RendezvousWithYou

  Rendezvous With You

  Cecily French

  Ian covets the title The Best Lover in London and enthusiastic Bella is just the woman to assist him. A secret note promises she’s eager to join in their evening of wicked delights, a masked contest against other couples, all pleasure bound to achieve the thousand-pound prize. Their host encourages them to let their imaginations run wild. Their identities are private, as is each chamber. Once the masks are off, anything can happen. And usually does.

  A Romantica® Regency historical erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Rendezvous With You

  Cecily French

  Chapter One

  London, 1816

  Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

  A rich scent rose from the small piece of paper she clutched and her heart leaped in excited expectation of the satisfaction to come. Beneath the skirt of her dressing gown, a dull ache started between her legs and a warm flow of fluid signaled the beginnings of her excitement. Mercy, all she had to do was think of him—his prick inside her, pounding away while his hands cupped her bottom so she could feel every last, blessed inch of him—and she became aroused.

  And heaven help her, there was a lot of him.

  Perching on the stool, she read over the message again in the flickering light from the candle on her dressing table, admiring the way the handwriting covered the paper in a sprawling but neat script. She shivered in delight, recalling the power of his hands. Soon those hands would be on her, stroking, teasing, tweaking until he had her screaming to use something more than his hands to finish their coupling.

  Would it be hard and fast, or slow and agonizingly delicious?

  Or both?

  Meet me at the appointed place tonight at eight o’clock. Don’t be late.

  She would have it both ways. She would demand it from him. Her smile in the dressing table’s three-sided mirror took on a saucy tilt as she considered how she would him make do her bidding. Should she take her new riding crop with her? That would certainly surprise him.

  And not only would she have him, if she were lucky and he proved the lover she knew him to be, she would be one thousand pounds richer by the end of the night. A delicious thrill of naughtiness coursed over her. She’d never done it for money before.

  And a thousand pounds! She could certainly use it.

  Her maid would not return to help her dress for tonight’s affair so she slid the silken robe from her shoulders, past her hips to pool at her feet. Her breasts gleamed with a pearly luminescence, her nipples rosy against her pale skin. She hesitated, and then stroked one of her nipples, rolling it between her fingers. A sigh issued from her throat. Touching herself was not quite the same as having him do it.

  “Perfection,” he had murmured this afternoon as he moved his mouth from one breast to the other, his tongue working a wicked suckling magic. “Delicious.”

  Her hand slid down to her belly and stopped. Dare she bring herself to satisfaction before joining him later? Her cave’s inner walls ached and she slid her hand lower to touch herself.

  Would it arouse him if she told him she had used her own hand to take her to pleasure’s heights?

  Somehow she thought it would.

  She stood and put the stool aside, then dragged an oversized brocaded chair from the corner of the room and set it before the dressing table. Sitting, she draped her legs over the sides of chair, opening them wide, and gazed at the pale blonde thatch of hair covering her mound. She slid one hand between her thighs again while the other gripped the arm of the chair, and fixed her thoughts on the man she would see within the hour. A creamy wetness coated her fingers as they centered on the tight bud he called her “sweet spot.” They traced, they tickled, they pinched. In the mirror, her expression turned heavy-lidded and dreamy while her breathing sped and she recalled how he touched her there.

  “You are a miracle of design,” he had told her as his fingers fondled her clitoris. “Built to hold a man’s cock. A man would be a fool not to want to bury himself in your sweetness.”

  “Then do it. Give me your cock. Give me all of you.”

  “Not yet. My hand is going to make you scream before I give you the rest of me.”

  She whimpered, unable to stop from fingering her clitoris harder and harder. She slapped her other hand over her mouth to stop her scream. Her panting filled the room and she waited for her heart to slow its furious pace.

  Oh, yes. They would have to do it in a chair later tonight, with her sitting in his lap, guiding his cock in and out of her as she straddled him on her knees. Or maybe on top of a table. She shivered at the thought of the cool hard wood beneath her ass and feet as she opened her legs to accept him. She tweaked her nipples once more, just to last until his mouth fastened on them, and shivered again. She must remember to ask him to pleasure her with his hand first.

  And depending on whether there was one in their room, perhaps they could do it in front of a mirror.

  Only slightly satisfied, she dressed and left for the evening.

  * * * * *

  Where in blazes is she? I told her not to be late!

  The man readjusted his mask and peered across the room. It was ten minutes after eight and the other guests—five men counting himself and four women, all masked—had already arrived. He didn’t mind waiting for pleasure as long as it wasn’t too long a wait. A glance at the others showed them engaged in private conversations. From his breeches pocket, he cautiously took out her written reply to the note he had sent her earlier.

  Your future satisfaction is assured, my good sir. Let your imagination run wild. Until tonight.

  Trying not to grin too broadly, he returned the note to his pocket. Not only would he have satisfaction, but he’d be a thousand pounds richer if his partner proved up to the task. He glanced at the others. He had no idea who they were and didn’t care. But no doubt like him, the chance to earn a thousand pounds simply for a night of tupping was too tempting for them to pass up.

  No matter how vast his fortune, he could always use an extra thousand pounds. In spite of that, he longed for another lengthy session with a certain blonde lady. Their afternoon romp at the hotel and then in the carriage had left him eager for the evening and all that was to follow.

  A murmur started on the other side of the room and his gaze followed. A woman in a silver gown carrying an open ivory fan had entered. An elaborate mask of mauve and gold covered her upper features and a matching reticule dangled from her wrist. Her elaborate white wig shimmered like starlight from the flicker of hundreds of candles around the room. His groin ached in anticipation and only the sternest of internal commands kept his cock from hardening in front of God and everyone else. The thought of her hands on him nearly made him groan aloud, but he pressed his lips together, keeping his desire—for now—behind his mouth.

  He crossed the room, making his walk one more suited to an easy stroll through Hyde Park and not a man impatient to begin an evening of sexual abandon. He might have to punish her just a bit for making him wait, naughty chit that she was. Maybe a quick slap or two to that sweet lovely ass of hers. But nothing too hard. Her porcelain skin was far too lovely to mar with bruises. A sore ass might slow their fun.

  And since she would be on that ass a good portion of the evening, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Some might like pain along with their lovemaking, but he had no use for it.

  She stood waiting, her fan beating a slow, steady rhythm. Her mouth, tinted with just the faintest hint of rouge, curved up as he approached. The other couples had returned to their own conversations. That was among this evening’s rules. One did not attempt to learn the identities of the other guests and one paid attention only to one’s partner for the eveni
ng.

  And by heaven, he would give her every bit of attention she wanted…and then some.

  He stopped before her and bowed. “I believe you are mine for the evening, my lady?”

  “I am.” Her voice rolled over him in a velvet growl and she inclined her head.

  “Can you prove it?”

  The tip of her tongue ran over her lips and from her gown’s low-cut bodice—one that if cut any lower would give every man present a good look at all of her breasts instead of only the upper half—she produced a small scrap of paper. “I believe you sent me this earlier today?”

  He opened and read over the note before tucking it back in place. Her silken skin and the luscious swell of her breasts made his mouth water and it took every ounce of his self-control not to let his fingers creep past the neckline and tweak her nipples into hardness.

  Damn all. He had to taste them—now. He had to taste all of her now. “What am I to call you, my lady?”

  “Isabell.” The beat of her fan picked up tempo. “And how am I to call you?"

  “Ian. You may call me Ian.”

  Her twinkling eyes were an invitation to wantonness. “Very well. Ian it is.”

  “If I may have your attention, please.” A light-hued tenor rang over the room and the assembly turned their attention to a slender man in a simple black mask. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I am Allesandro, your host.”

  The guests exchanged glances. “Allesandro” was known to everyone and no one—famed for arranging private parties where anything could happen and usually did. His identity was debated and discussed from Carlton House to Boodles to every Mayfair hostess’s drawing room. Invitations to his events were as coveted as vouchers to Almack’s and no one had the least clue as to whom he really was. Any attempts to discover and reveal his identity ensured no more invitations from him. Ever.

  “You all know why you are here tonight.” Allesandro bowed to the assembly. “For—”

  “Fucking ourselves silly,” shouted a man wearing a puce brocade coat and a shirt with far too many ruffles.

  The auburn-haired woman standing next to him rapped his arm with her closed fan. “If you’re going to be silly, I’m leaving right now.”

  “Not even a little bit silly?” he pleaded. “After all, screwing should be fun.”

  “That depends on what you have to show me.” She placed her fan against his groin. “And it better be good.”

  He grinned, took her gloved hand and kissed it. “You’re in for a wonderful surprise, my dear.”

  “I was going to say we are assembled to celebrate pleasure,” Allesandro said cheerfully. “Pure carnal pleasure in all its forms. The only limitations are those set by your imagination or lack thereof. But you gentlemen should be flattered. The ladies present have all declared to me that each of you is the best lover in London. So your indulgences tonight have the added challenge of proving your so-called reputations. Who shall be our victor? The couple who can keep it up until midnight, pardon the expression, wins this evening’s purse of one thousand pounds, with the lone gentleman winning the accolade of ‘Best Lover in London’. How you divide your winnings is up to you.”

  “You mean we have to share it?” Isabell pointed at Ian. “I have to divide it with him?”

  “My dear lady,” Ian drawled. “You make it sound as though you’re going to be doing all the work.”

  “If I’m to be forced to share the money with you, you had better do more than just lie there,” she retorted. “I want my money’s worth.”

  Allesandro bowed in her direction. “If the length of a man’s prick is judged by his height, I think you’ll get it, my lady.”

  “Good,” Isabell said primly and the other guests laughed.

  “As to the rest of the rules,” a grinning Allesandro said, “we are not responsible for torn clothing or any injury that might result from your excursions. Enthusiasm and vigor is one thing. Bodily harm is quite another. I only ask you try not to break any of the furniture. If you have not already made arrangements for refreshments, they are available by sending down the dumbwaiter in each of your chambers.

  “Your honesty in reporting is depended upon. Throughout the evening, bells will ring to signal a couple’s retirement from the competition. The last couple to reenter this room will take home the prize.”

  “What about our masks?” a man called. “Do we leave them on or take them off?”

  “That is up to you. But remember, if you and your partner did not know each other before tonight and want your invitations to such events to continue, then keeping your partner’s identity secret is vital. If the rest of the ton learns they were not invited to this event, they’ll be wild with jealousy and my life will have no peace. But then, none of them have your reputations for sexual prowess.” After waiting for the ladies’ chuckles to fade away, he gave a final bow. “So,” he said, “let the revelry begin.”

  A buzz of animated conversations began and Ian stared at the beauty beside him. “Can I trust you to divide the spoils at the end of the evening?”

  Her mouth formed a delicious pout and her blonde eyebrows drew together. “Are you going to make it worth my time?”

  “To not do so would make me less than a gentleman. Shall we go?”

  Silently, he offered her his arm and led her from the room into the large foyer and up the curving staircase. Flickering lamps on the steps and wall sconces provided light to guide them, casting their shadows on the walls. A couple in front of them moved with great haste as if desperate desire drove them. They entered a room at the top of the stairs and slammed the door behind them.

  Ian chuckled and opened the next door in the hall, allowing Isabell to enter first. He had hardly followed her inside and closed the door when she threw aside her reticule and fan and thrust herself against him, pulling his head down to bury her tongue in his mouth. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close, thrusting his pulsing cock against her.

  “I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon since I left you,” she whispered, breaking their kiss while her hands slid down his back to squeeze his ass. “Did I really leave you unsatisfied?”

  “Yes and no.” His thumb traced the soft pad of her lips. “After all, we only had an hour. But now we have until midnight, my lady. How do you want it first?”

  Beneath her mask, her topaz eyes glittered like jewels. “On the table over there, but wearing our clothes. Or at least most of them. And then against the wall.”

  Ian examined their chamber. Four large candelabras—one in each corner—provided their light, helped by the dancing flames in the fireplace. A very long table, more appropriate for a dinner party than a place for a romp, stood in the center of the room. Several oversized chairs were grouped near the fireplace. Nearby was another table with tumblers, a glass carafe filled with a pale liquid, a bowl of fruit, an ice bucket holding a bottle of wine, two glasses and an unopened pack of playing cards.

  Allesandro had thought of everything.

  And, of course, there was the bed. The four-poster waited in another corner, coverlet and sheets already turned back as if expecting a pair of someones to stretch out and take their ease.

  Or to borrow a phrase from another guest, “Fuck themselves silly.”

  “What about the bed?” he teased, leading her to the table. “Or should we save that for last?”

  She stripped off her gloves and dropped them on the table as her lips formed a lovely pout. “Anyone can make love in a bed. Besides, what if they ask not just how many times we did it, but where? Do you really want to admit to using something as mundane as the bed?”

  “Good point,” Ian conceded. “Are you sure you want to start our screwing in our clothing?”

  “Yes,” she affirmed with a nod. “I want to feel wanton and wicked.”

  “What if I want to suck your breasts first?” he breathed against her ear and was rewarded with a whimper. “How do I do that with your clothes on?”r />
  Her pout became a teasing smile. “The bodice unbuttons in the front.” Tilting her head back to peer at him under half-lowered lids, she undid the first two buttons and parted just enough of her gown to expose the top halves of her breasts. “And right now, I want you hard and fast within me.”

  “I’m already hard. See for yourself.” He took her hand and placed it against his throbbing prick. “By heaven, it was all I could do not to let the others see this. But you’ll have to wait for me to put my cock into your puss because you were ten minutes late after I asked you not to be. I’m going to taste your breasts first.” He finished undoing her buttons down to her waist, untied the strings of her corset, pulled the fabric aside and stopped. “Sweet Jesu,” he breathed reverently. “What is this? You’re not wearing a shift?”

  “I liked the idea of you being able to touch me as soon as possible,” she said simply. She placed his hands on her breasts. “I didn’t want to wait for you to taste me. To touch me. I touched my puss during the carriage ride here, but it wasn’t the same.”

  “You pleasured yourself without me there?” He narrowed his eyes. “I just might have to spank you for that. Not letting me be there to watch you. Did you come? Did you scream?”

  “Yes.” Desire glittered in the depths of her eyes as she ran her hands over his chest. “I pleasured myself before a mirror while dressing to come here too,” she whispered. “All I could think of was being with you. Your hands on me, your mouth tasting me, your long lovely cock pounding away inside me. I couldn’t help myself, but my hand was a poor substitute for you.”

  “Something you would do well to remember,” he cautioned, untying her mask. He lifted it away and his breath caught in his throat. By all that was holy, hers was a beauty beyond description. The scent of orange blossoms filled his head and he bit back a laugh as he put her mask on the table. Her wearing a bride’s scent when she had already proven herself a sexual force of nature only made him want her more.