Page 5 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
He had led her to one of the many curtained alcoves. “Would you like more champagne?”
She nodded.
He turned, found a passing waiter, and took the entire tray. “That should be just about right.”
She laughed, a delicate sound.
Simon grinned, nodded toward the alcove, and closed the curtain, shutting out the rest of the guests. His father had already left, so he didn’t have to keep an eye on him. They drank a glass of champagne, studying one another in silence. Another game.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked, wanting to hear her voice again.
“I think I’ve found him,” she purred.
Simon smiled. She was good. Very good. By the time the last flute of champagne was gone, he’d told her of his quest. Not about the pregnant marquess’s daughter, but the need to marry for his family.
“So you must find another woman who can give you what your wife cannot or will not?” Desiree tipped her head, her cat eyes sparkling, a slight smile curving her plump lips.
The devil if he didn’t want to kiss those lips. So he did. And when he pulled back, she wrapped her hand around his nape and kissed him back. Her body was a perfect fit, melding against his hard length. For the love of Lucifer, he hadn’t wanted a female this badly since he’d been a green boy. That had been naught but a chaste kiss in a dark garden.
“Shall we leave and continue this somewhere more private?” She stoked him like a blazing hearth fire. He would have her, discover if she might be the one to help him navigate his personal battlefield of family loyalty and responsibility.
“Yes. Shall I meet you out front?” Her smile made his blood boil.
Simon collected his coat and waited by the door. An hour later, he left alone.
Tonight, he attended another private gathering. His father had given him the address, tied a black ribbon about his wrist, and sent him off in a hired hackney. He made his way down the darkened alley, yanking back the sleeve of his greatcoat to show the ribbon for admittance. Simon wondered if this was what a spy’s life was like, lurking in the shadows and looking over one’s shoulder.
Once inside, his mouth fell open. It was like a scene from a play, the backdrop informing the audience what to expect. Sheer curtains helped camouflage the guests as the gauze-like material constantly floated in strips hung from above. Men on platforms, scattered against two walls, held huge bamboo fans, oscillating air to keep the partitions moving as if a breeze whooshed through the building.
Along the other two opposing walls, heavier curtains created small alcoves for privacy. Who organized this? It had to be demmed expensive. Had his father paid for Simon’s invitation?
Moving throughout the crowd were more waiters with trays of champagne. To his right was a newly built stairwell and platform. He took it, finding gaming tables with lovely females surrounding the players, urging them to wager higher stakes.
Ah, that was it. Whoever headed this earned blunt from the gambling. Made sense. He walked over to a temporary railing which looked out over the main floor. He could see everything from up here. He searched the throng, seeking the delicate glazed mask with pieces of jade framing the outline.
His heart pounded when he finally found her. Alone, wearing a midnight mantle and hood, with deep-blue skirts swirling about her as she moved slowly along the edge of the room, her head tilting back and forth to take in her surroundings. Her hair was caught up again in a snood and veil, and Simon wondered once more about the color of her tresses. Golden or a deep mahogany? Somehow, he instinctively knew she wouldn’t be a redhead.
Simon hastened down the stairs before the vixen disappeared again. As she paused, he stepped behind her. “I was hoping to find you here,” he whispered in her ear, breathing in her scent of orange or citrus with… vanilla? Sweet but tart. Did it reflect the wearer’s personality?
A waiter passed, and he took two flutes, handing her one. She accepted, peeking at him from beneath her lashes. Pale lashes? He couldn’t be sure in this light. “Would you like to sit at a table, Desiree? Or would you prefer privacy?”
“You decide,” she said with a smile, touching the flute to her bottom lip and studying him before she took another sip.
CHAPTER 3
He grinned. Privacy, then. With one hand on her lower back, he guided her toward a wall with the heavy curtained partitions. Clever idea, he thought. Open to the main room if vacant and closed if taken. He found an empty one, followed her inside, and pulled the drapes together. There was a chaise longue along one side of the space, a small table and two chairs at the back, and a single oil lamp for light. A rug covered the hard floor, probably to keep the chill away if one undressed. That thought sent a bolt of lightning through him.
Simon set his glass on the table and removed his coat, laying it over a chair. He took her flute and set it next to his. Moving behind Desiree, his fingers lightly followed the length of her mantle, then slid forward to the clasp about her throat. A pewter rose. He nuzzled her ear as he pulled the loop from the button and slid it from her shoulders. “You abandoned me. I won’t let you slip away so easily this time.”
She shivered, raising her chin as he feathered kisses along her neck. His pulse raced with anticipation. Could this woman make an arranged marriage tolerable? Yes. His reaction to her was unique. In the past, he would search someone out when his needs became distracting. Sometimes, he kept the same woman for a length of time, but he always sent them off with a purse heavy with coin when they demanded too much of him.
Never had he actively hunted a specific woman. Never had a female occupied his thoughts and dreams as this one had. Never had he felt a prisoner of his own desire.
His arms went around her, tugging her against his hard length, silently telling her of his intent. Two fingers rested at the hollow of her neck, and he could feel the rapid pulse, like a frightened rabbit. Don’t rush, there’s no hurry.
“Did you come looking for me?” he whispered against her earlobe.
She nodded but remained still and silent. His knuckles brushed one jaw, then her cheek, and he kissed one temple. Her head leaned back against his chest. With that slight permission, his hands moved along her sides and across her belly. She was lush and panting, a deer running from the hunt. A little mewl escaped her slender throat, and he thought he would lose control on the spot.
