Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors

by Victoria Vane

  Brent, knowing he’d be lucky if Lillian ever spoke to him again after this fiasco, mouthed an apology. Thankfully, she smiled and laid her open palm on his cheek. Christ he loved her. That thought caught him by surprise, and his face no doubt showed his shock, as she raised a brow in silent question. Turning his mouth to nuzzle her palm and give the centre a tiny lick, he gave her a reassuring smile before pasting a neutral expression on his face and dropping his forehead to rest on hers. He was in love with Lady Lillian Armstrong and probably had been for quite some time, though he’d been too absorbed with his growing daughter, and too pig-headed about maintaining their seclusion, that he’d ignored everything else, including why he’d been as excited as a child at Christmas when he anticipated one of Lillian’s visits, and why he’d been so wretched after she left.

  Uncaring of the antics outside their door, he pulled Lillian into his arms and kissed her the way a man in love kisses his darling. After a momentary hesitation, Lillian’s hands slid around his neck and she lifted on her toes to prolong their kisses, slow slides of their mating lips followed by a litany of hungry open-mouthed joinings. Predictably, his erection rose again and prodded her belly, despite his willing it into subsidence. Having her feminine curves molded to his leaner length was incredibly erotic, though he silently cursed himself for starting something he couldn’t finish in a wardrobe. When Lillian tilted her hips and rubbed against his erection, his knees almost gave way and his mind grappled for ways he could make love to her in a cupboard. The paneling might collapse and the cupboard would certainly rock on its legs if he took her against a wall, but the ache in his cock was getting harder and harder to ignore and soon he’d be tempted to throw open the door and find another room and damn the consequences.

  For himself, he was past caring if he was seen at a courtesan’s ball, even stark naked, but he’d never risk Lillian’s reputation. The only garment within reach was a silk robe covered in pink and purple cabbage roses and with a frilled neckline but, deciding that beggars couldn’t be choosy, he shoved his arms into the sleeves and tied the belt at his waist. Lillian was so amused that she clamped two hands over her mouth to stop giggles from escaping, but he gave a what-else-can-I-do shrug and pretended his masculinity remained intact, despite the feminine gilding. Thankfully, Lillian seemed composed, which was in direct contrast to his own distress, emotional and physical, at not managing their time together better.

  Counting backwards from a hundred usually calmed him and had taken the edge of the anger and frustration he’d suffered during the last months of his marriage, so he closed his eyes and focused on counting.

  One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven—

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Brent yelled.

  Lillian had wrapped a hand around his cock, while massaging his balls with her other hand. The wardrobe’s door flew open and four faces peered inside.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LILLIAN SCREAMED. Brent pushed her firmly behind him and she burrowed behind his broad back and pulled the scarf across her face.

  He addressed the occupants of the room as if it was an every day occurrence to hide in a cupboard at an orgy. ‘Hello Browning, and Browning’s guests,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Having a nice foursome?’

  Before Lillian had dipped her head, she’d glimpsed the faces of their four onlookers. Faces that showed emotions ranging from utter amusement from their host, Browning, curiosity from his male cohort, and easy acceptance from the two half-naked prostitutes. Perhaps for them cupboard sex was normal. The thought made her giggle again and she tried to poke her head out from behind Brent’s silk clad bottom to see what Browning would do with them, but Brent reached behind him and pushed her head down again.

  ‘Glad you’re enjoying yourself, Mallory.’ Browning’s amusement sounded in his voice, and she sensed that he was attempting to shift Brent aside so he could get a look at her face. ‘Didn’t think naked romps were your cup of tea these days, old boy.’ Brent placed a hand on either side of the doorway and planted his feet so their discoverers couldn’t push past him. ‘Heard you’d become a recluse, Mallory.’

  She felt Brent give one of his shrugs, but knew he was faking his careless attitude for her sake. Her neighbor was an extraordinary man and a true gentleman, one of the very few titled men who followed the old rules of honor and the protection of women. Somehow though, he had to save him from any more embarrassment as his mother would double her efforts to see him wed if she heard that Brent had attended an event whose primary purpose was the securing of mistresses. The poor man didn’t deserve to suffer for her impulsive actions. If she’d stayed at home and pretended to mourn her repulsive husband, Brent wouldn’t have been caught wearing women’s clothing.

  As if he’d read her mind, Browning said, ‘Love that robe, Mallory. The pink roses match the blush on your cheeks perfectly.’

  ‘Stifle it, Browning, and get out of here so my companion and I can redress and leave.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think we’ll let you off that easily, will we?’

  Lillian heard his companions murmur and chuckle and wondered what Browning had in mind. Whatever he planned, she and Brent were sure to be the focus of his jokes.

  Guilt washed over her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, hoping Brent would understand. He waggled his fingers behind his back to tell her he understood and she leant her forehead on his back, taking comfort from the fact that she could trust Brent to look after her.

  ‘Come out, come out, who ever you are,’ Browning chanted, the two women repeating his chorus over and over. ‘Bring your lady out to play with us, Mallory. I have a large bed so the more the merrier.’

  ‘No.’ Brent’s growled answer told her that he was getting annoyed with Browning and his flippant attitude. ‘If you won’t leave, Browning, at least hand us our clothes. Most of them are under the bed.’

  She heard Browning send his male accomplice to retrieve their belongings, but was shocked when Browning added, ‘Lay them on the bed so they can dress there. In exchange for letting you leave, Mallory, we get to watch the two of you dress.’

  Brent’s sudden movement forward pushed Lillian backwards and she hit the back wall and landed on her rear with an audible thump. The wardrobe shook as Brent put one bare foot on the floor of the room and grabbed Browning’s only garment, his trousers. Lillian clutched the scarf and held it over her face like a shield when Brent drew back his arm and landed a punch between Browning’s eyes. Taken by surprise and perhaps drunk on his own punch, Browning fell backwards and landed, arms outstretched, on what was luckily a plush carpet.

  ‘You bastard, Mallory.’ Browning’s hands were covered in blood where he clutched his nose, while the elder of the two women pushed a piece of linen under his nose to soak up the freely-flowing blood. ‘We’re leaving and don’t try to stop us.’ He pointed at the other man. ‘Step back and let me collect our clothing, else you’ll have a nose to match Browning’s.’

  Lillian checked that the scarf was in place and wrapped her arms around herself to add extra cover over her breasts as Brent’s white shirt was superior quality fabric and likely to be rather transparent. She carefully put her bare feet on the carpeted floor and placed her hand in the middle of Brent’s back. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her coverings a quick scrutiny before pulling her forward and tucking her close to his side.

  They shuffled towards the bed where he scooped up their belongings and guided her towards the door, taking care to keep his large body and armful of clothes between her and the four guests and thus deprive them of glimpsing her face or coloring. Taking care that her identity was shielded and her reputation untarnished, or at least no more tarnished than when her husband had killed himself over a reckless and foolish bet.

  His care of her reminding Lillian why she considered Brent the most honorable man she knew. Very few of the titled men she’d met during her years of attending upper social events had the morals of a true gentleman, and certainly none of Geoffre
y’s circle stuck to their principles. They acted like sheep and blindly followed whichever leader happened to be in fashion, or had deep pockets, that particular week. Brent had proved the exception, time and again.

  When his wife had boasted about her affairs, Brent had visited each of her lovers in turn and threatened them retribution if they discussed his wife, or spoke badly of her. His aim, however, wasn’t to stop talk of him being a cuckold, but to stop every gentleman Marion had taken as her lover labeling her a whore or sharing drunken stories about their bedroom romps. No wonder Lillian, his family, his close friends, and his daughter all loved him.

  She loved him. She was in love with Brent, Earl Mallory, her clever confidant.

  Her heart stuttered, her pulse raced, and she stumbled.

  Brent tightened his hold on her arm and glanced at her in concern, before guiding her through the doorway and down the corridor. He glanced back to check no one had followed them and then, once again, walked to each door and listened. They needed an empty room, and quickly, so they could redress. The notion of donning her clothes and returning Brent’s shirt saddened her as she might never have another chance to see his broad chest or admire his muscled abdomen. She’d used up her meagre supply of seductive tactics when she’d coerced Brent into going upstairs with her. Now she needed and excuse to prolong their night and spend more time together.

  ‘This one,’ he said, tugging her inside and depositing his bundle of clothing on a dresser. He turned the key in the lock and wedged a chair under the handle in case Browning decided to search for them and use his master key again. With a heavy sigh he picked up her chemise and gown and handed them to her.

  ‘My corset,’ she said, but he shook his head and bent to tug on his trousers.

  ‘No time, besides, I’m taking you straight home.’

  She gave him a forlorn look. ‘And if I don’t want to go home?’

  He fastened the last button on his trousers and stood in front of her, running a hand through his already tousled hair. ‘Lillian, this isn’t how I wanted the evening to end either, but we can’t risk lingering here now. Browning’s not a bad sort but once he’s in his cups, he might mention that I’ve been here, and with a mystery companion. I’d rather not stay in case his friends decide to probe further and, hopefully, by morning they’ll be too busy nursing their sore heads to inquire about my new love.’ He turned his back. ‘Put on your chemise and then I’ll help with your gown.’

  Lillian pulled his shirt over her head and then held it her nose. The fabric smelled like him, earthy and male, and she hated having to hand it over. She’d rather keep it as a reminder of how close she’d been to his naked chest, in case she never sighted it again.

  She pushed it into his hand. ‘Here,’ she said, unable to keep the snarl out of her voice.

  ‘Lillian, don’t be angry,’ he said, still not looking at her. ‘I’m sorry. So very sorry. I wanted to…’

  She laid her hand on his back and closed her eyes. His skin felt hot and she had a sudden urge to lick, to soothe, and to hold on tight and not let go, yet delaying was imprudent and Brent would fret until he’d removed them both from here. ‘What did you want, Brent. Tell me.’

  His chest heaved under her palm and a shiver rippled down his spine. “Everything. I wanted to explore every curve and crevice of you body. I wanted to suck your pretty nipples until wiggled and writhed and climaxed and then I was going to slide deep inside you and fuck you until dawn. Take you a dozen different ways.’

  She gasped, dropped her forehead to his back, and slid her arms around his waist. He leaned back into her embrace. ‘I wanted that too.’ She kissed the bare skin between his shoulder blades. ‘I still want that, all of it.’

  ‘It will be impossible with you living in the duke’s house.’

  ‘Brent, please, I need you. Please tell me we can tray again, somewhere else, by ourselves.’

  He covered her hands with his and dropped his head back against hers. ‘We’ll have to work something out because, Lillian, now that I’ve kissed you and touched you, I won’t let you go. I can’t.’ He shrugged into his shirt and turned to help her dress in her gown. ‘Damnation. No shoes.’

  She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Well, I’ve always wanted to be Cinderella running barefoot from the ball.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BRENT GROANED, slid his hands through Lillian’s hanging hair, and kissed her, softly and sweetly. ‘You’re amazing. I’ve never met anyone as sweet, yet confident, as you, Lillian.’

  ‘Huh, it’s easier to act with confidence and experience when noon knows that I’m Lady Armstrong, widow of a horrible man and dutiful daughter to an over-bearing duke.’

  ‘I know how hard it’s been for you and I’d give anything to shoulder some of your burdens and lighten your spirits.’

  ‘Oh, Brent. The only reason I’ve survived the torment and humiliation of being a disgraced widow is because you wrote to me, every week. Your letters gave me hope that the debates about how Geoffrey died, and why, would eventually lessen and that I simply had to wait until a bigger scandal pushed me off the front page of the gossip rags.’ She clasped his cheeks and drew his head down for a kiss. ‘You’re the reason I’m here.’

  ‘Me? If I’d known about this little adventure of yours, I’d have…’ His shoulders sagged. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done.’

  She laughed. ‘You’d have done the honorable thing and found a way to stop me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course.’ He frowned. ‘I hate the idea of you being in peril. Of ever being in a situation where someone could hurt you, especially if I’m not there.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Thank the heavens that Michael goaded me into coming with him, or one of these rogues might have loaded you with punch and brought you to one of these bedrooms.’ He waved his hand to indicate the row of bedchambers on this level of the house.

  Lillian threw back her head and laughed.

  He shook his head. ‘Sweetheart, this isn’t a laughing matter. Drunken men, even so-called men of honor, will try any trick to lure a gorgeous woman into bed.’

  ‘Maggie warned me about the drunkenness and we planned how to tip our champagne and punch into the potted plants. My reason for coming wasn’t to be dragged into a dark corner by an oaf, but to indulge in a little risqué conversation. Be flattered by admirers who felt free to shower me with compliments instead of discussing the weather, none of which is allowed to happen normally.’ She patted his cheek. ‘No man, except one I love, would have led me to a bedroom. With you, I was more than willing.’

  ‘Are you saying that --’ The door rattled and the knob turned as someone tried to gain entry. He put a finger to Lillian’s mouth, silently urging her to remain silent. ‘Go away,’ he yelled. ‘This room is occupied.’ Muffled voices and shuffling feet had them holding their breath but after a few tense seconds a woman tittered and hurried footsteps told them the couple have moved along the corridor.

  ‘Hurry, Lillian. We have to leave.’

  He tucked in his shirt, helped Lillian tidy her appearance, and bundled her hair under the scarf. Satisfied that she was as disguised as possible, he put his ear to the door and listened. Hearing no sounds, he moved the dresser and turned the key. Keeping Lillian behind him, he eased the door open and stepped into the corridor.

  ‘Stay beside me and no matter who we encounter, don’t speak.’

  ‘But I need to tell Maggie where I am.’

  He groaned. ‘All right but I’ll look for her and you’ll stay out of sight.’

  She nodded and they hurried down the staircase, stopping twice to pull Lillian into an embrace and shield her face when two couples raced, hand in hand, up the stairs. His nerves were stretched to breaking by the time they re-entered the ballroom, so he focused on finding a hiding place for Lillian while he located Maggie and urged her to leave with them. However, Lillian would leave in his carriage and not Maggie’s, and he’d brook no arguments. Some of his anger
was directed towards Maggie, who’d stupidly encouraged Lillian to take unacceptable risks. The inequality of rules for the upper ten thousand of Britain meant that men pleased themselves in where they went and with whom, but women never had the same freedom or opportunities so he understood that both women yearned for an evening or two where they could interact with men on a somewhat equal footing.

  But in Brent’s mind, their need to escape the confines of widowhood didn’t justify the risks they’d taken and he was certain he and Lillian would argue about this for a long time. Too bad, because he’d never accept a situation that threatened her well-being or her security. Pulling aside the heavy curtains covering a window niche, he guided Lillian onto the bench seat and instructed her to stay hidden and stay silent. He gave her a brief peck on the lips and stiffened his spine, girding himself to re-enter the fray in the hot and crowded ballroom.

  Thirty minutes later, he’d informed Michael he was leaving, and with whom, and had found Maggie. Irritated beyond bearing, he took no time in leading her aside and updating her on the situation. ‘We’re leaving, all of us. Lillian’s waiting.’

  Maggie opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off. ‘No arguments. I’m out of patience with Browning and all of this.’ He waved his hand at the milling men and women and the high-pitched laughs that now grated on his nerves. Maggie obviously grasped his seriousness because she simply nodded, ensured that her mask was firmly in place, and walked directly towards the entrance.

  ‘Fetch Lillian and I’ll meet you at my carriage.’

  ‘We’ll see you on your way home, wherever that may be, but I will escort Lillian to her house.’

  Maggie smiled and raised a brow. ‘To her house, or to yours?’

  Brent stiffened. ‘That’s none of your business.’

  She laughed. ‘I think that answers my question, and I’m pleased. Glad that lovely Lillian finally gets her night with the man of her dreams.’