“Lord Stephen Farlisle. Brother to the Earl of Roxwaithe,” he added. He disliked invoking his brother’s name, but if it would get the butler to announce him that much quicker, he would shout it to kingdom come.

  “Very good, my lord. Follow me.”

  The butler led him through the entrance hall and into a receiving room. “Please wait here, my lord. I will see if Lady Seraphina is at home to visitors.”

  Lacing his hands behind his back, he paced the room, unable to stand still when the desire to see Sera thrummed in his veins. The door flung open and, with a red face and disordered hair, Sera flew through. She almost skidded to a stop, her cheeks pinkening further. The butler trailed behind her, his expression slightly disapproving.

  “Good morning, Lord Stephen,” she greeted, her hand smoothing over her hair as if she had just realised it was disordered.

  The shape of his grin felt loony. “Lady Seraphina.”

  “It is so lovely you have come to call. Would you like to take tea?”

  Amused by the formality, he replied gravely, “I would.”

  “Higgins, tea. And Mrs Travers’s gingernuts, please.”

  “Of course, my lady.” The butler shot Stephen a look before departing, closing the door behind him. The butler was protective of Sera, and had quite clearly warned Stephen in the subtle way the best servants could. Stephen could hardly fault him for that.

  They stood awkwardly for a moment. “Please, sit,” she said belatedly, arranging herself on one of the chaises.

  He lowered himself beside her. Startled, she glanced at him in query but he only lay his arm on the back of the chaise, his fingers almost brushing her shoulder. Perhaps it was not proper, but he could think of no good reason not to sit beside her when they were alone.

  “It is fine weather we are having,” she finally said.

  His lips twitched. “Really? Again with this?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she burst out. “After…last night…” Her cheeks blushed a fiery red.

  Memory wound around him and his breath grew short as his cock grew hard. Subtly, he shifted his seat. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest course of conversation. “Perhaps we should talk of our plan.”

  She shot him a grateful look. “Yes, our plan. We have another ball to go to this evening.”

  “Another? Why are there so many balls? The season is done.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “And yet, the Ton remains in London and we must have our amusements.”

  Again, his lips twitched. “Yes. We must, mustn’t we.”

  She returned his smile. “Now, what was so urgent you came at such an early hour?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her brows drew. “Nothing? So why are you here?”

  Heat burned his cheeks. “I, ah, wanted to see you?”

  Her expression softened. “When Higgins said you were here, I did not wait for my maid to complete my hair,” she confessed.

  He tugged one of the tumbled curls. “I can see that.”

  Her grey eyes darkened. “Stephen.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

  “I think I should like to do something for you now.”

  And just like that, his aching cock hardened fully. Heart racing, he licked his lips. “Would you, now?”

  Pushing at his shoulders, she pulled up her skirts to straddle him. Leaning forward, her luscious mouth brushed his ear. “We shall have to be quick. The tea comes.”

  Bloody hell, and if she moved even slightly, so would he. Where was his bloody control? Oh that’s right, she’d bloody destroyed it when she’d said she wanted to do something for him. “Sera, you don’t have to—”

  She swallowed his feeble protest with her mouth, her tongue tangling with his. Hand trailing down his chest, she brushed her fingers over his throbbing cock. Cupping him through his breeches, she gave him a wicked smile. “So hard for me, Stephen.”

  He managed a laugh at her arch comment. “Always.”

  Her eyes flickered. “Truly?”

  Christ, yes. Always. For her. Barely able to speak, he nodded.

  Sliding down, she knelt between his wide-spread knees, her fingers plucking at the buttons of his breeches. She’d barely brushed him before he closed his hands over hers. “Sera, you really don’t—”

  She scowled. “Stephen, stop it. I want this. I want you. Now lie back, be quiet, and enjoy what I’m doing to you.”

  Knowing it would win him no favour if he told her how adorable she looked while cross, he did as she bade. “Yes, my lady.”

  She ran her hand up and down, her fascinated gaze following her movements. He gritted his teeth, reciting what he could remember of the charitable charter to stop himself from coming. A bead of wetness formed at his head and her thumb swept it away, massaging it into his skin.

  At his strangled groan, her gaze flew to his. “Am I doing this right?”

  Any more right and he’d be coming over her hand. “Yes,” he managed.

  Her eyes dropped to his cock. “What does it taste like?”

  A vivid image of her lips wrapped around him almost made him spill. “Christ Jesus.”

  “I think I shall find out,” she said, and took him into her mouth.

  His fingers dug into the chaise, his hips bucking. Her mouth was hot and wet and it took everything inside him not to come in her mouth and shock the life out of her. Her tongue worried the ridge of his cockhead, and the pleasure just about sent him blind. Her hand wrapped around his base, lifting him up so she could run her tongue over him.

  “What do you like?” she asked.

  “The head,” he managed. “Suck the head and wrap your hand around me. Like this.” He showed her and she took to it with enthusiasm, driving him insane with hot, wet heaven.

  “Sera, I’m going to— You’ve got to stop,” he gasped.

  Ignoring him, she sank him further into her, her grip tightening.

  “You’ve got to— Sera, stop,”

  She pulled off with a wet pop, her brows drawn. Wrapping his hand around hers, he pumped them both until the orgasm ripped from him, his come mostly captured by his handkerchief.

  Taking great gulps of air, his chest heaved as Sera nestled beside him, staring at her hand. “I haven’t done that before.”

  He grunted, unable to say anything.

  “It was rather fun. We should definitely do it again.”

  Flinging an arm over his eyes, he groaned. Christ. She was going to kill him. “Did I get it all?”

  “Oh yes. My hand is fine.”

  Tidying himself, he tucked his cock away and did up his breeches. “So do you count us even?’

  “Not in the slightest. I feel we should both do that again. Often.” She smiled slyly.

  “Not now. The tea is coming.”

  “Ah yes, the tea.” Her fingers wandered down his chest.

  Plucking them from him, he stood and removed himself to the chair opposite. “You’re dangerous,” he said darkly.

  Her smile turned smug.

  The door opened. They both started, and Stephen thanked God the maid hadn’t been five minutes earlier. “Tea, my lady.”

  Colour high, Sera sat ramrod straight. “Thank you, Veronica.”

  The maid set out the tea and biscuits and, if she noticed anything odd about their behaviour, she made no comment on it.

  Once she’d left, Sera lifted the teapot. “How do you take it?”

  He couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

  She scowled. “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just...” He shook his head. “We are pretending this is a normal morning, a normal visit, and you didn’t just bring me off on the chaise upon which you sit.”

  “Bring you off? Is that what it’s called?”

  “Among other things.” He watched her pour the tea, her colour still high. “Sera?”

  “Yes?”

  “I like you.”

  The teapot stilled. “You do?” she asked, her gaze on the cup.

  Smile tilting the corner of his mouth, he nodded. She looked flustered, and clearly didn’t know what to say. “If we didn’t have the bet, would you ...that is...” Christ, his collar felt too tight.

  Looking up, wide grey eyes locked on his. “Would I...”

  “Would you be amenable to...” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps the wager doesn’t have to be the end of things.”

  “Oh?”

  “Perhaps we could continue.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And perhaps we could...”

  “Yes?”

  “It could be a courtship. A real one. If you wanted.” Christ, it was hot in here. Was it hot in here?

  Biting her lip, her gaze searched his. “Do you want?”

  “I—do.”

  “Well. I do, too.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  They stared at each other.

  Finally, cheeks pink, she stood to bring him the tea. Watching her every step, he took the cup from her and carefully set it on the low table before them. Then, he caught her wrist and tugged. She fell into his lap with a gasp as he curved his arm around her back, settling her against him.

  Raising a brow, she said archly, “I thought you didn’t want me near you. Your words, I believe, indicated I was dangerous.”

  He couldn’t stop his grin. “I got lonely.”

  She snuggled in to him, her hand stroking his chest. He played with her hair. Time slipped by, the clock on the mantle keeping it but neither of them noticing.

  “I don’t want to go,” he finally confessed.

  She laced her fingers in his. “Then don’t.”

  “I have to go to my brother’s.”

  Attention still on his fingers, her brow creased. “Why?”

  “We need funds. I must pretend to once again be the careless, wastrel spendthrift.”

  She pulled back, his arm dropping to loosely hold her waist. Her gaze searched him and he sat still beneath it, knowing he could only do so because it was her. “It can wait, though?”

  Of course. Of course it could. Hauling her back into his arms, he rested his chin on her head as her hands burrowed between his jacket and waistcoat.

  It could wait.

  Chapter Fifteen

  HEAT HUNG HEAVY OVER THE ballroom, the air humid and pregnant with the promise of a summer storm. Servants wielding large palm-shaped fans made of wicker and ostrich feathers did their best to move the still air through the ballroom and usher in the hint of coolness from the wide-flung balcony doors, but their efforts amounted to little.

  Fanning herself, Sera looked out over the ballroom. The press of bodies made the heat even more oppressive, and guests were beginning to succumb. A lady swooned, while the gentleman she intended to catch her barely did so in time, his expression dazed. Chatter was listless, and those dancing lacked enthusiasm.

  She had no care for others, though. Not when, from across the ballroom, Stephen watched her.

  Leaning against the ballroom’s wall, he crossed his arms over his chest, his focus wholly upon her. He didn’t pretend disinterest or tease, didn’t look at another woman in an attempt to make her jealous. No, Stephen levelled his gaze upon her and let her know she held all of his attention.

  A bead of perspiration slid between her breasts. He held her attention, too. So easily. Sweat sheened his cheekbones, causing skin tanned from countless hours playing football to glow golden. An image of him flashed across her, of him in shirtsleeves that clung to his leanly muscled frame, his cuffs pushed back to reveal strong forearms, and the graceful prowl of his body as he came to her. Another image replaced the first, this time his jacket and shirt disordered by her hands, his throat arched and his body bowed as he yielded to the pleasure she gave him.

  Mouth abruptly dry, she parted her lips as pressure pushed low in her abdomen, heavy and empty. How did he do this to her from across a ballroom? Pushing off the wall, he started towards her. Her breath caught, her heart a mad thump in her chest.

  Reaching her, he took her hand, bending low. “Lady Seraphina,” he murmured, his lips brushing her fingers.

  His touch burned as if gloves didn’t separate her skin from his. “Lord Stephen,” she managed.

  He rose, his dark eyes smouldering. “I find I require refreshment.”

  Her brain felt thick. “You do?”

  He nodded, his tongue slicking the flesh of his plush bottom lip. She almost moaned.

  “I shall no doubt pass by the orangery, in my search for refreshment.”

  Belatedly, she realised what he was about. Excitement began a mad thrum. “Indeed. I find I require a bit of fresh air. The heat.” She waved generally.

  “Yes. I hope we both achieve our desire.”

  Oh, wicked man. Wicked, wicked man.

  He bowed. “Lady Seraphina.”

  “My lord,” she murmured. He bowed again and, with that slight, sly smile she loved, he disappeared into the crowd.

  She waited a moment, then another, and then she followed.

  The sounds of the ball faded as she made her way down the hallway. A gaggle of ladies passed her, their excited voices fading as they disappeared in the opposite direction. Shadows deepened, pale moonlight offering weak illumination as it spilled from the open corridor doors.

  Sera stopped. She was certain she should have reached the orangery by now. Perhaps she had made a wrong turn. Starting back the way she came, she opened a door that had to be the orangery.

  The air held a different humidity here, one of trees and shrubs rather than too many bodies, and the faint moonlight painted the orangery to various shades of grey. Outside, lightning crashed. Thunder followed slowly, the storm still some distance from reaching them. Rain had yet to fall, and the air grew thicker.

  Another flash of lightning. The orangery lit up, exotic palms throwing strange patterns on the wall. And there, in the middle of the greenery, stood Lydia Torrence and the Earl of Roxwaithe in torrid embrace.

  Sera immediately dropped to a crouch, concealing herself behind a potted shrub. They hadn’t noticed her, though, wholly immersed in each other, but then, the earl gently pushed Lydia from him. They whispered to each other, and then the earl glanced her way.

  Sera’s heart stopped.

  Lydia said something, and the earl’s attention returned to her. Quietly as she could, Sera retreated to the entrance. The door handle turned silently in her hand, and she slipped out.

  In the hallway, she placed a hand over her frantic heart. Now that she was in no danger of being seen, she started to think. She had caught Lydia and the earl. If it was made known, there would be scandal. They were not affianced. They weren’t even courting. Though everyone knew of Lydia’s passion, few knew the earl returned it. He insisted she was too young, and tongues would wag about that very insistence. The damage done to both could be irreparable until they finally succumbed to the inevitable and wed. It was what Lydia wanted, and the earl would have come around to it eventually. Finally, she could ruin Lydia, but...did she want to?

  A garish grin stretched her mouth. Of course she did. Of course, and…

  It hit her, like the lightning that flashed outside. She could use this. They could use this. She and Stephen. He’d said he needed funds, and surely his brother would pay to keep this information quiet. It had to be done delicately, but it could be done.

  “Sera?” Stephen approached, his eyes alight, his lips curved in the slight smile she’d only ever seen him give to her. Before she could speak, he swept her into an embrace.

  Turning her head, she placed her hands on his chest. “Stephen, wait.”

  He brushed his lips over the skin beneath her ear. “Why?”

  She couldn’t think when he did that. “Because…” Soft kisses along her jaw. “Stephen…” His hands tightened on her back. “Your brother’s in there,” she blurted.

  He froze. Pulling back, he said, “Pardon?”

  “Your brother is in the orangery and he’s not alone.” She cleared her throat. “Lydia Torrence is with him.”

  Expression blank, he stared at her.

  “They are in the orangery. Alone. And they were…embracing.” Her cheeks burned. Why was she so embarrassed? So hesitant? Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “This is an opportunity, Stephen, to obtain the funds you require. We can tell your brother if he doesn’t give you the funds, we will make it so all of society will know. Even if society does find out, they will marry anyway. It is a plan without victim, and your charity will benefit.”

  Still he remained silent, his arms crossed over his chest as his gaze bored into her.

  She wet her lips. “Stephen?”

  “If I threatened Lydia,” he said. “Oliver would never speak to me again.”

  Oliver. Not Roxwaithe. Not the earl. Oliver.

  “He would never speak to me again,” he continued, still with that strange tone. “He would cut me from his life. It would be as if he never had a brother, or at least, one who was still alive. It would be so that when I see him out in society, at a club, on the street, he would turn the other way and he would pass me by, his gaze never straying in my direction. He would ignore my calls, my letters, and I would be barred entry to Roxegate, to Waithe Hall, to all the Farlisle properties. I would have funds—he would not want me to starve—but I would never again have the skerrick of affection I hold now. He would be done with me. And I would not blame him.”

  His expression hardened and she recoiled at the look in his eyes. “How could you think I could harm Lydia? She is as a sister to me. She and my thick-headed brother may be stupidly in love with each other and refuse to acknowledge it, but I will not use that for something as petty as a few pounds.”

  “But you hate your brother.” Uncertainty leant a quiver to her voice. “You do hate him, don’t you?”

  He stared at her stonily. Finally, he shook his head once, sharply.

  Horror filled her. She’d made a mistake. She’d— “But…but you said…You tell him lies to collect funds. How can you…?”

  “He is my brother. You don’t understand. You have never had a family.”

  Pain tore through her, and she couldn’t control the sharp gasp that escaped her.

 

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