Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

by Lorraine Heath

  But tonight was just for them. He didn’t want Elisabeth or Rockberry or Sir David invading this moment, becoming part of this memory. Just as that night at Cremorne Gardens when she’d not wanted to discuss the past, so now he selfishly and greedily wanted this moment to focus on the present, on them, on what they could share with each other. Gently, he cradled her cheek. “It’s not too late if you’ve changed your mind.”

  He’d very likely expire on the spot, but he had never forced a woman, and he wasn’t about to start now, especially with her.

  He could see her sweet smile. “I haven’t. Have you?”

  Laughing, he swept her into his arms and strode into his bedchamber. “Never. I’ve wanted you since that first afternoon in the park.”

  “You’ve shown remarkable restraint.”

  “You’ve no idea.”

  He set her down beside the bed, before turning to the bedside table and striking a match. The wick of the lamp flared to life.

  “Wouldn’t darkness serve better?” she asked.

  “No.” But he turned down the flame until it allowed in enough shadows to provide the intimacy he thought she required.

  “Your bed is so large. I’ve never seen one like it.” He heard the nervousness in her voice.

  “I had it made especially for me to accommodate my height. But it’s only a bed, Eleanor, and nothing will happen within it that you don’t desire.”

  He detected the tiniest of flinches. With both hands, he cupped her face to draw her attention back to him. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know. I trust you implicitly, James. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

  He brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her deeply. Tasting the lingering flavor of champagne, he prayed the heady drink wasn’t affecting her decision. But she wasn’t swaying, not yet anyway. If he had his way, she would before long. She’d become drunk on his kisses, on his touches.

  He dragged his mouth along her throat, feeling her pulse quickening against his lips. With a sigh and her hands clutching the sleeves of his jacket, she dropped her head back, giving him easier access to whatever he might wish to plunder. Her hair first, he thought, as he straightened. He skimmed his knuckles down the column of her throat. “You have the most enticing neck.”

  “Is it my best feature, do you think?”

  “A little vain, Eleanor?”

  Her brow pleated. “No, I just…I’m nervous, I suppose. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “There is absolutely nothing about you that could disappoint me.”

  He saw in her eyes the pleasure that his words brought. It was only the first bit of pleasure he intended to bring her. After deftly removing her pins, he watched her hair cascade around her shoulders and tumble down her back. It was more glorious than it had appeared at a distance. He almost confessed about the night he’d watched her brushing it in the window, but then he’d have to explain why he’d been outside her lodgings. He didn’t want anything to distract her from his attentions.

  He took her hand and began to peel her glove down her arm until it was bunched at her wrist. His thumb grazed her pulse there and he felt it jumping beneath his touch. She watched him, and he wondered what she was searching for, hoped she could see how very much he treasured these moments with her.

  “I could do that,” she whispered, her voice a rough rasp.

  “It’s my pleasure to do it.” He tugged on each finger until they were all free enough that he could finish removing her glove. Tossing it away haphazardly, he skimmed his fingers over her hand.

  “The glove belongs to the Duchess of Greystone. I should take more care with it,” she said.

  “She won’t mind. I’ll purchase her new ones if need be.”

  He began working to remove the other glove. With the bared hand, she touched his cheek, skimmed her fingers up into his hair. It was the first time she’d stroked him with a bare hand. Although it was only his face, his hair, his scalp, a shudder of pleasure coursed through him. He wanted her touch so badly. Everywhere. He discarded the second glove with equal abandon.

  Very slowly he turned her around.

  She’d not expected him to take his time, but then where he was concerned, she had quickly learned that he was a constant surprise. He made her feel lovely, desired. She saw in his eyes that even something as simple as letting her hair down pleased him.

  Now he moved it so it all draped over one shoulder. Then he began to work on her gown. She felt the first button set free, then the second. She tried to remember how many buttons there were, how long it might take before the gown was removed completely. Before she’d finished the thought, he was easing it off her shoulders.

  He touched his mouth to her neck, and it was as though he’d poured hot wax into her veins. Warmth swirled through her.

  She knew she was wrong to be here, to take matters this far, but Elisabeth’s death had taught her that one never knew when everything of value could be stolen. James was hers for tonight. She had no promises that he’d be hers tomorrow.

  Happiness was fleeting. Love an illusion.

  She would make the most of what time she had with him, cherish it, pray that she never came to regret it.

  She pushed back thoughts of Elisabeth and Rockberry. For this small space of time, she wanted no sorrow to intrude, no quest for retribution. Selfishly, she was going to take all that James offered her and hoard it away for the lonely nights that would no doubt await her.

  Leisurely, so leisurely that her skin grew more sensitive, he removed cotton, silk, lace. He untied ribbons, loosened buttons, eased aside cloth. Each piece was discarded without care, until nothing remained except for the pearls, while his fingers gave the greatest care and attention to her skin. His mouth followed his fingers, touching and tasting, stirring passions until she thought she’d go mad with wanting more.

  Pivoting around to face him, she judged his reaction, hoping he wasn’t disappointed that she wasn’t acting demure. She wanted this night with him, wanted it so badly she would trade her soul for it. No doubt she already had.

  His breathing became short and shallow as his gaze took a leisurely sojourn from the top of her head to her wiggling toes.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was scratchy and rough, his eyes heated, his craggy features now so familiar and yet tonight so different, as though each part of her somehow managed to reshape him.

  “We should put away the pearls lest they break,” she told him.

  “No, leave them. They somehow suit this moment.”

  She was surprised that he ceased to touch her. “I won’t break,” she assured him as she tugged on his neckcloth.

  “My hands are callused.”

  “I like the way they feel,” she said, taking one and bringing it to her lips. She circled her tongue around its center and he released a low strangled groan.

  “You torment me,” he rasped.

  To her surprise, she released a short burst of laughter. “Me? I’m not the one still wearing clothes.”

  He rewarded her with one of his rare, sensual smiles as his jacket was added to her pile of clothes. His waistcoat and shirt followed, then everything else, until all that remained were his trousers. He was magnificent. Sculpted stone could not have contained or revealed more perfection.

  Running her hands up his chest, she felt his muscles bunch and relax as she journeyed over them. For his size, he was all lean muscle and flesh. Stepping closer to him, she brushed her breasts against his chest.

  “Christ!” he growled as he took her mouth with an urgency that surprised her.

  Swindler had waited as long as possible to actually touch her, knowing that once he did so, this slow waltz would end. He would no longer be able to restrain himself. He wanted her too badly.

  Her arms came around his sides, caressed his back, the touch so light, but fleeting. He would feel her touch and then he wouldn’t. It was a strange sensation of touch, then absence. He’d never let any othe
r woman glide her hands over his back. He always distracted them one way or another, often simply holding their hands away from his body. But with her, he wanted to experience everything, was willing to risk losing it all, because he didn’t want her in half measures. He couldn’t explain it, but he wanted to know everything about her, down to her tiniest secret and her smallest imperfection. For some reason, it was important that she know his.

  Stiffening, she broke away from the kiss, her face set into a frown. “What’s happened here?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  He didn’t stop her when she peered around him.

  “Oh, dear God.” Looking at the crisscross of scars on his back, she felt the tears well in her eyes. “Who did this to you?”

  “The law.”

  Straightening back up, she studied him, truly looked at him, past the handsome exterior to the wounded man.

  “I wasn’t very skilled at thievery,” he explained. “Usually I got the whip rather than time in prison.”

  “How old were you?” she whispered, not certain why that particular fact was important. What he’d endured shouldn’t have been inflicted on anyone.

  “Eight the first time, nine the second. Feagan warned me that if I got caught once more, I’d see myself on a ship bound for New Zealand.”

  “Transported.” She’d never before given any thought to the punishment criminals received. Oh, she’d heard about it, but it was like listening to someone explaining the plot in a story that she had no interest in reading. It was simply words, without soul, without heart. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. They don’t hurt. The thickest of them don’t feel anything anymore.” He touched her cheek. “I’ve never shared them with anyone else. I’ve never let any woman touch them. You’re different. What I feel for you is different. I don’t want any secrets between us.”

  She almost wept from the sincerity in his voice. If he hadn’t pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she might have told him everything about Elisabeth, but she knew if she did that, the kiss would cease, and she wanted it more than she wanted to draw in breath, more than she wanted revenge.

  They tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs, the action breaking them apart, ending the kiss.

  “You still have your trousers on,” she told him, as though he wasn’t aware of the fact that she was completely unclothed and bared to him while he still retained a modicum of modesty.

  “I fear if I remove my trousers that any control I’m presently exhibiting will go with them.”

  She pressed her hands to either side of his face, her thumbs against his lips. “Remove them.”

  “Eleanor…” He gave her a sardonic twist of his lips. “I’m not sure you know exactly what it is I’m controlling.”

  “You want to make love to me desperately, and without your trousers there’s nothing to stop you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I want to make love to you desperately as well. Remove them.”

  Before she’d finished taking her next breath they were gone, leaving her to worry if she’d ever be able to breathe again. He was large in all things, her James.

  His bare body covered hers as he slid between her thighs, and she thought she’d never felt anything as wonderful. His skin was slick and velvety in places, coarse and hairy in others, but she adored every inch, every texture.

  Once more he joined his mouth to hers. She thought she’d never tire of his kisses. Each one was different, yet the same. Each one caused desire to build inside her.

  His weight bore down on her, but there was no discomfort. In spite of their sizes, her delicacy and his large muscled body, it was as though they fit together perfectly.

  With his touches, he was much more daring than she. He trailed his mouth down her body until he reached her breast. He kissed the inside of one and then the other. Her body reacted strongly, straining for more. He lathed his tongue around her nipple, teasing, teasing, teasing…

  She scraped her nails over his shoulders while her body curled into itself.

  “What do you want, Eleanor?” he rasped.

  “Don’t talk, please don’t talk.”

  “What do you want?” he persisted.

  She wanted to weep, as his breath wafted over her nipple until it tightened into a pebble. “I don’t know. Something.”

  “This,” he growled, before his mouth closed over her breast and he began to suckle.

  She thought she was going to come off the bed, like a hot air balloon breaking free of its moorings. She twisted into him, bucked against him.

  His hand skimmed along her stomach until it reached her nest of curls. She felt his finger slip inside her, deep inside her.

  “You’re so wet, so hot, so ready,” he whispered.

  And she was. Almost as ready as he. Every muscle in his body was tense and vibrating. His heart pounded so hard that he thought it might actually burst. He loved having her beneath him, the silkiness of her skin, the velvetiness of her womanhood. He wanted her so badly that it was a testament to his control that he’d not yet taken possession. As his finger glided into her, he felt the tightness.

  “I may hurt you after all,” he murmured with regret.

  “I don’t care.” She skimmed her hands over his chest and back, as though she couldn’t get enough of touching him.

  Every place she touched mourned when she moved on to give her attentions elsewhere. His body was screaming at him, screaming for him to have her now. To take her.

  She was wet, so very wet. Hot, so very hot.

  He wished he’d considered this moment, but he’d never before taken a virgin. He should have plied her with whiskey.

  Too late now. He shifted up so he was hovering above her.

  She thought she should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Whatever discomfort she felt, she knew it was nature’s doing, not his. He’d prepared her with his hands and his mouth, his fingers and his tongue.

  She felt him probing gently. Fighting not to tense, she concentrated on the feel of his shoulders beneath her hands, the dew that had gathered as he denied his satisfaction, the bunching of his muscles as he prepared to join them together.

  As he entered her, there was pain. She couldn’t deny it, and she could tell by the sorrow that touched his eyes that she’d done a poor job of masking it. His arms trembling, he stilled when she knew he wanted to break free of the moorings and fly.

  “I’m all right,” she assured him.

  “I’m in no rush.” He lowered his head and kissed one corner of her mouth-

  “Liar.”

  – and then the other.

  “We have time,” he assured her.

  Not as much as he might think.

  She wiggled beneath him. Kissing her chin, he slowly began rocking against her. The pain began to ease as though her body, after stretching to accommodate him, was adjusting to his welcomed arrival. Other sensations began to replace the ache. She began to concentrate on those as they began to drown out all others.

  He was like the sea, so strong as it crashed against the shore, so calm as it retreated with a promise to return. A promise he kept, returning over and over, slamming forcefully into her, carrying her up toward the highest crest of the waves. It was glorious, riding out the storm of pleasures with him. Sensations swirled and spiraled.

  When they crested, she dug her fingers into his buttocks and arched her back to meet him. She’d never known anything so powerful, so arousing, so incredibly wonderful. Until he began to move faster, jerkily, his groans echoing around her. She hung onto him, watching the muscles in his face contort.

  “Eleanor!” he ground out through clenched teeth as his body spasmed and one last thrust, if at all possible, struck more deeply than any of the others.

  Collapsing on top of her, his breathing harsh, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder before rolling over and drawing her against his side.

  It had been the most meaningful experience of her life, yet all she wanted
to do was weep.

  Chapter 9

  Absently, Swindler glided his hand up and down Eleanor’s arm. Never in his life had he experienced anything as intensely satisfying. Eleanor had touched him more intimately than any other woman. Pleasure had rocked her with a force that astounded him-and if he were honest, stroked his masculine pride.

  She was so easily aroused and not at all afraid to share what she was feeling, experiencing, thinking. While he’d enjoyed the company of many ladies, with Eleanor he sensed there was no guile between them. Her reactions were all honest, her cries all heartfelt. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known. He didn’t want her to leave his bed.

  She would have to in a few more hours, before the sun rose, before anyone was up to see her leave his lodgings and arrive at her own. They’d had an illicit night, but nothing about it had seemed forbidden. If anything, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. They belonged together, she and he. After what they’d shared, he no longer had any doubts.

  For several minutes now she’d been slowly skimming her finger down the center of his chest and back up again. Occasionally she would trace a figure eight around his nipples. She might be recovering, not truly trying to arouse him, but his body was reacting just the same.

  “What are you thinking?” he finally asked.

  “About Elisabeth. I’m wondering if this was what Rockberry had promised her, or at the very least what she’d expected.”

  “Did he get her with babe?”

  “No, I don’t think so. If he did, it wasn’t obvious from looking at her. She arrived home in July and fell from the cliffs in September. Surely she would have shown by then.”

  He didn’t want to talk of her sister, as it would dampen the mood or her memories of this night. Once he talked with Sir David and confirmed a plan of action, he’d pay her a visit and explain not only what he’d been doing the night he met her but how he planned to take the situation in hand to gain satisfaction for her regarding Rockberry. But until then he wanted nothing to sour what they’d shared, and had little doubt that her initial reaction to the fact that he’d been following her was not going to be well received.