now.” The brandy had unaccountably left a sour taste on his tongue. It took another moment or two for his fuzzed brain to realize why.
Damn. Was he really still stewing over his encounter with Alessandra’s friend?
What the devil did it matter whether he had shocked Miss Kate-Katharine Woodbridge? He had, he told himself, likely done her a favor. She might fancy herself a woman of the world on account of her travels outside the rarefied realm of the English aristocracy. But in truth she had no real knowledge of human nature. Good and evil. Light and dark.
Someone needed to illuminate for her how truly black a soul could be.
Averting his gaze from the golden glare of the candles, Marco made another rough sound in the back of his throat. “It feels like a red-hot pitchfork is jabbing into my skull.”
“In a foul humor?” Paloma slipped her hand beneath the satin sheets. “Seeing as you are not in the mood for drinking, let’s discover if we can find another way to elevate your spirits,” she said coyly.
His growl softened—and his body hardened.
Her smooth fingers danced lightly along his stiffening length. “Your head might not feel up to it, but Il Serpenti is always in a playful mood.”
True. On the rare occasions when he couldn’t drown himself in drink, he was always able to submerge himself in lust.
Paloma straddled his thighs, teasing her touch through the nest of coarse curls between his legs. “Ah, Marco, you are the very picture of masculine beauty.” She leaned back admiringly, watching the firelight flicker over his naked body. “A flame-gilded god.”
“Who will likely roast in hell,” he murmured.
“You are a very wicked man,” she agreed. Dipping her fingertips in the wine, she circled his shaft and began a slow, rhythmic stroking. “But Lucifer and his glowing coals lie far in the future. For the present, you are here with me, so why not enjoy it?”
“Why not, indeed.” Marco slid his hands to the warm, willing curves of her bottom and lifted her into the air.
A throaty laugh floated through the faint swirls of smoke thrown up by the scented candles. She hovered for an instant above his arousal, a dark angel casting shadows across his face, then gave a deep moan as their flesh joined and their bodies became one.
Pleasure. For a fleeting interlude, it was enough to keep his inner devils at bay.
Chapter Four
A late night?”
Marco waved away the offer of tea. “Coffee, if you please,” he said to the hovering footman. “Black and strong.”
The Marquess of Lynsley went back to buttering his toast and reading the newspaper. “You look like dung.”
“I feel like shite.”
“Perhaps you ought to consider tempering your carousing.”
Marco brushed a hand over his disheveled coat and cravat. He had found the note requesting his presence waiting for him when he returned to his lodgings an hour ago. As it had sounded urgent, he hadn’t bothered to change his clothing or to shave. “Why would I want to do that?”
Lynsley shrugged his well-tailored shoulders. “So you don’t end up a bloated, pox-ridden carcass by the age of thirty. But, of course, your life is entirely your own affair.”
Shoving a tangle of hair back from his brow, Marco curled a cocky smile. “I’ll have you know, my carcass was just a few hours ago compared to the body of a Roman god.”
Lynsley refilled his teacup. “Ah, I’m impressed that your latest whore knows the difference between Roman and Greek deities. I take it you have moved to the Grotto of Venus.”
In spite of his muzzy head and a mouth that felt filled with dried horse droppings, Marco managed a laugh. “Madame Erato charges enough that she could hire the whole damn faculty from Oxford to teach her girls the nuances of ancient history.”
“Somehow I think she would choose to spend her money on other sorts of instruction,” said Lynsley dryly. “Now, do you mind if we switch the subject from your pego to politics? Or do you need another few moments for the coffee to move from your belly to your brain?” A pause. “Assuming you haven’t left it behind in some bordello.”
“Madre mio, have you never misbehaved?” Marco pressed his palms to his throbbing temples. “No, don’t answer that. Your nobility will only make me feel worse.”
Lynsley chuckled. “Come along to my study.”
Marco quickly drained his cup and rose to follow him. The prospect of an assignment had already piqued his interest. A new challenge was just what he needed to