Seduction

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: Seduction
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and language, anything else i can toss in. flagrant abuse of a Scots accent. Dare in a dress...
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. Dare belongs to me and you can't have her. trust me. you don't want her. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.

Author's Notes: this story is set well before The Flight of the Valkyrie begins and should be read after reading Chapter Thirteen of the story. the events here are pertinent to the events taking place in the main story. this is meant as an addition to the overall tale, but isn't in the actual story line. its something i wrote ages ago and have been sitting on, waiting for the exact right moment to post. i guess now is that time, since the cat's out of the bag. the small amount of French in here was given to me by Daz. it translates basically out to "Come for me."

Candles flickered softly with the slight breeze created by so many bodies moving at once in such a confined space. A quartet played in the corner, the strains of a waltz underscoring the constant stream of chatter. Jewels sparkled in the golden glow, matched to gowns in many colors and fabrics. Women flirted covertly, and not so covertly, with men of well standing and money. It was a party for the very upper crust of society and smug arrogance rode the air with the scents of too many perfumes and colognes. All of it was underscored by the odor of unwashed, dirty bodies.

God above, she was bored to tears. Dare allowed her cool gaze to sweep the room one more time, barely containing the sigh that wished so desperately to escape. The air was too close and there were too many people in the room for her comfort. She felt confined, stifled. She had no weapons on her, nothing to protect herself with beyond the fire. And she couldn't risk using that here. She'd seen a few familiar faces amongst the patrons. Faces that could prove her downfall if she were to forget herself and set something ablaze.

She shifted once more on the ridiculously heeled slippers that she'd been forced to put upon her feet. They pinched at her toes and made her legs ache. Give her the shift and roll of a wooden deck over this torture any day. When this was all said and done, she was never putting such ghastly things upon her feet ever again. Nor would she wear such garments again after this. How women could stand to wear so many layers was beyond her.

She'd been squeezed into not one, but two corsets. The first had been put on over the soft linen shift some ladies' maid had slipped over her head. The cream colored garment had looked dark against her pale skin, the corset colored to match. She'd had to hold her breath while the maid had laced her in, effectively limiting her ability to move, speak, breathe or run. Next followed a farthingale. Then a bumroll. After that had been put on, then she'd been helped into the gown for the evening.

Silk petticoats in silver and blue had been layered over the farthingale, followed by the kirtle. Bloody skirt. It was of a deep blue, made of the finest velvet to be had. There were matching sleeves, but she'd told the maid in charge of dressing her that the woman would find a blade buried in her belly if she dared attach the bloody things to the overgown. Her desires had naturally been over-ridden and the sleeves had been tied into the gown. They were of Italian design or some rot, and had gaps in them so that the sleeves of her shift showed through. The overdress was of velvet, the same shade as the kirtle. It had been embellished and embroidered with silver thread and sparkling gems that she was sure were real diamonds.

Against all fashion, Dare had stood firm against wearing the ruff, as well as having her hair done and her face painted like a cheap tavern whore. Only after she'd threatened to set her host's estates on fire did he relent and allow her to go without any finishing touches added to her attire. She'd made more than one head turn when she'd arrived at the dreadfully boring party.

Muttering a curse in Gaelic under her breath, she pulled at the overdress. The man at her side took her hand and brought it to his lips, where he pressed a kiss to her palm. "Don't fidget so, my pet. You've already got the Earl's guests in an uproar by showing up with your hair long and your face bare," Anthony whispered to her.

"I dinnae care what they think," she hissed in return and snatched her hand back. "I dinnae ken how these simpering twits can stand tae have themselves trussed up like this."

"Because this is how a lady dresses, Alasdare. It might be best that you remember such things," he admonished softly.

She gave him a very unladylike snort and tugged at the gem encrusted collar about her throat. Lord Anthony Stark had put the damned thing there before they'd left his manor, along with the dangling earbobs that matched it. She knew well enough that she wore more diamonds and that they'd been combined with pearls and sapphires to create the exquisite and expensive jewelry that caged her as surely as a prison cell. She didn't want to be here. Leveling him with a hard stare, she cocked a hip at him. "I'm no' a lady, Stark."

"Perhaps you can pretend. Just this once," he suggested lightly, his gaze flicking over her with practiced ease. She thought she should be offended that his eyes didn't register any emotion at all.

"Why do we have tae be here? I'd rather be back at yer manor, drinking yer fine rum. I dinnae ken what this is." She lifted the glass she held with one hand. "But I'm sure piss is stronger."

He shot a glare at her, his lips thin and tight with a sudden burst of anger. "You would do well to remember what happens if you fail here tonight, Alasdare. Your neck is far too pale and lovely for stretching. Nor should I like to see that beautiful face parted from the rest of your enticing frame. Succeed here and you'll keep your head firmly on your shoulders for a while longer."

"The red haired bitch can go tae hell, Stark," Dare told him, voice sickly sweet and mouth tilted up in a winsome smile. She swore she could see the urge to lay hands on her run through his eyes. But he only smiled and narrowed his gaze on her.

"Mind your tongue, wench. You've obviously forgotten you're speaking to your betters. Or shall I take you out of here in chains to remind you of your status?"

She leaned in to him until her chest was pressed against his. When his gaze met hers, she lifted her free hand and made sure he could see the smallest bit of flame dancing in her palm. "Try it and I'll set yer manhood on fire."

He opened his mouth to speak and she was sure she'd find herself on her way back to the Tower faster than she could say her name. But another voice broke the tension building between them, a woman's voice that grated on Dare's nerves. She extinguished the flames and turned to greet their guest with a bland, simpering smile as she reached for her drink. What the hell was it? She wished she could sneak away and have a nip of something with more bite, but the one time she'd tried, Stark had damn near chained her to his side. "Lord Anthony!" the woman exclaimed with a smile that was filled with calculation. Crafty old bitch. Dare would have to watch herself. Of course, it helped that Stark had told her not to speak to anyone unless it was in Gaelic.

"Good eve, Lady Prudence. Thank you ever so much for the last minute invitation to your gala event," Stark bowed low before the woman. He'd dressed in similar colors to those Dare wore, though there was more silver in his garb. She'd laughed to see him in the paned slops and hose. No self respecting sailor would ever dress so foppishly. Though she supposed she could see some kind of appeal to the clothing. She watched as Stark took the wrinkled old prune's hand and kissed it gallantly. The woman smiled a toothy grin that reminded Dare of sharks she'd seen circling a man who'd fallen overboard once.

"On the contrary, Lord Stark. You honor my simple party with your presence. And who is this lovely creature at your side?" The woman turned sharp brown eyes Dare's way and looked her over. A painted on eyebrow lifted at the lack of color on her face and the way her hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders.

"This is my cousin, Lady Prudence. Lady Isabell MacKenzie."

"My goodness!" The woman lifted a hand to her ample bosom, her face formed into a mask of shock and surprise. "One of the barbarians from the north. However did that happen?"

"One of my father's sisters. She was a little wild in her youth and, well..." Stark managed to look appropriately scandalized. The bat's eyes went wide and Dare felt the urge to set her wig on fire roar through her. "Poor Isabell is visiting south of Hadrian's wall for the first time. She doesn't speak a word but she understands it well enough. Don't you, my dear?"

Smile fixed firmly in place, Dare inclined her head and sank into a deep curtsey. When she rose, the calculating gleam was back in the bat's eyes. Dare turned to Stark and, in Gaelic, told him exactly what he could do with his wild aunt and barbarian cousins. Stark smiled at her, forced a laugh, then turned back to the older woman. "Sweet Isabell wishes to thank you for your hospitality and is quite astonished by the beauty of your home. She's rather unused to such finery, having been brought up in a cold, drafty castle filled with cattle and sheep. She..."

He broke off when Dare managed to pinch his arm without being noticed. Not that it mattered. Precisely at that moment, the main doors to the grand hall burst open and a rather stunning looking young man stepped into the room. Everything went silent in the blink of an eye. The laughter and chatter quit and the quartet stopped playing mid-note. All heads turned toward the newcomer and the room filled with a pregnant, heavy silence. Then the whispering began and Dare knew that the reason she was here had just walked through the door.

She took a step forward, but Stark pulled her back to his side. He leaned in and whispered in her ear quietly, mindful of the woman standing before them. "Not yet, my sweet. Wait for a few moments. Then make it accidental."

Nodding, Dare resumed her place at Stark's side and plastered the same vacant smile on her face that she'd seen on all the other faces here tonight. The newcomer made his way further into the room and scooped a glass of wine off a passing servant's tray. He stopped in the center of a group of gawkers and let his cool blue gaze settle on each of them. "Forgive me for barging in. I'd heard there was a party and couldn't seem to find my invitation."

Prudence the old bat moved toward the man, her back ramrod straight and her expression fixed. "Sir, you received no invitation because I did not send you one," she said with as much authority as she could manage. "I'd greatly appreciate it if you might consider removing yourself from the premises."

"Lady Prudence. How unpleasant to see you once again. Why ever would you insult me by not inviting me? Am I not your equal?" he asked and Dare could hear the contempt in his voice. She glanced at Stark, who only nodded his head toward them. The man had obviously been drinking before arriving and, despite his impeccable clothing, there was something unkempt about him. She finally realized he had a fine layer of stubble growing on his cheeks. As if he didn't care what he looked like to anyone.

"My lord Marquess, no one wishes you to attend one of their events. Since your wife..." she began, only to trail off when he leaned toward her. There was something hard in his face, something that was utterly frightening in its lack of true emotion. Dare wondered for a moment if the man would fight, should the woman order her servants to expel him.

"Do not even begin to mention her name to me," he growled. There was pain in his words, deep and unending. And just the slightest hint of an accent. "And do not think you'll be rid of me so easily, lady. I'll not be scared away with those sad fools you call servants. There isn't a man here who can physically remove me from your home."

Things were going to get unpleasant very quickly. Dare could see it in the tension among the guests, the way the men kept glancing around the room at one another. She turned to Stark, a question in her eyes. He nodded, only once, and let go of her arm. Dare swallowed down the last of her drink, then slowly glided forward, her eyes on her target.

Robert Lord, Marquess of Dormenshire, was still very much in his prime. He was tall and thin, his skin tanned from time in the sun and his eyes a bright, piercing blue that seemed to see straight through people with a single glance. His hair, worn longer than style and in soft shades of brown, was highlighted with gold here and there. The way the candles glinted off it made her think of a halo. He was attired in blue and black. He wore no slops, but instead had chosen a pair of tight, satin breeches that clung to the length of his leg. With it, a doublet of dark blue velvet that made his eyes stand out. His shirt was soft gray and, like herself, he wore no ruff at his throat.

He was... beautiful.

When she broke from the crowd and glided toward him, all speech halted once more. Expectation seemed to taint the air as people waited to see what would happen next. She and Stark and discussed this part of her task. He'd thought she should pretend to faint or stumble when near the man. Rumor had it that Lord was a notorious gentleman. Stark thought she should play to that as best she could. But she was no actress. She'd already decided that the straight forward approach would be the best one.

So she walked out into the middle of the fray, mindful that every set of eyes in the room was watching her, and approached her prey with a slight swing in her hips. Even before she got close, he turned to consider her. And she could see a gleam in his eye that suggested this might not be as difficult as she'd thought it would be. She'd never tried to seduce a man before.

As it happened, she ended up using Stark's suggestion along with her own. Only inches away from the man, her feet tangled in the hem of her many layers of skirts and petticoats and whatever the hell else she was wearing. She felt herself tipping forward and couldn't stop the rather girlish shriek she let go. His hands reached out and caught her with almost laughable ease, setting her on her feet and steadying her with one hand. All the while, he kept his eyes on her and she felt a real blush stain her cheeks. "Well, Lady Prudence. It seems that you've finally brought some fresh blood to one of these boring affairs. Who is this beauty?"

The old bat colored at having been summarily dismissed. But manners wouldn't allow her to ignore his question. With a great deal of effort, she gave the introduction. There was a pained expression on her face. And it sounded to Dare as if she'd had to force herself to answer him. "Lord Robert, this is the Lady Isabell MacKenzie. She's..."

"A breath of fresh air, Prudence," he cut across her. "I think that I shall steal her away and give you back your boring affair."

"But my Lord! She's cousin to Lord Stark and she doesn't speak English."

He smirked at her even as he took her hand in his. "I'm sure, Lady Prudence, that we can find something to discuss. And I doubt very much that Lord Stark will notice she's missing. Not when he's probably sniffing at the skirts of all the giggling, empty headed gooses new to the event." Lord nodded absently at the woman, then stepped forward with Dare in tow.

They crossed the gleaming floor in silence, making toward the doors that opened on to a large balcony. The balcony overlooked a well tended garden. As another servant passed, he halted the man, took a glass of wine off the tray and immediately handed it to Dare. They passed through the doors, which Lord turned to and pulled closed behind him, then floated out toward the edge of the balcony. He escorted her into a shadowed section, well out of range of the doors, then turned to regard her with an intense stare that made her want to wiggle in her underpinnings.

"Right then, my dear," he said, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. "Just who are you really? Stark doesn't have any cousins from the north. I've had the displeasure to meet his family and none of them are quite so lovely as you are. Are you his mistress?"

"No' yet," Dare shrugged one shoulder negligently. It didn't matter to her what he did and didn't know. The less she had to lie, the better.

"And that means?" he questioned, lifting a brow at her as if in invitation to explain herself. She tossed back the contents of the glass and set it aside.

"Tha' means, sir," Dare smiled at him and cocked a hip suggestively. "Tha' I'm still looking."

"Looking for what?"

"No' what. Who," she inched closer. His smirk blossomed into a full, knowing smile

He leaned against the stone railing so that he could study her at his leisure. The wind blew across them, carrying with it a gentle reminder that there was rain in the air. Not that she hadn't smelled it the moment she and Stark had arrived here earlier. It also brought to her nose the hint of something spicy and it took her a moment to realize it was him. He didn't stink of body odor and sweat the way the rest of them did. The man smelled like sun and... the sea.

"Have you found who you're looking for then, girl?" The question sent shivers racing up and down her spine. She had to force herself not to step into him. Not yet. She wanted to be certain he was really as receptive as he seemed to be. It wouldn't do to show her hand too soon.

"Mayhap I have," she nodded her head once, then turned to glance out at the maze of shrubberies and trees, all well pruned and manicured. Thin clouds drifted across the night sky, partially obscuring the silvery glow of the moon. "`Tis different here."

"Different? Than where?" he asked and closed the distance between them. She could feel the heat of his body as it pressed against hers and that spicy scent closed in around her, took a firm hold.

"Scotland," she admitted. There was no hiding the brogue anyway, so she saw no reason to lie about that. "I can remember many a night spent starin' oot over the moors, watchin' the moon caress the ground with her light. Dinnae take me wrong. `Twas beautiful in the sunlight. But when the moon shone, the moors were a sight tae behold."

"You miss it." It wasn't a question. She didn't bother to answer it. He was silent for a moment and she wondered if he was trying to imagine what her home had looked like on a night like this. Something had sprung to life between them with her admission, something that was still fragile and delicate. Something she had no name for. "Is it true what they say about our northern neighbors?"

The question caught her off guard. She turned to look up into his face. He turned, too, and looked down at her. Something smoldered in his eyes, something that made her belly quiver and her knees go weak. "I dinnae ken. What do they say?"

"Is it true that the entire lot of you are wild and abandoned in everything you do?" Her heart stopped. She was no courtesan, but she was no swaddling babe, either. She knew what he was asking her. Despite the fact that this was what she'd come here for, something in her froze for a minute or two. It was long enough that he drew back from her as if he meant to leave. "Forgive me. I've over-stepped my bounds."

"Nay. Ye havenae. I'm sorrah, m'laird. Ye merely startled me with yer question," she responded, hoping that he couldn't hear the nervousness in her voice. "And I dinnae ken. I've no' had the chance tae find oot. All m' lovers have been English."

"And how did you find them? Attentive? Thorough? Inventive?" he asked, prompting her to consider his words. Finally, after much thought, she shook her head.

"I found them boring, m'laird."

"Obviously, cher," he whispered and took her in his arms, turning her to face him completely. "You've never had a French lover."

"No' yet," she grinned up at him.

They stood like that for longer than she could count, simply staring into one another's eyes. She had the sense that there was far more to the man than what she could simply see on the outside. There were no words that could describe it. None that she knew, at any rate. But she felt it coiled around him, felt it surround her like a cloak. It was warm and almost alive. It beckoned her closer, pleaded with her to give in.

There was no thought involved, no second guessing. This was what she'd come here for, wasn't it? This was what the bitch on the throne wanted of her. To seduce this man, to take him to her bed and earn his trust. To learn his every last secret and then...

Dare shoved all of that aside. She wasn't as worldly as the tarts she saw on the streets, wasn't as skilled as the courtesans who made a game of slipping from one noble bed to another. But she did know that their meeting had held more than a simple seduction. Some spark, some emotion or feeling she couldn't name, had been given life this night. It flared high and bright between the two of them. She pressed closer to him, her body no longer her own. She was wanton and wicked. She wanted what it was he was silently offering her. That thing, that living warmth that seemed to be part of him, begged again for her to give herself over to him. To give in to him.

She gave in.

Their mouths met in a fiery kiss that scorched her to her very toes. His body angled against hers, the lean length of him pressed tightly to her so that she felt every last inch of him, even through their many layers of clothes. He was all hard angles and planes, though one part of him was much harder than the rest. Her entire being felt the call of his body, felt his need and desire. She couldn't deny him any more than she could deny herself.

His hands were not gentle. They clutched at her hair almost feverishly, holding her face still as he plundered her mouth. His fingers had curled into the length of her tresses and twined around them tightly, as if he were trying to prevent her from escaping. She had no intention of escaping him. She slid her arms up over his shoulders and around his neck, let her fingers dip into the silky length of his own locks. And she molded herself to him even further.

A soft moan rolled up her throat when he pulled back from her. She was short of breath, her breasts heaving against the confines of the corsets while she attempted to draw air into her lungs. He stared down at her and studied her from under heavy lids, his eyes almost as dark as the night sky. She waited for him, unsure what her next move should be. When his hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her up onto the stone railing, it was the last thing expected. "M'laird?" she asked softly, eyes caught in his.

"I thought perhaps we might indulge ourselves here," he informed her, his hands working deftly at the lacing of her gown.

"Dinnae ye fear being seen?" she asked, fingers plucking at the ties on his doublet. He smiled at her, a look that was utterly cynical, and shifted just enough for her to see that the doors leading into the hall were empty of curious faces.

"This lot is rather not surprised by what I will and will not do," he replied evenly, then stepped back and looked her over once more with an entirely different look in his eye. Then he straightened the laces on her gown and helped her back to her feet. "You, however, dear lady, should not be made to suffer from their sharp tongues anymore than necessary. Perhaps someplace more private would be a good idea."

"Mayhap, m'laird." She offered him a knowing smile. "`Twould certainly make it easier tae seduce ye when I've got ye on yer back."

Lord stared at her face for a few seconds, then a smirk twitched at his lips and he tossed his head back to let go a long, loud laugh. "Is your tongue as agile with deed as it is with word?" he finally asked, his hands curling about her hips to hold her in place where she stood. Dare shot him a cocky look and leaned toward him, boldly reaching out to cup him through the silk of his breeches.

"Twice as agile," she promised.

"Then perhaps we should find a bed. We can continue our conversation there." He looked as if he was going to offer her his arm, then he stepped back and studied her a moment. "On which floor are the guest chambers she gave you?"

"The second floor," Dare told him, then pointed toward the far side of the manor house. "All the way over there. The windows face the setting sun. The walls are blue and grey and..."

"I know precisely which room she's given you," he held up a hand to halt her speech. Dare stared up at him and frowned. Why did he need to know where her rooms were? He reached up and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Tell me, my dear. Can you act?"

"What do ye mean?"

"I need you in a faint, girl. That will make this so much easier. Can you act a faint?"

"I've never tried. I dinnae ken what ye need..." she trailed off when he put his hand against her cheek.

"I need you limp and senseless in my arms," he explained. Then he was leaning in, his eyes locked with hers, and she suddenly felt quite dizzy. Their mouths touched again, an aching caress that left her hungry for more.

He kissed her slowly, with a great deal of intensity. And he was thorough. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she thought she'd go mad with desire. Time froze and stopped. She couldn't seem to stop kissing him, even though she needed air in the worst possible way. It was almost as if some invisible force held her where she was. And when he finally pulled back, darkness had crept in around the edges of her vision. She sagged against him, glad to have his arms around her lest she topple to the stone balcony beneath her.

Robert Lord swung her up into his arms, unmindful of the multitude of skirts she wore. Dare found herself held against his chest, her mind fogged with a combination of pleasure and an unknown, unnamed thing. He glanced down at her and offered a rueful smile. "Forgive me, my dear. This should look as real as possible."

She was vaguely aware of motion, then the clear smell of fresh air and rain was gone, replaced by heat and smoke and the press of bodies. Too much cologne and perfume. She felt it brush her skin, but couldn't understand why she was unable to move or speak. She couldn't even really see what was around her, though she heard all too distinctly the sound of voices cutting off, only to start again in a low murmur that set her nerves on edge.

"My lord! What's happened?" It was a woman's voice, strident and close. It sounded like the old bat, but Dare thought there was something wrong with her hearing.

"I believe she was overcome by the wine." That was Lord. He sounded angry and it took everything for her to realize he was making a subtle accusation against the woman who was hosting the party. Dare couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, but she was almost certain that it had something to do with the man who was carrying her. He'd done something...

The thought flittered away when she felt a hand on her forehead. She wanted to open her eyes, but they were too heavy. The touch was gentle and cool. She wondered when she'd become fevered. She tried reaching for the touch or for Lord, but her hand didn't work right. "What happened to her, Lord?"

Anthony sounded furious. She wanted to tell him she was fine, but nothing beyond a soft gasp came from her throat. They were moving again. She could hear the echo of footsteps up the hall, two sets. Stark was with them. Lord's voice came from above her. "Nothing has happened to her. She'll be herself again in a few moments. I simply needed a distraction."

"For what?"

They stopped and Lord shifted her up higher. She felt warmth spread through her when a pair of lips touched hers. There was a muttered curse, followed by a soft chuckle. "You should have sent a courtesan to seduce me, Stark. She's a child. I should simply dump her at your feet and take my leave, but I find her to be a gem. I'm drawn to her. I merely wanted to do whatever I could to protect her virtue."

There was silence a moment, then Stark gave a short bark of laughter. "Trust me, Lord. This one is without virtue. Chances are good she would have walked with you through that group, head held high. She cares nothing for what others think of her."

She'd have been furious with him if it wasn't true. Still, that gave him no right to speak of her as if she weren't there. "Pity I didn't know about it sooner. This would have been so much easier on us both if we could have flaunted our affair in their faces."

"Oh, I'm sure they all know what's going on, Lord," Stark replied and Dare thought she heard something out of place in his voice, like he was unhappy. But she had to have been imagining it. They'd only known one another for a month or two. He'd proven by word, more than once, that he held her in the highest contempt, that he thought her lower than the dirt beneath his heel. "I might as well lead you to her chambers and make this easy on you. I'm sure she's damned heavy to heft about like that."

He was lucky she couldn't move. She'd have set his arse afire.

"She's light as a feather, Stark," Lord replied steadily. "You should quit spending your time with those cows you call women and take pleasure in a real wench now and again."

Cows? She'd have to ask him about that later.

"At least I'm discreet with my choices." There was an edge of meaning in his voice. She was definitely going to kill him for this.

"Do not worry yourself over my choices in ladies. My taste is far superior. And I don't have to press too much drink upon them to convince them to shed their underpinnings for me." Dare was surprised that Stark made no reply to this. Instead, silence fell heavy and thick between the two men. It stayed there until they came to a halt. Dare had to assume that they were stopped before the door to her rooms.

"Try to leave the silver behind when you go, Lord," Stark told him, voice stiff. There was a touch to her forehead, then the sound of steps moving away from them. The door opened, a soft sound that spoke to hinges that had been barely oiled, then they were moving again. Lord stopped and she felt his leg move, then the door closed behind them. He strode into the room and settled her in one of the chairs. A few moments later, she heard the lock slide home.

One of his hands touched her cheek and that force that had held her still lifted from her shoulders. Dare found she was back in control of herself. She looked up to find Lord standing over her, his eyes filled with concern. She pushed herself upright and slowly got to her feet, just to be sure she could. When he reached for her, she stepped away from him. "Ye kenned what I was doin'?" she asked him softly.

Lord gave a shrug of his shoulders, as if that said it all. When she frowned, he lifted a hand and made a gesture. "No lady in her right mind would approach a man in public as you did. And no lady of the nobility would have anything to do with me. Between your willingness to be in my company and Lady Prudence's introductions, I had my suspicions. Your actions on the balcony were too bold to be a courtesan's but you're far too clean to be a whore. I figured that Stark brought you here strictly to seduce me. Perhaps you know the reason for this?"

"I'm merely a barbarian from the north. I amnae allowed to ken such things," she spit at him. Those had been the words that the queen's advisor had used with her. She'd had to hear from Stark what it was they wanted of her. Lord gave her a stare that suggested he well understood how she felt. Maybe he did.

"No matter," he finally told her. Once more, he lifted a hand and touched her cheek. Warmth spread through her at the caress and she found herself leaning toward him. Her eyes fluttered shut a heartbeat before his mouth took hers in a soft kiss of promise. "Shall we get to the seduction? I would hate for you to fail at your task. No doubt Stark would take the failure out of your lovely hide."

"Ye dinnae have tae play into the..." she faltered and opened her eyes so she could look up at him. Unable to find the right words, she made a helpless gesture.

"Why ever not? Do you find me repugnant?" There was disbelief on his face, as if he didn't think such a thing were possible. Dare offered him a smile and shook her head.

"Nay. I think ye're the bonniest mon I've ever laid eyes upon." Dare felt the blush come to her cheeks and immediately snapped her mouth shut. Lord only smirked at her, one corner of his lips lifting up in reply. She muttered to herself in Gaelic, turning to pace away from him. She couldn't believe she'd just said that. He probably thought her stupid and naive.

"That has to be the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid me." His voice came from right behind her, startling her. Dare turned to find Lord looming over her once more, his face a mask of neutrality. She frowned and reached out to touch his cheek.

"`Tis truth," she whispered. Lord turned his face into her hand, pressing his cheek against her palm. His eyes were closed, but she saw pain in his expression. "How long ago did she die?"

"Nearly a full year," he replied, voice hoarse with grief that felt as fresh as the day it had happened. His lips brushed her palm, sending shivers down her spine. She lifted her other hand so that she cradled his cheeks between them. He looked at her then, eyes deep and dark with emotion.

"Ye loved her verra much."

"She was the very sunshine that lit the sky, the air I breathed. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever known." There was reverence in his words and Dare felt like she was intruding where she didn't belong. A sense of panic took her and she made to draw back. His hands curled around her wrists and held them in place. He pinned her with his gaze and she swallowed. "But she's gone. And you're here. I don't think there's a more bonny lass in all of Scotland."

Her heart was beating hard and fast in her chest. This wasn't something she knew how to deal with, hadn't been expected. Stark had convinced her that Lord would be a loud, drunken pain in the arse. Not a charming, handsome man who wore his grief like most men wore their ruffs. She didn't know what was happening. She needed to find a way to break the connection between them, needed to find something that would stop the hammering of her heart. "Lady Prudence doesnae seem tae like ye."

"Lady Prudence has never forgiven me for her daughter's death," he murmured, eyes locked on her face. She hadn't known that, hadn't known that Lord had been married to their hostess' child. She searched for something appropriate to say, but she had no experience with this kind of thing. The life of a sailor hadn't allowed for many niceties. But he ended their conversation by simply tugging her into his arms. He wrapped them around her, lowered his head and kissed all thought from her head.

This kiss was like their first one, all heat and fire. Need ripped through her like a cannonball through a sail, shattering her defenses easily. She leaned into him, slid her arms around him, and let him plunder her mouth.

Once again, his body was hard against hers, the layers of their clothing hiding nothing. She wanted to tug at his garments but she didn't want to break the kiss. She contented herself with twirling his hair between her fingers. She soaked up the feel of his hands as they rested against her back and urged her closer to him. Her head was spinning with his touch, though she thought it might be from lack of air. It didn't matter. She couldn't make herself let go, even if she tried.

He finally drew back so he could stare down at her. His eyes were as dark as the night outside, filled with heat and desire. She needed no prodding, simply lifted her hands so that she could tug at the laces on his doublet. His hands were slow and graceful when they found the laces on her gown. She was surprised that he made such quick work of them, started in surprise when the heavy overgown hit the floor with a soft rustling of fabric. When she blinked up at him, he chuckled and swooped in for another kiss.

The touch of his mouth to hers made all thoughts flee her head. She was only distantly aware of his hands, tugging deftly at the ties that held the bumroll in place. The farthingale followed it, leaving her in her shift and the corset. He pulled back only when she needed air. He was still fully clothed, drawing a frown across her face. He touched a finger to her lips. "There's no need to look so unhappy, cher," he told her with a whisper. "You're garbed in far more material than I am. It will take longer to rid you of it."

She reached again for his doublet and made quick work of the laces that held it closed. He offered her no help, simply watched as her fingers moved with quick, nimble actions. The doublet hit the floor with her own clothing. She grabbed the excess material of his tunic and jerked it up. He lifted his arms over his head, allowing her to tug it off of him. She'd barely managed to toss it aside when his hands reached out and turned her, then began pulling on the laces at the back of her corset. The loosening of each one saw her breathing just a touch easier.

The heavy garment hit the floor with a soft thudding sound. Dare was pleased to be rid of it. She wore one on the ship, but it was nothing like this. This one had been made specifically for her torture. It served no other purpose. Before she could fully relish the sudden release, Lord had turned her to face him and claimed her lips in one fell swoop. She found herself crushed against his chest, one arm low against her back and the other high across her shoulders. All that lay between them was her shift and his breeches.

And the pair of breeches she'd worn under her shift. The maid had been horrified when she'd refused to remove them. It had taken a slap to the face to calm the silly chit down, then she'd calmly threatened the girl with one of her daggers. Something told Dare the girl would never willingly wait on a guest again. Not that she cared.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, reached down to grab at his behind. If her boldness bothered or affected him, he didn't let her know. He simply moved, walking her backwards until her legs hit the edge of the mattress. Then she was pressed into the softness of it, her back cradled against the thick layer of bedding. His body was heavy on top of hers, his arousal obvious as it prodded her belly. His mouth broke from hers, trailing hot kisses over her cheek to her throat. A string of Gaelic hissed from between her lips before she remembered that she needed to speak English. "M'laird," she gasped.

His head lifted and he stared down at her with eyes gone darker than the night sky. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Robert, my dear. Call me Robert."

"Please, Robert," she reached for him, let her fingers trail slowly down his chest until they reached the waistband of his breeches. They fumbled with the buttons that held the silk closed for a moment or two, then deftly slid the smooth discs from their holes and almost violently shoved at the tight material until it slid down far enough that she could free his erection from its confines. Her gaze was bold as it ran over him, took in every inch of flesh that she could see. One hand lifted, touched the silk of his shaft and she watched as his eyes slid closed and his body tensed.

"You're a bold lass," he whispered before stepping away from her. His hands made quick work of the satin garment, shoving it to the floor. He kicked it away with one foot, then struck a pose for her. Dare propped herself up on her elbows and allowed her gaze to rake over him. He was smirking at her. "I take it you like what you see."

"Aye. I do," she nodded. He chuckled, closing the distance between them with a single step. His hands reached for the shift and began lifting it.

"Now, then. Let's unwrap our gift and see what kind of lovely surprises are hidden under such a plain guise." She was forced to stand so that he could pull the shift up over her head. When he saw the breeches she wore beneath it, his lips quirked before spreading into a full smile. Genuine laughter bubbled up his throat. "My dear, what ever kind of mischief do you get into that you need to wear breeches?"

"The best kind," she replied, allowing her gaze to rake his frame pointedly.

"So you do." Lord made quick work of the breeches. They slid to her feet and Dare kicked them away before stepping into him. She couldn't help the shudder when flesh met flesh. He was so warm and lean. Her blood ran with heat while giddiness took control. Never before had she encountered a man who affected her so.

His mouth covered hers once more, his tongue pressing demandingly between her lips to sample every inch of the moist interior of her mouth. Feather light touches skimmed down her back, drawing forth licking tendrils of need and desire that threatened to consume her. She couldn't recall ever feeling this way before. None of the other men she'd bedded had had such an effect on her.

They tumbled to the surface of the bed, his body a pleasant weight upon her own. Without prompting, her thighs fell apart, allowing him to nestle his hips between them. She could feel the thick length of him caught between their bodies. A shudder ran through her at the thought of having him inside of her, of feeling him filling her to the brim. She wordlessly wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him.

His mouth slipped from hers to move across her cheek. As his teeth closed on the tender flesh where neck met shoulder, a small rumble of thunder announced the arrival of the rain that had been on the air for hours. Somehow, it felt right that they were going to join their bodies together during a rolling storm. It would be like being out at sea once more, the deck rocking beneath her feet and the smell of salty air blowing in her face. The room shook as more thunder echoed across the sky. The room was lit up by lightning, the brilliant white light casting shadows over the walls.

Some primal part of her responded to the sound of the rain as it pelted the leaded glass and she was reminded of riding the waves in the middle of a pounding storm. She'd always wanted to feel the cool caress of rain against her skin, feel the brisk touch of wind as it flowed over her bared body. Her hands reached out and tugged gently at his head, drawing him away from his lazy exploration of her shoulder. He looked at her, eyes so dark she thought they'd gone black. "Robert, I've an idea," she told him, her voice low and husky. He quirked a brow at her in silent query.

"Up," she pushed at his shoulder. He said nothing, simply gained his feet. She tossed him a saucy smile and stood, then took his hand and pulled him after her toward the window seat.

The curtains had been left pulled back, exposing the well appointed nook to view. The seat was thick with cushions and pillows. She knew this for a fact because she'd spent time in it before the start of the party. When she climbed up on to the seat, she shot a look over her shoulder and watched as Lord's lips twisted in a smile. Then she worked the latch and shoved the paned windows aside. Cool wind blew through the opening, bringing with it chill, stinging drops of rain. Then she turned to the man behind her and sent him a challenging look.

"Oh my. It would seem that our Northern cousins are everything they're said to be." There was a grin on his face.

"I take it ye've never had a Scottish lass before?" she questioned, one hand patting the cushions beside her.

"There is a first time for everyone, my dear," Lord responded before joining her on the seat. Dare let go a laugh, which was silenced when he swept her up into his arms and crushed her against him. Their mouths met once more, his tongue sweeping inside to taste of her once again. The wind drove against them, pelting the rain against their flesh. It was chilly, but did nothing to dampen their ardor for one another. He held her molded to him, one hand curled into her hair while the other clasped her backside and urged her as close to his body as she could get.

She wound herself around him, a vine climbing and clinging to a trellis. When he lowered her to the seat and pressed her back into it, she didn't complain. Her fingers ran through his hair and down his back until she could curl them over his arse. His mouth moved again from her mouth to her throat and then further, until his teeth were nibbling at one hardened nipple. Her back arched up into his touch.

His lips kept moving, never staying in one place for very long. He moved from one nipple to the other before his mouth blazed a path down her body. It stopped at her belly button, his tongue darting out to lick at it, to delve inside of it. She gasped at the electric shock that speared through her and felt an answering rush of need pool low in her belly. The ends of his hair trailed across her flesh, drawing shudders up her spine as they tickled and teased her nerve endings. Then he drifted lower still, until his breath plumed out across the sensitive flesh between her thighs.

His eyes met hers over the length of her torso, his lips tilted up in a feral grin. She blinked at him, wondering what he was planning. The thoughts fled the moment he pressed a kiss to her core. She collapsed back against the cushion, her body writhing as his tongue licked a slow trail up over the swollen folds of flesh, only to jerk up again when the tip of that wonderfully talented muscle dragged over a small, hidden nubbin. "M'laird... Robert. What are ye doin'?" she gasped out, her body already strung tight.

One of his hands reached out and found her nipple, pinched it harshly. She cried out, the pain sliding through her to combine with the growing pool of heat between her thighs. His tongue dipped into her as deeply as it could go before drawing back to once more attack that little bit he'd found before.

She'd never had a man do this to her before. Dare didn't quite know what to make of it, except that it felt so good and wonderfully wicked. She knew well the church's teachings on fornication and she'd found that she had no use for their views. She'd come to the conclusion that there was nothing shameful or sinful in enjoying the sight of a man naked, of finding pleasure in having his body driving into hers. There was nothing wrong with enjoying the coupling that took place between a man and a woman. But this... She'd never experienced anything like this.

Her hands drifted over the back of his head to trail across the smooth skin stretched over his shoulders, then returned to his hair to do it all once again. She felt as if she were on fire, his mouth moving so knowingly against her body and his tongue licking and lapping at her as if she were some sweet, sticky dessert he'd been waiting for all night. She didn't think it could get any better.

And then his hands joined in with his tongue and teeth and lips.

Her body went tight and stars burst behind eyelids she wasn't aware of closing. Something washed over her, some sensation that she had no name for. When she could finally breathe again, she opened her eyes to find Lord staring down into her face. The chill of the wind and the cold, wet rain soaked back into her consciousness. He was smirking at her, as if he'd won a bet between the two of them. She tried to gather her thoughts. "What?..."

"In France, petit, we call that la petite morte," he told her, leaning down to press a kiss on her. There was a taste to his lips and tongue that was unfamiliar to her. It took a moment or two to realize that she was tasting herself. His gaze raked over her body. When he returned it to her, there was a hint of curiosity in it. "You've never experienced this before?"

"Nay," she shook her head, still trying to draw air into her lungs.

"The English. Predictably boring in their ways," he shook his head, then traced a pattern against her skin with his fingers. She shuddered under the touch, forgetting once more about the wind and rain blowing against her body. "I suppose that all of your past lovers preferred to climb atop you, drive you into the mattress whilst seeking their release. That they never once showed you that there is so much that one can do to attain physical pleasure."

When she said nothing, he frowned and reached out with one hand, letting his fingers trail across her flesh until they dipped between her thighs again. That same shock she'd felt before roared through her and her body writhed under him. He stroked his fingers in and out, his free hand pressing her legs farther apart. She opened to him, spread her thighs until he flicked his gaze to her face. It was plain to see that he was pleased with her, that he desired her as much as she desired him.

A whimper escaped her when his fingers pushed deep inside of her and held there for several seconds. Then they spread, opening wide until they rubbed against the wall of muscle surrounding them. He drew them back, pressed them forward again. She moaned softly, her hips lifting into his touch. The smirk returned and he brought the other hand down onto her belly, holding her flat against the cushions beneath her. "So it is true. The barbarians to the north are as wild as they say."

"Och, aye," she shot him a grin, which promptly faded into a moan when his fingers touched some terribly sensitive spot inside. Almost instantly, the tension returned and she felt herself shattering under his insistent stroking. Even as she felt herself falling apart, he continued his slow thrusts in and out. Until she found herself pleading hoarsely with him to stop, her words a slurred, indistinguishable mix of English and Gaelic. He didn't allow her to rest until tears leaked from her eyes and she felt like she'd never be whole again.

"Shhh, my darling. There's no need for tears. The night is still young and I have much to teach you," he reached for her, pulling her up into his arms. He hugged her close, held her to him as he stroked his hands down her back to soothe her battered senses. She'd never in her life experienced anything like what he'd just done to her. His mouth found hers again, kissed her soundly while his hands stroked the tension from her back and shoulders, teased a sense of bonelessness into her limbs until she was utterly limp against him.

Again, his mouth moved from hers to tease random patches of skin until it felt as though a fire raged unchecked beneath her flesh. She squirmed in his hold, silently begging for something she couldn't yet name. But she knew, without a doubt, that he would be able to give it to her. After several long moments of lavishing attention on her breasts, he drew back and chuckled softly. "So receptive. So eager. So deliciously wanton. The things I'm going to teach you, love. Just wait. You'll be more accomplished in bed than all the courtesans at court put together."

Dare wasn't sure how he did it. One moment, she was clutched in his arms and they were sitting. The next, he was laying flat on his back and she was straddling his waist. She could feel the thick, hard length of him behind her, a silent reminder that there was still more to come. And, somehow, she knew that truly meant more.

He didn't speak, didn't ask her if she knew what was going on. He simply curled his hands around her hips and lifted her up. She went, allowing him to position her so that she found herself on her knees, her body hovering over his shaft. She stared down into his face helplessly. The look prompted a gentle smile from him. His hands tightened their hold on her. "Reach down and take me in hand, love. Then lower yourself down onto me."

She didn't think it would quite work, but she did as he told her. One hand found him, grasped his thick cock at the base. Then she slowly sank down. A soft moan rolled up her throat when she felt the head of him press inside of her. His hands urged her to continue and his voice floated up to her, loaded with encouragement and no small amount of strain. "That's my girl. All the way down. Take all of me."

She felt as if she were going to burst. This was new to her and she felt as if she were an untried maiden again. A shudder rippled through her when she came to a full stop, when he was completely buried within her. None of the men she'd bedded previously had let her know that there were such pleasures to be had, to be found within the human body. Damned stoic English. She was ruined now, would never be satisfied with their pathetic couplings again.

He gave her time to adjust, to simply sit and feel him inside of her. His hands never left her hips, never let go of her. She merely sat there, taking in the way her body rippled around his, the way it slowly relaxed around him. There was patience in his eyes, patience and more. She didn't know what else there was to be had, but she didn't question it too deeply. She only stared down at him, drank in the beauty of his face and the way he stared up at her, as if she were the only woman in the world.

Perhaps, for just this moment, she was.

When she felt the last of the ripples fade away, when it felt as if he were no longer trying to split her in twain from the inside, he offered her a gentle smile. "Now, my dear. Its time to find that lovely pot of golden pleasure that you've fallen into before. For both of us, this time. I shall guide you. I want you to simply follow my lead."

He waited for her to nod her head, then started her on a slow, up and down motion that saw her breasts bouncing against her chest and his cock slipping in and out of her. That brought more of those ripples and shudders to her. They rolled up and down her spine, brought soft gasping breaths from her throat. She hadn't known that there were such feelings to be had. She was learning, though, finding out that there was so much more to be found in a coupling than she'd previously thought. And soon, as their tempo sped and their bodies raced together toward that same golden feeling she'd had before, his hands fell away from her hips to seek out her breasts. Her own body held the rhythm, sought the pleasure to be had, the pleasure he'd promised her would be there.

Rolls of thunder and flashes of lightning mingled with her panting breaths. Cold rain showered over them, soaked the cushions and their skin, dampened their hair until it hung about their faces in streaming ropes. The wind blew against them, as chill as winter snow. But she felt none of it, barely took note. All that mattered was him and the way he fit to her body. The way he filled her inside. Both in body and in ways she had yet to fully admit to herself.

Lord rose up until he was sitting beneath her, his mouth hungrily claiming hers. Still she moved, rode up and down on him, her hips moving ever faster. His hands dropped down and curled around her ass cheeks, helped shift her up and down. Crept closer and closer to the cleft that divided them. When she felt the beginning of that tension again, he tore a soft moan from her throat by pressing one of his fingers into her backside. It rubbed against his shaft through a thin membrane. Heightened her arousal and pleasure until she panted and keened out a wordless cry.

His hips thrust up hard and fast against hers, almost painful as he sought his release. She understood that much, had been through it before. But this was still vastly different from her other encounters. He hadn't forgotten about her as the other men had. Lord wasn't just trying to find his pleasure. He was trying to give her her own, as well. And he was doing such a fine job of it.

She understood that now, realized that what she'd experienced earlier was similar to the moment when a man found his pleasure upon a woman's body, when he released his seed into her. She hadn't known that a woman could find such a release. But now, she was spiraling toward it once more, flying up and up even while she struggled to breathe and move and anticipate his needs.

He leaned back from her, looked her in the eye. He propped himself up on one hand and slipped the other one between them. She started when his fingers touched that little bit of flesh again. Fresh sparks shot through her. He flicked his nail against it before rubbing at it slowly.

"Jouis pour moi."

His voice was low and husky, filled with some kind of power that she found she didn't want to resist. One more flick of his finger and she felt herself breaking apart around him. Her body shook and she went still over him, body rigid as she rode the wave of indescribable pleasure. His hips never stopped moving. Nor did his finger. Wave after wave crashed over her head. One would hit and recede, only for another one to roll in and pull her under immediately after. She was drowning in the sticky, sweet sensation of pleasure, gasping for breath when she could remember to do so. And still he moved. Still he teased and coaxed her body into responding to his.

The end eventually came. Lord's hips moved almost impossibly fast, his body driving up into hers with mindless need. She felt him swell inside of her, felt him twitch. A groan rolled up his throat, a loud sound of satisfaction, and his body tensed. Several more thrusts, harder than any he'd made before, drove him deep inside of her, pumped his seed into her. Left her limp and spent in his arms.

She slumped forward into his arms, rested her head against his shoulder. Lord chuckled softly before scooping her up into his arms. He crossed the room to deposit her in the bed, taking a few moments to tuck her under the bedding. Then he returned to the window and closed it, drawing the curtains over the alcove to hide it away. It cut the amount of light down to what was supplied by the candles. She watched through heavily lidded eyes as he moved about the room.

"Robert?" she asked sleepily. "Are ye no' goin' tae join me in bed?"

"What would Lady Prudence say if she were to know that you spent the entire night with a man who wasn't your husband?" There was something in his voice, a kind of expectation. She struggled to sit up and find him, her body pleasantly heavy after their bout of... What should she call it?

"I dinnae give a damn what Lady Prudence thinks o' me. Please dinnae go." She offered him a lopsided grin. "I've no' seduced ye yet."

He cocked a brow at that, then looked pointedly at her bared breasts. "No? Then what was that in the window seat just now? A game of chess?"

"I dinnae think ye're done teachin' me evra'thing," she returned. Dare slithered from the bed, walking toward him boldly. She watched with satisfaction as the desire flared in his eyes. She stopped before him, staring at him longingly before she took that last step and wrapped her arms around him. "I dinnae want ye tae go. I want ye tae stay. I'm cauld, Robert, and ye're the only one who can warm me up."

"Your reputation will be in tatters after this."

"I dinnae care aboot m' reputation. I do as I please. And I wish tae please ye." She went up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I wish tae please ye all night long."

He gave her a smug look of satisfaction, enfolding her into his embrace. "So you see now that the French are better lovers than the English. And you simply can't get enough of me."

"Aye."

Lord swung her up into his arms and carried her back to the bed, tossing her onto the mattress. Dare giggled as she bounced, then found herself pinned by his body. She slid her arms and legs around him and proceeded to kiss him. As if he were the only thing keeping her alive.

Several hours later, when he'd tired himself out and lay sleeping beside her, while the storm raged outside her window, Dare found herself wide awake. She rested on an elbow and stared down into his relaxed face. She was tempted to reach out and stroke his hair away from it. She didn't. Touching him would be bad. She still had a job to do. Still had to follow the orders given her.

How was she to manage it when looking at him made her heart stop and beat faster all at the same time? How was she supposed to do it and let him go? How was she supposed to end this when she'd already fallen in love with him?