A Daring Deception

by Trentham, Laura

  She raised her head when he reached the downy hair of her mons. “What are you doing?”

  He merely smiled wickedly and licked her right between the legs. He continued his ministrations at her core, sucking and nipping and driving his tongue inside her.

  Tremors rocked her until she was unmoored. Embarrassment didn’t exist in the new world he’d unlocked, only need. She drove her hips higher into his mouth, begging him in harsh whispers. He pressed a finger inside her, and then another. A noise in her head like a million butterflies beating their wings drowned everything else out.

  Pleasure splintered her. She searched for a stable force, her hands finding and clinging to his shoulders as her body writhed. He withdrew his fingers, and she gave a mewling cry of distress at the sudden emptiness. He shifted her farther up the bed with ease and knelt between her spread legs. She forced her eyes open, any fear subsumed by her climax.

  He was a sight to behold. His face was thrown half in shadow by the bed curtains, the planes and hollows emphasized. Candlelight sparked off the blond hair peppering his muscular chest. He fisted the base of his cock and guided himself to her entrance, rubbing the head through the slickness welcoming him.

  “Are you sure you want this?” He raised his gaze to hers. “There’s no going back after this.”

  The intensity in his blue eyes was like the hottest part of a flame. She would gladly sacrifice herself to the blaze if he asked. Afraid she might beg, she shifted her hips to take the head of his cock. The slight burn was drowned out by the pleasure of fullness.

  He didn’t hesitate and pressed his hips forward an inch, watching her intently. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine.” She almost laughed at the inadequacy of the word. The weather was fine. Horses were fine. This was not fine. This was… “Primal. I feel like an animal. I want more.”

  The chesty noise he made was an equally animalistic grunt. He gave her another inch and another, until his pelvis was seated against her.

  She scored her nails across his shoulders, and his hips bucked like a horse being given spurs. He pulled almost all the way out and pressed back inside her, slowly, almost gently.

  “Don’t be gentle with me, Your Grace.”

  He barred his teeth, the cords of his neck tight, and answered by pumping faster and harder into her. A sheen of sweat broke over his shoulders. With every stroke, her own pleasure spiraled tighter. She curled her pelvis toward him, and his next stroke dizzied her. It was the same, yet different, as earlier. Could she possibly reach her climax again?

  Yes, she could. The tumult was harsher and yet more satisfying than before. After a half dozen more hard thrusts, Simon pulled out and rubbed his cock with a sure hand. Fluid spurted out of the end onto her belly. He threw his head back on a low groan and collapsed at her side as if shot, his arm heavy under her breasts.

  The fluid on her belly cooled, but she was in no hurry to move. The weight of his arm and the heat of his body against hers was comforting in a way she couldn’t describe. Their breathing slowed together, and her heart seemed to find the same rhythm as his.

  As the rain continued to patter against the window, two of the candles guttered and extinguished themselves. What time was it? Sometime between midnight and dawn was as close as she could guess.

  Simon levered himself up with a noise of regret and retrieved a square of linen from the pocket of his jacket. Still naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and cleaned his spend from her body. Without his heat, she shivered, and he tucked her in bed, pressing kisses along her bare skin as he pulled the covers up.

  His hair was tousled. The rigid edge of propriety he used to keep society at bay had been cast aside. When he shifted to rise, she propped herself on her elbow and caught his hand. He met her gaze with a quizzical expression. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to know or how to ask. Hesitantly, she tried to put her query into words. “Is it always like that?”

  “You mean coupling between a man and woman?”

  “I never knew my mother to enjoy the act. She seemed to dread sharing a bed with Goforth, even at the beginning.”

  He crumpled the soiled linen in his fist even as he gently stroked her cheek. “It has never been so intense for me, but then again, I’ve never been in love before.”

  All she could do was smile through a sudden haze of tears. Was it exhaustion or the fact he had stripped away all her defenses to leave her intensely vulnerable?

  He retreated to pull on his trousers and shirt, tucking in the tails while he gazed through the streaks of rain to the outside world. The few remaining candles still burning wavered light over his face, but no hint of dawn lightened the veil of darkness.

  “The rain has abated,” he said.

  “When must you go?” she asked with increasing dread. Why couldn’t they stay cocooned together forever?

  “Soon. Too soon. I don’t want Goforth to suspect anything. Not until I have a chance to solidify plans on how to extricate you while keeping your brother safe.” He turned to her. “It might take some time.”

  “Yes.” Or it may never happen. She understood the realities.

  While her experience with matters of the flesh had very recently been expanded, she had too much experience with disappointment and loss. Losing Simon would be yet another devastating loss, but one she would survive.

  “You must string Goforth along and make sure he doesn’t do anything rash,” Simon said.

  “I will do my best.”

  Simon slipped on his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. He leaned over her and touched his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  With that, he opened the window, letting in damp, chilly air and a scattering of raindrops. She wrapped the coverlet around herself, her heart taking the scary plunge out the window with him. Carefully, he lowered himself over the ledge and deftly scaled to the ground with catlike agility. He turned to look up and blow her a kiss.

  She raised her hand and watched until he disappeared into the misty dawn. Exhaustion swamped her, and she returned to bed to hopefully dream of Simon. Instead, she was plagued with nightmares of Goforth and Sir Benedict Pennington.

  Chapter 21

  A pounding on her chamber door woke her from a restless sleep. What an odd way for Abby to announce her arrival. She sat up with her covers tight under her arms. Where was her night rail? Her mind was fuzzy from sleep.

  “Just a moment, Abby!” Unless she wanted to answer awkward questions about her state of undress, she needed to find the garment.

  Before she could rise, the door burst open. She let out a little scream and burrowed under the covers. It wasn’t Abby who entered, but her stepfather. He was in high dudgeon if his ruddy face and the set of his mouth were any indication. Abby hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands in her apron.

  “Sir! You must leave at once. If you wish to discuss something, I will have Abby help me dress and be down shortly.” It was difficult to sound imperious when she was at such a disadvantage.

  His gaze swept over her. He stalked to the puddle of white that was her night rail, lifted it, and waved it about like a flag of surrender. Except she feared she was the one who would lose the battle ahead.

  “Are you in the habit of casting off all proprieties when not under my gaze?” His snide tone set her hackles up but also shot fear through her.

  He couldn’t know anything. Could he? “My personal habits are none of your business, sir. Please take your leave.”

  Goforth spun to the door, and Jessica let out the breath she’d been holding. He didn’t leave, but slammed the door shut in Abby’s face. They were alone. Her mouth dried, and she found it difficult to swallow, much less voice a protest.

  Still holding her night rail in one fist, he walked not to the bed to accost her as she feared, but to the window. He knelt and pulled a length of black cloth from where it had been lost under the curtain.

  Simon’s neckcloth. She tight
ened her grip on the covers, fighting the urge to bury herself underneath them altogether.

  “I don’t even have to ask who was here.” Goforth rent the cloth in two.

  The sound made her flinch. “That is nothing. A scrap of cloth Abby dropped.”

  “Do you think I’m a fool!” Spittle flew out of his mouth. “You sneaked the bloody Duke of Bellingham into your room and gave yourself to him.”

  As it wasn’t a question, she didn’t bother answering.

  “At least you aren’t stupid enough to deny it. A stable boy saw him scaling out of your window. You allowed him to take the only thing of worth you possess—your virtue.”

  “He is willing to wed me. Think of the social and political benefits of having a duke as your relation. It would be a coup. A feather in your cap. Your invitation to any function would be assured.” Her cajoling was born of nerves. Her palms were damp and her hands shaky.

  He threw down the torn pieces of cloth and tossed her night rail on the edge of the bed. “He fed you the pretty words you wanted to hear to get between your legs, stepdaughter. Just like your mother when she wooed me. If I’d known I’d have to deal with her slut of a daughter for the rest of my life, I might have denied her my name and protection.”

  Anger loosed her tongue. “Protection? Is that what you call your constant belittling of her? I blame you for her death.”

  “I loved your mother.” At her huff of disbelief, he gripped the post of her bed, his knuckles turning as white as the night rail he held. “Why else would I marry a widow with two brats in tow? I did love her. I only realized later how little regard she held for me.”

  Jessica’s mind whirled through memories set askew at his declaration. “Why would she marry you if she didn’t hold you in her affection?”

  “Because your father left her penniless. Destitute.” He leaned forward with such aggression she worried he might do her harm. She pressed back into the pillows. Even though she was covered, her nakedness left her feeling vulnerable.

  “My father did not die destitute.” Her defense of a man she remembered only in vignettes was reflexive, but did she know that for certain? She had been a child, only concerned with childish things.

  “Oh, but he did, and once your mother discovered Blake was the heir to a title and fortune, her true feelings became clear. She no longer needed or wanted me.” His pain had made him hateful.

  Forgiveness didn’t rise, only a numb understanding. “Did she attempt to leave you?”

  “I owned her. There was nowhere for her to run.” As her husband, he was correct. His power over her mother was absolute. “Have you asked yourself why you and Blake were not enough for her to live for?”

  The sharp breath she took tightened the already painful hold her mother’s death had on her heart. Of course, she had asked herself the question and felt like a traitor to her mother’s memory every time. How did Goforth manage to discover her wounds and drive a stake through them?

  “I stand by my word. You will not marry the duke. He cannot be allowed to win.”

  “He wounded your pride a decade ago, and your pride is more important than my happiness. Is that about right?”

  “I vowed to make him pay for his insolence. I never thought the instrument of my revenge would be you, but here we are. You have been a thorn in my side since the moment you came into my life. I could throw you into the streets to earn your living on your back without a moment’s regret. That would be beyond the pale, I suppose.”

  His cruelty was a cold thing. It was calm and calculated, and she wondered not for the first time if he had gone a little mad. She pulled the covers up another inch, wishing she could don her disguise and disappear once more.

  “What do you plan to do with me? Marry me to Sir Benedict Pennington for a vote, I suppose?”

  “No, he desires an unsullied bride, but he would be more than pleased to pay me to enjoy the same favors you gave to the duke for free.” Goforth tapped his lips. “Or could there be men who would pay even more than Sir Benedict to enjoy a night between your legs?”

  “You wouldn’t dare. The gossip would ruin you.”

  “Not among the set of men I circulate with, my dear. They have the coin to spend but are not bound by the rules of the ton. You would be a conquest for them to boast of in the common houses. A night with an earl’s sister.” The self-satisfying smile on his face shot terror through her. He turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

  Surely he was merely attempting to frighten her. Unfortunately, like her mother before her, Goforth had absolute power over her. If he chose to marry her to one of his cronies, he could. If he chose to send her to an asylum on charges of impurity, he could. If he decided to sell her body to the highest bidder, he could.

  Unless Simon kept his promises. He would keep his promises. She ignored the niggle of worry.

  When Abby didn’t rush in to check on her well-being, a sinking feeling came over her. Goforth would make certain she couldn’t contact anyone before he was ready to put his plans into motion. Time was running out. What if Simon didn’t discover Goforth’s plans until it was too late?

  * * *

  The week crept by for Jessica. Not even Abby was allowed in her room. Basins of water for her ablutions and trays of food were set outside her door by a dour, unsympathetic footman. Her attempts to cajole him into posting a note for her went in vain.

  She contemplated leaving the same way Simon had, but her stepfather had posted a man outside her window to keep her in, or perhaps to keep Simon out. Dread and anticipation built until she could take no more. She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. Another day of this and she might welcome an extended trip to an asylum.

  The sound of locks being turned on the outside of her door—another new addition—had her tensing. It wasn’t the usual time for her meals. Her stepfather entered and calmly closed the door behind him. She would have preferred his anger or agitation as it might have meant his plans for her had been dashed. His smile of oily smugness settled a knot in her stomach.

  “I’m sending Abby in shortly to ready you for an evening at the theater.” His announcement surprised her. She’d expected something more sinister.

  “Why the theater?”

  “So you can be seen beforehand. You must look your best.” He opened her wardrobe and riffled through her frocks, pulling out one she had not yet had the occasion to wear.

  He’d chosen her most extravagant, daring gown. Its golden hue took on a metallic gleam in candlelight, as if it had been cast in bronze, and the lace train rippled like molten metal. The theater would provide the perfect backdrop for its drama.

  “What happens after I am seen at the theater?” She took the gown from him and laid it on the bed. There was no use arguing. Anyway, her only chance of escape would be outside this room.

  “You will find out.” The flick of his gaze made her skin crawl.

  The endgame was upon her, and without any word from Simon, she must save herself.

  Soon after he left, Abby entered, followed by two footmen with a tub. The two women were silent while pitchers of water filled the tub. Once they were alone, Jessica couldn’t control herself and gave the girl a quick hug. The complete solitude had worn Jessica’s nerves to the quick.

  “Do you have any idea what his plans are for me?” She dashed away a sudden spate of tears at having a sympathetic ear.

  “None, miss.” Abby chewed her bottom lip. “But he’s ordered a valise packed for you.”

  Not her trunk. Would she be taking a journey only to return to her prison? Was his plan to barter her to the highest bidder still in motion? She couldn’t dwell on the possibility lest the encroaching panic make her unable to act.

  After having only basins of tepid water for her ablutions all week, the bath was a luxury, but one she couldn’t enjoy. Too many scenarios, each one more dire than the next, scrolled through her imagination. The hours crawled by. It was impossible to make plans when she had no i
dea what fate awaited her.

  After Jessica’s hair had dried, Abby returned to sweep the mass up into an intricate style and thread her hair with a chain of plated gold. After donning her gown and slippers, Jessica pulled on matching gloves of the finest satin. Abby produced a necklace fitted with an amber stone surrounded by a delicate filigree of gold.

  Jessica recognized her mother’s necklace immediately. She had searched for it after her death to no avail. When she’d found the courage to question her stepfather about the piece, he had claimed to have pawned it. The news had added another crack to her heart.

  A coal of fury she kept banked in her soul flared. Goforth had known how much she desired the necklace as a keepsake of her mother, and he had kept it from her out of spite. Why did the depths of his antipathy toward her still have the power to surprise?

  Once the necklace was clasped around her neck, she held the stone in her hand and gathered strength from her mother’s memory. She would not give the necklace up again.

  The sun had yet to set when a footman scratched on her door to escort her downstairs. Goforth waited in the entry, rocking on his feet and fiddling with his tall black hat. Could his impatience and nerves be used against him?

  His gaze widened when he spotted her. “I must say, you are nothing like the ape-faced wallflower of six months ago, my dear. Drury Lane is a possibility after our business is concluded.”

  Even though a profession on the stage was considered a short step up from prostitution by many in society, it would be preferable to the ruination facing her this night. After they were ensconced in the carriage, Goforth flicked the curtain aside and watched the passing scenery. “I rented a box for the evening.”

  “That’s rather extravagant, isn’t it?”

  “I plan to recoup my investment in you many times over.”

  “And if I don’t cooperate?”

  Goforth shrugged. “Some of the men prefer a bit of fight. It might even drive the bidding higher.”