Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  And no man with any blood in his veins would allow the opportunity to pass by without at least tasting that gorgeous, berry-red mouth. He’d expected the kiss to be sweetly distracting—instead it had scorched his senses.

  He glanced, perplexed, at her face, her too-thin body. Usually it took a great deal of beauty in a woman—damn near perfection—to send him to heights like that. And never over a mere kiss, unless the woman’s lips were planted somewhere else.

  God, if just a kiss could produce that kind of sensation, what would it be like to taste her and make her come, to bury himself balls-deep in her body? He could lose himself completely. And he hungered to lose himself, to forget himself and all the bitter corruption in his soul.

  The intensity of his anticipation made his mouth go dry.

  But it had probably been a fluke or a product of his extreme ennui.

  He’d better try it again to make certain.

  He cupped her face and she looked up at him, her eyes huge, luminous pools of sherry. The open hunger there sent an answering surge of desire slicing through him but he suppressed it. It never served a man’s purposes to come at a woman like a ravening beast.

  He touched his lips to hers again and applied steady, gentle pressure. She began to kiss him back, pressing her lips against his with heated softness. There wasn’t anything unexpected in such a response—nothing special—yet his heart began to pound and his cock grew longer, harder.

  Who the hell was this girl?

  What was she going to be to him?

  He slipped his hand down to her collarbone and gently gripped there. The feel of her pulse, rapid and strong, sent a thrill through him.

  The carriage came to a stop. He lifted his lips from hers and released her. A bittersweet aching swelled in his chest. A reluctance to let her go. How novel the sensation was. He sat back in the seat, so bemused by his own strange mood that when the carriage door swung open it startled him.

  He shook himself and climbed out of the carriage. Then he turned back and offered his hand to Emily. Poised on the seat, she looked out of the open door at the imposing red-brick building with her mouth agape.

  “That’s City Tavern,” she said, voice strained.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, I can’t go in there.”

  “Come on, Emily—surely you’re not that shy.” Alex grinned and gave her a wink. And waited.

  She placed her hand tentatively into his. He clasped it tightly and gave it a firm tug. She pulled back, her eyes widening slightly.

  “Oh no, my girl—there’s no escape now.”

  Her eyes grew wider and she bit her lip. But he sensed that she would not pull back now. He could feel it in the way her hand relaxed, in the warmth of her gaze holding his. He laughed. “I won’t let you go now, even if you beg.”

  Her thick, dark lashes veiled her eyes. His gaze dropped to the pulse beating frantically in her neck. And the cold night air didn’t matter—he was bone hard. Harder than ever for her. He drew her gloved hand up to his mouth, then pressed his lips to it, harshly this time.

  His driver coughed delicately. Alex laughed wryly to himself. It was a fairly sad state of affairs when one’s servants had to remind one of social standards. He lowered her hand but did not release it.

  “Come, let’s go inside before my driver has an apoplexy.”

  She let him help her down and he led her to the stately stone steps. There were several patches of brown ice. Tobacco spit.

  “Have a care,” he said, trying to direct her around it.

  She glanced down and lifted her skirts. A few tantalizing inches of plain white petticoat and slim, well-shaped ankles in dark gray stockings showed.

  Most gentlemen would have looked away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her pretty display. When had he ever declined the chance to view a lovely pair of ankles, especially when there was the strong promise of getting to explore further up those skirts?

  But she should have lacy petticoats and silk stockings. And they should be somewhere private. He would buy her those silken, lacy things. Then he would let his hand drift slowly along her stockings until he reached the soft flesh of her thighs. He would let his fingers slide into her warm moist cunt and caress her, teasing her, coaxing her to become wetter and wetter until she cried out his name and came.

  Her little shoes clicked on the bricks as she sidestepped the icy spot. Then she turned and glanced up at him, catching him ogling her. She looked a little shocked, as if she might have thought him above that sort of a thing.

  It just went to show—she didn’t know him yet.

  Yet, incredibly, he felt his face heat as he grinned and winked at her. “See now, I knew you’d have lovely ankles.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her skirts fell from her hands. She breathed out a plume of vapor as the chilly breeze ruffled her dark ringlets.

  At the sound of heels on bricks, she turned her head towards two elegantly dressed gentlemen who were coming down the steps. One of them had dark hair and burning black eyes. The bastard scanned her intently, as if he sought to sear the clothes from her body. As if Alex wasn’t standing there holding her hand.

  An odd feeling twisted through Alex’s guts. He’d never felt it before.

  She tightened her hand on his and he sensed the stiffening of her whole body. Instinctively, he released her hand and slipped his arm about her waist, drawing her close to him. All the while, he maintained steady eye contact with the gentleman. One word resounded with every beat of his heart.

  Mine.

  Amusement entered the other man’s dark eyes and he shrugged and tipped his hat to Emily and gave her a wink. Then he hurried to catch up with his companion.

  The sound of the gentlemen’s heels clicking on the bricks gradually receded, leaving Alex shaken in the wake of his own intense reaction. Still, it wasn’t a bad place to have ended up, standing there with her body tucked tightly against his. And it was only natural to have been offended by their overt interest. After all, she was obviously with him for the evening.

  Emily was disturbed by the strange gentleman’s rude stare, his hot, dark eyes. She’d never been the object of such overt, lustful interest before. It must be the hour of the night and being in Alex’s company. It must tell every other gentleman that she was a harlot, available to serve their lusts.

  And she was even more shaken by Alex’s arousal against her. She knew what it was, of course, but she’d never felt it before.

  “I recognized your bold admirer. He’s a senator, my dear—a real wolf.” Alex’s breath tickled her neck.

  She shivered. “I am beginning to deeply regret coming here.”

  “We can’t have that.” He pulled the cloak’s hood up from where it lay on her shoulders and then forward over her face and everything went black. He laughed. “There. You’re a woman of mystery. No one can see your face.”

  “But now I can’t see!” she exclaimed softly.

  “Allow me to lead you, sweetheart.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Come along.”

  Dizzied, she tripped, falling forward. He caught her quickly. Held for a moment against his strong body, she felt her disorientation ease.

  “Now, be careful,” he said.

  Male voices rumbling low, occasional laughter and the clinking of dishware echoed distantly, combining with the scent of tobacco smoke and spicy rum punch heavy in the air to provoke tantalizing images in her mind. Occasional voices and the sound of boots on floorboards came closer, then faded away. She feared that each step might land her into some unseen trip or fall; flutters blossomed in her mid-section. It gave her the most unsettling urge to giggle.

  Grandmother had always impressed on her the importance of never making a public spectacle of herself, and this situation certainly seemed to fit the description of a public spectacle. The thought of Grandmother’s face nearly proved her undoing and she shook with suppressed laughter. It probably wasn’t kind to laugh about such things so soon after Grandmot
her’s death but she couldn’t help it. At that moment, she wanted to forget about sickness and sadness and death. In the presence of this man, she felt so young and alive—and free.

  “It’s safe, there’s no one around,” Alex whispered in a conspiratorial tone as he flipped her hood back.

  Reflective tin sconces and brass candlesticks glittered and light reflected off the elegant crown moldings and lofty ceiling. She tried not to gape but she’d never been in such a pretty place.

  “Good evening, Mr. Dalton.”

  Startled that the man knew Alex by name, Emily dragged her gaze down to meet the openly curious appraisal of a short, thin young man.

  “Is a private room available?” Alex asked.

  “Aye, sir,” the man said, and he led them upstairs to a chamber containing several small tables spread with fine, white Holland linen and paired with cabriole-legged chairs of glossy mahogany. After the man had taken their wraps and hung them up, they sat at one of the tables.

  “It’s very cozy in here,” Emily remarked lamely. Goodness, how much did a room like this cost for just the two of them?

  “You would have felt conspicuous in the common room.”

  “People would have thought I was your kept lady, just like those two gentlemen on the steps did.”

  “Aye, they would think something close to that.” His golden brows drew together slightly. “Emily, would you do something for me?”

  “What?”

  “Would you remove whatever it is that you have stuffed your bodice with?”

  “What?” Surely she’d heard him wrong.

  “I am not fond of repeating myself.” His frown deepened.

  Her face flamed. “I don’t think you have any right to ask such a thing.”

  “Look at yourself.” He gestured to her chest. “You’re all…out of balance.”

  She glanced down. Oh dear. One of her false breasts was pointing up and looking rather lumpy. The other was still nice and round and pointing correctly, straight out. She slowly returned her gaze to his. His eyes danced with laughter.

  “Please, just do it,” he said.

  She waited for him to give her some privacy, but he kept staring at her chest with that near-comical frown on his face.

  “Must you stare at me whilst I do so?”

  His expression turned contrite. “Of course, pardon me.” He turned away from her.

  Breathing quickly now with mortification, she reached into her bodice and plucked the stockings out, then threw them to the floor beneath the table. She adjusted her bodice and winced at how flat she looked. Before the fever she’d possessed somewhat respectable curves, but they’d been slow to return. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been able to afford any grand feasts.

  “All right, it’s done,” she said.

  He turned back to face her. He moved his eyes slowly over her, giving her the same sensation she’d experienced earlier at the Blue Duck, as if he were picking her apart bone by bone. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Do I meet with your approval now?”

  A small smile lifted his lips. “You’ll do.”

  “What a relief,” she said with deliberate mockery.

  His smile broadened and his eyes warmed. “What do you want to eat?”

  “Duck,” she said without hesitation. It had been so long since she’d eaten duck. Blood pudding and day-old bread made for an affordable yet tedious daily menu.

  He poured her a glass of wine—claret this time. She took a hesitant sip and let it burn her all the way down. Then she took another, deeper drink. She was certainly fast getting used to the taste of expensive wine. She was beginning to relish that slow, steady burn.

  * * * *

  Alex refilled Emily’s glass with more claret. She brought the glass to her lips, tipped it and took a deep drink. Her eyes glazed, then half-closed, an expression of such pure pleasure that he almost groaned. He’d been watching her do this for some time and his cock was as hard as iron.

  It wasn’t just her obvious sensual enjoyment that commanded his attention. It was the way the fine cords in her neck stretched and the way the candlelight played on her fragile-looking collarbones. The feminine perfection of her hands and her delicately etched cheekbones.

  She was so like a diminutive china doll.

  And that full, wine-stained mouth invited the most indecent fantasies. He’d like to kiss her and taste the combination of rich claret and the lingering saltiness of his own seed on her tongue.

  But it was her nose that fascinated him the most. The juxtaposition of that one strong feature alongside her utter femininity proved inexplicably yet irresistibly alluring.

  Her eyes opened over the brim of her glass and a vertical line marred her forehead as her dark red brows drew together. She firmly set the glass down, eyeing him warily, as if his attention were making her uneasy.

  “I think I’ve had more than enough wine. I’d prefer a coffee, if you don’t mind, Alex. Black, if you please.”

  God, she was so unpredictable. And adorable.

  “But ladies don’t drink black coffee—don’t you know that?”

  She rolled her elegant little shoulders. “Then I suppose I’m not a lady. I don’t care, I want coffee.”

  “I’ll request tea, with cream and honey. All my ladies drink tea with cream and honey.”

  “But I’m not one of your ladies,” she replied briskly.

  He enjoyed provoking those sparks in her sherry-brown eyes. He laughed quietly. “When you sit here at my table, enjoying my largesse, you certainly are one of my ladies.”

  When his remark drew the desired response, he knew one thing as sure as his next breath—he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until he’d had her. Having caught a glimpse of her beguiling sensuality, he wanted to drown himself in it. God, he just might pay a fortune to possess her.

  He shifted in the seat, trying to ease his swelling erection, and mentally reviewed the previous hour. Though she’d eaten with pretty manners, it had been painfully obvious she’d wanted to gulp down the elegant fare. He winced in painful recollection of similar keen cravings. As she prattled on merrily about her extended family of eccentric aunts and reprobate uncles, he was ninety-nine per cent certain it was a pure fiction. The strange thing was that it didn’t matter. Her quick, imaginative mind entertained him, making his mood far lighter than it had been in a painfully long time.

  And it made him wonder to what better uses that imagination could be turned under his guidance.

  “I’m ready to leave,” he said firmly.

  She glanced up at him, her gorgeous mouth parted in a way that made his cock ache. He suppressed a groan.

  “Now?” she asked.

  “If you want coffee, I’ll make some in my rooms. I have some very fine coffee and since you do not require cream—”

  “Your rooms?” She looked at him as if he’d suddenly begun speaking in a foreign language.

  “I keep a suite of rooms at a boarding house. I cannot be bringing girls to my house—my aunt and unmarried cousin live there.”

  Her eyes grew huge and she paled several shades. “You want to take me to your…p-private rooms?”

  Her voice quavered as if she were some sheltered society miss.

  Irritation pricked him. Of course she would pretend to be difficult at this point. He hated false coyness. He took her hand.

  “Don’t worry, I shall be quite generous.”

  “H-how generous?”

  Inwardly, he sighed. She certainly lacked finesse.

  “I prefer not to talk business in the heat of the night, but if you must know, I shall give you a hundred dollars for tonight.”

  “A hundred dollars?”

  “Yes.” It was an extravagant amount but he liked to spoil his women. He liked seeing their shocked delight. He adored accepting their equally extravagant gratitude.

  Her gaze fell to her empty plate.

  Well, he�
��d certainly never received that reaction.

  Some silences seemed more silent than others. This was definitely one of those silences. He began to feel uneasy. Had he insulted her in some way? He couldn’t imagine how. It should have been the simplest of exchanges.

  Oh, what the hell. “How about one hundred and fifty?”

  He knew he’d pay a lot more, but wasn’t willing to show his hand quite yet. Besides he suspected he was going to want her for more than one night. At least a fortnight, he was certain.

  Maybe the entire winter season.

  In the latter case, they would have to come to an agreement for her keep, at least in the short-term.

  She shoved her chair back with a loud scraping sound. Then she jumped to her feet, her glossy, dark curls bobbing in a pretty display. The way she moved fascinated him. The lithe lines of her long, slender arms and waist held a certain elegance. Made him think of how flexible that nubile body must be and to what uses it could be put.

  “I have to be getting home now.” Her voice cut into his wandering thoughts.

  “Home?” Well, that was a shock. And she’d said it so seriously that he almost believed her. What a little opportunist! She certainly knew her own worth. Far more so than he had thought at first glance. She had looked so helpless, so hapless at first… Grudging admiration tugged at him and he had to fight not to grin. All right, he’d get her her own suite of rooms. A wardrobe of fine clothes. Maybe a carriage and four. Maybe. It would depend on how well she delivered on the promise of her sensuality.

  But he didn’t feel like letting her know that right at that moment. He frowned sadly. “Do you really have to go home, sweetheart?”

  “Yes.” She avoided his eyes as she pushed her chair to the table, then she ran over to where her cloak hung and jerked it off the hook. “It was a lovely meal, thank you. I-I am sorry.”

  He watched her open the door…and leave.

  Good God, she was really leaving. No woman had ever walked out on him in a situation like this. Hadn’t he just offered her four times what she might have expected in return for warming his sheets?