Joss and The Countess (The Seducers Book 2)

by S. M. LaViolette

  Joss had stood there, rooted to the floor. His groin throbbed like a war drum as he thought about what the woman wanted.

  The anonymity of the scene she’d described in her letter meant he could imagine she was any woman.

  He could imagine Mrs. Smith was her.

  Joss closed his eyes briefly, disgusted by his thoughts, by his body’s reactions, by his raw lust. Was that really what he’d become?

  No, it wasn’t.

  And so he’d swallowed his desire and turned back to his ledgers.

  But here he was, ten minutes later, still fantasizing. He could not get his mind off this woman in the diamond suite. Who the devil was she?

  “Just go look up her name or you’ll be useless,” he told himself, his feet already in motion toward the safe.

  As he turned the tumbler, he wondered what the hell he was doing? Finding out her name didn’t matter. It still wouldn’t be Alicia.

  “Oh, what can it hurt,” he muttered, opening the heavy door and taking the brown leather ledger from the bottom of the pile.

  Melissa was fiendishly organized and kept two lists cross-referenced by their real names and false names. As he flicked to the section where the false names began a small rectangle of paper fluttered to the ground.

  Joss picked it up and his jaw dropped: Lady Alicia Selwood.

  His fingers worked without any instructions from his brain and turned the card over.

  In Melissa’s distinctive hand were these words,

  “Client has requested anyone but Joss. Has indicated Hugo sounds best suited to her needs.”

  ∞∞∞

  Alicia could not have said a word even if the man had not already commanded her to silence.

  He poured two glasses of something and came toward her.

  He was sharp featured and possessed a muscular but sinuous body that put her in mind of a satyr—an erotic, seductive minion of the devil himself.

  She told herself it didn’t matter.

  What mattered is that she wore a mask and this man would soon be gone. Or so she hoped.

  He handed her the glass, his lips curving in a smile that was without a doubt the most wicked she had ever seen.

  “I’d like to see behind that mask,” he said in his odd accent, which was rough yet somehow cultured—like a guttersnipe from St. Giles who’d taken elocution lessons from a royal duke.

  Alicia swallowed at his words and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you take it off… yet.” He took a deep pull on his drink and bared his teeth while the liquor burned its way down his throat. His teeth were surprisingly white but crooked, and the two canines appeared pointier than usual. His eyes were a dark brown that looked black in the room, which had been lighted so poorly she almost ran into a table on her way in.

  He smacked his lips and grinned at her. “Ahh. Have a sip, Mrs. Smith. I insist,” he said when she hesitated. His face—which was far too angular and feral too be handsome—became even harder. “I don’t like to give orders twice.”

  Alicia stiffened as his cold command, tempted to tell him what she thought about what he did or didn’t like.

  But then she realized he was just playing whatever part Mrs. Griffin had written for him, so she raised the glass and took a drink, wondering—worriedly—just what the other woman had written in that letter.

  It was fine brandy, but all alcohol tasted like sawdust after she’d realized that she’d almost killed herself drinking.

  “Good girl,” he praised.

  When Joss spoke to her that way, Alicia wanted to drop to her knees.

  Hugo made her palm itch to slap him.

  “Hold my glass, darling.” He gave her his still half-full glass and then reached for the clasp on her cloak. When she startled, he jerked her body toward his.

  He might be whipcord lean but he was unbelievably strong.

  “I’m removing this, Mrs. Smith. Does that present a problem? You may answer me either yes, Hugo, or no, Hugo.” He held her close enough to his body that she could feel his heat and smell his skin and hair. He wore some type of cologne that had a citrus-tang to it. He smelled good, but he was not Joss.

  And just where the hell was Joss ….

  “Now, I’m going to take this off.”

  She swallowed. “Yes, Hugo.”

  The corner of his mouth pulled up into an evil smile. “Good girl.” He unclasped the cloak and then leaned close and pressed his body against hers to remove it from her shoulders. She felt the unmistakable thrust of his arousal against her belly and shuddered.

  He chuckled. “You like that, do you? All for you, darling.”

  Oh God. Joss, where are you?

  He took the cloak in one hand and sauntered toward a coat rack, draping it over a hook. Alicia felt a bit dizzy and discovered she’d been holding her breath. She released it quietly and inhaled another.

  “That is a lovely dress,” he said, eyeing her up and down and circling her in a manner calculated to make her even more nervous. “Charmeuse, is it not?”

  Alicia swallowed, but before she could answer a hand struck her bottom. She jumped and gave a mortifying yelp.

  “When I ask you a question I expect—”

  There was a light knock and then the door opened.

  “What the bloody hell,” Hugo demanded of the cringing lackey in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hugo. But I’m afraid you’ll need to step out for a moment.”

  Hugo turned to her, his face unreadable. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Smith. I shall return directly.”

  The door closed behind him and Alicia dropped into the nearest chair.

  Thank God. She’d begun to wonder if Mrs. Griffin’s plan had fallen to pieces. Lord, how would she extricate herself if—

  The door opened again and she leapt to her feet.

  ​Alicia would have known him anywhere, even though he was backlit by the lights in the corridor and she couldn’t see his face.

  ​Her heart thudded in her chest and she took a step toward him.

  ​He didn’t speak when he stepped inside and closed the door. Unlike Hugo, he wore a full-face mask, just like hers.

  His evening clothing was that of any gentleman: a black cutaway coat, white linen, and black pantaloons that were so tight they looked as if some lucky servant had merely applied boot blacking to his magnificent thighs and calves.

  Alicia opened her mouth to thank him for seeing her, but then he said, “Good evening, Mrs. Smith. Hugo has been unexpectedly called away but I will see to your needs.”

  His words were crisp and emotionless, not unfriendly, but certainly not warm.

  Alicia frowned; did he not recognize her?

  She opened her mouth, but he raised a hand.

  “You may nod if you wish me to stay or shake your head if you wish me to go. You may not speak unless I give you permission. Once you have made your decision to stay, you will obey me in every way. Nod if you understand.”

  His words shot through her like a bolt of lightning, ripping down her spine and settling in her sex. She was wet. Immediately. Part of her brain—the tiny part that could still think—wondered why Hugo’s orders had not elicited the same response.

  “Mrs. Smith.” His voice was like the crack of a whip. “Nod yes or shake your head no to be taken home. Do it now.”

  She began nodding even before he’d finished, the shocking truth mingling with lust inside her aching body: He did not know who she was, but he was obviously more than willing to service her; she was nothing but a job to him.

  ​Her body shook with barely suppressed fury. And desire. She wanted to hit him—to yell at him and hurt him—but she also wanted . . . this.

  How long would it take him to realize who she was?

  And just what had Melissa Griffin put in that letter? The way he was behaving … Alicia shivered.

  He turned away from her and opened the door again, exchanging a few words with somebody in the hall. A young woman d
ressed in a maid uniform entered.

  “Sally will take you into the other room and assist you while you change. You will not speak to her. Nod if you understand.”

  Again her body responded before she gave it permission.

  “Good, now go.” He turned toward the sideboard that held the two glasses she’d set there.

  Sally approached her and gestured to the room beyond. Alicia hesitated only a second but he seemed to sense it—even though his back was to her as he poured himself a drink.

  “The next time I have to repeat myself, Mrs. Smith, you will find yourself in the carriage on your way home. You have five minutes to change your clothing.”

  Alicia burned at his tone, the sort a man—a rude man—would use on a disobedient dog.

  Resistance and rebellion fought with lust and were easily overpowered.

  Her feet—deceitful things that they were—bore her toward the room he’d indicated. It was a dressing room and Alicia saw that clothing—if you could call it that—had already been laid out on the bed. She gaped.

  “But—but,” she stopped, appalled at how weak she sounded.

  The girl didn’t comment. Instead she began unbuttoning Alicia’s gown.

  Time seemed to speed up, every second bringing her closer and closer to wearing . . . that.

  Go tell him who you are, you fool!

  Alicia ignored Aunt Giddy’s voice, too stunned by the agonizing truth: Joss didn’t care who Mrs. Smith was—he would do this with anyone. God only knew how often he’d done this in the weeks since he’d left her employ.

  That unpleasant thought was one more ingredient in the nasty stew that simmered within her. How was it possible that thoughts of him with other women—many other women—could revolt and arouse her at the same time? What was wrong with her?

  Alicia realized that the girl had already removed her gown, petticoat, and stays.

  “Please lift your arms, Mrs. Smith.”

  Alicia complied and Sally lifted her chemise, barely disturbing her hat.

  Next, she knelt and untied Alicia’s garters and rolled down her stockings before slipping off her evening shoes, leaving her naked but for a hat, veil, and mask.

  When Sally brought the garment closer, Alicia stared. It was barely a collection of thin straps holding together sheer black material. Part of her brain—the part not busy being appalled at the thought of wearing the gown—realized it had ties that made it adjustable.

  Once the girl had adjusted the last of the panels, she turned Alicia to face the mirror.

  She gasped at what she saw.

  The garment did nothing to cover her! Instead, the transparent material emphasized the shadowy triangle of hair at the apex of her legs. Her nipples—dark and hard—thrusted against the gossamer thin fabric.

  It was obscene. Her body was entirely exposed, while her face was a black void where the heavy veil fluttered with each shallow breath.

  With no face or head, she resembled a bizarre sort of statue—like the Greek and Roman torsos she’d seen over the years. She was nothing but a . . . body.

  “Come, Mrs. Smith.” The girl nudged her away from the mirror and gestured to yet another open doorway. This one opened to a bedchamber.

  Again, there were only two candles. She was more grateful than ever for the lack of light.

  “Wait here and do not move,” Sally said, leaving her standing facing an enormous four-poster bed.

  There was a fire at the far end of the room but it was far away and the chill was acting predictably, her nipples tightening painfully, her skin pebbling from a combination of cold and wanton excitement. She expected to hear him any minute behind her. Any minute.

  But the longer she stood there, the harder it became not to move. Was he never coming? Was this some manner of jest? Could she—

  “You were told not to move, Mrs. Smith.”

  His voice, low and cold and hard, came with a puff of warm air on her right ear and she jumped and yelped.

  “Shhh,” he whispered, his erection pressing against her buttocks and his broad, powerful torso covering her back.

  She felt the phantom touch of his hands on her hips and jolted.

  “You are so nervous, Mrs. Smith.” He stroked from her hips to her breasts, his hands lingering on the wide strip of fabric that encircled her waist and held her pitiful negligee together. “You look very desirable in this gown—a delicious vessel for my pleasure.”

  Alicia swallowed convulsively at his crude compliment.

  His fingers slid between the slits, his hands warm and rough on her thin, sensitive skin. “Lean forward at the waist and grip the bed.”

  His voice was a low rumble, the words scraping her nerves like a razor. Her jaw dropped.

  She heard him inhale—to dismiss her? To send her away?—and quickly did as he bade her, the position leaving her feeling more exposed and vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life.

  A low chuckle came from behind her. “Very good, Mrs. Smith. I was concerned for a moment that I might have to send you packing.” His mocking tone turned her entire body hot with shame and lust.

  This time she didn’t jump when his hands began to caress her, the movements slow, firm, and possessive as he learned the shape of her too-broad hips.

  “You are lush, Mrs. Smith.” She felt his body cover hers, his weight pushing her down cruelly, forcing her to struggle to maintain her position. “There is nothing I enjoy more than fucking a lush arse.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut and her ribcage expanded.

  “Ah,” he chuckled again, his hand wrapping around her pelvis and pulling away the panel of thin fabric that shrouded her sex. “You like that,” he said smugly, his finger pushing between her lips and giving her agonizingly swollen peak the briefest of flicks before penetrating her body.

  She gasped at his rough invasion.

  “What a beautiful tight, wet cunt you have Mrs. Smith.” His finger curled up inside her and she whimpered.

  His hand flexed, gripping her mound almost painfully hard. “Not a sound from you. Do you understand me?” he demanded in a harsh voice; the finger buried inside her prodding a mind-numbingly sensitive spot.

  He slapped her buttock with the hand that wasn’t buried deep inside her. It didn’t hurt but it surprised her—and, horrifyingly—excited her.

  “You will acknowledge my questions or I will punish you, Mrs. Smith. Do you understand?”

  Her body tightened at the word punish but she nodded quickly and his hand began to move.

  He worked her with all the skill she knew him to possess, a second finger joining the first. When his free hand began to circle her pearl, it took mere moments to bring her to the crest of a climax.

  “I want to reward you for your obedience.”

  She preened at his praise even as she despised her needy weakness.

  “I could make you come so easily—make you buck and shudder and convulse as you drench my hand,” he whispered, his movements hard and rhythmic. “Or I could just tease you, over and over bringing you to the brink of pleasure and leaving you quivering and wanting.”

  His words, as much as his skilled hands and fingers, drove her blindly toward orgasm.

  “But I’m not going to do either.”

  He released her abruptly and swatted her bottom hard. “Get on the bed, on your hands and knees,” he ordered. “Face forward, head up, and remain completely still. You will wait for me in that position as long as I require it. Understood?”

  Alicia nodded, embarrassingly clumsy as she crawled onto the bed.

  She heard a drawer being opened somewhere as she dropped to her hands, her knees clamped tightly together. It was all she could do not to turn and see what he was doing. Wisely, she refrained.

  This time, she wasn’t surprised when he made her wait.

  She heard the clink of glass on glass and realized he was pouring himself a drink. Rather than fury, it was lust that pounded inside her at his openly degrading treatment.r />
  “Spread your knees.”

  She gritted her teeth so hard her jaws hurt, but she did as he said.

  “Wider—to the width of your shoulders.”

  Shame and desire became indistinguishable as she spread until only a single insubstantial panel of fabric was all that covered her sex.

  “Good.” His voice was a low, rough purr. “Now, reach back and lift that fabric out of the way, toss it over your back. I don’t want anything to obstruct my view. Once you’ve done that, drop to your elbows.”

  Her face burned with mortification and she fumbled to lift the diaphanous panel and shunt it to the side. Her body shook as she assumed the submissive posture he demanded.

  He gave a low animalistic groan. “My God, what a beautiful sight. You are beyond exquisite, Mrs. Smith.”

  His words and the worshipful tone of his voice both thrilled and gutted her. He’d said something similar one evening in their love nest above the stables.

  Apparently, he said the same thing to all his customers.

  Alicia had to blink away tears. But her sex throbbed for him.

  “I could look at you all night long.” His voice was still worshipful, but now there was a slight tremor that told her he was not untouched.

  She heard the sound of a glass being set down, and then he was behind her again, one big hand resting possessively on her lower back while the other caressed her exposed sex with a light touch that made her bite her lip to keep from whimpering.

  He groaned and then pressed something hot and slick against her entrance. “I can’t wait any longer, Mrs. Smith.” And then his thick, blunt head breached her.

  Pain and pleasure mingled as he held her impaled on the impossible hardness of his body, stretching and filling her.

  “Mmm.” He took her waist in both hands, his fingers almost spanning her, the touch making her feel feminine and desirable.

  And then he oh-so-slowly slid out, removing himself delicious inch by delicious inch until only his crown remained.

  “So good, isn’t it?” he whispered, his hips pulsing lightly.

  It was beyond good. It was. . . intoxicating.