Thunder & Roses Page 25

  Her face lit up. "I'll be ready."

  "Before I start work on the slate quarry, I'd like to visit Penrhyn to see how a large-scale quarry is run." He took his own seat. "If we rode up through central Wales, it would take two or three days each way. Do you think you could ride that far?"

  "As long as the pace isn't too fast," she said. "I would enjoy a spring ride through the uplands."

  "Good. Plan on going a week or so after we return to Aberdare."

  The meal was a lengthy one, for conversation flowed freely. It was so late when they finally finished their coffee that Nicholas wouldn't have been surprised if Clare had excused herself to go to bed. Instead, she looked at him with such innocence that he was immediately suspicious.

  "Are you in the mood for billiards?" she asked. "I've been practicing, and I'd like to play against an opponent."

  He was agreeable, so they adjourned to the billiard room. Clare lifted her cue stick and slid it idly through her fingers. "Shall we play for some kind of stakes?"

  "You must have been practicing in earnest," he said, amused. As he lowered the chandelier that hung over the table, he asked, "What did you have in mind?"

  A gleam came into her eyes. "If I win, you aren't allowed to kiss me anymore."

  "Not acceptable," he said promptly, "unless the opposing stake is that tonight you aren't allowed to say no if I win."

  "Not acceptable," she replied. "Any other suggestions?"

  While he lit the wax candles, he considered alternatives. "We can play strip billiards, with the loser of each game having to remove an item of clothing."

  "Surely that isn't a standard game!"

  "No, but I've played cards based on the same principle, and there's no reason why we can't do it with billiards. The loser is whoever is stripped down to the skin first." He grinned as he raised the chandelier and secured the rope. "Are you game?"

  She thought about it. "All right, though if I get down to my shift, I'll forfeit rather than take it off."

  "Fair enough. We should start with the same number of garments." He mentally counted. "If I take off my coat, I'll be wearing ten items, which should match what you have, unless you're wearing extra petticoats under that charming gown."

  Blushing a little, she did her own mental inventory, then nodded. "Ten it is. Shall we begin?"

  "Ladies first."

  After he set up the balls, Clare bent over for her first stroke. Her levity dropped away and she lined up the shot with flinty concentration.

  A female playing billiards offered a myriad of delights: trim ankles, an irresistibly rounded derriere, an enticing amount of décolletage. And while Nicholas was admiring the view, the little hussy proceeded to pot all six of her blue balls one after another, winning the game before he had a chance to shoot.

  Laughing, he said, "You have been practicing." He pulled off a polished Hessian boot and set it by the wall, then started another game. After potting four of his reds, he missed the fifth when the ball hit a soft spot in a cushion and caromed badly.

  It was Clare's turn again, and once again she sank all six of her balls. After Nicholas pulled off his other boot and set it by the first, he said, "Let me see your cue stick."

  She handed it over and he inspected the tip. "This button is made of leather?" When she nodded, he asked, "May I try a couple of shots with it?"

  After she granted permission, he experimented with the cue, with startling results. When he returned the stick, he said, "Clarissima, you may have just revolutionized the ancient art of billiards. I've never seen a cue that allowed such control."

  "I've been amazed at the results myself." She bit her lip. "Since I have a superior cue, it isn't fair for you to have the handicap of having to make difficult carom shots when I don't. We should be playing equally." She smiled roguishly. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

  "You can take advantage of me anytime you want," he said with a cheerful leer.

  He expected a withering glance in answer to his suggestive remark, but instead she said, "Later, perhaps." Her remark was accompanied by a sweep of long dark lashes. "But for the moment, let's play billiards. I'll do carom shots, too."

  "That should make us roughly equal." While she started another game, he lounged against the table and tried to define what made her seem different tonight.

  Much as he would like to believe that she had decided to stop resisting and enjoy the inevitable, he couldn't. The little witch probably wanted to put him in his place by crushing him at billiards. And with her improved cue and undeniable skill, she would have succeeded if her innate fairness hadn't made her choose to equalize the odds by matching his handicap.

  He found it hard to take his eyes off her, for a subtle eroticism marked all her movements. As she potted her second ball, he realized that Clare had the air of a successful courtesan—the kind of woman who was absolutely sure of her femaleness, and of her power over men. Though he didn't believe that she had been practicing a courtesan's arts along with her billiard game, she was certainly revealing her innate sensuality as never before.

  He was so absorbed in his thoughts she had to raise her voice and repeat, "Nicholas, it's your turn," before he heard.

  He bent over the table and lined up his shot. Because he played billiards very well and lacked a killer competitive instinct, he had become casual over the years, but Clare's new skill put him on his mettle. He efficiently cleared the table of his balls, and it was her turn to take something off.

  Obligingly she kicked off one of her kidskin slippers, revealing a flash of ankles. As she put her stockinged foot down, she said, "Mmm, this carpet feels wonderful." Her toes curled sensuously into the lush pile.

  Nicholas was tempted to lie down so she could walk on him and do the same. Instead he set up the balls again with a mental vow to play his best so he could see more of her.

  Conversation dwindled and tension rose as they applied themselves like a pair of hardened billiard sharps. Since their abilities were well matched, irregular patches on the surface and bad ricochets off the cushions decided most games.

  Nicholas's cravat came off and joined his boots, then Clare gave up her other slipper. When she lost the next game as well, she sat down and lifted her skirt to her knee.

  He watched, mesmerized, as she extended a shapely leg in the air and removed her left stocking. She rolled the pale silk over her calf and ankle with the demure explanation, "A garter will stay up without a stocking but not the reverse, so I thought the stocking should come off first."

  "Very logical," he agreed, his mouth dry. Though she primly covered her ankles again, he missed his next shot. Smiling mischievously, Clare potted her balls with six strokes.

  After taking off his gray velvet waistcoat, he knelt and built up the fire, since it was a cool night and they were both losing clothing at a rapid rate. He smiled to himself as he added more coal; the one advantage he had left was that being naked would bother him a lot less than it would Clare.

  Her next stocking came off with just as much ceremony as the first. He watched appreciatively, but managed to keep his head and shoot well. Unfortunately the cushions didn't cooperate on his fourth stroke. Clare took over and won the game.

  He removed his first stocking, and a few minutes later lost the second as well. The carpet did feel good under bare feet.

  Anticipation about what Clare would do next sharpened his focus and he won the next game. Up came her skirt again, this time far enough to reveal the ribbon garter tied above her knee. To his delight, it was decorated with a dainty pink satin rose. She took her time untying the ribbon. After putting her foot down, she regarded the garter thoughtfully. Then she glanced up with a wicked smile and tossed it to him.

  He caught the garter with one hand and discovered that the satin still retained the warmth of her body, as well as a faint trace of the fragrance she was wearing. As she started the next game, he twined the ribbon around his fingers until it cooled to room temperature and he could no long
er detect her scent.

  He tied the garter around his wrist, then bent over the table and neatly potted four balls. The fifth caromed wildly and it was Clare's turn again. She came and took her stance next to him, so close that her skirts fluttered around his bare feet when she leaned over. He could have moved, of course, but he didn't.

  As she lined up her shot, he admired her trim backside. But when his hand began reaching out to pat, he hastily moved away before he could commit a disastrous faux pas; a gentleman never interfered with an opponent's stroke.

  She potted the ball, then shifted to a new position. Though all her attention seemed to be on the table, her bare toes brushed his as she moved. His gaze became riveted on her feet. The left one lifted in the air, leaving her balanced on the right when she shot. He'd never noticed how elegant her feet were.

  "Nicholas," she said.

  He blinked and glanced up.

  "Time for you to take something off," she purred.

  Deciding that two could play at both games, he undid the buttons at his throat with elaborate casualness. After tugging his shirttails loose, he pulled his shirt over his head, making sure that his muscles flexed impressively. He emerged from the linen folds to find Clare watching him, eyes wide. Though he wore an undershirt, it was a sleeveless singlet and cut well below collar level so it showed a great deal of his bronze skin.

  She swallowed hard and wrenched her gaze back to the table, but she was off her game and didn't manage to pot even one ball.

  Blithe with anticipation, he cleared the table in less than a minute. "The other garter is next, I assume?"

  She gave him a teasing smile. "So it is." She perched on the edge of the chair and lifted her skirt so she could repeat her performance, but this time the garter didn't cooperate. After a minute of fussing, she glanced up with a frown. "The ribbon has knotted and I can't get it undone. Will you help?"

  He felt like a trout who was being tickled by a master. Any moment he was going to end up gasping on the stream bank, but he didn't care. He knelt in front of her chair and set her bare foot on his thigh. Then he slowly skimmed his hands up the contours of her leg until he reached the garter above her knee.

  The ribbon was well and truly knotted, and his fingers felt equally knotted as he fumbled to untie it. Her inner thigh was warm and silky smooth, and she trembled when he touched the pale skin. So did he.

  By the time he managed to undo the knot, her skirts had inched halfway up her thigh and they were both breathing unevenly. He unwound the ribbon from her leg, then handed it to her. "Here you are."

  "Let me tie it with the other," she said huskily. He lifted his arm and she tied the garter around his wrist.

  Their gazes caught and held. She had a sultry, deliciously available expression, and he wondered if this would be the right time to collect his kiss for the day.

  She spared him the decision by leaning forward and pressing her lips to his in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. She tasted like sweet, wild honey.

  He had been sitting on his heels, but he straightened up, which brought him forward between her legs. Her skirts crushed between them as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She smoothed his hair over and over, leaning into his embrace until suddenly she spilled off the edge of the chair and slid down the front of him. They ended up tangled in each other's arms, both of them laughing at the awkwardness of their position.

  As laughter died, he felt the heat of her loins against his. He was about to kiss her again when she glanced up and said, "Are you ready for the next game?"

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I'm ready for a different game."

  "Don't you want to see how this one turns out?" She accompanied her question with the smile that Eve had used to ravish Adam.

  He gave a ragged laugh and managed to pry himself away from her. Not only was she allowing her natural sensuality free rein, but she instinctively understood how delay increased the ultimate gratification. He admired her wisdom—but he wouldn't have minded if she had less of it.

  After getting to his feet, he helped her up. "I'm ready, if you remember whose turn it is to start."

  She gave a gurgle of laughter. "Mine, I think."

  The person who started usually won, as Clare did this time. Nicholas's undershirt was the next garment to go.

  As he pulled it over his head, her fingers clenched around her cue stick. Gaze fixed to his bare chest, she said, "We can't go on much longer—we're both running out of clothing."

  "Getting close," he agreed cheerfully.

  It was his turn to start. A bad carom gave the initiative to Clare, but she was also unlucky. The table changed hands twice more before she finally lost.

  She gave him a provocative sideways glance. "I'm going to need help again. As you said, gowns like this can't be taken off without assistance."

  "It will be my pleasure," he said with complete truth.

  The back of her gown was secured with a complicated arrangement of hooks and ties. A good thing he'd had experience at helping ladies out of gowns, or the rest of the night might have been wasted while he puzzled it out.

  When the fastenings were undone, he gently pushed the gown off her shoulders. The rose fabric rippled as it fell to her elbows, exposing her creamy shoulders. Completely unable to resist, he leaned forward and kissed her nape through delicate tendrils of dark hair.

  As she exhaled with a small, breathless shiver, he transferred his attention to the sensitive edge of her ear, then the side of her throat and the smooth curve of her shoulder. At the same time he drew her gown lower, past her waist, over her hips, until it dropped to the floor around her bare feet.

  She turned to him, clad only in petticoat, stays, and shift. Her pupils had dilated until her eyes looked almost black. He thought she would move into his arms, but she touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip, then said, "My turn to go first."

  Since her hair was coming down, he removed the rest of the pins before continuing. Shimmering locks cascaded over her shoulders, then swirled and danced around her hips as she picked up her cue stick. She potted five balls in a row, then missed an easy shot on the last one when hair fell across her face.

  Nicholas breathed deeply several times to steady himself, then took his turn. More by luck than skill, he won the game. "Do you need help taking off your petticoat?" he asked hopefully.

  She laughed and shook her head. "No, but if you win another game, I'll need help with my stays." She undid the tape that secured the petticoat around her waist, then pulled the garment over her head with a lithe wriggle. The lace-trimmed hem fluttered prettily around her.

  Beneath the petticoat she wore only a knee-length, faintly translucent shift and short stays. He had trouble wrenching his gaze from her to the table. It occurred to him that every other time he had been with a female so scantily attired he had ended by making love to her. He devoutly hoped that the result wouldn't differ this time.

  He managed to sink his first ball. Clare was watching from the other side of the table. As he lined up his second shot, she folded her arms on top of the cushion, then leaned on top of them. Her breasts were as round and perfect as the ivory billiard balls, and they appeared about to bounce onto the table.

  Irresistibly distracted, he accidentally stabbed his cue into the baize, completely missing the ball. "You little witch," he said, laughing. "That was a rotten trick."

  Unrepentant, she said, "I wouldn't have missed my last stroke if you hadn't let my hair down."

  With a smile like a cat in a creampot, she proceeded to pot all her balls, then straightened and waited for him to take off his breeches.

  His gaze on hers, he undid the buttons, then peeled the garment off, leaving him wearing only a pair of knee-length linen drawers. The game was very nearly over. But he would be damned if he would let himself lose before she was down to her shift.

  She started the next game and sank three balls before the cue ball skidded on a balding patch of baize.

  This wa
s Nicholas's chance. Concentrating as he seldom had in his life, he made his first shot, then his second. His aim was a bit off when he went for the third, but the cue ball clipped the object ball well enough to sink it.

  Three more to go. He wiped his hands on his discarded shirt, then bent over and potted the fourth. With a final burst of bravado, he managed to sink his last two balls with one stroke.

  Trying to control his anticipation, he restlessly rolled her blue balls into various pockets. "Time for the stays, Clarissima."

  Hips gently swaying, she walked over to him, then turned her back so he could unlace her. Since her trim figure didn't require a full-length corset, she wore the more comfortable short stays which ended at the waist. Made of quilted white dimity, the stays provided a smooth line under gowns and supported her breasts enticingly.

  Though he'd undone his share of stays, his fingers were clumsy as he pulled the laces through the eyelets. It didn't help that her shift was so sheer that he could clearly see the curving lines of her legs and hips.

  When the stays were undone, he pulled the narrow straps off her shoulders, then slipped his hands under her arms and cupped her breasts. Under the flimsy fabric of the shift, her nipples instantly hardened. As he stroked the firm nubs with his thumbs, she sucked her breath in. Then, very deliberately, she pressed back so that the contours of her body molded against him.

  His control snapped. Catching her around the waist, he swooped her up and set her on the edge of the billiard table so that their faces were level. His kiss was devouring, and she returned it in full measure. Intoxicated, he moved between her legs and caressed the outside of her thighs, drawing the hem of her shift upward.

  Then, to his unutterable shock, her hand moved down his torso. He almost shattered when her fingers curved hesitantly around his heated flesh. Blindly he swept her back so that she was lying full-length on the table. As he moved above her, he had no conscious thought beyond removing the frail garments that separated them.