The Countess Conspiracy

“If things go as planned”—and planned by whom, Violet deliberately did not say—“I might not see you, not for a long while.”

“Surely that’s overly dramatic. At most they’ll ask me to enter a plea; the trial itself will come somewhat later, and in the meantime…”

“Telling me that we have one night or three makes no difference. It’s still not enough. Not enough for me.” She took a deep breath. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable in the lecture hall when she was about to change the world. “Sebastian, I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

He’d asked her to let him shoulder the blame in the name of their friendship, in the name of everything that lay between them. She reached up to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. He was tall, his flesh warm under her palms, and he bent to her.

He’d never asked her for a kiss. He’d never asked to take her to bed. The only thing he’d ever requested of her was that she let him keep her safe. She wouldn’t tell him that she loved him—not when she was on the verge of denying him the one thing he’d begged of her.

“Tomorrow—” he began. She set her fingers on his lips.

“No talk of tomorrow. I want tonight.”

He let out a heated breath and pulled her to him. “God, Violet. I should say no. I should—”

“You should take me to bed.”

He didn’t, though. He took hold of her elbows and pulled her to him. His lips found hers and they kissed in the dark. She was hungry, and yet nothing satisfied her. He tasted absurdly of coffee and cream: rich, bitter, sweetened with a generous helping of sugar. Like coffee, his kiss didn’t steal her senses. It enlivened them, made her aware of the crackle of little twigs under their feet, the cool night breeze that tickled her neck.

She was all too aware of his hands, sliding slowly down her spine, cupping her bu**ocks and pressing her to him. Through her gown—thank God she’d changed to something informal, something that needed no crinoline—his hips found hers.

He was hard with want, and the thought of his taking her…

Just a hint of fear, quickly banished. Sebastian had never been one to take—just to give and give and give. Well, there was one thing she wouldn’t let him give her.

She’d take his sweet, tender kisses, his lips enfolding hers over and over. She’d take the brush of his hands against her body, skin on fabric, warming her to the core. But she would never let him give her safety, not at the expense of her own heart.

“Violet, love,” he whispered to her. “My most wonderful Violet.”

“Sebastian.”

No, he wouldn’t be the only one to give. She pulled away—but only to take his hand and lead him to his home. They crept through it like criminals, sneaking through his study door and then up the servants’ staircase, avoiding the lights of the library where their friends were no doubt still awake and arguing. They slipped into his bedchamber, hand in hand; when he’d swung the door shut, he kissed her again.

“Stop me,” he said. “Stop me any time you wish—”

“I don’t.”

He undid her gown with a few twists of her buttons, sliding the cloth past her shoulders, down her body to land on the floor. Then he kissed her again. But this time, it wasn’t just his mouth on hers, his hands sliding down the fabric of her gown. This time, his hands made their way up her chest, leaving trails of electricity. Her corset laced in front; his fingers were deft against her skin, loosening, undoing, until that garment also fell away.

Then only her shift lay between his hands and her br**sts. His fingers rose, cupping her bosom, and twisting cleverly, doing something that sent a spark of pure lust through her. He did it again and again, and then, when she was just coming to expect that rough friction, he leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth through the fabric.

Her knees buckled. “Sebastian,” she whispered, grabbing hold of him. “Oh, God. Sebastian. You haven’t taken off your clothing.”

“Well,” he whispered back, “that’s your task, isn’t it?”

She tried. Oh, she tried. But his trousers stymied her in the darkness. Her fingers scarcely had a chance to grip before he was removing her petticoat. Cool air touched her legs—momentarily—and then, before she could manage to undo even the first button, he pulled away.

“I think you’re cheating.”

He set his hands on her ankles and looked up at her. His grin was cocky and untamed. “I know I am,” he told her, and he slid his hands up. Up, under her shift, up until he encountered the linen of her drawers.

Up further still, past her knees, her thighs, sliding until he found the waistband of her drawers.

Somehow, he managed to undo the tie with one hand. In the dark. Under her shift. Thank God for rakes.

“Shall I cheat some more?” he asked.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned forward and kissed her on her shift over her navel. And then—because he’d hiked the fabric to her waist and was sliding her drawers down, his mouth brushed her skin below, sliding down, down.

“Oh, please,” Violet gasped. “Cheat desperately.”

He slid his tongue between her thighs, and this time, her knees really did give way. He caught her gently, laid her on the bed, and then bent over her. God, that felt good—so good—to be able to relax into the magic of his touch and let the world slide away.

To fear nothing. He swept away all her cares, drowning them in sweet pleasures. In the pressure of his mouth on the center of her pleasure, the strength of his fingers, sliding up her body. She was close—so close to that moment—

He lifted his head.

“Oh, God, Sebastian. Don’t stop.”

“But I won,” he announced.

“You…won?” Her whole body echoed with want, so close to completion that she almost vibrated with need.

“Indeed.” He held up her shift, which he’d untangled from her arms. “I undressed you first.”

She might have argued—if she’d had another night with him, she probably would have. But she had only tonight.

She raised herself up on one elbow. “What do you win? Something wicked?”

“Something wonderful,” he said solemnly.

Yes. She could give him that. Something perfect. Something for tonight, something to remember her by. He took off his coat, his waistcoat. He undid his belt, winking at her as he did. He slid his trousers and smallclothes down, revealing the crumpled tails of his shirt and strong thighs dusted in dark hair, thick-muscled calves. Her mouth went dry.