Then the moment passed, and he pulled out the chair before lowering himself onto the tufted seat. The club ensured members were always comfortable, no doubt to dissuade them from leaving the tables prematurely, with coins still jingling in their pockets. He set a book on the table.
“Oh, my word, you’ve garnered a copy of My Secret Desires,” Lady Letitia gushed, any drama played out before completely forgotten. The card game as well, it seemed. “Is it available in the club library?”
He trailed one long, slender finger along the spine, and Regina fought not to recall how delicious it had felt when he’d done the same along hers. “Unfortunately not. It was won in a card game earlier.”
“I’ve been dying to get my little hands on it.” Those hands were presently fidgeting with the tokens used to make her bets. “The recounting of a daring woman’s scandalous adventures—my understanding of the story from what I’ve heard whispered—makes for a titillating read.”
“Some say it’s not a memoir at all,” Viscount Langdon offered, “but merely fiction, the memoir in the title simply part of the fantasy it seeks to create. Like Fanny Hill, a novel touted as being the memoir of a woman pleasured. Certainly, a publication garners more interest if it’s believed to be a confession rather than the result of an active imagination. As a matter of fact, wagers are being made at White’s as well as in the betting book here, regarding whether it is truth or fiction.”
“Even if it is fiction, one can’t write about such intimate matters if one hasn’t experienced them.” Lady Letitia leaned forward slightly. “I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to read the opening passage aloud so perhaps we could judge for ourselves.”
“We’re here to play cards,” Regina stated pithily since the dealer seemed to have forgotten his role at the table, “not sit through a droll reading.”
“Have you read it?” Knightly asked.
“Of course I’ve not read the book. I don’t waste my time with such rubbish.” Or with the likes of you. She should leave now but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of chasing her off.
“If you’ve not read it, how do you know it’s rubbish? Perhaps it’s a work that will last through the ages.”
“With a title such as that? It was no doubt penned by a group of bored spinsters.” She was proud of her voice for not giving away any of her emotions. Why did he have to plague her now?
“I say we put it to a vote,” Lady Letitia bubbled enthusiastically. “Raise your hand if you’d like Lord Knightly to read us the opening passage.”
Her hand quickly shot up as did one from each of the other two ladies. Even Lord Langdon, the scapegrace, raised a hand and arched a brow at Regina to indicate she shouldn’t be so prudish. The dealer merely patiently shuffled the cards as though he had no other purpose than to rearrange their order.
Regina glared hotly at him. “You’re not going to allow this madness to go forward, surely.”
He merely shrugged his narrow shoulders. “My instructions are to keep members happy.”
“Well, this member is frightfully unhappy. I’ll take my winnings elsewhere.” She began gathering up her wooden tokens, which she should have done the moment Knightly sat. She was tempted to toss them all in his face. However, she was not one for public displays of uncontrolled emotion. She’d become extremely skilled at burying her feelings, thanks in large part to the blackguard sitting across from her.
“Come now, Reggie, don’t be a spoilsport,” Knightly said. “Where’s the harm in giving the dealer a short respite while I take on the role of entertainer?”
“Don’t call me that. We are no longer on intimate terms.” She nearly slammed her eyes closed. She did wish she hadn’t used that particular word. Intimate. It conjured up images of searing kisses, heated touches, and smoldering gazes. Those damned locks of hair falling across his brow as he leaned in—
“My apologies, Miss Leyland. But you must be as curious as everyone else about this book, surely.”
“Did you not peruse it already, looking for those passages that are very likely to see its author in court on charges of indecency?”
“If they can ever discover who the author is—but, no, I was visiting with friends earlier and didn’t want to be impolite. However, as I’ve had a request”—he waved his hand in the direction of Lady Letitia—“and enjoy nothing more than satisfying another’s curiosity, perhaps you’ll indulge me.”
He’d once indulged her curiosity—with a touch, a kiss, and more. He’d opened her up to worlds she’d not even dared to imagine. In spite of the wreckage their relationship had become, during their time together, she’d been deliriously happy, had believed she knew what it was to be loved. More importantly, she had known what it was to love another, fully and unconditionally. Certainly, she’d always loved her parents, but what she’d felt for him hadn’t been tied to blood. It had been all-encompassing. Like the stars in the sky, endless.
With a heavy sigh, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, not missing the quick dip of his gaze. Ages ago, he’d admired them and peppered them with kisses. “Oh, very well. I suppose I can suffer through a few minutes of listening to your dull repetition of written words.”
Lady Letitia clapped gleefully and bounced in her chair. Everyone else eased forward, even the dealer, in spite of his sitting beside Knightly. Regina maintained her straight and stiff posture, refusing to give any hint at all that she had an interest in witnessing how he would react to what many had deemed quite saucy.
After slipping his spectacles from his pocket and putting them in place, he opened the book, applied fingers that had brought her pleasure to turning pages, until he reached his destination, cleared his throat, and began. “‘Chapter One. The Gentleman. For me, he shall always be the gentleman, the one I could never forget, the one no man could ever replace. Our first meeting occurred at a ball. I must have been introduced to a hundred men before he appeared. Yet, when my eyes met his of dazzling blue, I could no longer remember any of the others. It was as if they’d all transformed into smoke and drifted away on a warm breeze. Only he was real. Only he was of substance. Only he mattered. When Lord K took my hand, bent over it, and pressed his lush lips against my knuckles, though I wore gloves, I felt the heat of his moist mouth seeping into my flesh.’”
She’d forgotten what an incredibly beautiful voice he had, how he could imbue it with passion. How it could make her laugh. And move her to tears. How it could thoroughly ignite her body until she was cursing and crying out for release. The terribly wicked things he would growl that sent her flying into ecstasy. His voice, low, deep, harsh, soft. It was one of the most erotic things about him.
Very slowly, he closed the book, as though it had suddenly become delicate glass. Or perhaps he had. Maybe his voice had the same effect on him—brought everything to life until he could picture that initial meeting of an innocent girl and a very experienced man. Although the sentences weren’t tawdry, were in fact quite tame except for the mention of flesh, still, with his delivery, they conjured up the promise of lurid images that would soon have the couple, and perhaps the reader, sweltering with desire.