“Do you often attend the pirate ball?”
Her uncle laughed. “Every one, my dear. Good for a marriage to have some spice, even after thirty-five years.”
Icy cold, sore, and struck with an attack of uncontrollable mirth, Grace buried her face in Sebastian’s shoulder.
“Take me away, please,” she choked out.
“Where do you want to go?” said Sebastian. “Your father’s house?”
“No. I want to go home. To Fallen.”
“Now wait one damned minute,” said Waverly. “What fustian is this? You’ll come and stay with your aunt and I. Unless of course there is a stronger claim. Say, a betrothal approved by the head of the family to a titled man of the right age, with a large fortune, good lineage, decent address…”
“Subtle, very subtle, your grace,” said Sebastian, but there was amusement in his voice. “You couldn’t have at least given me a minute? Or allowed travel to a more suitable location?”
“Pah. No time like the present, m’boy. I proposed to Anne as she sat in the middle of a mud puddle her mare had just deposited her into.”
“Ha. I should’ve said no,” said her aunt. “Shocking rake that you were. But Sin, my husband does have a point. If there is something you would like to say…”
Grace stilled, the pain and cold fading as joy dawned. “Sebastian?”
He took an audible breath. “I know I’m not the man you were dreaming of, someone in business.”
“Yes.”
“One third owner of a pleasure club and inclined to freeing women from pimps and bawds.”
“Yes,” she said dreamily, wishing he’d shut up and kiss her.
“Someone who deals with flour bag assaults, come-stained costumes, and chronic sweet shortages.”
“Yes.”
“A man known to the world as Sin.”
Grace sighed. “You’ll always be Sebastian to me, but how many blasted times must I say yes to your proposal?”
He froze in the starlit darkness. “You’re accepting?”
“That’s what I heard,” said her aunt cheerfully.
“She said yes three times, you treacle-brained idiot,” called Lord Grayson, as he and Diaz dragged Baxter back to his own carriage and shoved him roughly inside. “Now can we get the hell out of this unsavory corner of London before we’re all murdered? I have ledgers to tally.”
Grace threaded her fingers through Sebastian’s hair and tugged his face down for a kiss. “Just to confirm, I love you madly and my answer is yes, Lord St. John.”
For what lady wouldn’t, when offered heaven?
…
Two weeks later
“Sin, as I have told you on five previous occasions, you are not going in there. It’s bad luck to see the bride in her wedding gown before the ceremony. You’ll see it on that day, and not a moment before.”
He smiled his best choir-boy grin. “Come on, Nell. I haven’t seen her since this morning thanks to Alice’s army of seamstresses. At least give me some hints. Color? Fabric?”
“No,” said Grace’s maid-companion, folding her arms and giving him a stern governess glare. The woman had taken to Fallen like a duck to water, and now practically ran the place, which was both a good and bloody annoying thing. Like now, for instance.
“I’ll pay you for information. Name your price.”
“No.”
He tilted his head, as inspiration struck. “I’ll hold a mini-ball. Bet there are more than a few gentlemen who would line up to be disciplined by the indomitable Pirate Queen Nell.”
The door swung open.
Whistling a cheery tune, Sin strolled into the guest chamber that Alice had commandeered as a fitting room for Grace’s wedding finery. But to his vast disappointment, his fiancée sat alone at a baroque dressing table, wearing a quilted satin robe and brushing her hair.
“I thought you were having a fitting done.”
Grace smiled. “I was. But Nell’s instructions were, as always, to keep you talking until we could put everything away. You’ll see my gown next week when we wed, and that is that.”
“Damnation! She foxed me again.”
“Dear, dear. What did entrance cost you this time?”
Sin scowled. “A mini ball. Her as pirate queen. You know, I’m convinced there is a ferocious dominatrix lurking under her motherly exterior. Vice might well have some competition for overseer of the pirate extravaganza.”
She burst out laughing. “Possibly. But Nell certainly has you pegged, my love.”
“Hmmm,” he murmured, lifting Grace off the padded stool and carrying her over to a chaise. “Would you be making jokes at your lord’s expense?”
“Ah, perhaps,” she said breathlessly, straddling his legs. “What might happen if I was?”
He didn’t reply, just kissed her fiercely, pouring his whole self into the embrace. Tearing off her dressing gown, he cupped her right breast, massaging and stroking it, while his thumb tormented her nipple and made her whimper and writhe in his lap.
Yet soon she had him equally mindless, as she reached down and cupped his cock, squeezing and rubbing it through his trousers until he thought he might explode.
“Fuck,” he snarled, as his hips jerked in desperate want and pre-come dampened the fabric.
“Oh God, Sebastian,” she choked out, arching her back when he glided two fingers along her soaked slit and pushed them deep into her pussy. “Please, I need you inside me.”
Sin tsked. “Gracie, Gracie, Gracie. Have you learned nothing? What did I tell you that first day in my parlor about being specific?”
Leaning forward, she put her lips to his ear. “I do beg your pardon for my shocking lapse. Very well, my lord, I want you to take that big, hard cock of yours and bury it deep in my cunt. I want you to put a finger in my ass, and when I scream, when I come so hard that my pussy grips you like a hot fist, I want you to stay inside and fill me with so much seed that I cannot help but become pregnant with your child. Is that specific enough for you?”
Christ.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, so mindless with need he literally tore his trousers to free his engorged cock. “Take it. Take all of me, darling.”
Grace went up on her knees, took his cock in her hand, and fitted it to the entrance of her pussy. Then with a low, sultry moan, she slowly sank down, her wet pussy swallowing every inch of his cock until he was buried balls deep. “I will. And I do.”
Up and down she moved, grinding her clit against his groin. He slid one hand around and cupped her backside, teasing the rosebud of her anus with the pad of one finger before penetrating her to the first knuckle.
Grace bucked, her cry of pleasure echoing in the room, her inner muscles dancing along the length of his cock and making him groan. Faster she bore down and harder he thrust upward while finger-fucking her ass, his other hand reaching up to wind her loose blond curls around it and tug, arching her farther so he could suck her nipples as well.
Abruptly she threw back her head and screamed, her cunt gripping him and pulsing so intensely he thrust brutally deep and came, his seed pouring inside her welcoming warmth in long, excruciatingly good spasms that lasted and lasted.
Gasping for breath, he moved the hand in her hair to stroke her jaw, then leaned forward and kissed her, a light brushing of her swollen lips. “I’ll be rather disappointed if that doesn’t result in a baby.”
“I think,” she said, resting her forehead against his, “that we should probably do this often, just to be sure of success.”
“You’re clearly gifted. Gracie the genius, my delicious wife to be. You know, darling, I almost feel like we should send Baxter a gift for bringing us together. Perhaps some flowers. Or a decanter of brandy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian. Trinkets. A cartload of the cheap and cheerful ones to brighten his sickbed. Or perhaps his own pirate captive costume? He would love that.”
“Minx.”
“Indeed,” she said, cuddling c
loser. “And don’t you forget it.”
Leaning back on the chaise, he gently stroked her back. As if he could forget the way this witty, beautiful, seductive, tender-hearted, bishop’s daughter had appeared in his life and staked a permanent claim on his heart. Every day of marriage to her would be an adventure.
And damn it, he couldn’t wait to begin.
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Acknowledgments
A special thank you to the members of the RWA Beau Monde chapter. Your collective Regency wisdom and ready assistance is greatly appreciated.
About the Author
Nicola Davidson worked for many years in communications and marketing as well as television and print journalism, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing wicked historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the champion All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes chocolate—even better!
Keep up with Nicola’s news on Twitter, Facebook, or her website www.nicola-davidson.com
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