Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(30)

“No,” she moaned, her voice so low he only knew her words from the movement of her lips.

“I see myself taking your hand and placing it on the fall of my breeches.” His cock was hard, throbbing with his own words and her reaction to them. “I see your slim, cool fingers carefully undoing each button as I stroke your bound hair. I see—”

The carriage jerked to a halt.

Lazarus inhaled softly and parted the curtains to glance out. Lady Beckinhall’s town house blazed with light.

He let the curtain fall and looked across the carriage at Mrs. Dews. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and he’d wager his life that she was wet beneath those shimmering crimson skirts.

A corner of his mouth quirked up, but it wasn’t humor he felt. “We’re here. Shall we descend?” He watched as she became aware, as white teeth bit that plump, lower lip. His voice lowered to gravelly depths. “Or shall I tell the coachman to drive on?”

Chapter Six

King Lockedheart bellowed for his guards to bring him the miscreant who had the temerity to laugh at him. Within seconds, Meg was dragged before him, bedraggled and sooty.

“What is your name?” roared King Lockedheart.

“Meg, if it please Your Majesty.”

He glowered at her. “And what did you find so amusing in my speech?”

The guards and the courtiers, drawn by the commotion, all expected the small maid to throw herself at his feet and plead for her life.

But Meg rubbed the end of her sooty nose and decided since she was already damned, she might as well speak the truth. “Only that you think you are beloved by your people, Your Majesty.”…

—from King Lockedheart

He was temptation personified.

Temperance stared at Lord Caire, feeling the rapid beat of her heart, the ache between her thighs. She’d avoided men for the last nine years precisely because of her sinful desires. Yet here, now, she found herself seated across from a man far more seductive than any other she’d ever met. He knew exactly how to rouse her demons, how to taunt and thrill until she was at feverish pitch, and the awful, terrible thing was that a part of her wanted—needed—to give in. To submit to the allure of his blue eyes. To kneel before him and touch that most earthly part of a man. To do the forbidden and open her mouth around him in an act that in no way could be about reproduction.

An act that was purely carnal.

No.

Temperance broke contact with his mesmerizing stare, drawing a shaky breath. “Let me out.”

For a moment he didn’t move, didn’t blink, simply stared at her with sapphire eyes that seemed to burn her exposed skin. Her breath caught at the look and the possibility that he wouldn’t let her go, that he’d take her and make her do those wicked things he’d spoken of in that deep voice.

Then he sighed. “Very well, Mrs. Dews.”

He stood and opened the door to the carriage, descending first and holding out a hand to help her alight. Temperance placed her trembling fingers in his grasp, and for a long second, his hand closed over hers, hot and possessive, even through his glove. Then her feet touched the ground and he let go, offering his arm again instead. She took it, inhaling to steady herself, aware that he’d shuddered at her touch. Around them, fashionable ladies stepped from carriages emblazoned with gilded coats of arms. The cherry-red dress that Nell had worked so hard on all afternoon suddenly seemed old and too obvious, the ribbon in her hair simply gauche. She swallowed in sudden trepidation. She didn’t belong here. She was a house sparrow among peacocks.

Lord Caire leaned over her. “Are you ready?”

She tilted her chin. “Yes, of course.”

“Brave even when entering a den of lions,” he murmured.

Inside, Lady Beckinhall’s town house fairly sparkled with white marble, gilt, and crystal. Overhead, a chandelier shone with hundreds of candles. Temperance absently surrendered her old gray wool wrap to a footman, not even caring when he grimaced and took it with thumb and forefinger. The town house was like a fairy-tale castle. She trailed her fingers on the marble banister as Lord Caire led her upward. How many servants spent their days on hands and knees to keep the white marble clean?

At the top of the staircase, they followed the stream of brightly plumed people into a long room, mirrored along one entire wall so that there seemed to be thousands of gorgeously gowned ladies escorted by innumerable dauntingly elegant gentlemen. Had she been by herself, Temperance might’ve fled, but Lord Caire’s arm was solid and warm beneath her fingers.

“Courage,” he murmured.

“My dress,” she said under her breath.

“Your dress is fine,” he whispered back. “I would not have let you enter otherwise. More importantly, you have nothing to be ashamed of in this crowd. You are just as well spoken as these ladies, just as quick-witted. And you have something they don’t: you know how to make your way in the world.”

“That’s not usually something to be proud of,” Temperance said.

He glanced at her. “Perhaps it should be. Hold your head high.”

One of the sophisticated ladies turned at their entrance and slowly strolled their way. Her dress was a deep blue, and as she drew nearer, Temperance could see that what she’d at first taken for embroidered flowers on her skirts were, in fact, rubies and emeralds sewn into the fabric.