Lust (18 page)

“Chastity?”

“Sir?” she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh. Yes,” she said, blathering on like a simpleton. “It's very lovely, but then Lord and Lady Sefton's gardens are renowned for their beauty.”

“And their frivolity,” he replied.

She could not answer that. It was far too bold. Even though Chastity knew there were many shenanigans that went on in the gardens during the annual party.

“How are you acquainted with the Seftons?” she asked.

“Old friends. And you?”

“Oh, my parents and brother are close friends. I've never actually been to their party, this year is the first, but I've lived vicariously through my brother's reports in his letters home.”

“And why have you never been?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.

“My sisters and I are content to stay in Glastonbury. This is our first time in London in well over a decade.”

“Content,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a purr. His exotic accent made her light-headed. She was acting like a silly green girl, but she could not help it. He affected her that much.

“Are you really? Content that is.”

She felt herself bristle at his thinly veiled assumption that she was anything but. “Of course,” she said haughtily.

“Forgive me if I spoke out of turn. But you must allow me my opinion. And my belief is, you're the furthest thing from satisfied. You yearn for something other than this life you're leading.”

“I am very contented, sir.”

“Are you? Really?”

She nodded and took a step back. He was closing in on her, and she felt cornered. Afraid of her response, which was not fear, but an overwhelming desire. This man did not think angelic when he looked at her. He would not put her on a pedestal and worship her like a sainted female. He would demand more of her. Would make her look deeply inside. Would force her to accept what she found there. He had the courage to see all of her, not just the virtuous wrapping that everyone else saw.

“Why are you here, all alone?”

“I do not mind the solitude.”

“You hide from yourself.”

She flinched as he touched her. It was only a slight grazing of his fingertips against her cheek, but the intimacy shocked her. The response from her body startled her.

“You've never been touched,” he murmured. He took another step to her. They were now toe-to-toe. Her back was still pressed against the trunk of the tree, and Thane's tall body blocked out the small amount of sunlight that
filtered through the leaves. His fingertips found her cheek again, but this time, he bent his head and softly inhaled the patch of skin behind her ear. Tilting his head, he moved lower, to the skin on her neck, where her pulse throbbed. He inhaled… She heard the soft intake of air. It was followed by the delicate brush of his fingers. Then his mouth was moving lower, to the place where her breasts where pushed together and up. To the décolletage that was above her tight-fitting bodice. He inhaled there. A deep, masculine purr broke the silence.

“The perfume is so right for you. I can imagine you seated at your dressing table, anointing this perfect flesh with it.”

Oh, God, could he see inside her mind? Did he see that she had dreamed of him touching her?

“I want to touch you,” he murmured, as if indeed, he could hear her thoughts. “You must know that. You must sense how much I want that.”

She did. She wanted it, too. But she couldn't give in. But the way his breath caressed her skin, moistening it, the way his lips were just a hairbreadth from kissing her breasts, made her weak. Her resolve was slipping.

“Sir, you mustn't,” she said on a hiss as he trailed his fingertips along the tops of her breasts. His tongue came out then, licking the skin as it pressed against the edge of her bodice. She gasped, and pressed herself farther against the tree.

“Why mustn't I?” he asked as his large palms circled her ribs, then moved slowly upward till he was cupping her in his hands. “You want me to. Do not deny it.”

She tried to, but her moan made any protest seem utterly ridiculous. So she used another tack to rebuff him. “You promised you would leave me be.”

“No,” he said darkly as he lowered his mouth to the quivering mound of her breast. “I told you I would leave you in peace. Which I will.”

Pulling at the bodice, he lowered it an inch, the pale flesh spilling out from behind her corset and the tight stomacher. His mouth moved to the spot where he began to draw the swell of her breast into his mouth. He sucked, the sensation going straight to the tips of her breasts and her womb.

He sucked harder, bit down, then soothed the little sting with a slow glide of his tongue.

“I can smell your desire. Taste it.”

She shook her head, denying his words, but he bit down teasingly, making her draw in a sharp breath. Chastity's lips parted on a silent breath as he traced his fingers along the edge of her bodice, and then boldly slid his fingertips up between her breasts. Her breathing became rapid, her breasts were heaving, begging to be freed from the confines of her bodice.

She had never taken any pleasure in her breasts before. Yet now she was acutely aware of them. How sensitive they were. How they made her feel exquisitely feminine.

As if aware of her torture, Thane pulled one sleeve of her sky-blue muslin gown along her shoulder, revealing her plain white stays. The crest of her breast was bruised and he circled the mark with the tip of his finger, his
eyes darkening to near black as he focused on his brand. Then he reached for her, and tugged at the corset till her breast sprang free, and she was mortified by it, the white skin stark in the daylight. Her nipple long, pointed, arching up to his mouth. He stared at her, and she closed her eyes, cringing in her embarrassment and, dare she admit, longing.

Without a sound he circled her nipple with his thumb. Her eyes flew open, and she saw his gaze searching her face. Chastity felt a disconcerting urge to shut her eyes against his experienced gaze, but somehow she knew he didn't want that. He wanted to see the desire in her eyes, to see what effect he was having on her. And she wanted to give him this.

He traced the underside of her breast, his finger softly and almost imperceptibly grazed her skin, swelling her breast further, making her thrust forward in order to feel more of his hand against her. Finally, he tore his eyes from hers and stared at her erect nipple. Chastity stiffened as he went to his knees. Wetness pooled between her thighs, waiting for him to touch her—with his hands, his mouth, with whatever he would. Expertly he slipped the taut pink tip between his lips.

“Thane,” she whimpered, her hands fisting in the folds of her skirts. She dare not touch him. He pulled away, and with one last longing look at her, he lifted his gaze to her face. Capturing her cheeks in his palms, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her softly. It was a kiss that lured, coaxed. She had no knowledge of how to return it, but Thane didn't seem to care.

He showed her, with his mouth, how it slanted over hers. His tongue swept against her lips, and she mewled shamelessly in his arms. Then he opened her mouth, slid his tongue inside and devoured her.

He was holding her, thank heavens, because she could barely feel her knees. She was floating. And when Thane moved his palm down her chest to cup and squeeze her breasts, she wrapped her sinful body around his, forgetting who she was.

Tugging at her nipple, he tweaked it, soothed it, and she gasped, cried out as he left her mouth and pulled her other breast free of her stays. She was bared to him, reminding her of how she had been that night in the maze with the stranger who could only be a Dark Fey.

Sliding his body along hers, Thane clutched her breasts, pressed them together and brushed his face along them. Her back arched and she moaned, the sound so wanton. He sucked her hard and, unable to resist, Chastity fisted her hands through his hair, holding him to her as he ate her.

Oh, God, she had never felt anything so exquisite. She had no idea how much pleasure she could take in having her breasts played with. How responsive they could be—how sexual.

Abruptly, she was bereft of his mouth and hands. “Someone comes.” Deftly he helped her right herself as she stood lost in a mass of confusion and longing. When she was presentable, he clutched her face and kissed her hard.

“You might believe this is all about seduction, but it
is not. I want you—all of you. I want to be inside you. To learn you. But I also want to sit in the quiet and talk with you. Laugh with you. I want to lie in bed at night and feel you against me, listen to you breathe, glide my hands through your hair and watch you sleep. I want years of growing old with you and thousands of nights beneath the moonlight. You must sense that there is more here than simple pleasure. Believe it.”

He pulled away, and she reached for him, fearing to be left alone.

“We will meet again—soon.”

And then he was gone. Leaving Chastity alone, shaking and anything but in peace.

Oh, Diary, until I saw him again, I didn't realize how much I needed to see him. He makes me feel alive, womanly. Makes me forget what I am, who I ought to be.

I thought I wanted him far away, but now I know that I want nothing more than to have him at my side. To be alone with him. I want what he can give. Pleasure. But there is more there. There is a yearning for friendship. Courtship.

For the first time ever, I yearn to see a man. I long to have my dreams come true.

Thane is that man. The one to awaken me. I would risk anything to be with him. The virtue inside me screams in outrage, but I will not listen. My path is with Thane. I sense that. I will go to him in the garden and discover what it is to be touched and loved. My lover awaits me.

 

RUBBING HER HANDS DOWN HER ARMS, CHASTITY walked away from the stone wall that was draped in ivy.
She had come to the garden promptly upon her return from the Seftons'. Driven to this place, she could not understand the call, nor could she comprehend why the gate, which had opened before, now would not. Perhaps it hadn't really. Maybe it was just another dream, a fantastical memory that had never really taken place. She had been having many of those lately. But that afternoon in the Seftons' garden had not been a dream, or a fantasy. It had been real.

As if to confirm the fact, her finger brushed against the skin of her bosom. She had seen Thane's mark, the one that had been left by his mouth. She could still feel the silk of his hair running between her fingers, the heat of his breath, the press of his body against hers.

It had been impassioned. Madness. Addicting.

“What are you doing out here?” her father asked, pulling her out of her musings. He was standing behind her, his hands fisted on his hips. His expression was one of concern. “You're supposed to be napping before the masquerade tonight.”

“I was not sleepy,” she replied, shrugging gently. She saw his gaze pass over her shoulder to the patch of ivy that had been disturbed. Did Papa know of the gate? When his eyes narrowed, then turned on her, she suspected he did indeed know of it.

“The point of lying down,” he said, “is to restore your energy for the dancing. It doesn't matter if you are tired or not. You're supposed to be resting.”

She wasn't a three-year-old. She did not require naps to put her in good humor. Besides, her mind was restless,
unable to stop focusing on the events with Thane. Her body was also agitated. It craved more. Needed more.

“Off you go.” The order was followed by a wave of his hand. “And mind that you do not come out here alone again.”

She stopped, turned back to look at him. “Why, Papa?”

“It's not safe.”

Her father was not himself. She saw it in his eyes. Suspicion. Fear. His body was tense, and she could see the way his jaw tightened as he surveyed the grounds.

“What is it, Papa? I know something is worrying you.”

When he looked at her, Chastity saw just how affected he truly was. “Do you recall my stories of the faery queen?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“Do you believe them, or do you think I only made them up to entertain you and your sisters?”

Stepping closer to him, she touched his arm, offering him comfort. “I believe, Papa. I've always believed.”

“Good.” He nodded and gazed up at the horizon. “The fey are very real, my dear. Very real.”

“And they are here, are they not?”

He turned swiftly and clutched her by her elbows. “Have they come to you?”

“You know they have. Crom and Arawn are fey. You cannot hide that fact from us. We knew, almost immediately.”

His hold loosened and he pressed his eyes shut. “Aye. They're fey.”

“And they're here for us, are they not? To take us away to their court?”

Her father hugged her tightly. “The faery queen demands it. But I've a meeting with her on the morrow, and I will bargain with her. I'll not see my daughters wed to any fey.”

Fear suddenly gripped her. “What did she gift you with, Papa?”

His fingers wrapped around her shoulders and he pressed her close, kissing her temple. “That is not for you to worry about.”

“And the fey, should I worry about them?”

He smiled. “No. You should not. I can manage them. After my meeting, I will call you and your sisters to my study and discuss matters with you. But for now, I would ask that you keep this to yourself. There is no need to worry your sisters—or yourself. No one will be leaving this house.”

“Mama?” she asked, swallowing hard. The color drained from her father's face, and Chastity knew that her mother had no knowledge.

“Your mother…” he began, “she doesn't know. Doesn't believe.”

“Papa,” Chastity whispered as she reached for his sleeve. “What will you tell your wife when her daughters are taken by the fey?”

“You won't be, by God,” he thundered. “I'll offer the queen something else. Anything else. But I swear to you,
I'll not let you go. Not one of you. Now then,” her father grumbled as he kissed her cheek. “Off you go. There is naught to worry about.”

Chastity was reluctant to leave. There was more to this than her father was sharing. If only he would allow them in. If he would share what he knew of what would become of them. But his expression was resolute, and she knew that no amount of pleading would make him change his mind. He was intent on keeping them ignorant, and confusion swept through her that he could be so blasé about it. This was her future, her sisters' as well, and their father was intent on shielding them from it. They would have to live it, would have to discover it on their own, and silently she fumed at the injustice of it. Females really were just the chattel of men.

And the fey? As Chastity left her father standing in the garden, she knew he could not manage anything about them, or their world. The fey were powerful. Much more than mere mortals. If her father had accepted a gift from their queen, then he was obligated to pay the tithe. That was basic faery lore. The fey did not give their gifts away for free.

And if she and her sisters were the tithe, then there was no help for them. They would belong to the fey. Would be taken to Faery. The only question remained was which court. The Seelie or the Unseelie?

Taking the side entrance, Chastity climbed the back staircase that led to her chamber. She was lost in thought and worry, and did not hear the door beside her groan on its hinges.

“In here.”

Someone grabbed her arm and dragged her into a room. She glared at her sister. “Mercy, for heaven's sake, you frightened me half to death.”

“Shh, keep your voice down. Mother thinks we're napping.”

“And why aren't you?”

Mercy snorted. “I could ask the same of you.”

“What is it you want?”

“I saw one. Today. At the Seftons' pond.”

“Saw what?”

Mercy pressed in and lowered her voice. “A Dark Fey.”

Chastity reeled back. “No!”

Mercy shook her and pulled her deeper into the room. “He was the most beautiful creature I ever saw. Even more so than the Seelie Fey who have come to call on you and Prue.”

“What did he want?”

Mercy's light blue eyes widened. “Me.”

“Oh, dear God,” Chastity whispered. This was a nightmare. Papa should be informed. What would he do if both courts desired them? Suddenly she felt ill with the thought that perhaps her father had made bargains with both courts.

But would he do that? She had always thought her father honorable and upright. His life wanted nothing. What could he possibly desire that he did not already possess?

“He said he was coming for me,” Mercy babbled
excitedly. “Oh, Chastity, I could barely breathe. The Dark Fey…well…” Mercy nervously licked her lips. “They've long since captivated me.”

“Their attentions are not honorable. You know that,” she said. Was Thane a Dark Fey, too? Strange how the thought was not shocking to her. Part of her had known all along that he was otherworldly. That erotic, compel ling scent seemed to follow him wherever he went, and the way the light seemed to glow around him, made her think of glimmering mist crystals.

“Chastity?” Mercy asked, pulling her from her thoughts. “Have you seen one also?”

“No,” she lied. She was not ready for her sister to know about Thane.

“He said he would come for me,” Mercy said. “Do you think it will be tonight, at the masquerade?”

“You must take every care,” she cautioned her sister. “These Dark Fey are most dangerous. You cannot give yourself up to them. You simply cannot, Mercy.”

“You're right, of course. It's just that, well, it was rather thrilling to have someone so…intent.”

“You're too kind, Mercy. You put too much faith in people's goodness.”

“I won't underestimate him.”

Chastity followed Mercy from the room in time to see her sister leave via the servants' stairs. Running to the window, she waited until she saw Mercy exit the house. Crossing the lawn, her sister paused by the fountain and peered into its clear depths. A shadow of cloud covered
her sister's back, and all Chastity could think of was how she had seen that particular shadow twice that day.

 

Kian allowed his shadowed form to engulf his virtue. Mercy, the embodiment of kindness, was bent over, gazing into the crystal waters of a fountain. Was she looking for her mystery man? he wondered. Would she wait there patiently until he showed himself?

Above her, he allowed himself to study her form. She was not normally the type he was drawn to. Envy was his sin. He was naturally drawn to the more experienced type of woman who enjoyed the darker aspects of passion. He needed that to assuage his sin, and give himself respite from the aching pain that Envy tortured him with. But there was something in Mercy that the Unseelie male in him liked. Perhaps it was her kindness. Maybe it was the fact that she was pretty, with her blond hair and blue eyes. Or maybe it was her luscious figure that aroused him. She certainly had an abundance of charms in that regard. In fact, all four of the Lennox sisters were blessed with bodies designed to incite every possible sin.

Maybe it was just the simple fact that she was his. His to possess and claim. His to take to his court. His to hide from the prying eyes of others.

He thought of hiding her away, and Envy seemed to shrink back. He thought of her with another, like the Seelie bastards that had been hovering around her and her sisters at the garden party, and Envy reared its head, making his body shake.

He did not like himself when his sin was loose. He
was cruel. Overbearing. Jealousy caused him to do many foolish things. He could not bear to think of himself hurting this innocent lamb.

“Kian.”

He heard his name, whispered in her voice, and his sin slowly retreated, allowing him to see her through his own eyes and not the green haze of envy.

Slowly he regained his form and, coming behind her, he peered over her shoulder. She gasped and whirled around when she saw his reflection in the water peering back at her.

“How did you find me?”

He touched her cheek, caught the loose curls that blew in the breeze. “I could find you anywhere.”

She smiled, a fine blush crested against her cheek. If she had been any other woman, he would have caught her up in his arms and carried her to a private place where he could lay her out and feast on her.

From within the house, he heard the pounding of feet. His acute hearing sensed that he'd tripped the wards that the Seelie had set for his kind. He would stay and fight, if he could. At least now he knew where the wards were weak. They were strongest closest to the house. The gardens, while protected, were weaker, allowing him a few minutes with his virtue.

“I must go.”

“Don't.”

He reached for her and brought her body up tight against his. A possessive warmth invaded his blood and
he caught her lips hard with his. She didn't know how to kiss, and the fact strangely pleased.

“Where will you be tonight?”

“At a masquerade. The Carmichaels' in Berkeley Square.”

He kissed her again, just as the Seelie were about to open the door. “Expect me.”

And then he was gone, turning to shadow. He watched Mercy's face break into a smile just as the Seelie guards, posing as footmen, burst out the door.

“I will wait for you,” she whispered.

 

Rising from the bath, Chastity took the toweling from her maid. Refusing Annie's help, Chastity dried her body.

Inexplicably she wanted Annie to leave. Why, she didn't know.

“That will be all.”

“Miss?” Annie asked, perplexed.

“I would like a few minutes alone, please. I will call when I am ready for you.”

Chastity could see that her maid wished to inquire further, but she did not. With a little bob, Annie left her alone.

The door clicked shut, and Chastity dropped the toweling and walked to a chair that sat in the corner of the room, then dragged it across the width of the chamber.

Beside her was the dressing table, and atop the mirrored tray was the blue-and-gold atomizer that she had not been able to stop gazing upon. It was as if it had a
life of its own, speaking to her through the clear fluid it housed. It made her think strange thoughts. Do strange things…

Reaching for the bottle, she held it in her palm, feeling how warm it was in her hand. Had the fire warmed it? Was the source of heat from the perfume itself?

Look upon yourself.

Naked, Chastity lowered herself onto the chair before the full-length looking glass. She had never gazed at her unclothed body, but something—or someone—had whispered the thought into her head.

Unable to stop her body, she found herself seated, the image staring back at her so foreign, yet evocative. She could not look away, nor ignore the warmth in her palm where the perfume bottle rested.