As she settled in her front parlor with a cup of tea in hand, a sense of safety finally returned. After two sips, she rose and penned a note to Flint asking him to come to her immediately.
She hoped he would not take long to answer her summons. She had many questions for him, starting with who was threatening her and why?
Chapter 20
Flint pulled the crumpled missive from Ros out of his pocket for possibly the hundredth time since he’d first read it and torn out of his house and toward her home. It had been mere minutes of driving, but with each clop of hooves, each tick of the clock, and each beat of his heart, he looked at her note to reassure himself that she was alive.
The hack finally drew to a halt in front of her home, and he bolted from the cab as he tossed the required payment up to the driver. Standing on the front stoop, once again waiting impatiently, he tried to stop the whirl of images from spinning through his mind like a horrific zoetrope that refused to cease spinning. His heart raced faster as Johnson opened the front door and simply admitted him into the house. “Mrs. Smith is expecting you.”
Without missing a beat, he charged into the front salon and stopped short when he found Ros sitting in her usual seat. She calmly sipped tea in an unrushed manner that belied her urgent summons.
With a surprisingly steady hand, she set her cup and saucer down before focusing her attention on him. “Good afternoon, Flint. I do appreciate your prompt response to my note.”
“Are you well? I was under the impression you had been assaulted.” Flint loomed over where she sat.
Ros reached up and patted her hair as though confirming the strands remained in place. “I was quite shaken when I returned home after my run-in with a rather unsavory man just off of Bond Street. But, Lord Lincolnshire was extremely helpful in seeing me home and has since remained at his post just outside.”
“Bloody hell! Who was he?” Flint leaned closer, fury twisting his gut and flooding his body with adrenaline.
“Oh, do sit down! I’ve had quite enough of men looming and leering at me for one day,” Ros snapped.
He needed to move, to pace; however, he knew she’d not say another word until he did as she asked. So, he sat stiffly on the settee that made an L shape where it met her chair. It was a good thing Johnson had summarily relieved him of his hat because there was little doubt he would have been mangling it as he sat there waiting on tenterhooks. “I’m sitting, please elaborate.”
Flint’s breath snagged in his chest as he caught the furious gleam in her green eyes, and he knew the next little while would be a most unpleasant experience doled out as Ros saw fit. He had little recourse but to bide his time, now that he was sure she was relatively unharmed.
“It seems I am meant to deliver a message to you. You are to throw your next fight, or I shall be harmed—badly, if not k-killed.” She stumbled over the last word, the first chink she’d allowed in her composure.
Fuck! Flint wanted to leap to his feet and rant wildly, but he knew he needed to maintain his calm, or she might lose her own. “Was anything else said?”
“That was the gist of what was said. I was a bit off-kilter with the way I was accosted and dragged into an alley to receive this message, but I made sure I got the important bits.”
Flint ground his teeth as he struggled for his control. “And were you injured in the process of the delivery of this message?”
“Other than a bit of shaking at one point, the man did no more than grab my arms and forcibly move me about. So no, I was not gravely injured. Though I can’t say, I relish the prospect of being harmed should you choose not to comply with this demand.” She blinked rapidly a few times and then drew a deep breath.
He could not find any such calm for himself. While not as bad as he had imagined on the drive over, it was still not good. And suddenly, the need to feel her whole and hearty in his arms overrode all other thoughts. He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “I am so deeply sorry you were dragged into this unfortunate episode. But I assure you, I shall protect you, come what may.”
“You will protect me? How? By having your friends continue to trail me around London?” Fear made her eyes huge as she looked up at him.
He pulled her closer to his chest, pressed her against him so he could feel each breath she took. “Don’t worry, I promise you’ll be safe.”
Her lips parted as though she had more to say, but Flint didn’t want to discuss the intrusion of his back-alley existence into his not-so-neatly ordered life. So, he captured her lips in a kiss intended to distract even as it fanned the coals of desire into flames. Their tongues twined and clashed as she grew aggressive in the kiss. Soon, the need to breathe outpaced their need to taste and touch. She drew back and looked at him, her gaze sharp. “Do not think you are getting away with anything, Lord Flintshire. I am allowing you to distract me with desire because it meets my need to feel every inch of you against me in this moment. We shall discuss this again.”
“As you say, Mrs. Smith.” And then he scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom.
Inside the room, he set her on her feet and quickly set about stripping her of the many layers of clothing that kept him from touching her skin. Each time his arousal surged around her without the benefit of pain, he marveled anew. Certainly, he still craved the bite of pain that carried so much pleasure, but he was learning that he could perhaps survive without it. That something akin to normalcy might be within his grasp with the right woman. This woman.
As she stood before him naked, her soft green gaze darkened with desire, his cock throbbed with the need to be inside her once more. He toed off his shoes, then stripped off his coat and vest before tossing his shirt aside. Standing in his stocking feet and trousers, he stepped into her body and wrapped his arms around her. With a soft sigh, she melted into him as their lips once more met. The fierce way she stroked his tongue with hers stirred his lust and made his cock grow harder. He growled a bit as he pressed her backward until they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.
Ros’s husky laughter filled the space both in the room and in him. It was quickly becoming apparent that he needed her in the most elemental way. But that knowledge brought a dark and unwelcome fear with it. The kind of dependency he was developing might break him if he were to lose her, or worse, drive her away with his more deviant needs. His heart hitched in his chest, but he dug deep into his reserves and pushed the unwanted emotions aside. He would deal with all the things she made him feel later.
The soft press of her breasts against him drove him to roll until she lay beneath him. He angled himself so he could feast on her nipples, each tightly furled with her need. He sucked on one peak and then the other, alternating as her breathing grew choppier and choppier. One of her hands dug into his hair, holding him to her chest, while the other lay flat against his back. Then, he rose up a bit and opened his trousers. With her help, he pushed them down, freeing his length. She quickly grabbed his hard shaft in her hands and stroked him. She slid her fist down to his base and then back up to swirl her thumb over his tip, gathering the bead of pre-cum that had formed. A shudder of raw pleasure skated down his spine as he watched her handle his cock so eagerly. Needing more than her hands could provide, he pulled back and lowered down between her legs. With the glow of the single lamp near the bed for light, he studied her face as he slid inside her body. Their gazes locked, and the common noises of her staff going about their business and the house creaking as it settled all faded away. All he could do was revel in the warmth of her body’s grip, the slick wetness of her pussy, and the soft moans she made as he sank deep. With his balls squashed against her, he paused. And then he drew back, sliding almost out of her before he reversed directions and slid deep once more. With each languorous stroke of his cock inside her, the desire between them seemed to grow, to blossom into something else entirely.
But still, something was missing. Unwilling to examine what it was—because he knew and had no
idea how to address the issue—he continued to focus on bringing her as much bliss as he could. Beneath him, Ros moaned low and needy. “More.”
He sped up, thrusting a bit faster. But it wasn’t enough. She drummed her heels on his arse and demanded, “Harder!”
As he lowered down to his forearms to brace himself, he shoved inside her harder and faster with each stroke. And then she dug her nails into his back and raked them down nearly to his buttocks. The pain seared through him like a fire that had found a spot of dry tinder. He burned fierce and hot as she continued to dig her nails into him, and he unleashed his need.
He ploughed into her over and over as she cried out. “Yes! Yes! Flint, more.”
And so he gave her everything, thrusting into the tight clasp of her pussy as she finally found her peak. With her nails sunk deep in his skin, she broke apart in his arms, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. With one last thrust, he joined her in bliss.
~
The next day Flint decided to visit the one address where he’d first run into the men who were demanding he throw the fight. Seven Dials in the daylight was not such an ominous place, though it certainly could do with a bit of basic sprucing up. Hopping from the handsome cab, he tossed the man half of the amount due him.
“That’s half of what you owe me!” the driver groused.
“Wait for me, and you’ll get the rest plus the return fare.” Flint waited, impatient to be about his business.
“You’re a wily trickster. Fine, but hurry up about it. I ain’t got all day.”
Having ensured a ride home, Flint turned to walk up the few steps to the vaguely familiar ramshackle building. It looked worse in the daylight than it had the night he was accosted. The peeling paint revealed old, weathered wood, the shutters hung haphazardly next to windows that were so grime crusted it was impossible to see inside the building. With a shrug, he knocked on the front door.
Nothing.
He waited a few moments and knocked again, harder. But still, nothing. So he listened for any stirring inside and was once again denied.
Determined to find someone, something, anything to lead him to the ringleaders, he reached for the handle on the door and found it unlocked. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. The interior was equally as worn as the outside but had the added bouquet of must and mildew. Looking about, there was evidence of past occupation, but nothing to suggest a current resident. With a sigh, Flint turned to leave, disappointed by the dead end but happy enough to be departing such a depressing place. Stepping out onto the front steps, he found himself face to face with the very man he’d sought out, the villain who had beaten him previously.
The man pulled up short. “‘ere now! What are you about?”
Flint huffed. “I believe you sent me a rather demanding message yesterday. I felt it best addressed in person. Tell your boss I shall throw my next fight—tomorrow night—but you and your friends will leave Mrs. Smith alone. I also suggest your lot makes good on this. It will be a singular opportunity.”
“I’ll let him know.” The man glared at Flint. “Now, get the hell off me property.”
Flint wasn’t particularly shocked to learn that the man owned the listing building, or at least rented it. With a short nod, he pushed past the thug and climbed back into the back of the cab that had miraculously waited.
Chapter 21
Despite the delightful distraction Flint had been, she’d kept up with her practice sessions with her whip and, in turn, her lessons. She had been diligent in the few weeks she’d been at it, and she was pleased to think she would be able to demonstrate significant progress to Mistress Lash. Her aim had improved considerably, though she was still working on her power. Some of that would come in time, but some of it was about control. Mistress Lash had told her from the beginning that control was key since it allowed her to increase and decrease the pain according to her recipient’s needs.
Tucked in The Market’s dungeon, Ros showed off her still new skills on a model that consisted of a shirt and pants stuffed with straw.
Mistress Lash nodded. “Strike the upper right shoulder.”
Ros licked her lips and focused on her target. With a practiced move of her arm punctuated by a flick of her wrist, she landed the fall of the whip as directed.
“Now the upper left shoulder,” her teacher prodded.
Ros repeated her motion with a slight trajectory change and happily landed with accuracy once again.
“Now strike each arse cheek in quick succession, no pause between.” Her instructor stood behind her, out of harm’s way.
Again, Ros let the whip fly. She struck the straw man as requested before turning with a triumphant grin. “I told you I had improved since our last lesson.”
“Indeed, you have. You are an excellent pupil, but do not think you are ready to service your man.” One dark brow rose as Mistress Lash spoke.
“I fear my efforts would be wasted. While I am able to strike with accuracy, I do not yet have enough power to meet his needs.”
“Be patient, that will come with time, along with the ability to judge what your recipient needs in lieu of what they may ask for.” Her instructor paused and appeared to be considering something. “Indeed, I think you are ready to begin practicing on a real person.” She then walked over to the bell pull and tugged.
A few moments later, a servant appeared.
“Tell Amanda we require her presence,” Mistress Lash directed before dismissing the maid.
Ros’s gut clenched. “I’m not sure I am ready for a person yet. What if I misjudge and hurt her.”
Mistress Lash offered a small smile. “Fear not, she will be protected. I would not be so foolish as to give you fresh pink skin to mar so early in your tutelage.”
Ros couldn’t hide her sigh of relief as Amanda appeared. The pretty blonde was dressed in a padded suit of some kind that covered her from neck to ankle where her sturdy leather boots took over. Then she donned a padded hood that would protect her head.
Mistress Lash waived to the wooden cross shaped in an X with rope looped on each upper arm. “Hold on to the loops, please. I’ll not have you unable to step away if needed.”
Amanda did as requested, spreading her legs as she faced the wooden X and waited.
“Now, you’ll repeat the same exercise you did before. Amanda will be able to indicate how strong your strikes are. She’s experienced enough to know what would feel good and what would be too much, despite the padding.”
Ros assumed her stance and let the first strike fall. Amanda did not move a bit. Continuing on, Ros struck her other shoulder and then moved down to her arse.
“Amanda, how strong were the hits?” Mistress Lash asked.
The girl looked back over one shoulder. “I felt them, though I do not think they would have done more than reddened my skin a bit. I’d have wanted a stronger bite.”
Her teacher nodded. “Good. Try again, Ros.”
And so Ros spent the remainder of her lesson working on striking a padded Amanda with the appropriate force per Mistress Lash’s directions. With each round, she varied her instructions, testing Ros’s abilities. By the end, sweat beaded on her forehead, and her arm ached from the exercise.
“That’s enough for one day. Keep practicing at home, and work on deciding how hard to strike before you wield the whip.” Mistress Lash ended their lesson and dismissed a rosy-cheeked Amanda.
Ros was excited that she’d made progress. Perhaps, she would soon be able to share her new skill with Flint?
Her excitement eased as she considered her next stop on her way home. She had managed to slip out of the rear of the house and leave Arthur sitting across the street as she went about her lesson. Having slipped Flint’s guard’s watchful eyes, she decided to take advantage and visit Lucifer’s.
Which is how Ros found herself standing on the front stoop of the premier information merchant in all of London—and Flint’s half-brother. She had thought Julia w
as crazy for coming there when she needed help, but strangely, she now found herself in similar circumstances. And her perspective had certainly changed between the revelation of his relationship to Flint and her need for information. Drawing upon all her fortitude, she rapped sharply on the entry. A few moments later, the grand wooden door opened to reveal a rather hulking beast of a man.
“What may I do for you, madam?” His query came out rough and not at all welcoming.
Accustomed to the military men that had inhabited her husband’s world once, she ignored his voice and focused on answering his question. “I’m here to see Mr. Lucifer.”
The man stood silent, making a full assessment of her person. His gaze drifted over her from her head all the way to the tips of her kid boots that peaked out from beneath her skirts. “Do you have an appointment?”
She bit her lip but pressed on gamely. “I’m afraid not. He and I have not met, but we share a common friend.”
The man peered at her, squinting against the bright morning sunshine. “And who might this friend be?”
She stiffened her spine, set her shoulders, and nodded. “Tell him that I am a friend of Lord Flintshire.”
Upon uttering the name of her lover, the door was opened wider, and the burly man bade her enter. Slipping inside the shadowed foyer, she clutched her reticule and waited. It worked! Apparently, being friends with someone who is related to Mr. Lucifer had opened the door for her.
The giant pointed to a chair sitting just on the left side of the foyer, “You may sit there and wait.” And then he lumbered up the stairs, disappearing somewhere into the shadows.
Alone in a darkened building that was a notorious gaming hell, she began to question the wisdom of being there. Doubt crept in as the structure creaked. Soft banging noises could be heard from deep in the bowels of the building, and despite the slivers of morning sunshine that snuck in from small gaps in the draperies, it was not enough to banish her imagined specters. Julia had been to this establishment on more than one occasion and had always returned unscathed. And the man was Flint’s brother, for heaven’s sake. Ros scolded herself for letting her fears take hold. She could do this. She had to do this because not knowing what was happening had become intolerable.
His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness: A Steamy Victorian Romance Page 16