Both vampires played between the woman’s full, nude thighs—so many fingers. The woman moaned at the invasion, and as they withdrew, Serena could smell the woman’s desire. Their gloves would be soaked and sticky with the woman’s juices.
“I would like to touch you that way, Serena.”
Her Christian name. Spoken with a softness, a vulnerability, in his voice that Serena had never heard before. “Mr—”
“You can’t shock me by enjoying my touches. It pleases me to know you do. Life is short—a shame to endure it in frustrated piety.”
“Yes, touch me,” she invited, and wondered if she’d plunged into madness.
The nose of Mr. Swift’s mask ran teasingly along her neck. Shivers tumbled. Her cunny throbbed. “Do you know what the nose of the mask is used for, love?” Swift asked.
Had she thrown herself off the cliff into wanton insanity? She knew, she knew, she could never tame a rogue like Drake Swift.
She gave one brief shake of her head.
“The nose of the mask would tease your clit while I licked your sweet quim. Do you know about your clit, Miss Lark? How touches there can make you explode?”
She froze. Yes, she knew about pleasure, about a man’s touch between her thighs, but she had never revealed her sin to anyone.
It had been a mistake. A foolish mistake. Too often girls made mistakes, and she’d been a very foolhardy girl, with a foolhardy heart.
“I could slide the nose inside you, filling you, while my tongue circles around your bum—”
Serena moaned. Pleasure, demanding and intense, built in her. Her hips began to sway. Her nether curls were soaked.
Footsteps sounded behind them—the click of boot heels on wood in an impatient stride. In an instant, Lord Sommersby was at her side.
“What the hell are you doing, Swift?” he snapped. He pushed Swift’s hand away from her breast. But his settled on her stomach, on the belt of her robe. For just a heartbeat and then left.
Drake Swift merely laughed—his low, dangerous laugh. “Claiming my prize. Actually I’m avoiding suspicion.”
The words claiming and prize hit like Serena a douse of cold water. Was that how he saw her—a woman to seduce because he’d rescued her? Was she just a reward of battle?
She stepped away from them both. And caught her breath.
Over Lord Sommersby’s shoulder, Serena could see one of the vampires open the falls of his breeches and pull out his cock. It was dusky brown, the engorged head purplish and thick. One violent thrust, and he was inside, and the woman was weeping in pleasure as he banged his hips mercilessly against hers.
The other vampire held the woman up from behind—with his palms beneath her breasts, cupping them. He grinned at Serena, and she felt her cheeks catch fire.
“Care to join us? An orgy would be a fine diversion.” He spoke affably but lust burned in his reflective eyes.
Lord Sommersby’s lips were grim, his brown eyes almost black. She sensed his rage. Drake Swift stepped around her and shook his head. “Not tonight, my friend. Another perhaps.” Swift turned to her. In the same jovial voice, he asked, “And where is your room, maid? I’ve had enough teasing for one night.”
The perfect exit line. Her voice faltered on hers. “This—this way, sir.”
By the time they’d reached the stairway door, the vampires and their lady had vanished into a room. A groaning bed could be heard. And each frantic moan they made pricked Serena’s legs like an arrow.
Sommersby turned the door handle, revealing steep steps descending into complete blackness. But before they could step inside, a door opened directly across from them. A vampire stood in the doorway.
Before Serena could think, Lord Sommersby wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Drake Swift’s erection nudged her bottom—she realized they’d cuddled up to her to hide the open door. She could barely breathe. Lord Sommersby’s gorgeous face lowered—his wide, hard lips came down over hers. It wasn’t like the fierce open-mouthed kisses she saw from the gallery. This was a slow kiss, and his lips slanted over hers with unhurried desire. Hot, wet, and so commanding. Stubble brushed, his tongue teased, his breath joined with hers, and everything fell away from her, leaving her clinging to a kiss.
Her legs splayed, her body instinctively pushing against Sommersby’s erection, the long, unyielding ridge of it. Mr. Swift pressed against her, his lips on her neck. She was book-ended by their massive erections!
Time stopped, and when his lordship drew away, when Drake stepped back, they left her spellbound.
The door closed with a click and reality roared in. The vampire had returned to his lover. They were alone again. Serena’s lips yearned for another kiss. She ached everywhere—mouth, nipples, quim. Her thighs were slick with her juices, her nipples taut.
But her goal was so close. “Downstairs,” she insisted.
Mr. Swift went first. She heard the creak of the stair treads. Taking a deep breath, she followed, and the narrow stairway seemed to close in on her as she descended. Only the faintest glimmer of light showed at the very top—a touch of moonlight that turned Mr. Swift’s hair to silver and shimmered along the folds of his black cape.
“Is this library worth the risk, Miss Lark?” Lord Sommersby growled. He filled the stairwell behind her. She was trapped between the two of them—cocky scoundrel Mr. Swift ahead and the dangerous, guarded, taciturn Earl of Sommersby behind.
Her slippers trod on the worn stairs, but she felt the warmth of his lordship’s breath. She felt the brush of his hand against hers on the wall as they descended. “Knowing the truth is worth any risk, my lord.”
“Is revenge worth so much risk?” His voice was low, authoritative.
Serena shivered—she was going to have a devil of a time sneaking Vlad Dracul’s journal from under the nose of this perceptive man.
“I need to know. I have to know.” She couldn’t tell him the truth, but she wanted to make him understand. “I want to know how my parents died. I want to know who killed them. I—” Her voice faltered. “I barely know anything about them.” That much was the truth. She knew nothing about who her parents really were. All she knew were Ashcroft’s lies.
“How could you not know? Who raised you?”
Madness, but she wanted to confide in him. She had to be careful. “I was raised in a noble house—but turned out at sixteen. The lady of the house, Mrs. Bridgewater, she did not like me.” An understatement! “I became a governess, and then Lord Ashcroft communicated with me, and brought me to London.”
A light was struck—it flared. Then the spherical glow of a candle filled the space. It meant Drake Swift was at the bottom of the stairs. Swift leaned in the narrow doorway, the candlelight lit the silver stars on the glossy paint of his mask. “All clear.”
But Lord Sommersby touched her elbow lightly,
