Lord Dangerous

by Gayle Eden

  He took her fingers and spread them too, so that she exposed that flesh, while the pad of his glided over the flushed and sensitive skin. Dipping into the opening, he drew it high—until it touched swollen nerves.

  Alina gasped and clutched the edge of the bench with her free hand. Her eyes flickering to his, just raising from watching himself touch her.

  Trevon leaned to whisper in her ear, though looking in the mirror to keep her gaze locked, “This is the pleasure spot.” His fingertip stroked over that bud and around it. “Do you feel it?”

  “Yes. Yes,” she half choked, seeing her juices flow silken and wet.

  His finger went to the entry and glided partly inside.

  Alina moaned and watched him inch inward, his breathing near her ear, until he was touching her deep.

  “Like this…” He brought his finger out, glistening with her honey, then eased it back in time and again, thrusting slow and rhythmic. When he came out and smoothed the wetness over those nerves, she wanted it so badly; she closed her eyes, mentally willing him to keep doing what he was doing.

  Lips near her ear, he murmured, “You want it now.”

  “Yes.” She opened her eyes, seeing the feverish gleam in them as they met his hooded ones in the mirror. “I want it.”

  Gliding down again, he stroked her with his fingers going deep and staying rhythmic. They both watched that skin firm over the nerves and swell until lushly glistening. With her sex as hungry for his gliding thrusts, as that pleasure spot was for the pad of his finger to circle it and stroke it, Alina forgot everything before this moment. She knew little aside from the tension and burn—the sexual and sensual eroticism of what he did, what they watched—and what her body found pleasure in.

  At random, he leaned his head down and suckled her nipples when his finger was deep in her sex. Alina could hear her breathing, distantly conscious of his own darker breaths—and some male intensity he emitted. She was mostly turned inward, to the longings of her body.

  At one point, she was trembling so severely when he fit a finger into her and used his thumb to glide over the bud, the climax soared, swiftly, and intensely. It came with a squeezing of every muscle inside her sex—bringing a blinding kind of intoxication that lasted until every tremor had stopped.

  Alina slumped against him, panting, her hand covering his where he palmed between her now closed but still trembling legs.

  Lips on her hair, Rotherham murmured this time, “Was it worth your initial embarrassment?”

  She nodded and raised her head, feeling his hand slide away, but not before he lightly squeezed her thigh.

  Staring into his gaze, she saw that a banked fire had replaced the usual aloofness. It pleased her that he was not all that detached from what had happened.

  “It is quite amazing.”

  He stood and went to the washbowl, washing his hands before bringing her a damp cloth and not bothering to hide the fact, he watched her cleanse herself.

  She arose, tossed the cloth in the pan, her body heavy, and yet light, still fascinated by how that had felt. Reaching for the robe on the bed, Alina propped her foot on the trunk and rolled down her stockings, discarding them.

  Clad in the short green robe, Alina watched him stride toward the door.

  “Isn’t there anything you want?” she asked softly, not knowing quite how to put it.

  His only answer was to husk, “Goodnight, Alina. Rest well.”

  She sighed, but did—she slept deeply, more relaxed, more oblivious to the world than she had been in years.

  * * * *

  Alina awoke midmorning and washed. She dressed in a lightweight beige gown, and then padded barefoot below stairs after combing her hair.

  “Lady Audra is out. Gone to the museum, I believe,” the housekeeper told her in accented English.

  “Thank you.” Alina took food and coffee on a tray in the sitting room. She was absently gazing out at passing traffic when Trevon came in from another room. He had dressed in black trousers, boots, a linen shirt with black silk vest.

  “I slept all day.” She grimaced guiltily.

  He cast her a knowing glance, and again she detected that near smile while he helped himself to her coffee and sprawled in a chair.

  “I’ve our passage arranged and the trunks with your wardrobe as well as Audra’s ready. We will depart in the morning.”

  He drank some from his cup, his gaze going from her place on the window seat to the traffic one could observe through the windows. “Mabry’s main seat is near my estate.”

  “You’ve been friends long?”

  “Over twenty years.” He nodded, but the tone did not invite probing further.

  Alina set her cup on the ledge and absently fingered the drawn back sheer curtain. Her eyes were skimming over him, her mind on the duel image of him in daylight, and in her room—in the gambling hell—and in her rooms…

  She asked, “Did you set out to acquire the rep you have?”

  He stared at her for a few ticks of the clock. “If you are waiting for me to confess I am merely misunderstood, you’ve a long wait, Madam. One does not set out to gain a black rep however. It comes with the territory, so to speak. Let us just say that I am no man, or woman’s fool. I have no sense of humor when it comes to abuse or insults of any sort. I particularly have no tolerance for disloyalty from anyone I have invited into my personal life.”

  She discerned then—that someone had deeply betrayed him. Yet Alina was not foolish enough to think that was the only thing that life dealt people. She more than most understood that true friends were rare—and, honesty rarer still. Blood did not keep those closest, from selfishly destroying others’ lives.

  There were times she wanted to slap those foul men her mother brought home. She wanted to kick them out. She had never trusted them. There were times—she wanted to be so far away from her mother. Then there was the titled lord who had abused Audra. Alina would kill him in a heartbeat.

  “You’ve a gift at the tables?”

  He nodded, but drawled, “I had to be good at gambling. Unbeknownst to the world, my family had nothing, save the titles and a crumbling estate.”

  “That crowd, that world in itself, carries an element of danger?”

  “Very astute,” he murmured. “It is not just the shifty thugs you see on the streets, but many a well-dressed and well titled gent will stab or shoot you in an alley, for a full purse. The drink, and free flowing narcotics—there is very little, in any group or society—of what one would call honor. Some people are desperate, having lost everything. Others are not unlike your mother’s friends—they are either addicted to chaos, or born thieves.”

  Rotherham finished his coffee and arose, coming to stand by the window beside her, after depositing his cup on the tray. “I once met a duke, a very rich one, who trained his servants to steal from guests. When they noticed it, the whole of them, the duke, servants —would go through a charade of outrage at such accusations. He’d promise to punish the culprit. The guests, so in awe of his influence and titles, never caught on.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me…much.” She laughed and shook her head.

  He glanced down at her. “A well-known Countess of the ton has beaten so many of her servants, she can scarcely hire more. She complains loudly of the terrible domestics. How lazy, how unskilled they are. Another gent buys young boys from the poor and desperate—what ones he cannot get from orphanages—and sells them for sex to his cronies.”

  She shuddered. “I wish the world were different.”

  “It isn’t. I have met men of the cloth who are the devil incarnate. Women, in good families, whose every breath forms a lie. Others suffer for it. A friend is rare in the true sense. In any society. While the ton glitters and sparkles, underneath are secrets kept hidden because it is easier for them to brand someone like me. And no, I do not give a bloody damn to that. What I have done, was motivated by something other than my need to abuse, or my greed and cruelty. To some,
it may be crueler to wound a man, or win a purse; he can ill afford to lose. It takes a certain ruthlessness, a detachment, to live your own life by your own rules”

  She filled in mentally, but better than being a fool.

  Alina felt deep in her bones there was a black place in him that ruled his life. She had a feeling that Rotherham had a limit to tolerance, and that his cold arrogance likely came from having learned by experience.

  She was wed to him. Alina reminded herself that it was for life—that this man had his own reasons for doing so too. She could, of course, list his generosity to Audra and herself, the material—and add her own feelings about the intimacy of the night before. However, she forewent that. Because, she knew, he would have contempt for any sort of being nice or agreeable to him, because of the monetary things he had given. She may not know him completely, but that she discerned instinctively.

  She leaned around him and came to her feet saying casually, “Could we stroll the shops a bit before dark?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll dress and be right down.” She hurried upstairs, searching through the full wardrobe then donning a walking dress of light buff, with a thin carriage coat. Alina wore a small hat with a brown feather curled around the brim, and black half boots.

  Rotherham had donned a thigh length coat. He gave her his arm as they walked amid the pedestrians, and breathed the scents from the baker shops amid the sharp aroma of dye, and bitter coffees from those public houses and cafes.

  Pausing to glance in a window display, Alina grinned at the offerings. There were famous people, literary personages, and artistic sketches, alongside some of the costumes. She drew Trevon’s attention to a pair of women’s trousers, high boots, and cocked hat, according to the advertisement; it was supposed to have been worn by a famous spy.

  He immediately went it and bought it and had it sent to the mansion.

  “You didn’t have to buy it” She laughed, still shocked that he had as they were later eating ices while strolling.

  He shrugged. “Why not buy it.”

  Alina gave up protesting, and by the end of the stroll, she had purchased books and two paintings—and a long leather riding coat, a funny little paperweight. It was not a fortune spent but she had to be cautious, else she suspected he would have bought anything she liked.

  On the way back, she tentatively began a conversation on foods—learning they enjoyed many of the same dishes. He knew dozens of exotic ones though, that she had never tasted. Moving the conversation along, she learned he had traveled all over the world, had served in the navy, and he had penchant for coconut milk with lime juice.

  What she revealed of herself was not half so exotic. Alina said at certain points, “I love to ride. I always wanted birds, but hate to see them cadged. I freeze terribly in winter. Before Papa died, I used to make him partner me at the local dances. He was such a shy man—so contained, save with Audra and myself. He doted on us. I believe he basked in our cuddles and kisses, reveled in our laughter.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She was fractious… irritated often. We annoyed her, I think. I do not remember her as doing much but going out. I suppose, in hindsight, she likely drank heavily and had affairs—I do not know. I could not have guessed what would happen once papa was gone.”

  Instead of going directly home, he walked with her to lean on a rail and watch boats gliding on the canal. They observed people who fed ducks and pigeons, and those who flirted, sitting on the benches across the way.

  “Do you have other family?”

  “No.” He watched a boy scrambling to fetch his sailboat before it went under the duct.

  “And the Viscount?”

  “A brother—in America. He holds some sort of high political office…” He shrugged. “I never knew Rhys well. He holds an earldom, but was serious, studious, and deeply involved in the abolition movements.”

  She nodded and grinned at the boy who glanced at her, as he was successful in rescuing his boat. “Were you ever engaged before?”

  Rotherham glanced at her coldly. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I don’t know.” She admitted honestly, “It just—came to mind.”

  He glanced away and ignored the question. In a few moments, he uttered, “We should return. Your sister will be home, and you’ll enjoy a supper together before we leave.”

  “You’re going out?”

  “Yes.”

  Glancing at his inflexible face, she wondered if she had provoked him, and possibly probed some sore spot? Perhaps he merely was gambling, or seeing some courtesan or whatever men did in Paris.

  She looked away when they reached the house, and in the foyer before he left said, “Thank you for the lovely evening.”

  He raised a brow, nodded coolly, and left her.

  Alina saw him leave the house as she and Audra were departing the dining room an hour later to have their coffee in the parlor.

  In the parlor, they chatted about Audra’s visit to the museum, and sights of the city— but both were rather absent and in their pensive. Audra wondered aloud what was next for them. Alina wondered silently if Rotherham was at a smoky hell, or touching some woman the way he had touched her the night before.

  Chapter 3

  Hampshire England.

  Whatever Rotherham Hall had been before he restored it, it was rather magnificent now as a sprawling dark stone mansion with emerald lawns, lush gardens, graced with fountains and hedges. It was surrounded by woods, and boasted park preserve.

  Alina was greeted upon arrival by a staff, that though friendly, showed decided difference to their master. She could tell they were efficient, busy, and after curtsies and bows, she followed a maid up the master suites. Whilst Audra was taken to another wing, where she was informed apartments were ready.

  There followed the usual bustle of trunks and bags coming up—maids putting away and sorting, while Alina shed her traveling coat and smoothed the wrinkles from her cream skirt and white lace blouse.

  Sometime in the pointing out where this went or nodding to a servant’s question, she realized the sitting area was on each side of the master bedrooms—and only a door was between herself and Rotherham’s chambers. In fact, she could see because it was opened. The footmen were moving about and a valet brushing off his coat, and directing some young lad to take the boots for shining.

  Her chamber was elegant and comfortable, boasting large windows and of a subtle color scheme of ivory and champagne with splashes of pale green. From the looks of Rotherham’s, it was more masculine, a wine, and deep green, with ivory accents. She was told the bathing chambers for herself were on the other side of her personal sitting room—converted recently the maid said, as there had been nothing modern in the estate before.

  On the same floor was a small library for the mistress, and a balcony, overlooking the back courtyard.

  Accepting the housekeepers offer to have refreshment in the sitting room—Alina retired to that area, enjoying the relaxing hues while the servants finished unpacking. Sometime after silence came with the end of tasks, she smiled at the maid who collected the tray, and entered her room once more, intending to change for dinner.

  Alina stopped abruptly, her hands clutching the sides of her skirt. Having entered from the doorway at the end of her chamber, she was able to see through Rotherham’s open doorway at a different angle than before. She hardly breathed; absently aware of the edge of a high scrolled bed, with deep silk covers, window light attesting to the fact there was one directly beside the bed. A weaved colorful Turkish carpet spread on the polished wood floor. However, it was Rotherham she fixated on—standing nude save for a towel on his hips, speaking to someone—the valet likely, across the room, while he rubbed his hair free of water.

  Honed, carved of muscle under swarthy skin, and chiseled lean hips, long legs, and arms, shoulders with muscles that shifted when he rubbed the towel over his black mane. He was absent an ounce of fat. Since the towel was
low enough, she could see the line of inky hair from his navel, the tender skin of his ridged abdomen, and those dark peach nipples that shifted on slabs of chest muscle.

  Rotherham turned to the side slightly to toss the towel. she visually traced his round buttocks, a taut waist—however when the valet passed by the doorway she saw him drop the towel and turn his back, and for all Alina lusted to see that nude backside—she was so utterly appalled at the cruel scars nearly halving his back in an X, that she could not look away from it.

  It was the valet’s reaching him trousers that finally had her hurriedly stepping away before she was caught. Alina sat dumbly on the edge of the bed, trying to imagine anyone taking a knife and cutting someone so deep. It would take time, steadiness, to carve that perfect X pattern from shoulder to spine. The scars were old, making her ill to realize he could not have reached more than twenty before they were made. Flexing her fingers into the covers, she attempted to gather herself.

  Rotherham appeared in her doorway moments later, dressed in black trousers, boots, and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His hair was damp still with layered strands falling into place as it dried. His sherry eyes regarded her for some time before he said, “Rest, nap, if you like. I’ve some work to do in the study.”

  She nodded, regarding him whilst trying to hide what she knew. Looking past the harsh features, the cool sherry eyes, and seeing more.

  He went on, “You and Audra may choose to ride whilst here. The grooms know which mounts are suited. She’s expressed some interest via Maybry on horticulture.” He shrugged. “There are the usual garden and literary clubs. Her pastimes are her own affair, but going about unescorted is not safe. Maybry is at her disposal. If not he, then a maid or footman—”

  “Why? I mean. Why is he playing guardian?”

  Rotherham considered her a long time before saying quietly, but clear, “He wants her.”