His hands swept from her thighs to her waist, then higher to her breasts. “Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be,” he conceded finally, when his fingers touched her peaking nipples. “If you’ll have me, Miss Deveraux.”
“Oh, I’ll have you,” she assured him. “As many times as possible.”
He smiled a little. “As many times as you can take me.”
“But let’s not take anymore risks.”
His right eyebrow wavered. “I thought you liked taking chances.”
“Not of that kind,” she replied drolly. “Look in the box beside the bed.”
Head turned, he looked at the small silver box under the lamp. “What’s in it?”
“Protection against pregnancy. Condoms. Mrs. Draycott says you probably know how to use them. Apparently they’re not very comfortable and not always reliable, but better than nothing.”
He sighed. “I suppose you keep a vast supply in this house.”
“There are other precautions, of course.” She was quite proud of her newly acquired education in such matters, but apparently he didn’t care to hear about it.
“Why don’t you just leave all that up to me,” he grumbled.
“Why should I? It’s my responsibility as well as yours.”
His hands slid under her arms and drew her down until her nipple met his lips. “Are all young women as radical and rebellious as you?”
“I hope so. Better watch out, old man. We’re coming to get you.”
“Of course,” he ran his tongue across the hardened bud, “we could just get married and then we wouldn’t have to worry about precautions.”
“Absolutely not. I prefer my independence, Mr. Blackwood. I’d make a terrible wife, and I don’t think you’d make a very good husband. Old dogs take poorly to new routines. You’ve avoided it this long for some reason, and I don’t want to be the one you blame for ruining your life.”
He looked puzzled for a moment and then laughter rocked his body under hers. “All right, my insatiable little hellcat. Have it your way.” His eyes turned hungry again. “Open the damned box.”
* * * *
She was a noisy creature. Harry was surprised it took Mrs. Draycott as long as it did before she came banging on the bedroom door, demanding to know if she should intervene.
Christina, with her thighs around his neck, screamed out that she was perfectly all right and there was no cause for alarm.
After a slight pause, the housekeeper then shouted through the door, “I was concerned for Mr. Blackwood, little madam.”
Harry, his tongue too busy just then, was unable to reply with anything more than a grunt, and Christina giggled breathlessly, “Mr. Blackwood is ….wonderful.”
He raised his mouth briefly to shout his own assurance to the housekeeper, adding that he would like a little sustenance soon, and if she could leave it on a tray outside the room, he’d be grateful. Then he returned to the sweet treat he currently enjoyed. He’d never been this ravenous in his life. Her thighs tightened around his head, and she lifted her hips, gasping out another cry of delight as he found her center and massaged it with his tongue. She trembled, her heels digging into his back, probably causing more bruises. Lifting his head, he let her bottom slide down his chest to rest on his broad thighs.
“Ready for me now, then?”
She simply sighed in response, eyes shining contentedly. He rolled forward smoothly, bending her almost double, her ankles on his shoulders, and entered her before her orgasm was over.
There wasn’t much damage she could do now, in this position. She was completely his captive. He ground into her, impaled her on his shaft, and felt her drawing him down and in. Down and in. He withdrew and then re-entered, taking her at his own pace, while she could only submit to him, powerless under his thrusting, a slave to his lust, his vessel to be filled. He glanced over at the opened silver box. It was empty now, a few torn paper packages remaining.
So she thought an old dog couldn’t learn new tricks, did she? Well then, he’d show her there were no tricks this old dog didn’t know already.
As he felt the surge begin, he halted, slid out of her, held his damp cock in one hand and directed it to another entrance, bending her legs even further over her head.
She yelped in shock and then moaned deeply. He felt the vibrations flooding from her throat, down her spine, and into his adventuring masthead as it sailed forth to plunder and conquer new oceans.
Yes, she was a noisy creature. Also remarkably, conveniently flexible.
She muttered her permission, not that he needed it, he thought wryly. Little madam. The housekeeper was right about that.
Leaning over her, he carefully mounted his hellcat, showing her one of those alternative methods of prevention she hadn’t been told about.
* * * *
Well, it was done now. Thoroughly. Beyond expectations. She ached all over in places she never knew could ache. But she wouldn’t wish it undone, not for a moment.
When he slid off the bed, she protested, reaching sleepily for his arms as they left her.
“A man’s got to eat and keep his strength up,” he told her, chuckling softly.
Lying on her belly, she hitched up on both elbows to watch him pad across the carpet and open the door. Mrs. Draycott had apparently taken pity on him and left a tray of food and wine outside in the hall. Kicking the door shut behind him, he brought the feast back to bed and set the tray between them.
“She must really like you,” Christina muttered. “She wouldn’t usually go to so much trouble for a man. What are you doing?”
He’d washed himself off in the washbasin on the dresser and now he pulled on his trousers. “I can’t eat while naked.”
She snorted. “How funny you are, old man.”
“So you keep saying.” He reached for her chemise, previously discarded over the end of the brass bed, and tossed it to her. “Put that on. There’s no need to abandon all civilized behavior. You and I need to talk. I can’t talk to you while you lay there looking like that.”
Although she would much rather remain undressed, she decided to comply. She would never tell him so, but she quite liked it when he took command of her.
Sometimes.
Pulling the chemise over her head, she shook out her long hair and sat up. Not hungry herself, she watched him eat, simply marveling over that skilled mouth of his. She’d read about such things in her mother’s diaries, but hadn’t quite been able to imagine herself allowing it. How quickly she’d abandoned herself in bed with Harry Blackwood; how easily she’d become a fallen woman.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, gathering her knees to her chest and hugging them tight.
He was spreading gentleman’s relish on a triangle of cold toast. “I want you to come home with me.”
She laughed pleasantly. “What on earth for?”
“This isn’t a good place for you.” He paused. “Mrs. Draycott tells me you’re a governess.”
“Was a governess.”
“I was thinking you might come north with me and teach the children of my mill workers.”
“And work for you?”
“Why not?”
But the idea of going so far away chilled her to the bone. Besides, she had just found her father and a brother. It wasn’t the right time for her. There were more reasons to stay than to go. Resting her chin on her knees, she sighed. “I’m not leaving. This is my business now. I thought we agreed this was for one night only.”
He chewed his toast, his eyes dark, guarded, looking down at the tray. “I don’t think, strictly speaking, I agreed to any of this, young woman.”
“Please don’t be difficult about this. Don’t spoil it, Harry.” There was a noble, wounded look on his face, and she knew he worried about what they’d done. She didn’t want him to regret this. She wanted him to be happy and content, as she was. Grabbing the bottle of wine, she poured some for both of them. “Let’s make a toast.”
He scowled, licking his fingers. “To what?”
Christina pushed a glass into his hand and raised her own. “To independence. To rebels, like you and me.”
When he finally clicked his glass to hers, it was a clockwork motion, and he was already looking away from her again, hiding his thoughts. She had the distinct impression he did so because he was plotting. He took a swig of wine, smacked his lips, and then said, “To pirate captains.”
“Pirate captains?”
He gave a lazy smile at nothing in particular, and when she caught his eye, a frisson of trepidation raced up her spine and then back down again, settling restlessly in that part of her so recently raided by this curly-headed, wickedly inventive pirate.
Christina drank the rest of her wine in one gulp, eager to continue their sport.
Chapter Seven
She left him sleeping the next morning and carried the tray down to the kitchen. Mrs. Draycott was already up and had drawn a warm, herb-scented bath in the old tub in the scullery.
“What would I do without you?” Christina sighed gratefully.
“Only God knows,” the old lady replied, as she always did. “Or perhaps the devil.”
This morning Christina gave the housekeeper a quick peck on the cheek, which was received churlishly and quickly brushed off. “Hurry up and get your bath before the others come down for breakfast.”
“Mrs. Draycott, you must never leave me.”
“Why would I? Someone has to look after you. Until the happy day when someone takes the responsibility off my hands.”
Laughing, she hurried off to enjoy her bath and the few precious moments of peace before the residents of the house rose for another day. Mrs. Draycott came in to wash her hair for her and it was all much the same as any other morning, until the door bell clanged. The housekeeper, wiping her hands on her apron, hurried out to answer the door and returned a short while later with a massive bouquet of pink hothouse rosebuds.
“The card says it’s from the Earl of Warminster, Miss Christina.”
Still relaxing in her tub, she turned her head in surprise and delight. “It seems I made a conquest at the ball last night.”
The Earl of Warminster wasn’t the only one. Within an hour, the hall and parlor of the house were filled with flowers; some extravagant, gaudy displays, others smaller posies dwarfed in comparison. Among the tributes, there was one from William. His card held the Berwick crest, but she had no doubt he sent them to her without his father’s knowledge. Certainly not his fiancée’s. Under the crest he had scrawled a hasty note asking if he might take her riding in Hyde Park that afternoon. Take her riding indeed! The young man was clearly looking for a little danger in his life and had decided she was just the thing he needed.
Pity he was her half-brother.
There was nothing from the duke.
When Harry came down half an hour later, she was dressed in her favorite lavender day gown, her damp hair left loose to dry, busy organizing places to put all her flowers.
He sniffed at the air and winced dramatically. “What is that dreadful stink?”
“Flowers from my admirers,” she replied, chin up. “I didn’t make such a fool of myself last night after all, did I?”
He glowered at her. “Meaning?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I was noticed. It could be the beginning of a wonderful career.”
Mrs. Draycott entered the parlor. She and Harry exchanged conspiring, long-suffering glances over her head, and Christina grew annoyed. She supposed the two old people were thinking she was just a silly girl and they commiserated with one another for having to put up with her antics. “My debut into society went very well,” she added, banging another vase of roses down on the mantle. “I daresay even my mother didn’t receive so many flowers in one day.”
She knew Harry thought he was her knight in shining armor and that she needed him to protect her. The only way to convince him otherwise, and send him on his way, was to adopt the coolest expression she could find and detach herself from emotion. He couldn’t stay in her life because he would take it over, trap her in a cage, and never let her fly free again. Not that it would keep him from spreading himself around. Last night at the ball, she’d learned Harry Blackwood had a reputation that would make a sailor blush. He had recently, according to that dreadful Rosamund person, shared his bed with two women— twin sisters. A rogue like Harry didn’t change overnight.
Come home with me, he’d said. Hadn’t mentioned marriage, she noted wryly. It seemed he had no greater opinion of that institution than she did.
Now he was reading the card from William Martindale.
“Should I go riding with him, do you think?” she asked cheerfully, rearranging the flowers in the vase. “It looks like fine weather today. Perfect for a jaunt around the park.” She was surprised she could contemplate walking today, let alone riding. That thought made her smile and her body tingled restlessly.
“And mischief,” Harry growled.
“Mischief?”
“At his father’s expense.” He flicked the card back onto the table, disdain hardening the lines of his face. “That’s the only reason you’d go anywhere with that callow boy. A way to get vengeance on Berwick.”
“Why not? He deserves it.”
He looked over at Mrs. Draycott who still hovered in the doorway. “Would you leave us for a moment?”
Grim-faced, the housekeeper nodded and backed out, closing the door.
They stood on opposite sides of the parlor, him scowling and her determined to remain careless. Elsewhere in the house, her boarders were rising from bed, making their usual cacophony, but the parlor was still. The calm before a storm, she realized, recognizing the terrible inevitability of the argument about to take place.
“Don’t do this, Christina.”
“Don’t do what?”
He wound his lips tight and then released them, anger spitting out. “Don’t turn into your mother.”
She put her hands behind her back where he wouldn’t see her fidget. “How dare you. I’m not ashamed of my mother.”
“I didn’t say you should be. I said don’t try to become her.”
“Why? You don’t think I can?”
He took his hands from his pockets. “I don’t want you to be her. I don’t want you with anyone else.”
To her surprise, his words actually found her heart and pinched at it, but she kept her face stoic, her posture proud. Didn’t he realize this was her decision to make? Not his. Not anyone else’s. “Last night gave you no rights over me. What you want doesn’t matter.”
Narrow-eyed, he advanced a step toward her, almost colliding with a small table of flowers. “You think you can get back at Berwick through his son? He’ll hurt you, Christina, worse than he has already. Let the anger go. Don’t waste your life on this.” He didn’t shout at her. He spoke gently, carefully, as if he considered every word before he let it out and it cost him.
Why was he bothering with her? Why did he care so much?
She couldn’t understand it.
“It’s only sex, Blackwood. People do it all the time, and some pay for it with strangers. It’s natural. Wild animals do it. So there’s no reason for us to take it so seriously.”
“Only sex?” He sounded incredulous.
A sob wrenched at the back of her throat. “Don’t you have a train to catch, Mr. Blackwood?”
Silence. Cold and heavy.
“Thank you for your services last night,” she added, her voice sounding distant in her own ears. “Perhaps you’d accept a small token of my appreciation.” Taking a small leather purse from a hidden pocket in her skirt, she opened it.
“Save your money,” he snapped abruptly before she could take out the notes she kept there. “You might want my services again one night.”
She looked up, astonished by the stifled fury breaking through his silky tone. He had kicked the table of flowers aside and stepped up to stand before her, his eyes
afire, his jaw tight.
“And it’ll cost you next time, Miss Deveraux. It’ll cost you everything.”
She thought he would strike her, but he didn’t. In the next breath he was gone, treading flowers into the carpet and slamming the door in his wake.
Christina looked around her parlor, broken blooms strewn about like dead bodies on a battlefield. Tears threatened, hot and savage under her eyelids, but she fought them. She had to let him go because, as she’d told him before, her heart was incapable of love. She had a heart like her mother’s, hardened and callous, mercenary and selfish. That was the only way to survive in this world she’d chosen. Men would come and go, affairs should be enjoyed while they lasted and never pined over. It was all in her mother’s diaries, all the advice to save her from unnecessary pain and heartache. Surely her mother’s advice could be trusted. She hadn’t known Harry Blackwood until yesterday. Why, then, did a tiny voice in her head urge her to listen to him instead?
Mrs. Draycott came into the parlor and looked around at the mess of thrown flowers. “He’s gone then.”
She turned to the mantle and stared down at the cold fireplace. “Yes.”
“Pity. He would have brought the clients in, no mistake.”
Christina didn’t like to imagine that. Not at all. She took a deep breath. Her fingers smoothed over her tightly corseted waist. “Mrs. Draycott, why is there no fire in here already? It’s beastly cold.”
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