Gently he pushed her so she fell backward onto the bed. “Like hiking up your skirts, dear Harriet, so we can get to the business that really brought you here. It’s the only way you’re going to be paid, isn’t it? And paid more than you would have for a quick fumble in the supper room. You’re quite strategic, my dear. Admirable.”
To his surprise, she struggled beneath him. Not the token struggle he was so used to but a concerted struggle, which made clear her objection to being taken in this way. He straightened and stepped back.
“What games are you playing now, poppet?” he asked. Suspiciously, he added, “If this is a ploy, I might remind you that Madame Chambon charges like a wounded bull. I’ll not be bled for more…unless you can offer me something very novel.” He licked his lips.
“No!” she said quickly, shaking her head. “You took my virtue the other night, sir, and you introduced me to many wonderful feelings, but I will not be taken anytime like some common jezebel.”
“Ah, Jezebel,” he sighed, recalling his previous flighty and unlamented mistress before realizing that’s not what she meant. “So what do you want?”
She looked uncertain, as if assessing the merits of continued intimacies. “Maybe you could talk to me first.”
He let out a shout of laughter. “Of course, how careless and ungentlemanly I must seem. You want to pretend to be a lady. You want to show off the skills Madame Chambon taught you.” He tugged on the bell rope that hung by the bed, adding, “You want to prove you can hold your knife and fork properly so that I might just consider making you Lady Henrietta. Ah, Briggs,” he said to the sleepy lackey who answered his summons, “a bottle of champagne. Not my best but good enough for present company, eh?”
He quirked an eyebrow before grinning at the clearly fuming little miss before him. “What? You’re offended I didn’t order the finest my cellar has to offer? My dear, if I intended to make you my wife, I most certainly would have. Right now my intention is simply to take the edge off your objections so that you’ll part your legs with all the obedience your calling requires of you.”
She gasped, ducking with surprising agility beneath his restraining arm as she dashed for the door.
Realizing it was no act, he dragged her back, genuinely contrite and with the real fear that she might indeed leave when suddenly the success and enjoyment of his evening hinged upon her company.
“I apologize for my vulgarity.” He truly did. This was not the way to speak to this young lady, and if she had once been respectable rather than spawn of the gutter—it was always impossible to tell with Madame Chambon’s girls—she’d consider him perfectly vile. “Please stay.” Gently, as if enticing a frightened animal, for indeed she reminded him of a dear little fawn, he contoured her soft cheek with his forefinger. “If you are indeed a gentlewoman fallen on hard times—though let me be clear, I do not wish to know your history—my words show me up as the scoundrel I am.”
“What does it matter if I were a gentlewoman fallen on hard times or a streetwalker who has never known better?” Her eyes flashed as she delivered her rebuke, though he noticed she closed her eyes at the physical contact rather than stepping back. “No real gentleman would speak in such a manner. I’m sorry, Sir Aubrey, but I really have no further desire to consort with you. I merely wish to inform you that you have enemies.”
When he put both hands on her shoulders, her attempts to twist out of his grip were so genuine he did in fact believe she meant to follow through on complete resistance. It made him all the more determined to persuade her otherwise.
“I already know I have enemies, so that’s nothing new.” He did not believe she had any real information but he was happy to humor her. “Ah, here is our champagne. Pray, be seated, dear Harriet, so you can furnish me with all the details your investigations have revealed.”
He waved her to a chair, hiding his amusement at her narrow-eyed look as he indicated to the servant to pour two coupes of champagne.
“I find your excessive gallantry cloying. Your brutish vulgarity was almost preferable, sir.”
“Is there no pleasing you?” he lamented with false despair as he took a seat facing her. He raised his glass. “To the satisfactory execution of whatever business propelled you here, my dear.”
She took a sip, eyeing him suspiciously over the rim. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.” Coughing a little as the bubbles apparently tickled her nose, she added, “However I can assure you my intentions went no further than wishing to advise you of matters pertaining to your safety.”
“Ah yes! Where were we in terms of this vile conspiracy against me that you fortuitously overheard? We are taking a very long time to get to the point.”
“If you’re not going to take me seriously, I might as well go now, sir.”
“Oh, I take you very seriously, my dear.” He allowed himself a wolfish smile as he raked her body with a slow, lascivious gaze. He was rather enjoying this game. “Indeed, if it can be proved that you have in fact saved me from whatever terrible threats hang over my head, I shall reward you handsomely.”
“I don’t want money.”
He chuckled. “You’re just here for the pleasure of my company. Of course, my dear.”
She shrugged, putting down her empty glass with rather unsteady hands. “Would that surprise you?”
“Girls in your situation need to be strategic, I understand that, and I do not condemn you for it. We must barter what we have for what we want. You, no doubt, are looking for a rich and well-connected benefactor—and if you were clever enough, a title—meaning I would be just the ticket, wouldn’t I?”
She tossed her head, though he saw her stifle a smile. “I could do better than you if I were patient enough.”
“Oh, I’ll not gainsay that, my dear.” He stood up and moved ‘round to stand at her shoulder, lowering his head to kiss her neck as he refilled her glass. “You could do a lot better than me.” He handed her the fizzing liquid. “I am not a man to whom a lady should ally herself if she has other options, for I shall retire the moment I am bored. If there is any possibility that your heart might get broken then I suggest you leave right now.”
The dismay he read in her expression when she raised her head pleased him, for he fancied she was not playacting now. “Or rather, once our pleasant little session is over, for I confess I am rather looking forward to divesting you of your stockings and running my hands over your nicely turned limbs. You were well advised to delay proceedings so I might enjoy the pleasure of your diverting little mind. It’s been quite a novelty. Now, come here and sit on my lap so that I might hear more about the danger I’m in.”
She bit her lip and frowned. “I dare not, sir.”
“You dare not?” he asked, resting his chin upon the nut-brown curls that cascaded from the top of her head. “That is what brought you here, is it not?” He dipped one hand into her bodice to toy with her small nipple. It hardened immediately. “What is it this time?”
Hergasp reverberated through him. “You will ruin me.”
“Perhaps…if a child results.” He kissed her earlobe before taking the little shell into his mouth. Her trembling increased. She was enjoying this, he could tell, and he didn’t believe it was an act. “My dear, I am assiduous in employing means to prevent conception. I desire a child as little as you. You have my word that if such an accident were to happen I would hold myself responsible for the consequences—if it could be proved the bastard were mine.”
Instead of rearing up indignantly at this, she said, softly, “I do not intend to give myself to anyone other than you, sir.”
He felt rather pleased with himself. After an uncertain start he’d lulled her into an almost somnolent state. Once again he’d proved his prowess with the female species. He was looking forward to what the next hour would bring, more than he usually did.
Trying not to squirm too much on her little gilt chair, her hands clasped demurely in her lap, Hetty shivered as he stalked a
round to face her. In her experience of men, Araminta was the one to garner the kind of fascinated interest she was now enjoying.
Enjoying? If she was honest with herself, this was one of the highlights of her life. A handsome, desirable man was sizing her up and clearly did not find her wanting.
Common sense faded in and out between thrills of excitement. Three times at least during this exchange she’d been on the verge of bolting.
Now, once again, she was watching him advance like the predator he was and her mind was whirling. Would she allow him to have his wicked way with her all over again?
If she stayed she was courting ruin. Yet what difference did it make since she was, to all intents and purposes, ruined already?
Hetty was a romantic by heart, but nevertheless, a practical girl. It was perfectly possible she might never marry. Not with Araminta perpetually throwing her into the shade. What gentleman would marry Hetty when he’d forever be comparing the sisters and secretly acknowledging he got the plain and dumpy one? Well, there was Mr. Woking, but didn’t that just highlight her point?
If she had to choose, she’d rather risk hell in the afterlife by taking her pleasures with this wicked, handsome rake than endure a dubiously rewarded life of virtue on earth, sharing a marriage bed with Mr. Woking. She didn’t think she had the fortitude for that kind of life sentence. If he had bad breath, she knew with almost absolute certainty he must snore.
She gave a little hiccup and quickly put her hand to her mouth, feeling suddenly jaunty now that she’d made up her mind to court ruin and damnation when all was said and done. Indeed, it was a grand feeling, sitting here and watching Sir Aubrey smile at her with that deliciously wicked, self-satisfied smile. She’d never before made decisions that had such import on her own life.
Now that her vacillations had come down on the sinful side of the coin, she thought she might like to make him work for his pleasure.
“Well, sir, you have tutored me once in the ways of men and women and, as we both concede, ruined me in the process.” She sent him an expectant look. “What else can you show me, to make my fall from grace worth the price?” Dear Lord, she could not believe herself capable of speaking so brazenly.
With feline grace, he reached for her hands, raising her to her feet.
Her heart began to thunder while a thousand butterflies seemed to flutter their wings against her most sensitive parts. She was so unused to the feelings holding her hostage she could barely breathe. Was this what she could expect every time she came into such close proximity with this man?
Gently he cupped her chin, bringing his lips down to meet her hers in the softest of kisses. Straining for more, she reached up on her tiptoes, tentatively running the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips. She gasped when he lunged forward, enveloping her in his arms and plundering her mouth as his hands roamed over her curves. He wasn’t gentle now and she didn’t want him to be.
For the first time in her life, Hetty felt truly desired. Sir Aubrey was kissing her with relish, his expression one of rapture, as if her soft flesh and rounded breasts and buttocks were the stuff of his dreams. Would a husband like Mr. Woking make her feel like such a woman?
Foolish irrelevance, was her last conscious thought, swallowed by her soft moan as his mouth moved from hers to blaze a trail of kisses the length of her neck, continuing across her chest before coming into contact with her nipple. Pressure and passion had pushed it above the edge of her bodice, which, as he’d also deftly unfastened her gown at the back, now slithered down to her waist.
The gown was not needed, she decided, giving a little wriggle so that it pooled around her ankles. She stepped out of it, wearing only her loose chemise, straining to keep her arms around Sir Aubrey’s neck while she rained kisses upon the hollow of his throat.
In mutual ecstasy they swayed in one another’s embrace, their sighs of rapture mingling with the hiss of the crackling, spitting fire that bathed the room in a comforting glow.
With a growl, Sir Aubrey whisked Hetty into his arms before tossing her onto the bed.
One moment she was gazing, no doubt like a startled fawn, into his lascivious, purposeful gaze, the next he was surging up from her ankles and taking her chemise up past her waist before appearing with a wicked grin between her legs.
“Sir Aubrey!” she squeaked, but her momentary embarrassment was swept away, leaving guilty pleasure in its wake as he parted the folds of her sex with one long sweep of his tongue. A rush of sensation roared through her, as intense as any she’d ever known, casting every particle of rational thought from her mind and leaving her boneless with lust. She existed only in the moment. The exquisite moment.
Heat prickled her skin and she closed her eyes, her mind spinning into a pleasurable, all-encompassing blackness as he gently massaged the growing nub at the center of her desire. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, for just as she felt herself on the verge of safety she was once again plunged into the void of dangerous bodily sensations. Sensations that made her feel increasingly out of control.
Her breath came in staccato gasps.
Startled by the sudden dip of the mattress beneath her, she opened her eyes to find herself staring into the satyr-like grin of Sir Aubrey, who’d divested himself of his breeches and who now rose above her. Hetty’s fascinated gaze slid the length of him and her response must have reflected her true feelings when he chuckled, “So glad I’m not displeasing to you, madam.” His eyes glittered as he caged her body with his, positioning himself at her entrance. “I’d not expected such unfettered eagerness from one so inexperienced.”
“Oh, Sir Aubrey, you’re magnificent,” Hetty whispered, bracing herself with a mixture of fear and excitement. He hadn’t hurt her before, which was rather astonishing considering how very large he was. Now she was primed as she never had been, her body throbbing to receive him; for he was a king amongst men in all his glorious nakedness, and all the more desirable for the palpable desire she saw reflected in his expression.
Exhaling on a sigh of ecstasy as he plunged into her, Hetty was soon experiencing a plethora of very different emotions as he moved inside her.
He filled her completely—both her body and mind. The sensations caused by the friction of body parts were both alarming and intensely pleasurable.
“God, you feel so good!” he rasped, thrusting faster, his eyes glazed as if he were in the throes of ecstasy. She certainly was, and to see and feel the effect she had on this gorgeous man was gratifying in the extreme. The tension inside her was almost unbearable. Her breath came in short gasps while the pounding between her legs was echoed by the pounding behind her breast.
It was exquisite torture.
Sublime pleasure.
And she had no idea where it was going to end.
“Oh, Sir Aubrey!” she screamed as something inside her snapped and she spiraled out of control, unable to harness her bucking and thrusting. She was at the mercy of forces beyond her control, it seemed, as ecstasy took her hostage and blackness swirled through her brain.
“God, Harriet!” he responded as his breathing became more rapid. So did his thrusting, until, on a cry of rapture, he seemed to explode, withdrawing just in time, spilling his seed down the side of her leg as he collapsed, spent, still holding her tightly.
Chapter Six
A visit from her darling mother was just what Hetty needed to focus her mind, though Lady Partington’s greeting struck horror into her.
“Darling Hetty, Araminta tells me you’re so distracted and head-over-heels in love you cannot attend to a word she or anyone else says to you.”
She was still struggling for a reply when her mother released her from her embrace and pulled her to the window seat. “Tell me more about this Mr. Woking, then.”
Revulsion tore through her. “Oh, but I cannot bear Mr. Woking, Mama! I don’t know what Araminta has been saying but I can assure you I would not consider Mr. Woking if he were the last man ever to exist on this
planet, and even if I didn’t ever receive another offer.”
Her mother looked taken aback. “And why would a pretty girl like you not receive many offers to choose from, Hetty?” Lady Partington squeezed her hand. “You grow more charming by the day so perhaps Araminta is jealous.”
“Araminta…jealous of me?”
Her mother laughed. Her pregnancy was now highly visible but so too was the glow of happiness that suffused her. Hetty had wondered if it was through the hope that she carried a son, but to her surprise her mother had vehemently professed a preference for a girl, which made no sense at all.
“As for marriage, no one’s going to make you marry anyone you don’t wish to.” She stroked her daughter’s cheek. “No girl should suffer the terrible fate of being forced to live with a man she does not love or who—worse—does not love her. Ah, here you are…”
A smile of such serenity lit up her face that Hetty was surprised it was only Cousin Stephen who entered the room.
Sybil patted the seat on her other side, invitingly. “Come and sit with us, Stephen, and reassure Hetty that Araminta will not be allowed to pressure her sister to marry against her inclination. Apparently Araminta thinks Mr. Woking is a catch Hetty cannot afford to refuse. Fortunately, Hetty, marrying for love is a much greater consideration than it was in my day.”
Stephen leaned across Sybil and asked with uncomfortable acuity, “Are you in love with someone else then, Hetty? Shall I tell Araminta so she will desist from encouraging Mr. Woking?”
Lady Partington clapped her hands together. “Oh Hetty, so you are in love. I can see it in your eyes. Who is the gentleman?”
Stephen smiled at her fondly though his smile for her mother was fonder. “You look so much like I imagine your dear mama looked when she was your age. I’m sure a judicious bit of eyelash batting will have the gentleman in question eating out of your hands.”
Hetty stared fixedly at the floor. “Not if I’m standing next to Araminta.”
Dangerous Gentlemen Page 6