His breath was hot against her cheek when he leaned in to murmur in her ear. “There is no need to say it, Miss Beatrice. Here, let me show you.” And before she could react, the rakish gentleman captured her lips with his own. The suddenness of the act drew a gasp from the young woman, pushing her body forward into Mr. Grayson’s and allowing him to wrap an arm around her waist.
After months of yearning, Beatrice found herself willingly succumbing to the heady pleasure his kiss provided. The plushness of his lips and the surety with which they moved hastened her own mouth into action, so Beatrice returned the gesture with equal fervor. And the resulting ardor was grander than she had ever heard it described in books, far more intoxicating than she could have hoped for. Seconds or minutes passed – the young woman did not care to count them – and then Mr. Grayson pulled away.
There was a slight shine of her saliva on his lips, and Beatrice stared with barely lucid awe as Mr. Grayson’s tongue darted out to swipe at the moisture there. “You taste sweet, Miss Beatrice,” he concluded and leaned in as though he wanted more. Beatrice closed her eyes, prepared to follow his every command, but opened them again when she heard him laugh.
It was not meanness on his face, only triumph, when he teased, “Your actions are not becoming of your words. Thank you for proving my point so enthusiastically.” He had not moved away from her, his body still pressed against hers as he looked down upon her with a mixture of slight ridicule and satisfaction. And Beatrice, who had thought herself a lady until now, furthered her indecent actions by placing both her hands on Mr. Grayson’s chest and shoving.
He stumbled back only a few steps, the force of Beatrice’s push barely strong enough to knock him off his feet, and then he stood to his full height. Beatrice would have been intimidated by his stature and the sudden, stern frown that overtook his countenance, but energy still raced through her veins. “It was you who kissed me,” she argued, jabbing a finger at the gentleman. “I would have never…I could never”
Mr. Grayson let her blabber for a moment, and his expression seemed to soften at her clear nervousness beneath a confident façade. “The proper lady you think yourself to be does not interest me, Miss Beatrice,” he offered, clearing his throat. “I prefer women who know their desires and act upon them, forsaking these pretenses we bind ourselves with.”
Beatrice refused to be soothed by his words, biting back, “Iama Lady, Mr. Grayson, whether or not you choose to see it. For someone who speaks so openly about women’s passions, you clearly do not understand mine.” She steeled herself, delivering what she thought to be the final blow. “You may think that because your lips have touched mine, that you have seen into my very soul and may judge accordingly, but I assure you, such cheap tricks do not work on me.”
“Then why did you so readily succumb?” Mr. Grayson countered, the niceties he was offering long gone. “That ‘cheap trick’ told me everything about your experience, Miss Beatrice.” He did not move closer to her this time but leveled her a glare from afar as he described her wantonness. “I have had many women, and so it should come as no surprise to you that I can spot an eager,virginalwoman a mile away. Do not pretend, Miss Beatrice.”
His words struck true within Beatrice, and for the first time that night, she found herself utterly speechless – not because of the demure way she carried herself, but because her response had frozen in her throat. Mr. Grayson took note of her dilemma and decided not to tease the girl any further, instead saying, “I do not wish to demean you, Miss Beatrice. You are one of the most beautiful young women I have ever had the pleasure of gazing upon, and I would very much like to continue getting to know you under more friendly terms.”
Before Beatrice could respond, there was the sound of heavy, tromping feet on the staircase and several tipsy voices calling out Mr. Grayson’s name. Beatrice glanced at the ornate door she had come through not ten minutes ago and back at Mr. Grayson, who seemed to understand the severity of the situation. As the footsteps grew louder, the pair searched for a place to hide Beatrice until Mr. Grayson pointed behind the desk.
“Here,” he whispered loud enough for only her to hear. “There is a small nook where you can keep yourself from being seen.” Beatrice quickly went over to him, momentarily forgetting their earlier argument, and took the hand he offered to help her beneath the desk.
She could feel the warmth of his palm through her gloves, and it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. If Mr. Grayson noticed, he didn’t say anything, and Beatrice found herself suddenly appreciating the rakish gentleman. Once she was situated, Mr. Grayson started walking toward the door but was stopped by Beatrice’s hand on his arm. “Why are you helping me?” she asked, brows furrowing in confusion. “I should think a man like you would want to be caught with a woman in his arms.”
Mr. Grayson smiled, and there was no spite in it. “Though I do not consider you to be a proper lady, I do still think of you as a lady, Miss Beatrice. I would never purposefully do anything to ruin your reputation.”
Beatrice considered this and let go, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Thank you, Mr. Grayson.” Mr. Grayson barely had time to straighten up before his friends burst into the room.
“There you are, Anthony! What have you been getting up to in here?”
CHAPTERFOUR
Anthony’s head whipped upward to face his friends and offer them an innocent look. “Is it that strange for a man to want some peace and quiet amid the veritable hunt for suitors occurring downstairs? For Heaven’s sake, Solomon, why aren’t you enjoying your time with Miss Saumon?” he asked exasperatedly, leaning back against the very desk Miss Beatrice was hiding behind.
His friends regarded Anthony’s attempts at appearing indifferent with suspicion and curiosity until Mr. Bartholomew Laughton, a close friend of both Anthony and Mr. DeLancy, spoke, “My dear Mr. Grayson, how can we believe that a man so in need of companionship would escape up here for some solitude?” The man of thirty placed his hands behind his back in a sleuthing gesture and announced, “I wager you had a lady here with you,andthat she is still in this very room.”
Anthony scoffed. “To think I would bring a mistress in under the nose of my Grandfather is absurd – the man can sniff out my indecencies quicker than I care to act on them. Besides, what sort of woman would find herself alone in a library with me at this late hour? Certainly, none of the ladies here tonight.” Only Anthony heard the quiet cough from beneath the desk which he quickly covered up with a pounding of his fist on the shiny wood as though he was emphasizing his point.
Mr. Laughton’s lips quirked in a smile. “Perhaps one who wished for you to put your pen in her inkwell?” The rest of the gentlemen guffawed at Mr. Laughton’s wordsmithing, a talent he was well known for and would often entertain the ladies with at parties, while Anthony only grinned. His mind raced with a reply of his own, and it came to him after remembering something Miss Beatrice had said.
“Ah, you may be right,” Anthony conceded, “but the only use I would have for a lady here would be her clever mouth sealing a letter of devotion upon my lips. And afterward showing me the dexterity of her tongue by reading between the lines of my poetic verse.” Though it was not as clever as Mr. Laughton’s, Anthony’s wit drew more laughs from the drunken group of gentlemen. He would have sworn he heard a giggle from behind him as well but was too preoccupied to confirm Miss Beatrice’s participation.
Mr. Laughton’s chocolate-brown eyes scanned the room. “So you admit that the ladyisstill here, Mr. Grayson? Then I suggest a thorough search of the room until we find the lady Mr. Grayson hasbookedfor the next hour.” Anthony could not help but grimace at the mention of his rakish pastimes and held up a hand to stop the men when they began to follow Mr. Laughton’s plan.
“There are more mirthful ways to spend our time this evening, gentlemen,” Anthony said with a knowing twinkle in his eye and stepped away from the desk to wrap an arm around Mr. DeLancy. “Our good man here is about to be married! While Miss Saumon enjoys the coming nuptials with dancing and gossip, should we not celebrate with Solomon with our own form ofentertainment?” In truth, Anthony wanted nothing more than to shoo his friends out of the room so that he could talk to Miss Beatrice again, but he had to give her the chance to escape with her dignity intact.
The suggestion that they visit the West End for some nightly pleasures rallied Mr. DeLancy, Mr. Laughton, and the other three gentlemen with them. “What a splendid idea!” a redheaded gentleman, with whom Anthony had not yet been acquainted, exclaimed with a slight slur of his words, “Although our company at this ball is pleasing, it cannot be as good as the kind you find for so many coins an hour!” Anthony and Solomon looked at each other with measured disgust at the man’s unkindness toward their acquaintances.
“Let us not waste another moment,” Mr. Laughton said, moving toward the door. “Make haste, gentlemen, for if we do not leave now, we will certainly spend the night dallying with young ladies here and their chaperones.”
That was not such an unfortunate thought to Anthony, and he reminisced on the time he’d spent with Miss Beatrice this evening. He could still smell her feather-light perfume and taste the honeyed press of her lips against his. The back of Anthony’s neck broke out in gooseflesh at the thought of her wanting and willing beneath him but still as lively as she had been while they argued, nothing at all like the shy girl he assumed her to be.
Once the other gentlemen were out of the room, Anthony quickly stepped over to the desk and tapped on it twice. He gave Miss Beatrice no other indication that it was safe to come out, hoping that she would immediately reveal herself from beneath the darkly-stained oak, and he could look at her one last time. No such luck was afforded to him in this matter, however, and Anthony slipped out of the library to join the others.
* * *
Beatrice waited another moment or two before crawling out from behind the desk. It was an undignified thing to do, and she was glad that no one was in the room to witness it. Dust clung to her dress, making her look even more of a mess than she had upon entering the room, and Beatrice brushed at it hurriedly. She rounded the desk and strode over to the door, glancing without much thought at the wall Mr. Grayson had her pressed up against.
Blood rushed to her cheeks as she recalled the compromising position he’d put her in, their hearts seemingly thrumming as one when his husky voice suggested that she was more experienced than she let on. “Good heavens,” Beatrice breathed, holding a steadying hand to her chest, “this has certainly been an exciting night.”