Silver Deceptions

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He sucked in a sharp breath, and she smiled. He was hers. She could do whatever she pleased with him. And the fact that he was allowing it made it sweet beyond reason. With a heady joy, she ran her hands over the muscles of his chest and teased the flat nipples. A groan escaped his lips.

  Oh yes, having him at her mercy was wonderful. Pressing kisses over his iron-hard back, she trailed her hands down his chest until she reached the band of his breeches. She undid the button and his breeches slid to the floor.

  Now he wore only his long drawers and his stockings held up with leather garters. But when she reached for the ties of his drawers, he caught her hand. “That’s enough, my demanding temptress,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips. “You’ll drive me insane if you don’t let me touch you, too.”

  “I thought you said I could ask any trial of you,” she whispered. “Well, your trial is to let me touch you until I’ve had my fill.”

  He moaned. “Hell and furies, you’ve chosen a good one.”

  “I know.” She fought to keep the laughter from her voice as she unfastened his drawers. She slid the kerseymere down his firm hips and muscled thighs, kneeling to kiss one bared buttock.

  He swore, but she merely laughed as she unbuckled his garters, then removed his stockings and drawers. He kicked them aside. For a long moment, she savored the sight of him from behind—broad back and shoulders, lean but muscular hips, and well-formed legs. She ran her hands over the expanse of male muscles, watching fascinated as they flexed beneath her fingers. Then she circled back around to stand before him.

  The arrogant smile was gone. In its place was a look of such ravenous hunger it fed the heat building in her belly. She swallowed, then lifted both hands tentatively to touch his chest.

  That was all it took to break Colin’s control. Before she could halt him—not that she would have—he’d clasped her so tightly in his arms she could hardly move, much less resist.

  He started to kiss her, then stopped an inch short of her mouth. Never had she seen him look so forbidding and mysterious . . . and so very determined.

  “Have I passed my trial?” he growled. “Have I let you touch me until you had your fill?”

  She was tempted to say no, yet it felt so good to be clutched against him. “I suppose it could be considered—”

  He blotted out the words with a hard kiss. There was nothing slow or leisurely about the way he plundered her mouth and ground his hips against her. He was less than gentle when he lowered his head to tug greedily at her breasts with his mouth, laving them with his tongue until they felt tight and tender as ripe berries awaiting picking.

  Dropping to one knee, he darted his tongue into her navel as he worked loose her breeches. He slid them over her hips with a grin and murmured, “I never thought I’d be undoing breeches for someone I wished to bed. It feels odd.”

  As he bared her to his gaze, he went very still. Then, with a low groan, he kissed the soft thatch of hair between her legs. “Doing this, however, feels perfectly right.”

  He tasted her there, then drew back to grab her half-full goblet and trickle the wine between her legs. She shivered at the cold sensation, but in seconds his warm tongue was roughly lapping her . . . first her thighs, then her damp curls, then deeper to tease and taunt the swollen petals. She gasped as he began to caress her with his mouth in earnest, his hands clasping her hips to hold her still as he buried his face in her most private place. Her breath quickened, and she clutched his head to her.

  Within a matter of moments, his caresses brought her to the point of unreason. A sudden sweet burst of pleasure made her arch up to stand on tiptoe, and she lost her balance. It didn’t matter, for Colin caught her, cushioning her fall with his body so they ended up on the floor with her sprawled atop him.

  He shifted her until she straddled him. Staring up at her, he brushed the hair back from her flushed cheeks. “You know, dearling, if we’re to continue this very interesting test of my love, we should go to my room, where I keep my sheaths.”

  She groaned at the unwelcome intrusion into her sensual haze. Trust Colin to have remembered the sheaths.

  Then a startling realization hit her. “I thought you planned to marry me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then it hardly matters if I . . . if I find myself with child, does it?”

  A smile tipped up the edges of his mouth. “No, dearling, I don’t believe it does.” Then he pulled her head down to his and kissed her long and deep as he cupped her buttocks.

  His hard flesh pressed up against her belly. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment that there might be other positions in lovemaking than the one they’d used the first time, but now strange, intriguing thoughts flitted through her mind. She stroked his staff experimentally, delighted when it leapt to her touch.

  His smile grew forced. She fondled it as he watched, not stopping her. How very interesting. She raised her hips.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Ride me, dearling. I would give much to see that.”

  “I’m . . . not sure I know how.”

  “Oh, yes, you do,” he said dryly. “You’re a natural wanton.”

  She frowned.

  “ ’Tis a compliment. There are few inexperienced women who need so little teaching to make love as you do. And trust me, while most men want a respectable wife in the drawing room, they want a wanton wife in the bedchamber.”

  “Well, at least you’ll have one of those,” she said tartly.

  “I’ll have both,” he corrected her, then urged her over his jutting member. “Though at present, I want the wanton.” Next thing she knew, he was sliding up inside her, hot, hard, and heavy.

  It was nothing like the first time. She felt no pain, and only a little pinching tightness, but it gave her a delicious sense of power to be on top of him. When she moved and he gasped, she decided she definitely liked this position.

  “Annabelle, love,” he whispered, “don’t stop.”

  Ah, his pleasure was now dependent on her whim. She stared at his brow, shiny with sweat, at the clenched muscles of his face, and realized that he’d relinquished control on purpose, to please her.

  So she began to move, to please him. Dear heaven, how she loved him. She had only one thought, one purpose—to give him the same pleasure he gave her.

  Yet somewhere in the joining of their bodies, she discovered that their pleasures were as intertwined as strands of thread. When she ground against him, they both gasped. When he caressed her breast, they both grew aroused.

  She leaned forward, bracing her hands against his chest as they rocked together with quickening strokes. But she didn’t set the pace alone. Their bodies rode together, pounding, thundering, lifting and teasing. Their rhythm blended with the roar of the blood in their ears and their sweet wanton cries until he gave a mighty thrust and she arched back to receive it.

  They reached the peak of bliss together.

  It took several moments for her to regain awareness of their surroundings, to realize she was clutching his arms, leaving tiny half-moon marks on them with her fingernails.

  His eyes were closed, his mouth parted, and sheer ecstasy shone in his face. He drew her down to his chest and cradled her against him. They lay there entwined for a while as he stroked her back and she relished the feel of his hard body beneath her.

  “I love you, Colin,” she murmured. The words felt so freeing that she had to repeat them. “I love you. Truly, I do.”

  “Good.” He pressed a fierce kiss against her hair. “Because I swear, Annabelle, if you ever leave me, I’ll die.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Those have most power to hurt us that we love.”

  —Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, The Maid’s Tragedy, Act 5

  The woven rug hardly helped to soften the hard floor. Yet Colin didn’t move or ask Annabelle to move from her contented sprawl atop him. The hardness served as a kind of penance, even if it barely assuaged his guilt.

 
He should have told Annabelle about his real reason for first pursuing her. After all, she’d told him everything. He was certain of that. In return, he’d kept back something she would want to know.

  So why couldn’t he bring himself to tell her?

  Because he was afraid that she’d be so hurt, she’d lose her trust in him and suspect all his motives.

  ’Sdeath, he had to tell her sometime. He couldn’t risk her finding out some other way. Yet wouldn’t it be better to marry her first, to prove his intentions were honorable? Yes, of course. They’d marry as soon as possible, and then he’d tell her. She’d be angry for a while, but she’d not be able to doubt his love for her.

  Hell and furies, how he did love her. He hadn’t realized it until he’d said the words, but then it was as if scales had fallen from his eyes. How could he not love her? He’d never known a woman who was his match not only in wit and lust for life but in being a bastard reared as nobility, who’d suffered all the pains of rejection and only become stronger for it. She was as daring as a man, but with the softness and caring of a woman. He could think of no one else who could follow him to the colonies and face head-on the trials they were sure to encounter.

  If she was willing to leave London’s glittering society. She hadn’t said for certain that she would. What if she truly enjoyed the wild life of town?

  Then he remembered her bitterness when she’d spoken of the gallants at the theater. Perhaps she’d grown as disillusioned as he.

  His arms tightened around her. He certainly hoped so. But in the end they must come to a decision about their future together. After all, there could be no one else for him. Annabelle had been right—there were other women he could have married, of higher station, greater fortune, and impeccable reputation. But he’d never been like his peers, searching for ways to enhance his position in London society. He was far more concerned with finding a woman he could live with, and at last he’d found her.

  Later he’d think about what to do with Walcester, for he must do something, if only to make certain the earl never tried to hurt Annabelle. It had all happened so long ago. Perhaps it would be best if Colin simply kept his knowledge to himself, or better yet, used it as a lever to get Walcester to agree to some terms on Annabelle’s behalf. Could Walcester truly be involved in some conspiracy to overthrow the king now? It seemed unlikely.

  “Colin?” she whispered.

  “Aye, my love?”

  “Am I hurting you?”

  He smiled. “Nay, but the floor is doing a fine job of stiffening my back.”

  Immediately, she slid off to kneel at his side. “You should have said something! Oh dear, I’m sorry I—”

  “I’m teasing you,” he said with a laugh. “You’ll have to get used to my teasing if we’re to be married the long years I intend.” He sat up. “Although I do think it’s time we moved our . . . er . . . discussion to a more comfortable room.” His gaze darkened. “Like my bedchamber.”

  To his surprise, she blushed.

  He gave a hearty laugh. “Hell and furies, no wonder you’re such a fine actress. You’re as unpredictable in life as you are in the roles you play.”

  She managed a trembling smile. “And you, Lord Hampden, are a smooth-tongued rogue.”

  “Aye. ’Tis what makes you love me.”

  At her wisp of a smile, he stood and offered her his hand. “It’s down the hall, but we ought to put some clothing on before we go sneaking about the house. Don’t you think?”

  Laughing, she donned her clothes and slippers but he noticed she didn’t bother with the stockings. Instead, she stood, her adorable calves bared and her hands on her hips, waiting for him to dress.

  He pulled on his breeches but didn’t worry about the rest. Then he took her hand. “Come, my love, let’s see if we can get to my room without being spotted.”

  Like two mischievous children, they peeked out into the hall. Colin pointed out the door to his rooms. Then, seeing no one around, he slapped her rump and whispered, “Quickly now, dearling,” and watched her run laughing ahead of him as he followed at a more sedate pace.

  But as she reached the door to his rooms, Colin heard shouting in the foyer below. She paused with her hand on the door. He motioned for her to go in, but she stared at him wide-eyed, for she’d apparently recognized the voice of the man shouting.

  So had he. It was Walcester.

  “I know he has returned,” the gravelly voice echoed up the stairs. “I have ways of knowing these things. He’s here, and I will see him!”

  “His lordship is not to be disturbed,” the footman said.

  “He’ll see me, I tell you,” Walcester growled, and they could hear his steps coming up the stairs, punctuated by the clicks of his walking stick. “He’d damn well better.”

  Gritting his teeth, Colin motioned for Annabelle to enter his bedchamber. When she stood frozen, her eyes wide and fearful, Colin opened the door, intending to thrust her bodily through it. Then Walcester rounded the top of the stairs and spotted them.

  For a moment, the three of them stared at each other, Walcester full of rage, Colin equally angry, and Annabelle stunned.

  Walcester was the first to speak. “This certainly explains a great deal. Damn you, Hampden, how long have you been back in London, cavorting with her while you pretended to be helping me?”

  With a sinking in his stomach, Colin heard Annabelle’s sharp intake of breath. He glared at Walcester. “I distinctly heard my servant tell you I didn’t wish to be disturbed.”

  Walcester’s face was mottled with rage. “You deceitful bastard! You had no right to trot off to the country instead of doing as I asked. Two weeks you’ve been gone, but instead of coming immediately to my house upon your return from God knows where, you avoid me to bed this . . . this chit!”

  “Get out, damn you!” Colin snapped.

  But the earl was beyond reason. “Don’t try to tell me you did it to find out her secrets for me. You’re like all those other randy bucks who can’t keep their cocks in their pants and their minds on their obligations!”

  “What obligations?” Annabelle asked, her face ashen. “This horrible man can’t be . . .” Then her tone sharpened. “Oh, but of course he is, which means he’s my—”

  “I’ll explain it all later, love,” Colin said, his throat tight. ’Sdeath, he was losing her. He had to get Walcester out of here.

  “ ‘Love’?” Walcester growled. “I see you’ve pulled the wool over her eyes well, haven’t you?”

  Annabelle stared at the earl, pain etched in every line of her face. “You’re Walcester, aren’t you?”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, Walcester turned his gaze on Annabelle. “The Earl of Walcester,” he snapped. “Show some respect to your betters.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “I’ll be sure to remember that, Father.”

  Anger twisted his mouth as he looked her over. “You’re a wanton, girl. No matter what your blood says, you’re no daughter of mine.”

  Annabelle flinched as if struck, obviously not as pleased with the outcome of her vengeance as she’d expected. Then her hurt expression twisted into one of defiance. “What did you expect? When you forced a gentlewoman to share your bed and then set her loose among the wolves, you should have known you’d breed a wanton. I’m only taking after my dear old father.”

  “I was never a whore!” the earl said as he lunged for her.

  Colin stepped in front of her. “If you ever call her such names again, I’ll slit you from throat to toe.”

  “Well, she’s certainly got you fooled, hasn’t she?” Walcester glared past him at Annabelle. “Doesn’t it bother you that she’s played the wanton with every man in your acquaintance? Do you enjoy having a mistress bring you another man’s leavings?”

  “Let me tell you something about your daughter—”

  “No!” Annabelle cried as she clutched his arm.

  When he turned to look at her, his heart sank to see the wou
nded anger on her face. “I’m going to tell him the truth. I won’t let him continue with these base opinions.”

  “Haven’t you done enough already?” she hissed. “Spying on me? Lying to me about . . . about what you felt?”

  “I did not lie to you!” he bit out, seared through by her words. When she just shot him a mutinous stare, he barked at the earl, “Walcester, give us a moment alone and I’ll tell you everything you wish to know.”

  The earl clenched the top of his walking stick as if it were a club, but moved off to the other end of the hall.

  Colin said under his breath, “I won’t let him think you a whore. It serves no purpose.”

  “Oh? It doesn’t prick his pride? Look at him. He’s furious. And ashamed, as he should be.”

  At the desperate purpose written in her eyes, something twisted inside him. “You promised to give up this insane vengeance.”

  “As you knew I would when you . . . when you seduced me and spoke sweet words to me . . . and, devil take you, told me you loved me!”

  “That was the truth!”

  Tears glittered in her eyes. “Please, Colin, don’t torment me anymore. You’ve fulfilled whatever cursed obligation you had to him . . . Just leave me be!”

  Guilt swamped him at the look of betrayal on her face. He should have told her the truth when he’d had the chance. “Let me make it up to you, love. I know I deceived you about my association with Walcester, but I meant everything I said tonight.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Walcester bellowed. “I want answers, damn you!”

  Annabelle rounded Colin to face down the earl. “I’m happy to give you answers, Father. My mother was Phoebe Harlow Taylor, whom you bedded, then abandoned while she was with child.”

  “I didn’t know she was—”

  “She had no choice but to marry a squire, who dedicated his every waking hour to making her miserable.” Annabelle planted her hands on her hips. “Thanks to you, Mother had a painful life and a more painful death. She was abused and tormented by the man who hated her for bearing your bastard.”