The fop had more sense than Ilya would have given him credit for when he delivered Seraphina to him at the end of the dance. The message was out. Men were coming to understand. She was his.
“I have a couple more.” Seraphina grinned and showed him her dance card.
“I said no dancing.” Ilya growled as he slipped the card off her wrist, tore it up, held it high for a few moments making sure any who thought they had a dance with her might see and then flicked the torn pieces into the crowd. “Not anymore.”
“I think you go too far.” She scowled. Looking oh so beautiful with her towering wig and sumptuous breasts.
“We are at a masked ball. They don’t know who we are for certain under the masks.”
“Of course, they do.” She huffed as he guided her toward the back of the room where large doors led deep into the house.
“It doesn’t matter. The practice is not to care who is under the mask, that’s why these balls are so much fun!” He guided them out of the throng. At the open door down the back he gave her directions. “Go down the corridor, take the third passage to the left and then the first to the right. You need to follow it to the end of the house. At the end of that hall you’ll see a bench under the window, walk all the way to it then turn into the room on the left and wait for me.”
“You have been meandering around their whole house,” she accused.
Ilya held her gaze, his hand proprietary on the small of her back. “I’d walk across the Russian Steppes to find a suitable place to take you.”
The pulse at her neck was clear to see. Her hands fidgeted.
“Perhaps I should freshen up.” She looked over in the direction of the powder rooms.
“Totally unnecessary,” he murmured. “Now, don’t keep us waiting.”
“You are getting far to bossy,” she demurred. “I hope this isn’t going to get worse.” Then the delectable woman turned on her heel and slipped out the door.
“Most definitely,” he whispered in Russian.
Covetous propriety was not his usual position, but neither were the feelings she stirred in him. The thing about being a rake most of his life was that, unlike men who had lived less, he knew exactly how different his feelings were for Seraphina. And although still fledgling thoughts and emotions, he understood what they were. Love. One look and he’d known it. Every meeting since they met simply acted to grow and confirm it.
Ilya watched her glide down the corridor, then turned back to the room and whisked a glass of scotch from a passing server who wore a hat sporting three roasted quail.
“All rather more public than I’d have expected.” Marsden sidled up alongside him.
“You don’t seem to mind.” Ilya had ascertained their relationship was not amorous nor the overly protective sort between sibling friendships. Marsden was her closest friend, a confidant and one who watched out for her but didn’t limit her.
“I mind if she’s hurt. Not that she lives her life as she wishes.”
“She will not be harmed in my care.”
“It would be a shame to shoot a fellow motoring enthusiast, but I will if I have to.”
Ilya nodded. “In Russia, it is more along the lines of getting dragged behind a horse with my genitals stuffed in my mouth. A bullet is a hugely more civilized threat.”
“Remind me not to play in your neck of the woods.” Marsden lifted his drink for a toast. “Make her happy.”
Ilya clicked his glass with Marsden’s. “I have been invited to meet with the owner of Dennis Brothers Limited, down in Guildford. He wants to show me the car he has in production due for release next year.”
“Two brothers, known for their bicycles. I heard they’re looking for partners to expand. Rumor has it that their interests are not fast cars or what you’re into, but rather something more practical.”
Ilya refrained from pointing out that Marsden didn’t know him as well as he thought. Yes, he loved to drive the latest speed car, they’d spent the day talking about the motorcar and the speeds different manufacturers were getting. The benefits and drawbacks of the different options of steam, electricity, and gas. But there was more to him than show and frivolity. And there was more to motoring too. Things that didn’t excite the general enthusiast. Those things interested Ilya a great deal.
Ilya downed his drink and placed it on a passing tray.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
Marsden raised his glass. “I own a horse as well,” he added as Ilya turned and navigated the crowd to the corridor down the back.
Ilya stopped and talked with the host before slipping away on the pretense of freshening up.
A few moments later, Ilya opened the door to the small room at the back of the house. “I was waylaid.” He locked the door behind him as Seph stood from the small sofa. It was strategically placed in front of a floor to ceiling, gold framed mirror that took up a good part of the whole wall. Ilya shrugged out of his coat, placing it on a chair beside the door.
“Remove your mask,” he asked.
“I’d feel more comfortable with it on.”
“All the more reason to remove it.” He was going to keep his on a little while longer, play the wolf to make her brave.
Her hands reached up and removed the mask. This woman made him weak at the knees and think about things he’d laughed at as foolish for more years than he could remember. Children, monogamy, settling down to build a career, a life. Any of those things had made him disdainful until he’d met her. One look and it was as if the very essence, the most fundamental parts of him were rearranged. Love.
What did he know about love? He’d thought himself immune. Yet he’d known from the moment the sound of her voice in the next room made his pulse race, she was not going to be some ordinary woman.
Ilya walked over and stood close enough to feel her heat.
“Finally, alone,” he murmured, running the backs of his fingers across her cheek.
Her hands lifted to his chest and tentatively smoothed over his shape, feeling him out. Exploring what he felt like and, in the process, setting the skin under his shirt alight.
He bent down and kissed her, a soft promise of pleasure as his tongue glided over her lips, pressed the crease open and slipped into her warmth. Her arms entwined around him drawing him closer. He took his time. Tasted and teased. Ran his fingers under her bodice and flicked her nipples. Coaxed and awoke her body ready for what would come next.
“Are you wearing anything under your dress?” Ilya whispered against her lips.
“No,” she grinned.
He loved her just a little bit more in that moment. He wanted her naked under a court dress the next time he was in the Russian court, have her drive him crazy with that knowledge as she mingled with the guests.
“I am even more unhappy that you danced with that fop,” he rumbled.
She laughed. “Half the women in the room are most likely dressed the same.”
“I don’t care. I only care about you,” he growled.
She reached up and drew him down. Her eyes already growing dark with desire. She nibbled on his lips, small teasing touches, a swipe of her small sweet tongue. He was in heaven. His blood thickening and the need building. But this seduction wasn’t a race to the finish. He intended to draw this out between them. Change forever what she thought about pleasure between a man and a woman.