Dalliance with the Duchess (Seducing the Duchess #3)

Chapter Two

Three months ago, Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens

A s Sophia passed the pavilion, she smoothed the lace on her sleeves and glanced down to make sure her bodice was still high enough to confine her breasts. Her emerald-green gown was daring, but like a lot of other visitors to the gardens, she was wearing a full face mask, and she doubted anyone would know her.

These night affairs at Vauxhall Gardens were known to be scandalous. Certainly, if one was worried about one’s reputation, it was a good place to stay away from, but Sophia was experienced enough in the ways of the ton to tread carefully. She knew it was rather shocking for a widow to be out like this, but over the past months she had felt a growing need to do something other than mourn a husband who was as much a stranger to her dead as he had been alive. She needed to mingle with other people, to feel alive again, or she would begin to climb the walls of her Berkeley Square town house.

She had tried to love Oldney, although she had never managed it. He had certainly never loved her. He had controlled her, or at least he had attempted to do so, and Sophia had soon learned to keep her own council when it came to her thoughts and emotions, giving him less to work with. She may have been the lesser partner in their marriage, but by keeping a part of herself free of his interference, she had tried to retain something of the girl she had once been. She was not entirely successful. He was always there, observing, informing her in his cool, precise manner that she was not to do this or that. Oldney may be dead, but it was taking her longer than she had hoped to shake off the past. Even now she found herself looking over her shoulder, to see if he was still watching.

And while it was true she did not want her old life back, hiding away and pretending to mourn felt as if she was letting Oldney win even in his absence. She was sick and tired of it. She needed to get out, to walk among others, to feel her spirits lift. Surely, as long as she was not recognized, no one could accuse her of improper behavior? Sophia wanted to step outside the cage Oldney had built for her, to reclaim that optimistic girl she had been. Once she had broken free, she was sure she could finally put him behind her.

A laughing group brushed against her but barely seemed to notice her. The pleasure gardens were filling up, and music drifted over the groups of excited people attending. Rich and poor mingled, and Sophia lost herself in the crush. She felt a little like a ghost, invisible to her fellow revelers.

Lamps of a countless number of colors shone from trees and along colonnades. Sophia wandered, soaking in her freedom. Beside the pavilion a woman shrieked with laughter and some inebriated gentlemen guffawed. Sophia slipped by them, looking about for somewhere to sit and watch the dancers. She spotted a rotunda with a good view and moved toward it.

And that was when she saw him.

He was masked, but the mask only covered half his face, from eyes to nose, leaving the lower half free. And Sophia knew those lips. How many times had she watched them opening and closing, polite words spilling out of them while the intent behind them was anything but polite? She had watched them curve in a mocking smile or tighten in anger. Her hatred of Nicholas Blake was well known, but there had been times when her anger at him had risen from a simmer to a boiling point and made her feel as if she was about to explode. As if... as if he only had to touch her and she would combust. What was that? She’d tried to dismiss it, because deep inside she suspected that feeling was dangerous, that she must never let him get too close to her. And there were occasions when he looked at her, his dark eyes aglitter, when she had wondered if he felt the same.

Blake had been a long-standing enemy of Sophia’s husband, and Oldney had loathed him for being a “commoner” who had the audacity to look down his nose at his “betters.”

“He only gets away with it because he is useful to his friends in the government, so they tolerate him.”

But Blake had done what Sophia was too afraid to do, and that was to say something to Oldney’s set about that girl Chatham had ruined. His words to them had been scathing and on point, and the aristocrats had not taken his rebuke well. Even before that they had been enemies, but afterward that enmity had turned into a deep and personal loathing.

Sophia had followed her husband’s lead, her animosity for Blake building over time. It was a useful facade when she suspected her feelings weren’t so cut and dried. He was a mystery to her, and she had found herself wanting to know more. But it was a dangerous preoccupation. Whenever she was in his company, she was aware of an unwelcome spark. It was best ignored, and when she couldn’t ignore it, she redoubled her efforts to hate him.

And now here he was, Nicholas Blake at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, looking about him as if he was expecting to see someone. No doubt he was on one of his missions for whoever it was who owned him. She had never been sure who that was, although Oldney had believed Blake would toil for whichever government paid him the most to do their dirty work.

Sophia had always wholeheartedly agreed, aloud anyway, but she wasn’t quite able to convince herself Blake was that immoral. Would he have castigated Chatham and the others for their treatment of the girl at the ball if he was so completely without moral feeling? It seemed to her that rather than being the corrupt blackguard Oldney had believed him to be, Blake was one of those puritanical types who saw everything in black and white. He was a do-gooder with tyrannical tendencies.

Now, her thoughts ground to a halt as his gaze went over her, paused, and then moved on. Sophia wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that she hadn’t warranted more attention than that. Relieved she told herself, with a shrug of her shoulders. The musicians had started up again and she decided she would not sit and watch after all. Where was the fun in that? Instead she would find someone to dance with and enjoy herself until it was time to return home to her big, empty house.

It didn’t take long for Sophia to find a partner, although he seemed to want to talk. At first it was fun, and she was skillful enough to evade his questions as to her identity, but then it began to grow wearisome. He would not accept her need to remain a mystery. She was relieved when the dance finished, and she made her excuses and turned away, only to find Nicholas Blake standing directly behind her.

Her heart gave an unwelcome thump and she had the urge to run away, which she quelled. Sophia never ran away from anything.

He looked down at her, his dark eyes glittering through his mask, and she read interest in them, and a challenge. “Mysterious lady,” he said, with a teasing grin, “will you dance with me?”

There was a moment when she might have refused, or simply brushed by him, but she found she did not want to. He couldn’t know who she was, and suddenly it seemed like an excellent joke to pretend she was a stranger and to dance with him. She bit back a smile as she imagined the look of chagrin on his face if he ever discovered her true identity. But he wouldn’t, because how could he?

Without a word, Sophia went into his arms.

He was taller than she, and his cravat was at eye level—plainly tied crisp white linen. Elegant. She could smell his soap or his pomade, something like cinnamon or nutmeg. Delicious. His arm was around her waist, strong enough to make her feel as if she was floating as they danced, while his other hand clasped hers in a firm grip.

It was good. Better than she could have imagined. And if her inner voice was whispering about danger, then she ignored it. One dance finished and another one started. She wanted to keep dancing with him all night, twirling through the crowd, their bodies brushing against each other.

“Do I know you?”

His question startled her out of her thoughts. She shook her head, and then shrugged for good measure. He laughed softly, a huff of breath, and his dark eyes shone as they dipped to the swell of her breasts rising over the bodice of her gown.

“That is the point of these things, I suppose, isn’t it?” he said. “To keep one’s identity a secret.”

She smiled again, thinking it safer not to speak, as he’d heard her voice many times. He clearly did not recognize her, but it was best not to take any chances.

His mouth twitched into a smile. “I didn’t expect to enjoy myself here tonight, Mysterious Lady. But all business and no pleasure can be rather dull. Don’t you agree?”

Sophia did agree. His arm about her waist tightened, pulling her in against him. Her skirts were diaphanous enough to leave no doubt as to his arousal. If it had been anyone else she would have extracted herself and given him a cold stare, but this was Nicholas Blake. Her body tingled with sensation, and she felt quite lightheaded. She had come here in a bid to feel alive again and it was an unexpected treat that she should meet the very man who always brought her heated emotions to the fore.

Her hand glided along the shoulder of his jacket, feeling the bone and muscle beneath, and curled about his nape. She slid her fingers up into his hair, the short strands soft—she wanted to keep touching them. Sophia had always wondered what his hair would feel like. She had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, too, but to do that she must remove her mask and she was not that reckless.

He reached down to grasp her hips, leaned in even closer, and she was shockingly aware of the hard shape of him, pressing against her most sensitive of places. She gasped, arching against him. It had been so long since a man had held her and touched her, and she had never been held and touched by a man she desired. Because it was true, she did desire him. As much as she had tried to fight it in the past, Sophia was relieved now to admit it.

There was a whisper of breath against her ear, sending shivers over her skin.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

She supposed she should be repelled by his forwardness, but he was only giving voice to her own wishes. A shiver of pleasure and excitement had her looking up at him coyly through the holes in her mask. He was still smiling, and she could see he desired her, too. For Sophia, knowing who he was while he didn’t recognize her made their encounter all the more titillating.

Who did he imagine her to be? Some lady of the night, or a bored wife or mistress? Someone who was audacious enough to seek out a rendezvous with a stranger? Sophia could play that part; indeed, she found she was looking forward to it.

She opened her mouth to answer, and then nodded instead. The muscles in his arm tensed and then he released her, and with a flourish held out his hand. When she placed hers in it, his fingers gripped tight. And then he was leading her away from the dancers and down a path that took them deep into the gardens.

Vauxhall was notorious for its grottos and secluded nooks, and the trysts that were conducted there. No one would care, no one would look at them, and besides, no one knew who she was. Probably no one knew who Nicholas Blake was either. She herself had only recognized him because it seemed over the past few years he had become a permanent thorn in her husband’s side. And consequently hers.

There were small lamps strung through the trees, flickering like starlight, just bright enough to illuminate their way. Murmurs came from her left, and a gasping cry from her right. She did not look but it made her hesitate. Should she turn back? This seemed a risky venture even for the Dowager Duchess of Oldney. But then she asked herself: Who was there to care?

She wanted to feel again, and right now she felt more alive than she had for years.

Ahead of her, Nicholas had paused, and then with a glance at her, led them toward what looked to be a trimmed arch of greenery. There was a seat within it, hidden from prying eyes, and he drew her down beside him. As he went to lift her mask, she caught his hand hard in hers and shook her head.

“No kissing then?” he said, more of a statement than a question. “At least... not on the face.”

It occurred to Sophia that he was quite determined to have his way with her. Was this something he did regularly, prowl the pleasure gardens seeking women? It seemed unlikely, and certainly she had never thought so—the opposite in fact. Would he wish his reputation to be tarnished by such behavior? She knew he was not married, but perhaps he kept a mistress. And yet, once again, she did not think he would do that—betray a woman he held dear—but perhaps she was being foolishly na?ve.

“Where did you go?”

Startled, she turned to him and realized he was watching her and had probably said something she hadn’t heard. “I’m right here,” she whispered.

“I should have brought a bottle of champagne,” he said. Then, with a hint of concern, “Would you prefer to return?” He stood up, ready to escort her back to the noise and dancers.

But Sophia did not want to go back. Boldly she reached to press her hand to the fall of his pantaloons, against the swell of his cock.

He went still and she saw him bite his lip.

She ran her fingers over him, and then began to unbutton him. Slowly, watching the play of his mouth and the way his eyes closed behind the half mask, she slid her hand inside his pantaloons and took a firm hold of him.

He groaned and pushed against her. He was hard and getting harder. Clearly this sort of thing was to his taste.

Sophia wasn’t about to suck him, but she was aching for him to touch and kiss her, to let her ride him mindlessly to the oblivion she craved.

And why not? He seemed keen to play along. Perhaps they were just two lonely people, and there was nothing wrong in needing human contact. Nothing dangerous at all.

Sophia stood up, too, and pushed him back onto the seat. He sat down with a grunt, staring up at her in surprise. She began to draw up her skirts, bunching them around her thighs. Her stockings were tied above her knees, so there was nothing to impede her as she knelt on the bench, one knee either side of him, and reached down to take hold of his cock.

His hands fumbled at her hips, clasping her and then lifting her, and she felt the tip brush against her entrance. She was slick with desire, but he was big and she held her breath as she slid down onto him. Slowly. Until he was inside her completely.

There were beads of sweat on his top lip, and his fingers clenched on her, as if he found it difficult to be still. She wriggled to settle herself, and he dropped his head to hers with a groan. “You’re killing me,” he said.

“If only that were true,” she whispered.

She felt him still, staring at her, and knew she shouldn’t have said it. Too late now. To distract him she moved up on his shaft, and then down again, repeating the movement, and feeling the glide against her most sensitive parts. She wanted to continue that slow slide, building toward what she already knew would be an astonishing culmination. But then he began to thrust into her, pinning her to him so that he could gain maximum benefit. That was good, too, but better when she leaned forward so that the slide of his member could rub firmly against her swollen bud, giving her the most pleasure.

Even so, she couldn’t get it quite right, and made a frustrated sound, just as his hand pushed under her skirts and found her. He cupped her, and then circled her with his thumb, and desire sparked bright. She whimpered.

“You like that,” he growled. “Don’t want to kill me now, eh?”

Sophia ignored his provocative words, moving more quickly now, just as he was. Her climax was building, building, and oh so close, and then everything went into freefall. She trembled and shook in his arms, clinging to him and barely aware of him following her with a deep, satisfied groan.

For a time they panted, not moving. As if at a distance, she heard the sounds of other couples enjoying themselves. An owl called, flying low overhead and as if far away, the music continued to play.

She felt marvelous. Her body was relaxed, her mind was clear. It was the best she had felt since Oldney had died and left her in limbo.

Nicholas Blake’s breathing was slowing, warm against her shoulder, and she realized they had not even bothered to undress. Probably just as well—it made the encounter even less personal. And yet she felt a tingle of disappointment, too. She would have liked to see him naked, felt his skin against hers, his mouth devouring hers...

“What is your perfume?” he asked, his voice gravelly, as he lifted his head.

“Honeysuckle,” she said without thinking.

When he didn’t reply, she rose to her feet and straightened her skirts. He began to tuck himself away before he also stood. They faced each other and there was an awkward silence.

“Can we meet again?” he asked suddenly. “I find myself craving another meeting.”

That was a surprise. A surprise too that she wanted to agree.

“Better not,” Sophia finally whispered, more to herself than him.

He sighed and then bowed. “As you wish,” he said.

A moment later she was hurrying back along the path, toward the pavilion. She would leave, there was no point in staying now. She felt a thrill of amazement at her own daring.

She had been intimate with Nicholas Blake! It felt like an amazing victory, a fine jest. A pity he would never know who she was.

And at the same time a warning was sounding in her head. She had opened a door that should probably have remained closed. Why then could she not feel regret?