So why wasn’t she ensconced in a cozy little house somewhere, cocooned in luxury?
Why was she here with him now?
The memory flashed into his mind. The memory of her sad, sad eyes those first moments in the bookseller’s shop, when she had touched him. Touched him deep, deep inside and he had felt, for the first time in years, how empty he was, how cold.
A sudden tightening of his chest forced him to slow his breathing. The flare of his arousal ebbed as one clear thought penetrated the earlier haze of lust.
Someone had taken this audacious, wild girl and warmed themselves with the fire of her passion. And then they had thrown her away.
Carelessly.
Callously.
Without even a congé to lift her out of her poverty, to free her from obligation to family and a dreary, duty-bound life of drudgery that her fiery nature would never, ever be able to bear without that bleak sadness in her eyes.
“Who?” he repeated, more gently this time, for he did wish to know the man’s identity. Because if a gentleman were to blame, the brigand ought to be called to account.
The rose color drained from her face. She went completely ashen, her eyes widening. It was as though the softness of his tone had stricken her. She shook her head slowly.
What the devil? He had entered this chamber, intent on first coming to a mutually agreeable contract between them. And then he had intended to have her. To sate himself on her. To find some peace from the maddening fire of lust she had aroused in him.
Now she was staring at him with that bleak, sad look.
It was wrenching his guts. Flaying him.
Good God, would he really call her former lover out?
Well, it was a certainty now.
“Beth.” He reached out gently to touch her cheek.
She compressed her lips and turned away.
A burning sensation went twisting through his guts. “Why must it be some deep, dark secret if you’ve had—”
She whirled on him, her blue eyes blazing. “He was my lover, not my protector. Never my protector.”
The telling catch in her voice on the word “he” increased the burn twisting through Grey’s belly. “You loved him.”
Damn, that sounded like an accusation.
“He is unimportant now.” She spoke quickly, avoiding his eyes.
She had loved this unknown man. Or fancied she loved him. Which amounted to the same thing. This man might still be in her life. Fucking her at his leisure. The thought rested on Grey like a suit of needles.
It shouldn’t matter. Her life away from him was none of his business.
God. He recalled all his maudlin thoughts of only a few moments past. They were strangers, really. Just a man and a woman who had come together for a few hours’ release. A few hours’ escape from the boredom of their lives.
So, she’d had a gentleman provider before and she’d been too young at the time and been bruised in the ending. Perhaps she’d had a taste of luxury and missed it. Maybe she had targeted Grey himself because of his great wealth. No matter, he was certainly willing to shower her with a bit of it. That was the sort of arrangement he favored the most. One where there were no sentimental feelings to muddy everything. He would not make her a lot of emotional promises. She would always know where she stood with him and he would treat her generously always, even at their parting.
Though he couldn’t imagine becoming bored with her too quickly.
He went to the sidebar and helped himself to a generous portion of brandy.
When he turned back to her, her expression had brightened considerably.
The sad, poor abandoned girl was gone. And the wild, wicked little wanton had returned. Her eyes glowed with excitement, lust. “I must leave soon.”
“Must you really?” he asked.
She nodded and approached him with a walk that was, well, it was a courtesan’s sort of walk, a hip rolling, graceful stroll. He could not take his eyes from the fascinating flat firmness of her belly. The pale, fine triangle of hair between her legs.
His lust quickly returned. His erection was growing and swelling against the confines of his clothing.
She stopped in front of him.
He forced himself to return his gaze to her face.
She was smiling at him, so natural and at ease in her own nakedness. “Let’s not waste the time we have left.”
She took hold of his cravat, untied it. She was so angelically beautiful, yet so bold. How many men had she spoken those words to? How many cravats had she so deftly untied? Yes, it shouldn’t matter. But right now, it did matter. Very much.
All reason fled in favor of a mad impulse to take her hard, the way she seemed to prefer, over and over until he wiped her mind free of every other man she’d ever known. He reached down, swept her off her feet, took her to the bed and tossed her down. Bouncing several times, she braced her arms out wide on either side, her face flushed and her eyes aglow. “Goodness, Grey, where’d that come from?”
He covered her body with his own.
At the touch of her, all velvet skin over fit, youthful muscles, her lush, soft yet firm breasts, need pounded through him.
Still laughing, she grasped the open neck of his shirt and pulled hard. Tearing cloth sounded and his laughter came out in a choked groan.
“That was London tailoring, minx.” He nipped her earlobe.
She rubbed her taut nipples against his bare chest. His fingers flew to his pantaloon buttons, wrenching them open. The lack of finesse, the haste appalled a part of him. He didn’t fancy going to bed with half his clothes still on. For Christ’s sake, he still had his damned boots on.
Devil take him. For all her petite appearance, this girl was a dangerous vixen. Dangerous to his personal control. No one else had ever driven him into such a frenzy of desire. His cock throbbed in time with his thundering heartbeat while poised at her slick heat for one quick, deep thrust. His ears detected something, not her moans. Something else. His own heartbeat… No, syncopated—
Thunder?
It came again.
Knocking.
His hands tightened on her hips, as if to deny his own thoughts. But the world must be coming to an end if Will dared disturb him. He lifted his head. Her throaty protest sent pure need knifing through him. His lips found hers again. Whatever Will wanted could go hang. He plunged into her hot, wet depth and her inner muscles hugged his length tight. He groaned, clasping her buttocks fiercely.
The knocking came again, louder and sustained.
He tore his lips from hers.
“They’ll go away,” she whispered.
“No, they won’t.”
Calling on years of self-discipline, born and trained into him, he withdrew and rolled away quickly, going to dress, giving himself no chance to reconsider. While he was fastening his pantaloons with difficulty over his erection, she wrapped her arms about his waist, her erect nipples like cinders against his shirt-clad back.
Christ, didn’t she realize what it would do to him? Lightening sharp desire surged through him and he set his teeth while he disentangled her hands. “I’ll be right back.”
He strode to the door, opened it and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Will’s face was so white, his freckles appeared like black specks.
“What is it?” Grey asked.
“The Philadelphia Pride, Mr. Sexton.” Will’s voice dragged. This wasn’t going to be good. Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
“Yes, what about her?” Grey demanded impatiently.
Will looked up and down the corridor and then he lowered his voice to the barest whisper: “She’s on fire, sir.”
* * * *
“My driver, Pete, will see you home.”
Grey’s terse, impersonal tone fell like cold rain over Beth’s passionate haze and she pulled the soft blanket over her breasts.
Picking up his coat, he didn’t glance her way. “Don’t worry, he’s discreet.”<
br />
“You’re leaving?”
“Something pressing has come up.” At the washstand mirror, he picked up a silver-backed brush. In the reflection, the expression on his hard, angular face betrayed not one trace of the razor sharp passion of a moment ago. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That last wasn’t a question. It was a command.
Her mouth fell open and she drew her spine straight. “I will not be spoken to in that manner.”
Smoothing his coal-black hair, he paused. Silver eyes met hers in the mirror. “What manner?”
“As if I were one of your lackeys, at your beck and call.”
“I merely expressed that I would like to see you again tomorrow.”
“I can’t come back until Saturday.”
He laid down his brush. “Why the devil not?”
“Because my brother thinks I am at Mrs. Bickle’s today, but I pled off work because my sister is ill. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. I can only come on those days. Elsewise I cannot come here at all.”
His black brows drew together sharply and a deep vertical line showed between them. With jerking motions, he tied his cravat into a simple knot. “Then I suppose it must suffice.”
“Well, aren’t you too kind.”
He turned to face her. “Why the shrewish tone?”
“I don’t care for your terseness.”
“Madam, I’ve no time for this now. We’ll discuss it on Saturday.”
* * * *
As far as Beth was concerned, it was over between them. No one spoke to her as if she were some servile underling. Certainly not a temporary lover. That night, when the chores were done and the last of her nieces and nephews put to bed, she chased away her ire with a generous mug of rum and slept like the dead.
However, dusk settled uneasily on Friday, the air humid and heavy with an impending storm. Sultry and sweaty, she spent the night tossing and twisting, reliving the moment when Grey had held himself within her until the future of her sanity seemed to hinge on recapturing it in the flesh.
Morning found her tired and cross. By evening, it took all her concentration to project an outward expression of calm as her fingers twinkled over the keys at Mrs. Bickle's. Inwardly, she was a mass of seething emotion. And to her shame, part of it was regret that she had not gone to meet with Sexton.
Some disappointment, too.
Well, she was just going to have to get over her dejection. She wasn’t going to meet with any man who thought he could speak to her as Sexton had done. And just leaving like that, likely on some middling matter of business—what a monumental insult!
No, Sexton had had his time with her and now that was over. In any case, she’d risked enough on his account. He was damned lucky to have had more than one assignation as it was.
Early supper guests trickled into Mrs. Bickle’s inn. The dining hall would be open until ten and her shoulders began to ache in anticipation of a long evening.
A peculiar prickling restlessness centered on her navel. Instinctively, she looked up to the entrance. Silver eyes fixed on her like a hawk spotting its prey. Lamplight threw his angular cheekbones and patrician nose into stark relief.
She sucked in her breath.
God, it was him.
Here.
How dare he invade her working life? How stupid of her to have told him where she played for hire. Resisting the urge to pound the piano keys, she forced her expression to be pleasant, a little distant, as though he were just another customer.
As though all her senses weren’t singing an aria.
His mouth tightened and his eyes flared, briefly. He walked toward her, his broad-shouldered, powerful body moving with animal grace.
Her heart hammered beneath her breast as he stopped in front of the piano. His stare pierced her for the space of several fierce, erratic heartbeats.
Between them, the air crackled with raw sexuality. Her whole body tensed, as if waiting for the sparks to ignite.
Then he turned and left.
She ought to have been relieved. But her stomach sank with cold disappointment.
It didn’t matter.
He didn’t matter.
He had just been another amusement, another feather in her bonnet. A handsome, sensual, incredibly skilled feather. But she could walk away from him the moment she chose to. As she already had.
She glanced down and something caught her eye. In her tip jar, atop the coins and a few dollars were three crisp hundred-dollar bills.
Jarring notes clashed as her fingers faltered on the keys.
How dare he!
She jolted to her feet and jammed her hand into the jar, crushing the bills into her hand, then dashed after his departing back.
Once in the lobby, she caught up to him and grabbed his arm and gave it a fierce tug.
He whirled on her, then glowered down, his expression fierce.
The heat of anger made her face feel aflame. She could feel her nostrils flaring as her breaths forced themselves out and drew into her lungs, hard and ragged.
Livid! She had never been so livid in her entire life!
His expression went cold. His gaze turned to silvery ice.
From his superbly tailored jacket of Federal blue wool and intricately tied cravat to his imperiously jutting jaw, he reeked of power and self-assurance.
And yes, he was absolutely gorgeous. Her pulse began to race all the harder as her nipples tightened. Desire twisted down deep through her belly, increasing her ire a hundred-fold. It wasn’t fair for him to have such an effect on her, whilst he stood there so cool and unaffected.
Oh, it wasn’t fair at all!
Her fist tightened on the bills. Too incensed to heed the two merchant-class gentlemen who waited about the lobby, she hurled the crushed bills to his chest. They fluttered to the floor about his fine Hessian boots.
She looked up and met his glacial gaze. Her blood went frigid. She lifted her chin and allowed her lip to curl up, ever so slightly.
Nothing special.
He was nothing special.
Just another wealthy man who thought he could buy her time and her loyalty, while giving her nothing real of himself.
She wasn’t for sale.
What she gave, she gave for her own enjoyment. She decided when, where, and for how long.
“You insult me,” she said.
His eyes flickered over her coolly. “Three hundred dollars isn’t an insult. Twenty-five would have been an insult.”
Her brows snapped together. “What does twenty-five dollars have to do with anything?”
“It’s the going rate for a high-flier.” His tone was cool, his expression unconcerned.
Heat suffused her face and rage choked her. She fisted her hands at her sides. “I. Am. Not. A. Whore.”
“It’s a gift,” he said calmly.
“A gift for what?”
“I never end a liaison without a gift.”
Oh, but ending their liaison wasn’t his decision to make.
She always ended all her affaires.
Always.
And she had yet to show just how skilled she was. How rare she was. Maybe one more afternoon would leave him burning all the hotter for her when he left Philadelphia. It was important. She didn’t want him to ever forget her. Never.
Forcing a throaty laugh, she touched his left lapel, stroking the expensive cloth sensually. “Who says our liaison is over?”
His eyes flickered over her, hard as flint. “It’s simple logic. You didn’t show today and I am soon returning home.”
His words were like ballast in her stomach. He was leaving.
Leaving.
And he seemed so calm about it. But he couldn’t be indifferent. A burning lump formed in her throat. He couldn’t—
But what about—the other afternoon, they hadn’t… not completely.
Surely he wouldn’t leave with such monumental unfinished business between them!
That lump in her throat rap
idly enlarged and she had to swallow several times. Hiding her sudden emotional turmoil, she offered him a slow, seductive smile. “I had planned to visit you on Sunday, but if this is what you—”
His jaw tightened, the skin pulling taut over his cheekbones. He grasped her wrist and thrust her hand off his lapel.
A wave of excitement tore through her. She felt her face flush with it. Her belly quaked.
“Don’t toy with me, Beth.” He spoke tightly. Grittily.
Relief flooded her. Oh, thank God. He was not so indifferent after all. A surge of elation sent her heart’s beat hastening. Put flutters into her stomach. She veiled her eyes, trying to conceal the stab of satisfaction that made her knees weak. Triumph. “I am not toying with you. I’ll find some excuse to give my family. I’ll try to come.”
She stole a peek at him through her lashes.
He regarded her in stony silence.
The rosy glow of her triumph began to fade. She dropped her mouth open, exaggerating her dismay. “Do you not believe me?”
“Oh, I’d like to believe you. But your past pattern works against you.”
So he was still angry about her not meeting with him for those two weeks. It had mattered to him? She mattered to him? Her heart took a hopeful little leap. It made her angry with herself. So pathetic. “I couldn’t help that. I told you.”
A cynical smile quirked his lips. “I think you’re very cunning and clever. I think you do pretty much whatever you choose to do.”
“Well, it is not like that. But I do want to see you.” She was going to give him the afternoon of a lifetime and he would spend the rest of his days remembering her talented mouth.
Remembering her.
She reached for his other hand, met his cold, hard gaze and forced a treasure trove of sexual promises into her smile.
His eyes darkened to smoke and held her gaze as he slowly lifted her hand and pressed it to his hard, warm lips. Currents of need traveled up her arm and electrified her with desire.
“Then I’ll see you at eleven,” he said.
She suppressed a small shiver of anticipation and nodded. They stood staring at each other for several moments. She knew the naked hunger in his eyes mirrored her own.
Finally, his face eased into a grin. “You damn well better show.”
Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle Page 6