Being Wicked. Lacy Danes
glanced sideways at the fair-haired man standing not two feet from her. He had turned at the yell from Kipberval and now faced her fully.
Eyes, so blue and intense, stared at her. The same blue that had sparked with laughter as they had discussed their plights in life and made up stories to run off and become gypsies together. She sucked in a startled breath as her heart hammered in her chest. Winston.
She beamed up at him. Her lips parted to speak his name with excitement.
His jaw angrily set and his eyes narrowed.
Anger? Chills raced her arms and she stepped backward, cowering away from his expression. His eyes hardened. She couldn’t bear to look.
She tore her gaze from him and glanced around the room. Emma laughed out and her gaze jumped to Emma. Indeed, Emma. Go to her…. Be the woman Oscar taught you to be. Winston is your past, and remember he, too, is not what you remember. He is a man, a man with as intense, carnal appetites as every man you have known.
She stepped forward and onto the dance floor, mind spinning as her heart hammered in her chest. What was Winston doing here? And why was he angry with her?
The same arched nose and smile from childhood repeated in her mind and slowly faded to the wrinkles that now resided about his eyes and his mouth. Happy lines, which showed his age and indicated a happy life, most likely full of joy.
Though he was not smiling at her now. Anger and disappointment shone back at her. Her heart sank. Yes, it was disappointment. How dare he be disappointed in her? He was here, too. He stood in the middle of one of Emma’s events. What does he seek here? Why is he here? her mind swung around, Why is he here?
Grace stepped closer to Emma as Emma swayed, shaking her hips sensuously in what appeared to be an exotic dance the likes Grace had never seen before. Emma was about to help her find out why Winston was here.
Emma lifted her head. Her gaze settled on Grace and she squealed, “Grace!” Then she walked toward her.
Grace’s lips curved up into a smile. “Dear Emma, how are you?”
“I am delighted to see you. We have all missed you.” She threw her arms about Grace’s shoulders and pressed her lips to Grace’s.
The gentle pinch of her soft lips against Grace’s mouth slid through her veins. Grace relaxed and heard Oscar’s words: “That is it, Grace. Tease her. Show me how sensual two women can be, Grace. Show me how much you love me by doing this for me.” The proper Grace trickled from her body as if water poured from her hair, placing sexual Grace firmly into her role.
Grace’s hand rose and grasped the nape of Emma’s neck, pulling her more closely to her. Indeed, she needed to feel the soft curve of breasts against hers to know she did well. Heat spread through her limbs and Grace’s nipples pebbled into puckered peaks. Oh, she forgot how good this felt.
She slid her tongue out and pushed it into Emma’s mouth. Yes, this was what she needed to feel…desire…. to be the sensual woman once again.
She opened her eyes and glanced in Winston’s direction. He stood no more than two feet from her, glaring down at her and Emma. Her body tensed and her gaze darted to Markus.
His smile reassured her, all was well, that she needed this. Just because Oscar was gone, the woman she had become had not died with him. Tonight would prove that.
Winston didn’t say a word but towered over them, his heat mixing with theirs. His smell, the same crisp smell of the sea she always associated with him. Grace sighed deep in her heart. She had not realized how much she had missed him. Winston was home.
What the devil was Lady Wentland doing here? Grace! Every fiber of his being screamed for him to grab her by the arm, drag her from this ballroom, and spank her bottom for the scandalous behavior she exhibited. Indeed, yes, a spank to her bottom. Several quick, sharp slaps with his hand so her bottom was red and his hand stung. Or with a birch—even better. He smiled, then frowned.
No, Winston, don’t even think it!
She was a true English lady, yet her actions screamed this act had happened for years. He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat and glared at them. Her lips pressed and nipped at Emma’s.
Emma!
Lady Grace stood in the middle of the ballroom, kissing the most expensive courtesan in London!
Blood rushed through his ears, blocking all rational thought, and his fingers fisted. Grace’s hands slid down Emma’s back to her waist and fluttered there.
He held in a moan at the way she moved. So sensual, so graceful, so feminine. His Grace had grown into a sensual woman. No! What the hell was he thinking? Images of her as the innocent Grace, her brother, and Winston talking about every subject they could think of, including the act, came to him. Her brother, his best friend, would lock Grace in the attic if he knew she was here. Winston cringed—if her brother knew he was here watching her, Winston would be challenged to a duel at dawn. Blast and damn. This was not what he had expected when he agreed to stay in this house.
Grace’s fingers pinched Emma’s nipple.
His cock grew noticeably heavy. With teeth clenched tight, he glanced around the room. Damn it. Not the reaction he was hoping for as he watched her flirt and tease.
His gaze continued to assess the room. He needed to focus on anything but watching her tease. How many of the men in this room watched her? How many knew who she was? Most—if not all—of the men in the room watched them. Ice slid through his veins and his short nails dug into his palms as a wave of possession captured his mind and body.
He needed to get her from here, and then erase this image of her from his mind forever. Quite so…she was Lady Wentland. His Grace! The pure lady she was raised to be, and as soon as he removed her from this—this event—he would recapture that image of her. Her innocent ladylike teasing as a fresh debut—that was the image he wanted to retain in his mind.
He stepped forward and reached out toward her left hand, which gripped Emma’s hip. What the hell are you doing? His hand shook, but he couldn’t stop it. His finger traced the line of Grace’s middle and index finger. Bubbles of sensation tingled up the tip of his finger and constricted his lungs.
Grace moaned and her passion-filled eyes slit slightly open, catching him standing only inches from Emma’s back. Her hand slid away from his touch and down to the top of Emma’s thigh. Emma rocked her body toward Grace, pinning her hand between their bodies.
A lump lodged in Winston’s throat and he clenched his teeth tighter. His finger traced Grace’s other hand and pulled her finger from Emma’s body. The heat of them wet the tips of his fingers as the soft and slender length of Grace’s finger rubbed, circling his knuckles, then retreated to grip Emma once again.
He slowly lowered his hand. She kissed this woman and teased him. He should walk away. He should drag her from this room and out into the hallway and talk some sense into her. She…she should not be here. His brow knit tight. She was utterly captivating. If he had not known her from childhood, Grace’s actions this night fit precisely what he looked for in this house.
Damn it all!
He wanted her in his bed. In all his years in India, he never dreamed about the act of sin with Grace. Long talks with Grace, yes. Teasing her…taunting her…futtering her until she was spent and lifeless—that was a thought he had restricted to the parlors of the Indian dens, where they knew his tastes, because he had discovered them there. He never considered a blooded high-born English lady would possess the skills he wished to nurture. It was Grace.
He should turn right now and walk away. He could not touch her. India represented a lifetime of experience for him. Maybe all this time had also ripened his friends, who had developed a taste for the act that was different as well.
Emma slid her hands up to Grace’s face. Her fingers slid into her hair, and in one move, her other hand slid back and lightly slapped her.
Winston’s