Page 48 of Dare to be Wicked

Lottie knew she ought not, it was… well, it was wicked, but that had been the dare, had it not? And what was the point of accepting a dare if one was going to be hen-hearted about it?

Eliza paced her room. There was something going on, something she was not being told and it was making her wild. Everyone had known about Cassius not wanting to marry her and she was dashed well not going to be taken unawares again. This time, she would be the first to figure it out.

When she had seen Mr Demarteau and Cassius together earlier in the evening, they had been perfectly amicable. They had escaped the ballroom together with Louis César, no doubt after she’d been so shockingly rude to Mr Demarteau. She still could not quite believe she’d done it. Worse than that, she’d enjoyed it. She had wanted to provoke him badly and it had been… liberating. After years and years of being polite and nice and holding her tongue, she’d been deliberately rude and… and it had been marvellous. She wanted to do it again. As soon as possible, and preferably to Monsieur Demarteau. Her breath caught as she remembered the look in his eyes.

Stop that.

Not now.

Now she wanted to know why he’d attacked Cassius, when they’d been so friendly just moments earlier. Mr Demarteau had been in the summerhouse alone, so it could not have been something Cassius had said, unless perhaps it had been written down or….

Eliza stopped her pacing as she considered this. Could it have been a drawing or a painting that had lit his temper? But what could possibly…?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Cassius was about to suffer a heart attack. This beautiful, dreadful girl would kill him, and even if she didn’t, if anyone found out about them, the duke undoubtedly would. The duke would rip off his head and stick it on a pike outside the front door of Beverwyck as a warning to any other presumptuous fool who thought to dally with one of his daughters. Bedwin was notorious for being protective of his girls. Only the rules had never applied to Cassius because he was family. They’d all grown up together, squabbled and rough and tumbled and climbed trees, and… and how was that girl with scabby knees and a gap between her teeth the same as the siren calling to him now, tempting him to dash himself to pieces on the rocks when he fell? He would fall, it was inevitable. Hell, he’d already fallen, he’d tumbled head over ears into whatever this was the moment he’d laid eyes on her again.

Again.

How could it be ‘again’ when it was like seeing her for the first time? Yet it truly was Lottie, yet not Lottie. She was still in there, that mischievous girl playing hide and seek, and peeking out of the eyes of this new creature she’d become, this unholy temptation. He could see the devilish glint in her eyes, see the naughty tilt to her lips, tugging at the corners. Cassius wanted to kiss her there, at the corners of her mouth, along the elegant line of her neck, the swell of her breasts….

“Not wicked enough?” His voice was deep and rough with desire, his breathing picking up.

She shook her head, making the golden curls bounce. As if of its own accord, his hand lifted to take a hold of one, tugging it lightly and watching in fascination as it sprang back again.

“You took all your clothes off,” he said, remembering the scene with far too much clarity for his peace of mind. “Every stitch.”

“It wasn’t difficult,” she said. “I was only wearing my night gown and wrap.”

He nodded. “Barely. They were see through.”

“Were they?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He nodded again. Speech was becoming complicated and needed far too much brain power when his blood was being redirected to deal with more pressing demands.

Lottie sat up, getting to her knees on the sofa beside him. He ought to leave. Oh, Lord he’d been here before, with what he ought to do and what the devil on his shoulder knew he was damn well going to do. Her dress rustled as she moved, the copious layers of petticoats and tulle and silk and those provocative flounces beckoning him, tempting him closer, tempting him to touch.

“Teach me something wicked,” she whispered in the darkness. “Teach me something those foreign girls liked, for I am horribly jealous of them.”

Cassius was aware of his heart picking up speed, anticipation working on him as his body grew tight and visions of everything he could teach her danced in his mind.

“You’ve no need to be jealous,” he said, meaning it. “They were lovely and fun, and we enjoyed ourselves together but… but it wasn’t… it wasn’t you, Lottie, it didn’t mean….”

He hesitated and then blurted the words out.

“I love you. I think I must have done for a long time, but I didn’t know it. How did I not know it?”

He knew he sounded bewildered, and he was. How could this feeling, that had swallowed him whole the same way the whale had swallowed Jonah, possibly have escaped his notice? How could something so overwhelming not have been blindingly obvious? He had no illusions about his intellect. With a mother like his, he was too aware his mind was nothing out of the ordinary. He had inherited his father’s artistic skill, but he’d not been blessed with his mother’s brains. Nonetheless, he was intelligent enough, he certainly wasn’t a bloody idiot, nor a halfwit, or at least he’d never thought so before now. Yet the most important thing that had ever happened to him seemed to have done so without him knowing it. This vast emotion had settled inside him and lay there like some sleeping beast, only to leap out and shake his heart in its slavering jaws when he was least expecting it.

“You don’t need to, Lottie,” he said, though the little voice in his head was threatening to beat him with the nearest heavy object if he didn’t shut up. “You don’t need to do this, to do anything, I….”

But before he could say anything more, she had leaned in and kissed him and his brain turned to mush, whilst it had quite the opposite effect on other parts. She pulled back and he was falling into her eyes, which glinted like a moonlit sea in the darkness, and into the scent of her: some teasing mixture of jasmine and that beguiling thing he could not identify, something green and herbal that made his mouth water.

“Show me something wicked.”

“Come here,” he rasped, his voice cracking, tugging her towards him, urging her to straddle his thighs. She did and layers of fabric billowed up as she sat, making him feel as if he’d embraced a cloud, a sensation not helped as her scent grew stronger and mingled with the warm, fragrant perfume of a woman, of her. It invaded his senses, potent as opium smoke, diminishing what little ability remained for rational thought.

“Cassius,” she said, looking down at him, a little daunted but determined too, and it was so like her to push herself into something reckless for the sheer hell of it, because she was more alive than anyone he’d ever known.