looked downward almost shyly as she raised her arms above her head and began to click her fingers together, making a rhythmic metallic sound with tiny cymbals. Then her hips began to move in an undulating motion, setting up the jangle of the bells. She began to dance, her feet and hips moving rhythmically. She moved in a small space, swaying and writhing and twisting.
“Stirring, isn’t she?” Leona whispered into his ear, her breath sending shivers through him. She took the edge of his ear between her teeth and worried at it gently. While the girl danced, Leona’s hand slipped beneath the open sides of his shirt and began to roam his chest, and the combination of the erotic sight and Leona’s touch made the pulse begin to roar in his head.
The girl danced on, her hips pumping, breasts jiggling, setting all the tinny bells dancing, punctuated by the rhythmic clicking of the cymbals on her fingers. And Leona stroked him, her fingers teasing over his chest and stomach, then down over the cloth of his trousers. She let out a low, throaty laugh at the tumescence pressing against the fabric.
“Would you like more?” Leona breathed against his ear. “Perhaps you want to see her more clearly?” Raising up a little, she clapped once sharply.
The dark-haired dancer reached up, never stopping the movement of her hips, and detached one scarf. She let it fall, drifting slowly down over her legs to puddle at her feet. Slowly, as she twisted and turned, undulating to the rhythm of her cymbals, she undid the scarves one by one.
Devin watched her undress, his breath rasping in his throat, the heat rising in him, as Leona caressed him, her hand slipping beneath his trousers to wrap around him.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “Still hard as you were as a lad. I like that.” Her tongue flicked out and traced the whorls of his ear, sending a long shudder through him. “What does it matter if you take a wife when we will still have this? Who cares if some peasant from the colonies can claim to be your wife? Go to Darkwater once a year and bed her for an heir, then return to me…and all the pleasures you are used to.”
“Leona…” Devin let out a laugh of disbelief and turned to look her in the face. “I cannot believe that even you—you are seducing me into asking another woman to marry me.”
“I am asking you to make it possible for us to continue as we always have,” Leona snapped back, her eyes flashing. “I told you Vesey is limiting me to a paltry allowance. If my lover, too, is without funds…”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening to take another lover? He won’t last long if I call him out.”
“Don’t be absurd. I would do what I had to. Because you refuse to do what you should.”
“Dammit, Leona, if you dare…”
“I wouldn’t replace you, darling. You would always have a place in my bed. I would simply have to give you less time.”
“Christ! You talk like a whore.” He pulled away from her, rising to his feet.
The dancing girl stopped and stepped back uncertainly, her eyes going up to Devin’s suddenly stony face.
“Oh, Dev, stop acting like a spoiled child.” Leona slipped off the bed, too, making a quick motion with her hand to the dancer to continue.
The woman began to dance again. Leona walked over to her and, as the girl slowly undulated, she slid her hand over the other girl’s chest, now slick with perspiration, and unfastened another of the scarves. Leona looked up at Devin, her face challenging, her eyes lit sensually. “Come, Dev, my love, you know what I am. I have never pretended to be anything else.”
As she talked, she caressed the other woman’s body, setting scarf after scarf adrift, until the woman was clothed only in the sheer pants, brief top and delicate gold chains. “I am wicked,” Leona went on. “And so are you. You enjoy this, just as I do. Just as you enjoy all the things we do—things no decent person enjoys.”
He watched her, no more able to look away from the erotic scene than he was to suppress the hot pulsation in his manhood. His eyes were glued to Leona’s nimble fingers as they unfastened the top and pulled it away, leaving only the gold chains draped over the woman’s small tanned breasts. She caressed the woman’s breasts delicately, circling each nipple with her forefinger.
“Don’t you want to take her now, Dev?” Leona purred. “Don’t you want to drive yourself into her? I’d like to see it. You’d like me to watch, wouldn’t you? Do you think that’s normal? It’s wicked. Wicked, the way you and I are.”
With an abrupt, fierce movement, she jerked at the waistband of the sheer harem trousers, opening them, and let them fall down to the dancer’s feet. “What do you think, Dev? Will you take her?” She stepped away from the woman. “Or would you rather take me?”
She unbuttoned the front of her dress and peeled it back, revealing her breasts, firm and full, centered by large dark nipples, pointed with desire. She pushed the dress back off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing her naked body beneath. Running her hands provocatively down her body, she looked at him, arching one brow.
“Well, Dev, do you want me? Or maybe you want both of us. Or are you too pious, like your father?”
“Damn you,” he growled, reaching out and pulling her to him. “You know I want you.”
Leona smiled and rubbed her body against his. “Then admit it. Admit that you are wicked. You don’t give a damn about that silly American chit or whether she enjoys living at Darkwater. You don’t give a damn about the Aincourt name. Not as long as you can have plenty of money. And this.” She looped one leg around his, rubbing herself suggestively against him. “Well, Dev, do you?”
“You know I don’t,” he replied thickly, swinging her up into his arms and dropping her none too gently on the bed. “You’re right. We’re steeped in sin,” he said as he unbuttoned his trousers and peeled them off. “And I will marry the damned heiress, if that is what you want.”
4
Miranda settled her spectacles on her nose and suppressed her sigh. For once, the accounts in front of her bored her past speaking. She had been feeling faintly blue all day. She knew that the feeling had to do with the stranger she had met last night. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that the man who had been attacked was the very man whom her father had wanted her to meet. It should have been a fortuitous thing that that man had turned out to be the first man who had sparked her interest since she had been in England. Instead, it was rather depressing, since it was clear that he obviously was so set against her that he had not even been willing to attend his mother’s party to meet her. Of course, she had felt pretty much the same, so she could hardly hold it against the man. In fact, it showed that he was not the weak, shallow sort that she had assumed him to be. However, she could not help but feel a trifle miffed, no matter how silly she told herself that was.
She would never admit such a thing to anyone, of course. Indeed, she had not even told her father that she thought she had actually met the elusive Earl of Ravenscar the night before. If he knew that she had found his candidate for a husband in any way intriguing, he would never let up his campaign to get her to marry the man. And, of course, she had no intention of doing anything like that, no matter how attractive she had found the earl. She still felt the same way. She could never marry a man whom she did not love. She wanted the kind of marriage her father and Elizabeth had—they had been devoted to one another from the day they met. And while she certainly was
