“Ginny.” He had just enough presence of mind not to shout, but it was a near thing. In his last coherent moment, he was shaken to his core by the knowledge that this was Eugenia, that she was as taken away by this as he was, falling with him, too, and it just wasn’t possible that she did not feel something for him. His climax hit, shook him out, and by all rights ought to have killed him. How he managed to stay on his feet afterward remained a mystery.
When he opened his eyes, he found her gazing at him, and if he’d possessed the power of speech, he would have told her he’d never seen a lovelier sight, never felt that sex was worth all the mess and emotion until now.
They were quite close; her arm remained around his shoulder, his fingers still spread out and gripping her thigh. She had her hand around him, and he pushed forward one more time and savored the shiver of orgasm that lingered. He kissed her again, slowly this time, and she kissed him back, reluctantly, he fancied, but then she wasn’t the sort of woman to deny what they’d just done.
He fished out his spare handkerchief and cleaned up as much of the mess as he could, and while he did that, he slid a finger along her nether lips, then two, over the nub there. Her head dropped back, and he felt her contract.
“I can’t,” she said, whispered, murmured. Moaned.
“I think you can.” And he brought her again, very quickly, her with both hands propped on the desk, and at least this time he had mental acuity enough to enjoy watching her. His first handkerchief did the rest of its duty.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. “We’re both mad. Mad.”
“Not madness,” he said. “I want to do this again, Ginny. Don’t you?”
“No.”
He slid two fingers inside her. Despite that he was standing between her legs, despite that he had his fingers inside her, despite that she’d come apart with him, he was wracked with doubt. She’d submitted to him, yet he was no closer to what he wanted than ever.
“Fox, God.”
He stroked inside her with his fingers.
“I think it’s best if we pretend this never happened.”
“When I’m done bringing you again, you may pretend all you like.” He slid his fingers along her. “But not until then.”
Bring her he did, and if they’d been anywhere a man could decently make love, he’d have put Ginny flat on her back and done so again and again until his cock refused to rise. But alas, they were not any such place, and it was bad of them to behave like this in their host’s home. They righted their clothes, helping each other.
At the door, both of them with their clothes arranged, hair smoothed back, and all the outward signs of illicit sex brushed or cleaned away, he paused. “I’ll escort you and Miss Rendell home.” He lifted a hand. “Pray do not argue.”
As it happened, it was a good thing he’d insisted, for the smell of smoke was thick in the air even before his carriage arrived at Mountjoy’s town house. He brought the horses to a halt. The scene was chaos, with men shouting and the staff and residents of nearby homes clogging the streets, some in varying states of dress.
Men stripped to their shirtsleeves formed a line, passing buckets to one another or manning the fire engine, taking turns at the pump. The entire staff of Number 6 was outside on the street, some of them with only their coats over their nightclothes, because it was Mountjoy’s town house that was burning.
He turned to the two women, both of them white-faced with shock. “I’ll take you to Bouverie.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Two days later. Bouverie.
IT WAS PAST NINE IN THE EVENING BY THE TIME EUGENIA came home—not home, for the town house was currently uninhabitable, but to Bouverie, where she and Hester were staying until repairs to the Spring Street town house were completed. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, having spent the day and a good portion of the evening going through the contents of the house with some of the staff to compile an inventory of what had been destroyed or damaged and to recover what necessary day-to-day items they could.
She’d been to Mountjoy’s banker and received funds sufficient to assist the staff in replacing lost possessions and to find lodgings for the staff that had nowhere to go until the house was repaired. She nodded to the Bouverie butler and headed upstairs. Her intent was to return to the room she’d been given, undress, and fall directly into bed. Her feet took her in a completely different direction. Only a few steps more, she thought when she reached the corridor that led to Fenris’s quarters. A few steps more, and she would see him. She didn’t know why that seemed imperative to her, but it did. He would be true. Truthful with her. He would listen to her and not just tut-tut, don’t worry your pretty head the way Mountjoy’s banker had done, for example.
When she stood before his closed door, her hand poised to knock, the sheer lunacy of what she was doing washed through her. She froze. Her body felt as if it did not belong to her. She ought not be here.
And yet she knocked.
The door swung open in response, though there was no reply to her knock. There were lights inside. She whispered, “Hullo?” and told herself she’d escaped a situation she ought never to have considered getting into in the first place.
Then she heard distant voices and recognized the cadence of Fenris’s speech, the dark and honeyed timbre of his voice. He really could not help the way he sounded. She took a step inside, still with that sensation of her body not belonging to her. Some other woman was walking into a gentleman’s private apartments. Alone. Eugenia Hampton Bryant would never do such a thing.
She found herself in an anteroom, though not the one she’d been in before. That one she’d reached through the back stairs. Like everything in Bouverie, this room imposed. Here was wealth, it said. Position. Nobility.
Faint light shone from the bedchamber, and she, acting on instinct alone, on selfish desire, if she were to be truthful, followed that inviting glow. No one was in the bedchamber, though the fire was up and there was a glass of some liquor on the table. The door on the opposite side of the room was half open.
She crossed the floor, moved past the four-poster, and stopped just before the doorway. From inside that room, water sloshed. Warm, wet air wafted over her. With a finger, she pushed the door. It swung smoothly open onto a gentleman’s dressing room.
Fenris was there, and she watched his head swivel toward the door as it opened. His valet stood at the far side of a copper bathtub, a towel stretched in his arms. The servant looked away from his employer to the door, eyes wide, but Eugenia hardly cared, for Fenris was on his feet, obviously seconds away from stepping out of his bath. He was naked. Water dripped off his body and his hair was wet and slicked back from his face. Shadows flickered over him.
He faced her and cocked his head, silent. Offended? Annoyed? Angry?
Eugenia was mortally aware of the impropriety, but then she was already compromised. His valet knew she’d been here before.
He stepped out of the tub onto the tiled floor around the bath. Water dripped to the floor. He reached behind him for an edge of the towel his valet held. “What’s happened?”
“I’ve just come from Spring Street.”
“Only now?” He lifted an arm to keep the towel from dragging through the water and bent at the waist to rub his hair. When he straightened, he said, “You’ve had a long day, then.”
“Milord.” His valet came around the tub, reaching for the towel. If Eugenia’s presence here scandalized him, you’d not know from the man’s expression or voice, other than that vague annoyance that Fenris seemed to wish to dry himself. The servant took the towel and went to work rubbing away the water that clung to Fenris.
“It was awful,” she said. To her horror, her voice broke.
Fenris waved off his valet and crossed to Eugenia. He put his arms around her and drew her against him. “Tell me.” His chin rested on the back of her shoulder. “Have you lost much?”
“Everything smells like smoke and ashes.” She put her a
rms around his shoulders and held tight. “The kitchen is mostly gone, and the entire below stairs is nothing but standing water. There’s a great gaping hole in the ceiling of the back study. Mountjoy trusted me to take care of things and—”
“Hush, my dear.” His arms tightened around her, and it felt good to have him close, to feel that for this moment, at least, she wasn’t alone to deal with the ashes of the house. “Hush.”
She put her head on his chest and sniffled.
“Good God, don’t cry. I cannot give you a handkerchief just now.”
She clung to him, tears pooling in her eyes and her trying to keep him from guessing how close she was to giving in to tears anyway. “I’ll manage,” she said. “I know I’ll manage.”
“Of course you shall. You’re a capable woman.” He lifted his head and addressed his valet. “My robe, if you will, then you may go. Thank you. I’ll ring if I need you.”
“Milord.”
He loosened an arm, and she stepped away while his valet helped him into a thick silk robe with as much aplomb as he would have if his employer weren’t standing naked in front of a woman to whom he was not married. His valet vanished through a back door. Fenris belted the robe and held out his arms. “Come.”
Ginny walked into his embrace again. “What if Hester had been home?”
“She wasn’t.”
“That’s not the point. She might have been.”
He drew her close. “You might have been home. Both of you. If I hadn’t delayed you, you might have been home when the fire broke out. I’ve been thanking Almighty God since then that you weren’t.”
“Mountjoy’s going to come to Town to deal with this.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her torso back so he could look into her face. “Now there is disaster.” His mouth curved, and he chucked her under her chin. “Your brother will likely find a way to blame me for this. I’ll need you to protect me from him.”
“Oh, he won’t, and you know it.”
He was smiling still, though only just. “And he’d certainly have found a way to take a pound of my flesh if you’d been injured.”
She put a hand on his chest and pushed. He didn’t move, and after a bit, she didn’t want him to. His skin was warm, soft over the muscles. He had a new bruise from his boxing, smaller than the faded one from before.
“So, yes, thank God you and Hester were not at home.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and headed for the bedchamber. On the way, he picked up the lantern and closed the door behind them. “Something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“You don’t mind, do you, if I finish mine?”
“No.”
He set the lantern on a table and picked up his abandoned drink. He curled his fingers around the glass. “Do you know what happened? How the fire started?”
His hair was standing every which way, and she couldn’t help herself. She went to him and combed her fingers through his hair. “There, now at least it lies straight.”
“Thank you.” She would have stepped back, but he caught her hand and held on. “Tell me everything, Ginny.”
“A curtain in one of the servants’ rooms caught fire. The footman had the window open, he says, because he likes the cold air, and there must have been a breeze.”
He sipped his drink and tugged on her hand. “Do you know if Mountjoy has insurance? Sit down.”
“Not yet.” She liked the closeness, the warmth of his body. “I don’t know about insurance. Mountjoy is a cautious, prudent sort. I’d not be surprised if he did.”
“How much have you lost?”
“The back study I think must be considered a complete loss. The top floor where the fire started, as well. I’m not sure about below stairs.” She sighed. “Hester and I may need new clothes. I’m not convinced the smell of smoke can ever be got out of what I was able to retrieve. I’ve made a list of everything. Mountjoy will need it when he comes.”
“My poor, dear Ginny. So efficient. You are a treasure. I hope your brother knows that. He doesn’t, I’m sure. He takes you for granted.” He pulled her against him, one arm around her shoulder. She felt him kiss the top of her head. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thank goodness, else we’d be on the street.” Eugenia breathed in. His skin smelled very faintly of the scent he used—lemon, she thought.
“Hardly. But I meant here.” He emptied his glass and set it down. “In this particular spot. My room.” He kissed her forehead. “In my arms.”
She rested her cheek against his chest. “I don’t understand this. This compulsion I have about you.”
“I’ve the same one about you.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Ah, ah. You do not hate me.”
“Incorrigible, that’s what you are.”
Still with his head bowed over her, he murmured, “I know.”
She frowned, though he could not see her, and put her hands on the knot of the tie that held his robe closed. “Just awful,” she whispered.
He drew in a breath, and she unfastened the sash. The two ends dropped, and the robe parted. She took a step back and Fenris allowed his arm to slide off her shoulder. She pressed her hand to his chest, then the other. “Your skin is warm.”
“I like a hot bath.”
She moved her hands to the sides of his chest. “You make me weak. My knees weak. You are…” She briefly closed her eyes. “…so lovely to look at.”
“Lovely to touch?”
Without taking her eyes off him and his now insistent erection, she nodded. “Very.”
“Please.” He spread his hands wide. “Indulge any whim you may have.”
She licked her lips and leaned in to kiss his chest, then came closer to kiss the side of his jaw. She trailed her other hand down to curl her hand around his member, then lower to his sac.
“What a stimulating whim.”
“Your cock is marvelous.” She tightened her fingers around him and drew her hand up. “I adore touching you. This.” She gently squeezed him. “This is the part of you I like best.”
“A sentiment I share. Ah.” He swallowed. “Pray continue.”
“Should I?”
“You must.” Light danced in his eyes. “I don’t wish to deprive you of any joy you might get from such touching of my person.”
“I don’t think it’s joy.”
“Such a disappointment. But go on. Somehow I’ll bear up.”
“You make me think the most disgraceful thoughts. It’s appalling.”
“Disgraceful?” He pushed his hips forward. “Best tell me what you mean by that.”
She looked between them at her hand around his cock and at the pale skin of his belly. He was thick and hard. “I want to kiss you.”
“There?”
“Yes.”
“That is disgraceful. I think you should.”
She lifted her head and found him watching her.
He tipped his head, and his expression was a delicious mix of anticipation and amusement. “Incorrigible, aren’t I, allowing you to debauch me like this.” He curled his hand around hers. “Shall I stand or sit?”
“You’re quite tall. Sit, I think.”
Fenris moved back when she released him and left only to fetch a chair to place before the fire. He added half a scuttle’s worth of coals before he sat, his robe untied and open. Eugenia knelt between his spread legs. She was thrilled. Aroused. On fire.
He put his hands on her head, exerting just the slightest pressure to prevent her from bending over him just yet. “Do you really enjoy this, or is it something you tolerate because you know I like it?”
“I adore it.”
“That’s wicked of you.”
“It is.”
“Yet another horror for me to endure.” He touched her cheek and drew in a long breath. “Do your worst.”
She did. Her very, very worst. The moment her mouth touched him, he whispered her name. He felt wonde
rful, tasted wonderful. His every groan wound her lust for him tighter. Right now, she was the one with the power, she was in control of his pleasure, and she did so want to see that he reached that place where only sexual release mattered.
Her own arousal intensified as she took him deeper. His hands tightened on her head and by the end, when she knew she’d brought him nearer to climax, he’d moved to the edge of the chair. They found a rhythm between strokes of her tongue, her palm moving along his shaft, the pulls of her mouth on him and the forward rock of his hips. Not rocking anymore, a thrust.
She swept her fingers down to caress his sac and press that spot just behind his penis, and he shouted. His cock throbbed in her mouth, and she relaxed and took him as deep as possible.
He kept his hands on her head when she sat back. Slowly, his eyes focused.
“When I have my brain back in my head, I’m going to take you to the Turkish room, strip us both naked, and fuck you senseless.”
Chapter Thirty
Later that week.
AS EUGENIA FELL INTO SLEEP, SHE SLID HER HAND beneath her pillow to smooth the medallion. It wasn’t there because Fenris had it. How odd that she still had the habit. She hadn’t yet told Lily that she’d given the medallion to Fenris. Guiltily, she realized she’d never told Fenris he was to sleep with the medallion under his pillow. Even without actually being able to touch the medallion, every night she indulged in the opportunity to think of the people she loved. Her brothers. Lily. Her late parents, and the aunt and uncle who had raised her and her brothers. Inevitably she thought of Robert. He was gone, so unfairly gone before his time. In her final moments of wakefulness, she could hold him in her heart and imagine he was smiling at her from heaven.
Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance) Page 26