Lady Mistaken (Le Débauché Club) Read online

  And ruin the lad’s night? Ruin Simon’s night too, for that matter? He thought not. “What if he’s in the middle of…something?”

  “You know where he is!” she accused. “Don’t you?”

  Simon shrugged.

  “Tell me. Tell me, right now! Where is my brother?” she demanded.

  Most likely having the time of his life in Simon’s own bed. “The cellar,” he lied, looking as contrite as he was able.

  “The cellar?” she echoed, a hand fluttering to her décolletage, drawing Simon’s eye with the movement. “What in the world is he doing there?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” He lifted one eyebrow in amusement.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Take me to your cellar.”

  “I don’t know if you’d like it in there. A bit damp, really.” He bit back a grin. She really would be too easy to capture. And when he had her…

  “Lord Simon!” She ground her teeth.

  “Yes, Miss Garwood?” he replied pleasantly.

  “Take me to your cellar.”

  “Are you certain you want to do that?”

  She pursed her pretty lips and inhaled sharply. “You are the most vexing man, do you know that?”

  Simon tilted his head to one side and said, “I’m just so relieved to hear you think I’m a man. You know, considering your definition and…”

  “Lord Simon!”

  “Yes, Miss Garwood?”

  “Your cellar. Now!”

  Simon feigned a beleaguered sigh. In truth, however, he was having the most enjoyable time, watching her face turn a bit red and her lips push together, and it was only going to get better from here. “I am your humble servant.”

  * * *

  Grace somehow managed not to snort, but doing so wouldn’t be ladylike. So she refrained. Barely. How that insufferable man could refer to himself as humble, even in jest, was quite laughable.

  Humble he was not. Arrogant, yes. Wicked, certainly. Handsome, most unfortunately. But humble? Not a chance in the world.

  Lord Simon’s silvery eyes twinkled with something akin to mischief. Most likely his usual expression. She did wish the look didn’t make her belly flip. He gestured to Grace’s hand. “You’ll probably want to wear that mask, Miss Garwood. I’d hate for anyone to recognize you in there.”

  Good gracious! Grace would die on the spot if anyone recognized her at this house party for degenerates. She slid her brother’s stolen mask back over her face and proudly thrust her chin out before her. “Your cellar, Lord Simon.”

  He nodded like a courteous gentleman might. “Whatever the lady desires.” A rakish smile lit his lips as he offered her his arm.

  She slid her hand to the crook of his arm, against her better judgment. Tingles raced across her skin at the contact.

  Lord Simon’s warm hand settled over hers, securing Grace to his side. “So how are you finding the district, Miss Garwood?” he asked conversationally as they walked back into the ballroom, as though they were on stroll through Hyde Park and not crossing over the threshold where writhing bodies stretched the length of the floor.

  “I—I beg your pardon?” Grace pulled her gaze from the naked revelers to Lord Simon as he directed her towards a side doorway not far away. Was he truly trying to engage her in conversation with this…Well, with all of this around them?

  “Lord Garwood mentioned his family was new to the district. And I haven’t seen you before now.”

  “We are new to Fairview this last fortnight,” she said, not wanting to divulge anything of substance to the man whose gaze made her knees a bit weak. That seemed the worst sort of idea.

  Besides, it was none of his concern that with her uncle’s passing, she’d been ripped from the only home and friends she’d ever known in Devon. It was none of his concern that Aaron’s new barony came complete with a manor, that while larger than they were accustomed to, included a leaky roof, a set of decrepit stables, and a staff that hadn’t been paid wages in over a month. And it was certainly none of his concern that Grace was completely inadequate in trying to run such a large household without any assistance from her younger, prone-to-daydreaming brother or their sickly mother.

  No, no matter how badly she needed a friend, someone to commiserate with, Lord Simon, with his rakish smile, could not be her confidant. In fact, he was probably the last person in all of Essex she should entrust with her secrets. There was something about him. Something about the wicked twinkle in his silver eyes. Something about the set of his jaw that looked as though it could have been chiseled from marble. Something about the way he held himself, arrogant yet charming at the same time.

  Lord Simon was dangerous, most especially to her.

  The memory of him holding her against his chest, the memory of his hand under her bodice, touching her breast…Grace sucked in a breath. It was better not to think about any of that. It was best to simply retrieve Aaron from this den of hedonism, return to Fairview as quickly as possible, and to never give Lord Simon Berridge a second thought. Because a second or even third thought could land her in unprecedented trouble. And that Grace did not need.

  “Are you all right?” Lord Simon asked, towing her closer to him as they traversed a darkened corridor.

  “I’ll be better when I’m home,” she replied, wishing she knew where she was. Drat it all, she should have been paying attention to their navigation and less to her wandering thoughts about Lord Simon’s hand on down her bodice.

  “Soon enough,” he said, smoothly. “This way.”

  They made another turn and strode right inside the kitchens. Heat seemed to pulse from the cookstove and the aroma of freshly baked biscuits hung heavy in the air. Grace’s stomach grumbled.

  Unfortunately, Lord Simon heard the sound. He drew Grace to a stop and said, “Hungry, Miss Garwood?”

  Hungry? She was starving after picking over what passed for food at Fairview, not that she wanted to admit as much to him. “I’ve always been taught to be wary of Greeks bearing gifts.”

  Lord Simon’s silver eyes twinkled once again. “I’m not Greek, and I’d hardly call a few biscuits gifts.” Then he laughed. “However, if you see them as such you must be the easiest girl to please in all the world.” He slid his arm from her hold, and turned back towards the cook’s workspace. “Ah, perfect,” he said as he pocketed a corkscrew, and then retrieved a platter of the most delicious looking biscuits Grace had seen in a fortnight.

  Her mouth watered.

  With a crooked grin, Lord Simon pushed the platter towards Grace. “Please.”

  She shook her head. She really shouldn’t.

  He chuckled. “They’re not Trojan biscuits, Miss Garwood. They’re complete safe.” And then he popped one into his mouth, and he moaned with pleasure.

  Grace was an idiot. What would it hurt to partake of his biscuits? It wasn’t as though indulging in one would make her beholden to him, make her become one of his hedonists. And they smelled so utterly delicious. She snatched a biscuit from the platter – good gracious, it was still warm and perfectly crumbly – and tore it in two. She managed to keep from closing her eyes as she bit into the biscuit. Though it was heavenly, the sweetness nearly melted on her tongue. How long had it been since she’d tasted anything so tasty? Grace popped the other half into her mouth.

  Too late, she realized Lord Simon’s gaze was focused on her, and Grace dabbed at the corners of her mouth. Why was he looking at her like that? Had she left crumbs everywhere? Then he grinned once more, and she felt it all the way to her toes. He was dangerous. His gaze could warm her. His touch could singe her. His smile could capture her heart; but he was the exact wrong sort to lose her heart to, of that she was certain.

  “Come along, Miss Garwood. You wanted to see my brother’s cellar, did you not?”

  Aaron. “Yes, of course.” She needed to retrieve her brother and return him home. And she needed to blister his ears the entire way back to Fairview. How could Aaron have
disobeyed her and entered this den of debauchery after she’d forbade it?

  With the platter of biscuits in his hands, Lord Simon started for a door towards the back of the kitchen. “Bringing you nourishment, Garwood!” he called loudly as he descended the steps. “And I do hope you’re clothed. Your sister has come to fetch you.”

  Grace’s stomach plummeted as she followed Lord Simon down the stone steps into darkness. Oh, she hoped Aaron was clothed, and she hope that whoever was with her little brother would have the decency not to show her face until after Grace was gone. “Aaron!” she called.

  Lord Simon stopped at the bottom of the steps and gestured towards a doorway at the end of the corridor where a flicker of candlelight seemed to bathe the doorframe in a warm glow. “Wine cellar,” he said with a tilt of his head. “Go ahead of me.”

  Grace nodded, steeling herself to see something she’d rather not see. “Aaron, are you in here?” she asked, starting down the dark corridor. She stepped into wine cellar. Light from the tapers danced across the rows upon rows of bottles on one side of the cellar and a row of large casks lining the other. “Aaron?”

  The door closed behind her, and Grace spun on her heel to find Lord Simon popping another biscuit into his mouth. “Any luck?” he said as soon as he swallowed.

  “You closed the door?”

  “Did I?” Lord Simon glanced over his shoulder. “Hmm. It is closed.” He turned around and pulled the handle, but nothing happened.

  Panic seized Grace. She rushed to his side. They couldn’t be…

  “Locked,” Lord Simon said, pushing the platter of biscuits into Grace’s hands. Then he tugged harder on the handle. He pounded his fist on the dark mahogany door. “Garwood, are you out there?”

  They could not be locked in this room! “Aaron!” she cried. “Aaron, open the door!”

  Lord Simon shook his head. “I don’t hear anyone out there.”

  She could not be locked in the wine cellar with the dangerous Lord Simon Berridge! “Aaron!” she bellowed.

  “Good God!” Lord Simon’s hand covered his ear and his gaze shot to Grace, complete shock on his face. “I said there’s no one out there. Are you trying to deafen me?”

  Grace shook her head. “I just—I mean, I can’t be stuck in here with you.”

  “I don’t think you have much of a choice in the matter. “ Then his rakish grin settled on his face. “But not to worry, Grace—”

  The sound of her name on his lips made a tingle race down her spine.

  “—there is a party going on above stairs. Someone is going to require more wine sooner rather than later.”

  That did make sense, and she heaved a slight sigh of relief.

  * * *

  If Simon was a gentleman, he’d feel a niggling bit of guilt over what he’d done, but as he was the furthest thing from honorable, he simply smiled at Grace Garwood, his captive for the evening. She was lovely. The lit tapers cast a warm glow on her face and her innocent blue eyes blinked up at him, sparking something in his heart.

  Well, perhaps he was more of a gentleman than he believed himself to be. No, he wasn’t about to take the key from his jacket, unlock the door and help her escape him. He’d never see her again, if he did that, he was certain about that. But he’d make sure she was a willing participant in their activities the rest of the night. She’d only do what she wanted, what she was comfortable with. So it was up to Simon to convince her she wanted more than she’d have ever dreamed of until now.

  “In fact,” he began, starting across the cellar to the far wall, “I think I could use a bit of wine myself.” He plucked a Madeira from its hold and retrieved the corkscrew he’d pocketed back in the kitchens.

  Grace’s mouth fell open. “You’re just going to drink wine? You’re not going to call for help?”

  “And strain my throat?” Simon shrugged. Besides, as he was exactly where he wanted to be, calling for help was counterintuitive. “No one would hear us anyway, Grace. We’ll just have to wait it out.” He turned the corkscrew clockwise into the madiera’s cork.

  “And drink wine?”

  “We are in a wine cellar, not a dairy farm. What do you suggest we drink?”

  Her mouth closed tightly, her pretty lips drawn in a straight line. Simon was going to enjoy loosening her up a bit. How was one so young, so pretty so uptight? He pulled the cork from the bottle and smiled at the satisfying pop that echoed off the cellar walls.

  “Want something to wash down your biscuits?” He offered the bottle to her.

  She glanced down at the platter in her hands. She did look hungry. “I probably shouldn’t.”

  Simon laughed. “There are so many things one shouldn’t do, but I hardly think sipping some Madeira will do you irreparable harm.”

  Her dark blue eyes flashed back to his, uncertainty in her depths. “Maybe just a sip.”

  Simon handed her the bottle and took the biscuits from her at the same time. Then he pulled the domino from his face and turned back towards the casks that lined a far wall to so she’d be more inclined to imbibe without him watching her. “Fairly certain there are some blankets in here somewhere,” he said as he placed the platter on the closest cask.

  “Blankets?” she echoed.

  Simon nodded, still not facing her as he scanned the cellar. “I don’t intend to stand for however long it takes someone to find us in here, and the floor is far from comfortable.” Ah, there they were, a stack of quilts in a corner behind a large cask. Simon had never understood why Julian often insisted on draping new casks with quilts – something inane about wanting the wine to be well cared for - but as the blankets served his purposes now, Simon vowed never to harass his brother over the practice in the future.

  He retrieved the quilts and returned to Grace, still standing sentry by the cellar door. He tilted his head towards the row of bottles to the left. “Stand over there so I can spread these out.”

  She took a long sip from her bottle and then did as she was bid. Perfect Everything was happening as if by plan.

  Simon shook the first quilt out and then spread it on the ground at his feet. The scent of aged oak drifted upwards, and he spread a second and then third quilt on top of the first. He plopped down on top of the blankets and grinned at Grace. “Not a well-crafted settee, but not bad.”

  The skeptical look in her eyes said she thought otherwise.

  Simon pushed back to his feet and started for the platter of biscuits he’d left on the nearby cask. “Suit yourself. Stand all night if you want.”

  When he turned back towards the door, Grace had moved closer to the blankets, and then she dropped to her knees. What a lovely sight. A sight that could only be made better with his cock in her mouth.

  Simon returned to the blankets and once she’d sat on her bottom, he pushed the platter towards her. “Biscuits?”

  When she popped one into her mouth. He dropped onto the blanket beside her and turned to his side, resting his arm on his now bent knee.

  “How long do you think it will be before someone finds us?”

  They’d never be found. At least not until Simon was ready to unlock the door and step through it. After all, all the wine for the evening’s festivities had already been brought above stairs. “No clue.” He tugged the mask from her face so he could see her better.

  Grace heaved a sigh. “You mustn’t tell anyone. I-I’ll be ruined should anyone find out I was here with you.”

  Simon winked at her as he tossed her mask to the floor and then moved his hand to her knee. “Your secrets are safe with me, Grace.”

  She swallowed, and he watched the erotic movement of the muscles in her throat. He nearly groaned. “I haven’t given you liberty to call me that.”

  His smile widened. At least she hadn’t moved his hand from her person, that was good news, indeed. “Just one more secret between us.” He looked at the wine bottle in beside her and added, “Pass me the Madeira?”

  She nodded quickly and hand
ed the bottle to him. It was nearly half empty. What a very pleasant discovery.

  Simon lifted the bottle to his lips and tilted it back, though his eyes never left hers, and hers never left his. As the sweet wine filled his mouth, he softly caressed her knee and his cock strained against his trousers. Grace’s eyes widened in surprise at his touch, but she didn’t move away from him. Thank God. Though he should probably be thanking the Madeira.

  Simon lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he offered the wine back to her. “More?”

  Grace tipped the bottle back and took a healthy swallow. Simon bit back a smile. She was like a lamb to the slaughter.

  “Better?” he asked, drawing a bit of her skirts northwards in his hand.

  Grace nodded, then rested her head against the door. “This is certainly not how I expected to spend my evening tonight.”

  Simon hadn’t planned on this either, but he wasn’t sorry for his good fortune. It wasn’t everyday a stunning innocent was dropped in his lap, and he intended on enjoying every last minute of the evening. “Oh?” he said softly, leaning his head on the door beside hers. “What were your plans, Grace?” He slid her skirts even further up her legs.

  “To go through Aaron’s ledgers and try to find…”

  He waited for her to continue, but when it became clear she would not, he lifted a hand to the apple of her cheek. “Try to find what, my dear?”

  She turned her head towards him, her dark blue eyes held his gaze. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

  Well, he certainly did now. “About what?”

  A self-deprecating laugh escaped her and she took another drink from the bottle.

  “If you don’t tell me,” he teased, “I’ll have to find another way to entertain myself.” And he lifted her skirts all the way to her knees.

  Grace gasped, her eyes once again on his. “What are you doing?”

  “Or I could entertain both of us.” His hand slid beneath her skirts and he squeezed her thigh. Her flesh trembled beneath his touch. “We’ll have to pass the time somehow.”

  “Lord Simon!” She clamped her hand over his, stilling his progress.