built his empire of secrets, his shipping, and other businesses through a ruthless desire to ardently pursue what he hungered for. It was an ingrained code he had nourished over the years and the reason he attributed to the success he had gained. And he wanted the bewitching and haughty beauty.
But why would she want a man like him in her life…and in her bed?
Perhaps I will respond. I make no promises.
He doubted she would succumb to the burning desire between them. With a frown, he recalled their time tonight. He had not been the only one who had lost control in the library. The duchess’s response to him had been unmistakable. She desired him…a criminal at the best of times, a man who had sunk to deep levels of depravity for the benefit of his family. He had been raised on the edge of dark and dangerous things. Their social divide was so wide, there was no reason for her to want him, but her reactions had been so honest and pure. There was no other explanation unless the duchess was just a passionate woman who had such a response for all her lovers.
Then he remembered her impossible tightness, as if she hadn’t had a man in years. She had struggled to accommodate his fingers as he’d worked to prepare her, as he’d had all intention of placing her atop the desk, plunging his cock deep, and then riding her like she was his mistress and not a genteel lady.
It was going to be a long night. The duchess was too riveting, too compelling for him to try and assuage his longing for her with another woman. He would simply have to suffer the tormented memories of her passion until he had the woman herself.
The door creaked opened, but he did not glance around. From the lavender scent wafting closer, he knew it was his mother.
“What are you plotting here in the dark alone?”
That was putting it mildly. His mind was seven steps ahead, wondering how to make the duchess his lover for more than one night, too. An impossible desire he wanted to take to bed with him, and perhaps he would then dream of her.
“Well?” his mother demanded at his silence.