Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  He stood and looked at her with a smile, waiting for the realization to dawn on her. He had only his leather breeches and shirt left.

  Elizabeth’s ears pinked. “You don’t have to—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not welch on my bets, Lady Kelso.” His erection pulsed against the front of his breeches and he made no effort to hide it from her. Spence was fairly certain she’d choose his shirt.

  “Oh.” Elizabeth, emboldened by the brandy she’d had, glanced downward, her eyes widening at the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’m not completely innocent of what transpires between a man and a woman. I know the basic mechanics.”

  That surprised him. “Curious. Mother Hildegard has obviously chosen an interesting way to train the nuns of St. Albans. But I suppose between the training with pistols—”

  “We were surrounded by farms,” she interrupted. “Animals breed.”

  “I assume I’m taking off the shirt?”

  Elizabeth reached across the table and poured herself more brandy. “Yes.”

  19

  Elizabeth was feeling splendid. Euphoric. The thought of her eventual bedding was pushed to the far reaches of her mind. Brandy, she decided, was delightful. And she adored poker. Until she kept winning.

  Spence stood in his bare feet before her, large and solidly attractive, his fingers pausing on the buttons of his shirt. She held up the glass of brandy against his hair and decided they were approximately the same color.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Comparing.”

  He plucked at the buttons until the shirt fell open, exposing a length of smooth skin dusted with hair a shade darker than the brandy. The bandage was missing, and the deep purple of his bruise had begun to fade to a dull greenish color.

  Elizabeth quickly looked down. She was more embarrassed than afraid.

  He wiggled his toes.

  Even his bloody feet were appealing. If she looked up, just an inch, she’d see the stretch of his leather breeches across his…well, she wasn’t sure exactly how to refer to his appendage. She did know what would transpire, or at least the basics. And none of her knowledge was received from watching farm animals, of which St. Albans possessed only two. A cow and a pig, both female. Her mother had not been discreet when Elizabeth was a child. Not with Archie, and certainly not with any of her other lovers. Last year, Mother Hildegard had sat Elizabeth down and questioned her in excruciating detail about what had not happened with Archie Runyon. Repeatedly. If Elizabeth hadn’t had a general knowledge of what the sex act was before her conversation with Mother Hildegard, she definitely had after.

  She’d been too shocked at the time to ask how the abbess had come by such knowledge.

  Kelso shucked off his shirt and tossed it over the back of the chair.

  The first thing her brandy addled brain considered was that the brief glimpse of Kelso in the coach when she’d wrapped his ribs had not done him justice.

  Kelso was beautiful in the way of the carved, marble statues her mother had once collected from Italy. The curvature of muscles across his torso created hollows and shadow against the gold-tinted skin. He was lean. Athletic in build. His arms packed with tightly laced sinew instead of bulk. The leather breeches hung low, the waist clinging to the stark line of his hipbones. He was staring at her, eyes like molten honey, when he took a deep breath.

  Elizabeth watched in fascination at the roll of his stomach muscles. A trail of dark hair disappeared into his waistband. Below that…She blinked, trying not to dwell on the large bulge below his navel. It was virtually impossible not to see—

  She pulled her eyes up. “You’re healing well.” Her pulse beat unevenly as she studied him. “You’ve taken off the bandage.” Elizabeth wanted to press her lips to the spot just below his right shoulder.

  Kelso shrugged and sat back down before her, completely unabashed at his near nakedness. “Another hand?”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth wasn’t certain what she would do if she won again. Or worse, what would happen if she didn’t.

  * * *

  Poker had been inspired.

  Spence congratulated himself on the execution of a spectacular plan. He’d undressed in front of her under the auspices of a card game. She hadn’t collapsed in a fit of anxiety or gone running from the room. The brandy had helped, of course. His only decision now was whether he should allow her to win again, in which case he’d be completely naked, or if he should even the playing field.

  Spence decided on the latter.

  He ruthlessly won the next hand, enjoying the way her mouth popped open in shock at how suddenly the tables had turned. Spence divested her of her half-boots. Next came the stockings which he took great pleasure in watching her roll off her legs. The hollow of her knee was especially attractive.

  Elizabeth was no longer shocked at her sudden change in fortune. She was furious. So much so that she ignored the fact she was half-naked.

  “I’d like to raise the stakes.” Spence leaned back in his chair, his gaze following the slow descent of ebony curls making their way down her shoulders. Elizabeth painted a seductive picture with her torrent of dark hair and her bare toes peeking out from beneath the skirts of her wedding dress.

  His cock agreed, throbbing painfully.

  “If I win,” Elizabeth stated slowly, “you sleep on the floor.”

  Spence almost laughed out loud. He had every intention of winning and even if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to sleep on the floor. “But I get the quilt.”

  “Fine.” Elizabeth was already motioning for him to deal the cards.

  “And if I win…I get your dress and a kiss.”

  “A kiss? In addition to the dress?” She gave him a suspicious look. “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing else.” A half-truth. He was more determined than ever to consummate their union but had every intention of making sure Elizabeth enjoyed herself. “I feel my luck running out at any rate,” he said.

  Elizabeth mulled over his offer. His young wife had the makings of an excellent card player. He thought of teaching her a variety of games and then taking her to some of the more popular gambling establishments in London. He would drink scotch and watch her play against gentlemen and take their purses. He would run his fingers along the length of her thigh beneath the table while she bet, perhaps—

  “I agree.” She interrupted his erotic thoughts and took up the cards. Her expression as she looked at her hand was carefully bland.

  My little nun is a quick learner.

  She shook her head at the offer of additional cards.

  “Are you certain?” He glanced down at his cards. He hadn’t even needed to cheat. Sometimes, his American friend claimed, you just got lucky.

  Spence took two cards, pretending disappointment. “Show me.”

  Elizabeth gave him a sweet smile, sure of her win. “A straight.” She laid down her hand. “I’ll get the quilt. You should sleep before the fire, so you don’t catch a chill.”

  “Not so fast.” He turned over his cards to reveal a full house, enjoying the look of utter dismay on her face.

  “No,” she whispered, her ebony brows drawing up in agitation. “You cheated.”

  “I did not.” Spence sat back and crossed his arms. Her anger was so much better than her fear. “The dress first, I think.”

  “I don’t like you very much right now,” Elizabeth snapped. A lesser woman would have slurred her words after so much brandy.

  Warmth fanned across his chest, stupidly proud of the way she handled herself.

  “You’ve cheated,” she insisted. “I don’t know how, but you did.”

  “That’s a very inflammatory accusation.” He nodded again to her dress. “Are you trying to welch on your bet?”

  “How dare you accuse me of such a thing.”

  She stood, her lovely features stamped with a healthy amount of brandy-fueled anger. Furiously, she undid the line of buttons down the front of her dress. One popped off a
nd rolled under the bed. Before he could stop her, she flung the skirt up over her head, struggling to pull the dress off.

  Christ. Spence reached out, grabbing her about the waist, and wedged her firmly between his thighs. Her shift was plain cotton with no adornment. He’d hoped Mrs. Campbell would have been a little more creative. The generous mounds of Elizabeth’s breasts pushed against the thin material, allowing him delicious glimpses of her nipples.

  Tread carefully, he reminded himself.

  “Stop, Elizabeth. Hold still.” His hands reached up, undoing the remaining buttons. In moments, the dress opened, exposing the delicate curve of her shoulders and arms. She faced him, her skin flushing a lovely shade of pink. She was foxed, nearly naked and looking at him with no small amount of annoyance.

  “Spencer.” She breathed, smelling of brandy and something floral from the soap she’d used earlier in her bath. He couldn’t take his eyes from her lips, like two plump pillows the color of rose petals.

  “Yes.” He told himself to remain still even as her fingers flitted over the line of his collarbone.

  God, please touch me. He’d be glad to provide instruction.

  “I am going to kiss you now. I’ll try not to make a cake of it. I’ve never kissed anyone before. Well,” she twirled her hand in the air, “I’ve kissed my brother on the cheek. And my sister. Though I don’t suppose that truly counts.”

  “No.” He could see the dark vee between her thighs.

  “Can you close your eyes? I don’t think you should watch when I kiss you. I’m very nervous.”

  Spence obediently closed his eyes and waited.

  20

  The gold band she wore moved against her finger as she traced the line of his shoulder. The ring was a size too large and would need to be fitted. At St. Albans, she’d never imagined touching a man unless she was forced to, but Elizabeth wanted to feel Kelso’s skin beneath her fingertips. A small, puckered scar sat just over his shoulder.

  “Before you ask, a pistol ball.”

  She nodded, even though Kelso, with his eyes closed, couldn’t see her. Elizabeth moved to cup both sides of his face, the bristles of his unshaven jaw chafing erotically against her palms. She waited, expecting a rush of anxiety at the far more intimate touch, but nothing happened. A delicious ache started between her thighs as her finger moved over his face.

  Kelso was undeniably handsome. Masculine. Women were drawn to his aristocratic looks and the fine figure he cut in his expensive clothes. He was charming. Witty. Intelligent. But the same could be said of many gentlemen. What would intoxicate a woman and leave her begging for his attention was the darkness shimmering beneath the carefully constructed mask of nobility he wore. She sensed he had more in common with a thug in St. Giles than the fine lords who took their seats in Parliament. His body was tightly coiled beneath her hands. Patient. Dangerous.

  In spite of the restrained savagery she sensed in Kelso, or maybe because of it, Elizabeth had never felt safer than when she was near him.

  One fingertip touched the small bump in his nose, the tiny imperfection marring his masculine beauty. Elizabeth leaned toward him and pressed her lips to the spot. She’d wanted to do so for the longest time.

  “Little nun.” The low groan sent a shiver down the length of her spine. Strong, elegant hands moved to clasp her hips, his fingers sinking into her skin. “I meant for you to kiss me on the lips.”

  “You weren’t clear in your demands.” She ran the tip of her finger over the crease of his mouth. “Your lips are very soft. Well-formed.”

  Kelso’s arms tightened, pulling her forward.

  Elizabeth welcomed the heat of him, scorching her through the thin cotton of her shift. “I’m a tiny planet,” she whispered. “You are the star I circle.” The thought had been with her since she’d seen him, hopping over puddles in the rain. Her feelings for Kelso were so bloody complicated. Frightening, even. “Give me a moment to fulfill your request.”

  Carefully, Elizabeth pressed her mouth to his. A current flowed from her lips to his, bringing them closer.

  Kelso’s breath caught.

  “I don’t know what I should do,” she whispered against his mouth. “Spencer.”

  His lips moved in a slow, lazy manner. Teasing. Coaxing. Asking her for more of herself with each press of his mouth against hers.

  Elizabeth’s knees buckled, her body suddenly jolted to wakefulness after a lifetime of being asleep. Her fingers sunk into his hair, letting the thick silken strands flow over her fingers as she cupped the back of his head. Each moment of the kiss brought Elizabeth further into his orbit. She forgot everything but Kelso.

  His big hands cupped the curve of her buttocks as he stood, bringing the apex of her thighs firmly against the length of his arousal.

  Elizabeth’s toes dangled just above the carpet as he picked her up and turned toward the bed. Kelso fell back against the quilt, taking Elizabeth with him until they lay side by side. Only then did he lift his mouth from hers.

  He stretched his lean form across the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. The amber depths of his eyes glowed with desire. Lust. Arousal. She searched for something else in the gold, gratified to find it. Affection?

  Kelso stroked the line of her jaw before winding a curl of her hair about his thumb. He brought the bit of hair to his lips, eyes closing for a moment before releasing the curl with a half-smile. He rolled over onto his back. Taking her hand, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her wrist and then her palm before placing her hand on his chest.

  Kelso was asking her to touch him. Not demanding. It was an important and intuitive distinction, one Elizabeth knew not many men would make.

  She wanted to touch him. Caress him. Explore. There were no negative feelings involved with being close to Kelso or feeling his skin beneath her hands.

  It was liberating.

  Her fingers wove through the mat of dark hair on his chest, delighted at the sounds of pleasure he made. She explored the lines of his ribs, taking care not to cause him any pain, and gently traced the outline of the bruise before brushing the area with her lips. Pressing her mouth to his stomach she inhaled. Warm male skin. Spicy soap. A hint of tobacco. Kelso.

  The muscles of his stomach jumped.

  “Don’t be nervous, Kelso.” She pressed small fleeting kisses from his stomach to his neck, filled with gratitude at his consideration and care for her comfort. It was unexpected and rather delightful.

  “Thank you,” she whispered against his throat, looking up at him.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid ever again, Elizabeth. Not of anything else, nor of me.” His voice was rough.

  She touched the corner of his mouth before kissing him, her heart swelling with a wealth of feeling. When she’d jumped into his coach, Elizabeth never would have guessed she would grow to care so deeply for him, to need him so much.

  His mouth opened, his tongue sliding between her lips.

  Elizabeth tensed at the odd sensation but did not pull away. He stroked the side of her face as his lips continued to move gently over hers. There was urgency in the kiss but also tenderness. He wanted her agreement, not her surrender.

  Finally, Elizabeth touched the tip of her tongue to his.

  Kelso flipped her onto her back, his mouth never leaving hers. His hands traveled down the curve of her waist to her hip, toying with the edge of her shift.

  Elizabeth felt the brush of the cotton against her thighs as he lifted the hem. The material scratched across her stomach before his fingers brushed against her naked skin. Her anxiety immediately raised its head. She struggled to remain still and reminded herself to breathe. This was Spencer. Kelso.

  “So soft.” His thumb moved to rub against the space between her hip and thigh before moving between her legs.

  Elizabeth gasped as his fingers threaded through the soft down. “Kelso.” There was a slight tremor in her voice from fear and anticipation.

  “Spencer.” He nibbled at her low
er lip, one finger sliding against her crease, his touch no more than that of a butterfly.

  Elizabeth’s head fell back as a low hum vibrated through her, especially the area Kelso was presently exploring. His touch was delicate. Careful. Moisture seeped between her thighs even as her hips tilted upward.

  “Spencer.” The name caught in her throat. A finger pressed into her core, circling and dipping inside. She tensed, her legs trying to close against his assault.

  “I like the way you say my name, little nun.” His fingers left her to take the shift in both hands and pull the meager protection from her body. “Oh, Elizabeth.”

  She heard reverence in his tone.

  “My breasts are overlarge,” she said stupidly, trying not to be horrified at being naked and exposed.

  “I can see that.” His mouth trailed down the valley between them. “They’re glorious, by the way.” His hand cupped her left breast, squeezing gently. “I ogle your bosom every chance I get.”

  “I noticed.” The words died on her lips as his finger slid back inside her while his thumb—oh, dear his thumb—toyed with a tiny, very sensitive bit of flesh. Each stroke sent a bolt of sensation down her legs. Her eyes fluttered shut.

  “Why do you keep closing your eyes?” Kelso sounded mildly irritated.

  “You can be unpleasant.” Her breath caught as his mouth descended on one nipple, grazing the tender peak with his teeth until Elizabeth thought she may come apart. “And I am somewhat nervous.”

  He made a low sound of understanding. “You’ve a delightful spray of freckles across the side of your breast.” Teeth grazed her skin. “Might be a constellation.” Another finger joined the first, stretching and thrusting. The tiny bit of flesh beneath his thumb swelled under his ministrations until a throbbing intensity lit between her thighs.

  Elizabeth whimpered. Flames were dancing up her skin, burning her from the inside out. She needed him to do…something. Anything to ease the ache which grew almost painfully with each touch of his fingers.