Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart

Mr Duprey and Mr Elliot soon were admitted into the hall and the girls sorted themselves into some order. As they left the house, Morgana refused to consider what the neighbours might think if they spied them all leaving at this hour of the night. By plan none of them had donned their masks yet, but anyone might guess they were off to a masquerade, the masquerade everyone knew about.

Morgana only truly cared what Sloane thought, if he gave it any thought at all. She’d seen him go out earlier in the day and had not seen him return. He must have gone to the musicale where Hannah and her parents would be. Morgana had refused her aunt’s obligatory invitation to go with them. It was late, though, and the musicale might already be breaking up.

Morgana rode in the hackney with Lucy, Mr Elliot and Rose. Mr Elliot would know what Sloane’s plans were for the evening, but she would not dare to ask him.

They arrived at the Argyle Rooms with all speed and were admitted without delay. By the time they had tied their masks into place, Harriette Wilson herself came out to greet them.

‘You look splendid, ladies.’ She gave them all a charming smile. ‘Everything is arranged. We need only wait for the music.’

She led them to the ballroom door, cautioning them to be very quiet. When the music began, the doors opened and Harriette led them in as they sang:

Sweet is the budding spring of love,

Next blooming hopes all fears remove…

Morgana, Miss Moore, Elliot and Duprey slipped in behind them as Rose’s crystalline voice dominated their chorus. A hum of excitement spread through the crowd.

When the song came to an end and the shouts of ‘bravo’ had ceased, Harriette announced, ‘Gentlemen and ladies, these are the Sirens. Beware of their delights!’

The Sirens, clearly a sensation, were surrounded as the orchestra again started to play and a quadrille was formed. Each of the girls had several gentlemen begging for the dance. Katy looked as if she were a cat dropped in a vat of cream. Rose backed away, and Mary seemed to have a smile frozen on her face. Lucy, on a happy gentleman’s arm, walked with a determined step to take her place in the set.

Several rather gaily and daringly dressed women glared at these newcomers who had captured the men’s attention so thoroughly. Morgana, uneasy as well about the gentlemen’s enthusiastic response, glanced towards Miss Moore, who beamed with pride. Madame Bisou strode proudly through the crowd, assuring all the gentlemen that the Sirens were every bit as entrancing as those of the Greek legends. Both Mr Elliot and Mr Duprey melted into the crowd, to enjoy themselves, Morgana supposed.

More people entered the ballroom, and Morgana became separated from Miss Moore. Through the sea of carousers she glimpsed the older lady heading towards chairs at the side of the room. The walls of the ballroom were adorned with a collection of classical statues in various poses, set high above the crowd. On the dance floor, the Sirens, in their white dresses, looked like the statues come magically to life, a perfect complement to the décor. The women dressed as medieval maidens, voluptuous milkmaids or lithe pages looked sadly out of place. Morgana circled the edge of the crowd to find a good vantage point to keep watch over her girls.

Suddenly an arm circled her waist and a man with brandy on his breath squeezed the flesh of her buttocks. ‘Well, well, and who might you be, m’dear?’ The man’s voice was thick with drink. ‘Have we met, by any chance? If not, I’d fancy knowing you.’

Morgana tried to pull away, but, though the gentleman was shorter than herself and much older, his hold on her was firm. The hood of his black domino fell away from his face as he tried to kiss her, and she realised with alarm that this was her uncle. Lord Cowdlin wore a mask, but there was no mistaking him.

‘Release me this instant,’ she cried, pushing at his chest.

He laughed. ‘Playing it coy, eh? Come. Come. I can make it worth your while.’

‘No!’ She brought her heel down hard on his foot.

With a cry of pain, his grip loosened and she wrenched herself from his grasp. She pushed her way through the throng of people to get as far away from him as she could. He had not recognised her, thank goodness.

Her arm was caught by another gentleman in a black domino. Without a thought, she swung a fisted hand towards the man’s face. He blocked it easily, grabbing her wrist.

‘Easy, Morgana,’ he said, leaning to her ear.

She glanced up and recognised her captor even through his mask. Relief mixed with exhilaration. ‘Sloane!’

He guided her to where the wine was flowing, and handed her a glass. ‘I told you this was no place for a lady.’

A lecture was not what she wished from him. ‘I thought I told you, I have no intention of being a lady.’ To prove it, she downed the glass of wine.

His brows rose. He took the glass from her hand. ‘Another?’

She shook her head, glancing around the room.

How many of these black dominoes concealed the very same gentlemen who graced the dance floors of a society ball? Men like her uncle who were married, who led respectable lives? How many of these men kept mistresses in some fine little house off St James’s Street? Would Sloane tire of marriage to Hannah and seek a mistress instead?

Of course he would. He might desire marriage to Hannah, but it was her respectability that attracted him, just as his money attracted her. How long before they both looked elsewhere for something more?

If Morgana did become a courtesan some day, as she’d threatened him she would, perhaps she would meet him again at a ball like this. Perhaps he would dance with her. Perhaps he would even take her to bed and she would discover the delights his kisses promised.

She would never be a courtesan or a mistress. Or a wife, for that matter. And soon she would even be without Lucy, Katy, Rose and Mary. She would be without Sloane.

A man and a woman, arm in arm, nearly careened into her. Sloane grabbed her and pulled her out of the way. The man and woman smiled at each other beneath their masks, happy and unapologetic in their enjoyment. She envied them.

Sloane continued to hold her even as they passed. Morgana faced him and tilted her head to him. He gazed down at her with his smoky grey eyes.

Why could she not be the courtesan for one night? What harm would it do? She would be doing nothing with Sloane that he would not do with another after his marriage. It was not so very bad, was it, to want one single night?

The orchestra began a waltz. She lifted her arms to circle his neck. ‘Dance with me, Sloane.’

Sloane gazed down into her face, still lovely even under a mask. He felt like a man suddenly seized by a fit of insanity. He pressed her to him, ignoring for the moment the crowds of people around them.

She led him on to the dance floor, and he took her into his arms again. Here in the Argyle Rooms there was no need to maintain the decorum of Almack’s. He held her flush against him, and they moved to the music as one, spinning and turning. His senses filled with her. He reached inside the gold domino that matched her eyes, and she reached inside his. The folds of their garments hid the play of their hands on each other, the intimacy of their bodies.

How had he ever considered being with any other woman but Morgana? No other possessed the same wild, untamed nature as he himself possessed, that sense of searching for something just beyond reach. She was what he searched for, and she was in his arms now. He was not about to release her.

At the end of the dance, he forgot the crowd, leaning down to taste her lips, lips she generously offered him. She tasted, not like the forbidden fruit a rake might grab for his own, but like a homecoming.

The sounds around him faded as he deepened the kiss. She entwined her fingers in his hair, and he gave himself to the moment. But there was a shout and a scuffle not far from where they stood. Sloane reluctantly released Morgana and pushed her behind him. Through the crowd he saw Elliot, of all people, swinging punches at a burly gentleman who tumbled on to the floor. Lucy looked on in alarm as the man rose and charged at Elliot. Sloane dived into the fray, Morgana at his heels. He grabbed the man by the collar of his coat and used the man’s own momentum to send him crashing into the crowd.

He caught Elliot by the front of his domino. ‘Get Lucy,’ he yelled to Morgana. ‘Find the others and be out of here.’

‘He put his hands on her!’ Elliot cried as Sloane dragged him to the door.

‘What the devil did you expect?’ Sloane muttered.

An alarmed Robert Duprey caught up to them, with Mary dragging a protesting Katy.

‘Do we have to leave now?’ Katy cried, looking back at two disappointed gentlemen. Rose hurriedly took a card from a grey-haired gentleman and followed them. Madame Bisou and Miss Moore pushed through the crowd.

When they were all outside the door, Sloane removed his mask. ‘It is time to leave,’ he said.

They could hear angry shouts from inside the ballroom. ‘I’m going after her!’ a man shouted.

‘Leave now!’ ordered Sloane. He seized Morgana’s arm and led them to the street. Elliot and Duprey quickly helped the other women into the waiting hackneys. Sloane closed the door of one, saying, ‘Miss Hart will come with me.’

The burly gentleman, two of his friends trying to hold him back, ran into the street as the cabs pulled away. He spied Sloane. ‘You interfering—’ He barrelled straight for him.

Sloane pushed Morgana out of the way and swung his fist hard, hitting the man in the stomach. The punch barely slowed the man. He knocked Sloane to the ground and fell on top of him. The man had his fingers around Sloane’s throat before Sloane could get his own grip on the fellow.

Just as he was about to knee the fellow hard in the groin, a flurry of gold silk covered them and the man cried out in pain. Morgana’s fingers gouged at the man’s eyes. He released Sloane and turned on her, but Sloane knocked him off and sent him rolling into the side of the building.

Morgana scrambled to her feet.

‘Hurry!’ Sloane urged as he led her to his carriage.

The coachman jumped on to his perch. ‘Be off,’ Sloane shouted, nearly tossing Morgana inside. When he fell in after her, the carriage was already moving.

She laughed, pulling off her mask. ‘You are a prime scrapper, Morgana,’ Sloane said as he brought his mouth to hers.

He untied the ribbons of her domino and removed the pins from her hair, which was already half-tumbling around her shoulders. He let his fingers slip through the silky dark locks.

She smiled at him. ‘Make love to me, Sloane. Please. Just this once?’

He looked into her eyes, but did not answer.

She grabbed at the front of his domino and pulled him closer to her. ‘I want to be with you,’ she insisted. ‘Just once. Please. Just this once.’

He had no intention of being satisfied with just once, but he need not tell her that. She’d discover soon enough. He captured her lips once more and let his actions speak for him.

Chapter Sixteen

Mrs Rice hurried to the door of theArgyle Rooms as the burly man staggered in from the street. ‘Who was that?’ she demanded.

‘Cyprian Sloane,’ the man’s friend said. ‘But you do not wish an altercation with him. He’s a dangerous man.’

‘Heard he’s gone respectable,’ another man said.

Mrs Rice cared nothing about that. ‘What does he have to do with those girls?’

‘The Sirens?’ the same man asked. ‘I would not wish to find out.’

Cyprian Sloane, Mrs Rice thought. Finally a clue as to who had stolen her girls. She’d send Trigg to discover his location. Signalling for her cloak, she hurried out of the building and made her way back to her glove shop, smiling at this lucky break. She’d get her girls back now, for certain.

And she’d make certain they would be punished for daring to leave.

When the coach stopped in front of Sloane’s house, Morgana feared he would send her home. She did not want to leave his arms, not even for an instant.

‘Come in with me,’ he said.

She smiled in delight. He wrapped her domino around her and led her to the door.

‘I told the servants not to stay up for me.’ Sloane fumbled for the door key.

He opened the door and brought her inside, gathering her into his arms for a long, breathtaking kiss. She’d shed her gloves in the carriage and now pressed her bare palms to his cheeks, gazing into his eyes in the dim light of the candles left burning in the hall.

‘Are you certain about this, Morgana? I will take you home at once if you are not.’ His voice rasped with need, but also with restraint.

She looked directly into his eyes. ‘I am entirely certain, Sloane. I want this more than anything I have ever desired.’

His smile flashed white in the near darkness, but it just as quickly disappeared again into a frown. ‘You could conceive a child.’

Secretly she thought that would be the most marvellous thing in the world. To have Sloane’s child growing inside her. To feel his baby suckling at her breast. ‘It is unlikely,’ she said instead. ‘Besides, Madame Bisou taught us how to prevent it.’

But she would take no steps to avoid pregnancy. She might even pray for it to happen.

He stared at her a long time, then whisked her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, as if she were some petite miss weighing no more than half a dozen stone. She nestled her face against his neck and tasted the skin, now rough with a growth of beard. He carried her into his bedchamber and kicked the door shut behind him. A lamp burned in the room, and a small fire in the fireplace warded off the chill of the night. He marched directly to the bed and placed her upon it. As she flung her domino on to the floor, he tore his off and shrugged out of his coat. She kneeled on the bed and reached up to unbutton his waistcoat. He went very still as she did so. She wanted nothing more than to laugh with joy.

Amazing herself with her boldness, yet proud at the same time, she pulled his shirt from where it was tucked into his breeches and reached underneath it to pull it over his head. His bare chest glistened in the lamplight, and Morgana paused, her breath momentarily forced from her lungs at the definition of his muscles, the peppering of dark hair on his chest. Just when she thought her eyes could take in no more, he unbuttoned and removed his breeches and drawers, and for the first time in her life her eyes feasted upon the body of a naked man.

What a glorious, exciting sight. She let her gaze drop to that most private male part of him and her pulse raced so fast she thought she would explode. He was large and erect, exactly the way the courtesan instructors intimated would bring delight. She lifted her eyes to his, her mouth open.

His gaze burned down on her. ‘Your turn,’ he said, climbing on to the bed and reaching around her to the buttons on the back of her dress. He handled the unfastening of her dress with surprisingly gentle hands, but having him so close and so bare was enough to drive her into a frenzy she did not understand. Once her buttons were free, he lifted the dress over her head and tossed it aside. She felt her breasts suddenly straining against her corset. ‘Turn around,’ he said and he untied her laces quickly so she was soon free of its constraint. Nothing was left between them except her shift. His hands were hot against her skin as he reached under the thin fabric and slid it off, inch by tantalising inch.

She gasped as he threw her shift aside and it fluttered to the floor. It was his turn for his eyes to feast upon her, and she felt his gaze as acutely as she’d just felt his hands.

‘Oh, Sloane,’ she breathed, her voice as thin as air. She trembled in need for him, a need she did not entirely understand, but one she was both frightened of and eager to slake.

He gently eased her down on the bed, kneeling over her. His fingers skimmed her flesh, causing her to feel she might come apart when he touched her breasts ever so lightly.

His eyes were reverent when he cupped her face and stared at her. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured.

She rose up and placed her lips on his, winding her arms around his neck and burying her fingers in his thick, dark hair. Finally she felt his naked chest press against her, but still the need was not satisfied. Her heart pounded faster.

Nothing had ever felt as right as this. She’d never felt before as if she were in the right place at the right time and belonged there. Tears stung her eyes. How could finally feeling she was no longer alone make her realise the ache of loneliness she’d lived with her whole life? And would return to again?

While his lips continued to feast on hers, his hand cupped her breast and squeezed, sending a shaft of pleasure through her. She writhed beneath him and his male organ pressed against her, increasing the thrill. This was lovely, but not enough. She wanted more of him. She wanted all of him.

He broke off the kiss and stared down at her again, from her face to her breasts to her abdomen to the thatch of hair between her legs. He filled his hands with her breasts, rubbing her nipples against his palms. A strangled cry escaped her lips. His hands travelled lower and lower, until one hand slipped between her legs. Common sense told her to clamp them closed, but other senses had taken over. She opened herself to him.

‘I need to touch you,’ he whispered. ‘It will lessen the pain for you.’

‘You will not hurt me, Sloane.’ She gasped as he fingered the most private part of her, feeling joyous that it was Sloane’s fingers entering her, feeling eager for his body to join hers.

The sensations became more and more intense, stronger than she could have ever conceived. ‘Sloane!’ she cried.

‘Am I hurting you?’ He withdrew his hand, but she grabbed it, placing it back to where she ached with a new sort of need.

‘No,’ he said, rising over her instead.

Her legs parted and she felt him pressing against her, felt him enter her and begin to fill her. ‘Morgana,’ he rasped as he thrust into her.

The pain was sharp, but she rode it out without uttering a sound. She did not want anything to make him stop, not now, when she was so close to… to something she did not yet understand. ‘Please, do not stop, Sloane,’ she murmured.

‘Morgana,’ he repeated.

Slowly he moved inside her, in and out. It felt like heaven, like nothing she would have imagined. She rejoiced that Sloane created these sensations in her. She would never desire another man to do so. Only Sloane, even if for only this one night.

Her body responded to him, moving with him, the rhythm as intoxicating as the sensations it created. Inside, her need increased. She’d not known it was possible to desire something with such intensity and she still did not know what it was she desired.

His thrusts increased, harder and faster, and she matched him stroke for stroke. Harder. Faster as both the need and the pleasure grew.

Suddenly she felt as if she’d come apart in shining sparks, as bright and jubilant as the illuminations at Vauxhall. She cried out in joy and clung to him and he convulsed inside her, his gasps filling her ears. She held on to him tighter while wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Finally they collapsed in one heap against the bed linens. He was heavy upon her, but it felt glorious. He began to kiss her again. Her forehead, her temple, her nose, lips, neck. He rolled off of her, but continued to hold her in his arms.

Morgana seemed to have liquid where her bones ought to be, and he tasted of her with such relish as to have her suspect she’d perhaps turned to syrup. He, in contrast, was as firm to the touch as if he’d been sculpted, except there was nothing of cold stone about him. His skin was warm and smooth with a sheen of perspiration that bespoke of the energy of their lovemaking.

He was planting light kisses on the ticklish skin of her stomach. She played with his hair.

‘Can it happen again?’ she asked, her voice coming out light and breathy.

He peered at her, dark sultry eyes gazing from between her naked breasts. His slow grin grew, and suddenly she provided her own answer to the question. Her body told her it would happen again.

He answered her. ‘I am counting on it.’

A gasp escaped her lips and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. He rose above her, the wicked smile still on his face, ‘Do you want me, Morgana?’

‘You know I want you, Sloane.’ She tried to return the smile, but he mounted her once more and gently pushed inside her. Their initial joining had been at an eager pace, but this time he moved with a languorous leisure.

‘Are you teasing me, Sloane?’ she whispered when his ear came near her lips.

He moved back and forth before he answered, grabbing a taste of her ear as he did so. ‘I’m loving you, Morgana.’

If his body created sensations so deep inside her she could not even imagine them, then his words touched something even deeper. She was joined to him. She was not alone.

Tears briefly stung her eyes before she allowed herself to feel the elation of it. His lovemaking was a glorious gift she would never, ever forget.

Morgana let herself be carried along thrill by repeated thrill. This culmination was different than the first, reached in unison with him, a quieter, stronger pleasure that rolled through her, making her unsure where she ended and he began.

He eased himself off of her and nestled her against him.

‘Can it happen again?’ she murmured.

She felt his voice rumble in his chest. ‘Not without making you sore. Sleep now, Morgana.’

She was determined to stay awake and savour every second of being with him. To hear the rhythm of his breathing. To feel his warm skin against her cheek. To inhale his scent, a mix of manliness and spice.

But soon enough she did what he commanded. She fell deeply into a satisfying, restful sleep.

Sloane barely heard the scratching at his door. He opened one eye. Morning had come much too soon but, now reluctantly awake, the soft, sensual woman nestled against him roused his senses as well.

The scratching continued.

Had Elliot not seen fit to train these servants when to give their employer privacy? Sloane gazed at Morgana so peacefully asleep and carefully eased away from her. She sighed and he froze, fearing he’d awoken her, but she rolled to her other side and curled up, looking like an innocent child.

He slipped out of bed and searched for something to wrap around himself. He grabbed his shirt, tying it on his hips like a loincloth as he padded to the door in his bare feet. He opened the door a crack and peeked at who dared interrupt him at this time.

‘Elliot!’ He almost forgot to whisper. The young man was fully dressed and looking very upset. Sloane stepped out into the hall, closing the bedchamber door behind him.

‘What the devil are you doing, Elliot?’ he said. Elliot held a paper in his hand and a worried frown on his face. ‘I beg your pardon, Sloane, but there is an urgent message for you.’

‘An urgent message?’ Sloane reached for the paper. ‘From whom?’

‘Your nephew, sir. The man who delivered the missive was instructed to see that it was placed in your hands immediately.’

Sloane broke the seal with his thumb.

The letter read,

Dear Uncle,

It is imperative you come immediately. I have learned that Grandfather and my father are planning to ruin your marriage plans to Lady Hannah by spreading a rumour of an affair between you and Miss Hart. They are composing an item for the newspapers at this very moment. Needless to say I am appalled at their behaviour. Come quickly. They will not listen to me.