Regency Rogues Omnibus

by Shirl Anders

  “Buddha?” Ash asked, with mild incredulousness in his voice.

  Harrison smirked at Ash, while watching Chloe patted Ash’s arm, saying, “It is all right, Buddha believes in you.”

  Harrison was interested to see that Ash did not condescend to Chloe with a highbrow look or words, he merely muttered, “I hope so.”

  “Someone’s coming,” Harrison said abruptly, halting their forward motions. Chloe tilted her head, Ash tilted his, then Ash’s mouth opened to protest that he could hear nothing and that Harrison just imagined it. However, Chloe held her hand up to him accompanied by a quiet, shushing sound.

  Ash hesitated a moment, then he acquiesced, nodding. Dame Baset was heavy and Harrison knew Ash did not want to waste time, standing, hidden behind bushes. Then, the sounds that had been there all along became clearer, laughter and conversation. Two patrons of Vauxhall Gardens nightlife strolled by their hidden spot. Two men, obviously enamored. Harrison waited with patience. Chloe did the same beside them, while Ash looked irritated. Harrison knew Ash’s thoughts, urging the two men on, hoping with irritation they did not stop to continue or consummate their rendezvous. Harrison knew what would be would be, and no silent urging was going to change that.

  Luckily, the two men only kissed and moved on, so soon they were on their way to the designated position where they would drop Dame Baset. Harrison hated to admit it, however he was becoming more amazed. After years of intricate stalking and killing of men, to discover the ease one could have employed to remove those same men by other means was startling. Of course there were too many variables to count and he had to admit that employing less hands-on lethal means would not have worked for most of his targets in the past.

  Still, it was eye opening to work in this new venue. How easy it was to make something appear clearly what it was not. Of course he knew that in his covert dealings in the past he’d used that theory minimally in all degrees of his profession as an assassin for the monarchy. Though he had to admit it was never to this amplified and grandiose affect. He would have to give Drummond his due — he was a master among men.

  This little foray that would bag Dame Baset into the Gaol for trying to kill the Prince started simply with Brynmore requesting another assassination with Dame Baset. He had to give Brynmore his due on that, she of course appeared eager. Meanwhile, Brynmore was nowhere near there and with no intentions to be. More likely, Brynmore was intertwined with Kit, which Chloe said was becoming more of an item, than work. He personally never paid much attention to such things, but trusted his wife’s judgment on the matter.

  “Here,” Harrison ordered, stopping their stealthy cavalcade. From here, Harrison could clearly see the Prince perched on a stone dais above the party of people gathered around him on a lower level.

  He and Ash lowered Dame Baset to the ground. Ash rose, pulling his pocket watch out as Chloe handed Harrison the quiver and bow.

  “Ten minutes,” Ash advised, the abundance of torches set around the Prince’s frivolous gathering glinted off his wire-rimmed glasses as he studied the setting on the slight incline below where they stood. “Please time it for several seconds after he has moved from the throne.”

  Harrison gave Ash one of his hooded and non-committal looks. Chloe reached in to soothe. “He will,” she said simply.

  Ash dug his hands into his pockets, standing stiffly with a pose a man might use aboard a ship to bolster against the dip and surge. “Are you that good with that bow?” Ash asked.

  Harrison shrugged. “We shall see.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brynmore glanced at Kit, she sat nervously across from him in the carriage, and then he looked back out the window into the passing night-scape. They were on their way to a cult ceremony at Rushborn’s estate. They were dressed as they had been the night of their visit to The Satyr Whip Club, but with the addition of brown hooded robes that monks might wear.

  Brynmore wished he felt better. He should, on the one side, and maybe he never would on the other. He wondered where the elation was that he should feel at Dame Baset’s downfall. It had been another masterful piece of work. An arrow shot right into the Prince’s throne seconds after he had vacated the seat. The Prince’s guard had found Dame Baset with the quiver and arrows almost immediately. Dame Baset had stood, confused, in the perfect spot to have shot the damning arrow. Her confusion and later protests of innocence were considered a ploy. The evidence was the quiver and bow and her position in the only spot where the arrow could have been shot. One thing about attempts to kill royals, Brynmore sneered to himself, was that the chances to prove innocence flew out the window beneath a Prince’s omnipotent wrath. Dame Baset was bagged, as Harrison would say, and Brynmore knew he should feel elated, if for no other reason than the fact that he would not have to touch her again.

  On some level he was, but other things overshadowed it. He could kick himself for not making love to Kit between the night at The Satyr Whip Club and now. He should have pressed the point, even though he was not sure when that time could have been. Things were moving very fast. After he’d been with Dame Baset, and then later when he’d pulled Kit into the tub with him, they’d kissed with near desperation, and then their urgent kissing had melted to gentleness after the first bout, proving they could still kiss and want each other. That time was not the appropriate moment to go further, not after he’d just been with Dame Baset.

  Brynmore wished he did not feel as though he should have made slow passionate and meaningful love to Kit. Especially, before what they might have to do next in their efforts to connive Hellion into their web. How, he asked himself, could he expect them to survive this and come out on the other side together, in a place that he craved for them to be? He wanted Kit. He wanted her after this, by his side, in his bed.

  The carriage jostled into a turn as he braced his hand on the seat. It was not a short ride to the Rushborn mansion. Brynmore lifted his gaze to Kit. She had the carriage window curtain pulled open and the moonlight glanced in shimmers over her features, lighting and retreating over the sheen of her soft blond hair, her small delicate upturned nose, and her succulent lips. Where is your balls man, Brynmore silently goaded himself? You love her, don’t you? He sucked in a breath. Did he love her? He knew he was close. That close? Just that instant, he realized it, and it startled him.

  “Sweet, Kit,” he murmured. Kit’s eyes glanced at him. “I’ve something to ask you,” he said louder. Brynmore shifted from his side, to sit beside Kit. She curled into him instantly, leaning against him. He should have known. Brynmore wrapped one hand around her and with his other he caressed her cheek. He could just make out the light freckles across the tops of her cheeks and nose as she gazed up at him. “Kit, would you come with me to Scotland after this ... or, if it’s too much of a leap, would you have dinner with me?”

  “Dinner, Scotland?” she asked, with her gaze searching his.

  Brynmore leaned closer. “What I’m asking for is a promise ye’ll see me after this is over. Give me a chance.” Kit’s hand lifted to his cheek as her thumb touched his bottom lip lightly. “I do not know, Bry. I want nothing more than to do that, but I don’t know.”

  Brynmore swallowed hard. Kit’s words said one thing, while the look in her eyes said, “I love you.” “Is it your husband?” he asked, even as he hated touching the words.

  “Yes ... no. There are problems there I cannot ignore. There are things I have never told you about.” Kit sighed as her hand lifted to his chest and settled there. It was like the settling of the realizations about how little they really knew each other.

  “I want to know,” he said, stroking her hair.

  “Now is so... Now is so-,” she paused.

  “I know,” he said.

  “Difficult,” she finished.

  It left them nowhere nearer to where he wanted to be. There was no commitment. He could not stand that. A slight desperation filled him and before he realized his head dipped and his lips touched Kit’s s
oft mouth. Somewhere inside him were the intentions that he would bind her to him one way or another. The kiss was unlike any they had shared before with its gentle searching sensuality. It spoke of love and Kit’s mouth moved against his, speaking with heat and slowly igniting passion. Her small moans were murmurs of awakening and agreeing.

  Her tones spoke of desires, when he pressed her back, searching for more. He heard the right answers in her body undulating against him to the motion of their mouths heat-filled caresses. Foolish thoughts grazed him. He would love her onto his side, until she thought of nothing but staying with him. His hand reached to respond, edging her cloak aside, cupping the supple mound of her breast. Her nipple tip was alert, tight, sending its answer.

  “Bry,” she molded his name around their lips kissing. His already enamored prick thickened, pressing to her hip. There was too much cloth between then, and he began a tussle to remove it “Bry, mmm.” Kit’s mouth broke from his. “The costumes, the powder, makeup,” she gasped.

  “Forget it,” he ordered. He was really begging. His hands tugged her cloak open ... off. “We have the satchel — we’ll put it on again.”

  His mouth found the top of her breast, powder and all, he did not care. Her breast filled, supple and warm against his mouth. Kit’s eloquent moan sounded her surrender and agreement. Her hands eagerly tugged and removed his cloak, then her hands stroked up his back into his hair. She lifted his head, urging his lips back to hers. “I want you,” she sighed in breathless admission. “Make love with me.”

  “Love.” He kissed her. “Love,” he said again, kissing her again.

  They were crazy to be doing this now. They both knew it, yet they did not stop. The disregard and insanity of it created its own brand of rare attachment between them. For one moment in time, they would lose themselves in each other. Not for any cause. Not for revenge.

  “I will never stop wanting you,” Kit moaned around his heated kisses as her hand nudged his hip until he lifted it and she was able to work on unbuttoning his britches. His palm skimmed the hot point of her nipple, turned, with his fingertips clasping the turgid nubbin. He rolled the point between his fingers. “Mm ... Mm,” Kit moaned into his mouth.

  Her hands pulled and tugged until he felt his rigid prick out and landed on the soft valley of Kit’s belly. “Lift up, lift up,” she ordered as he moved from her speaking mouth to nibble her earlobe.

  Kit pushed on his shoulders and he moved where she bid, happy to comply as long as she followed. And she did! They wrestled around removing his britches down to his knees, where they were going no further, because of his boots. The ruby was unclasped and set aside, the diamond the same. Kit’s loin cloth removed and tossed aside, all between fevered kisses and caresses, as the carriage rolled beneath them and the moonlight skittered through the open window.

  Brynmore looked down at his pants, slouching around the top of his knees, his boots still on. He looked at Kit with her face inches from his, “I’m sorry, lass.” He knew in that instant that they should stop. This was not right. She deserved more ... how could he show her that he cherished her as he lusted for her with his damn boots on! A thing he knew she hated.

  Kit laughed, it was not callous nor with discord, but a pure delight. “Mm, you look handsome and hard to me.” Her hand trailed down to his fully erect cock and she curled her fingers around it as his fingers curled inward with pleasure-bound response. “You cannot run from me now.” She winked, bracing her hand on his shoulder as the carriage rocked, while she stood over him.

  “Run to you,” he tried to say to the generosity of spirit that showed the true depth of her affection for him. Her hand stroked his shaft once with her small fingers tight. Or her lust for him, he amended, as he watched her gaze transfix on the steeple of his engorged offering to her. He knew she felt more than simple lust for him, however, it thrilled him the way she showed her uninhibited desire for his wooden prick, with its head already wet, leaking seed for her.

  Her hand stroked to the rim, then the head, then the wetness. His hips lifted with his eyes squinting as she leaned closer, her breath on his lips. “I know nothing but I want you, Bry, always want you.”

  Her lips pressed to his and this time their tongues collided, sliding and curling against each other. Their kiss was torrid and she broke it, going to her knees, as close between his knees as she could get with his britches in the way. “I remember you once said, ‘my lips around your cock for a week please’.”

  “Kit, love, you dinna have to... Ah. Oh, Christ, lass,” he groaned. His hands gripped on Kit’s shoulders thinking to stop her, but unable to. Bonny idiot, he thought, as if he could think to do anything but groan in bliss with Kit’s lips wrapped around the head of his greedy prick. He was bewitched by the sight of Kit’s full lips stained black, stretched over his thickness. She sucked hard around the rim several times making his gut tighten as his hand cupped her breast, squeezing the fullness. “Sweet baby, you do that so good,” he groaned.

  His prick head popped out of Kit’s sucking mouth. “I do?” Her wonder was compounded with his slit bouncing against her bottom lip, while the smoldering blue of her eyes looked at him incredulously.

  No talking now, his prick shouted as he barely managed to say with a voice strained to explosion, “Aye, lass, tis amazing.” Come on! Come on, his prick yelled, pounding for the attention back.

  “I-I. No one ever...”

  Kit fumbled her words and the realization flashed through Brymore’s mind at her vulnerably, even as his prick shouted for her lips back. His voice was hoarse with high sexual tension. “I’d say it is just because tis your lips, Kit sweet. But ye know tis more, you really feel it. It is in your hand, pounding for you.”

  Her returning little smile was beautiful with belief and her sultry intentions. He had one curse for her husband slashed through his mind, who he knew had done this to her, made her insecure, The next second it was gone with the feel of Kit’s lips sliding over the head of his cock. His prick did not cheer this time, but his heart did.

  “Mm. Mm.” Kit filled her mouth with Brynmore’s healthy male organ. The feel of it and the intimacy stoked flames in her sex. With all trepidations gone over her skill, she was free. Free to play and enjoy and savor. She found by surprise that the freedom brought new pleasures. Holding her man’s cock in her mouth was a treasure — his increasing groans the ultimate goal. Her sex palpitated with each new wet suctioning of her mouth and she tasted the girth that would enter her soon, deep into her core.

  Brynmore’s heat and musk filled her with passion. Some of the thrill was the timing. Would they be caught? Did they care? More than that was the amazement that Brynmore would want to do this now. Throw away caution for their cause, just to be with her, just the two of them, just for their love.

  “Sweet Kit, oh God, yes. Ah, Christ. That is so good... beyond pleasure.”

  Kit smiled through her fervor, her lips unable to lift as they pumped over Brynmore’s wide organ ... but ... her heart did. And her heat.

  Sounds of pleasure gurgled from her throat as her lips smacked wetly up and down the shaft of Brynmore’s cock. His hand clutched in her hair and at times he pushed, unable to stop his forceful response. She loved those moments, the times when she could feel the effect she had on him.

  Then, his Scottish burr broke the momentum, as he rumbled. “Ye have to stop, sweet Kit, or I will come.”

  She wanted that, she realized, but together they wanted more this time. Yet she promised herself she would have it in the future and the joy was the surety that it could be many times, if she let it. They could have hours, days, weeks and years.

  “Bry,” she gasped as she lifted her mouth from the fiery heat of his cock, letting it slide from her wet and flushed lips. He tugged her to him, groping her to straddle him, but then he stopped, as she was poised over him.

  “Just a bit,” he called hoarsely.

  His lips sucked over her nipple and his fingertips touched her slit
. The touch of his fingers to her slit banged a sharp ache through her sex. Then, he touched the heart of that ache and she hissed in pleasure. His fingers smudged over her clitoris.

  “Oh! Oh! Mm! Bry! Oh, yes!” Her buttocks rolled as his teeth nibbled her nipple point and she dug her fingers into his shoulders.

  “So hot,” he uttered.

  Kit felt him separating the lips of her sex, exposing her clitoris more, then rubbing it with increased vigor. Her cries were short, rapid, and shrill as her hips bounced and her vagina picked up starving aches for his cock to fill it, mindless within the small outbursts Brynmore flicked over her clitoris. She grappled for his cock, lifting it to her need, as Brynmore hissed his answering passion to her. He never stopped smearing the hard surface of his fingers over her clitoris as she fitted the head of his cock to her longing sheath. The feel of that lance at her opening caused the needy walls of her womb to ripple.

  Suddenly, the carriage bounced heavily, lifting, then hitting the road again with a jolt and a loud clatter. Kit squealed with long, “Oh’s,” at the end, while Brynmore bellowed once as the jolt embedded his cock with a hard thrust inside her.

  “Blimey,” Brynmore managed, rubbing her sides where he’d caught her to steady her.

  “Blimey is right,” Kit gasped. She was already moving, propelled by urges the hard thrust had excited.

  “Easy,” Brynmore said, guiding her with his hands clasped around her bare waist because the way was not completely slick.

  Oh yes, Kit thought, feeling the slight abrasion as she worked herself on and off Brynmore’s male rod, her nails chiseled into his shoulders holding her in place. With his head fallen back, eyes crimped shut, Brynmore was creative, using his hands to rotate her in varying direction as his rigid organ took opposing paths, until he found one motion and direction that–! “Oh! Oh! Oh! That feels, Ah, wonderful, so good, Bry. Mate me! Mate me!”