by Emma Wildes
“You aren’t educated at all, which is just fine with me,” Trenton interrupted, a heavy look in his eyes, his lashes half shut as his fingertips grazed her mouth. “I’ll be more than happy to teach you. To begin with, let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we? I want to see and feel every inch of you.”
With trembling fingers, she obliged, her best dress, a pale blue silk she had worn to her one and only ball in London two years before, now used as an impromptu wedding gown, slid to the floor unheeded. Other than helping unfasten her gown, Trenton merely watched, and she felt a rising sense of anticipation, heightened by the unmistakable bulge in his tight-fitting breeches.
The man of her dreams might not be madly in love with her, but he desired her, of that there was no doubt.
Unlike the night before, the room they occupied now was well lit by several lamps, and as she bent over and untied her garters and removed her stockings, Jessica felt her breasts sway provocatively under the thin lace of chemise, her nipples already tight and puckered.
“Your shift now,” Trenton ordered, his voice slightly thickened. “And let down your hair.”
Obeying, intrigued by his promise of carnal instruction, she discarded her last garment. When she stood nude in front of him and lifted her arms to pull the pins from her hair, her husband’s gaze heatedly fixed on her uplifted bare breasts, his breath going in audibly.
“Look at these.” His hands moved to cup both swelling mounds of her bosom, his long fingers molding her flesh as he bent his head. “So soft, but also firm and perfectly female.” His breath was warm, his tongue coming out to ring one taut crest in a leisurely circle that made Jessica catch her breath. “You taste and feel like heaven, Jess.”
His dark head bent to her aching breast was a study in contrast of male and female, Jessica thought, as she felt dampness suddenly rush between her thighs. His silky black hair stark against her pale skin, the slight graze of his shaven cheek as he kissed the valley between her breasts, his tanned fingers kneading and shaping as he suckled at first one tight mound and then the other.
When he lifted his head and swept her up into his arms, she sighed in complete capitulation, her arms going around his neck as he took her to the bed. With a sinfully attractive smile, Trenton deposited her on the soft coverlet and jerked off his clothes. “It’s nice to see your enthusiasm, my love,” he told her with a gleam of white teeth.
Confused, Jessica stared up at him.
“You are beautifully wet,” Trenton explained, his erection magnificently high and pulsing against his stomach. Honed muscles rippled as he joined her on the bed and rested on one elbow beside her. His free hand ran the length of her torso, skimmed her hip slowly, and slipped between her thighs. One long finger skillfully ran through her pubic hair and along the sensitive lips of her sex. “See?”
It was true. Moisture gleamed as he held up his finger. Jessica said breathlessly, “Is that wrong?”
“It’s perfect. This,” Trenton scandalously licked his finger, and then grinned, “means you want me, Jess.”
She did. There was no denying it. There was an incessant ache between her legs. “Are you sure we can’t…?”
“We can do a lot of things.” He pulled her close to his hard body, his erection rubbing her bare hip as he kissed her with open passion, their tongues mingling, one large hand cupping her buttock, massaging it.
Jessica clung to him without restraint, her body now completely in charge, dignity something to worry over at some later time, a time when Trenton wasn’t seducing her senses with his tangy male scent, roving hands, and wickedly marvelous mouth. She barely realized she had been shifted to her back until she felt his long fingers cup her sex, rubbing lightly.
She moaned. Loudly.
Her husband gave a low laugh as his thumb began to move in a slow rhythm, parting the folds between her legs, caressing a magical spot that sent tremors of pleasure through her with each small circle. Continuing that erotic massage, he found her vaginal opening with his middle finger, probing lightly, cautiously, before he slipped it inside her. Jessica closed her eyes, the sensation was so deliciously wonderful, her cleft suddenly wet and throbbing. Her pelvis began to move instinctively to the stroke of thumb and finger, rapture streaking through her senses.
He knew exactly what to do. The wayward thought came and went, and that particular expertise was one of the benefits of marriage to an experienced man like the Earl of Declan.
She refused to analyze just how he came to be able to bring such flooding, complete delight, his hand moving softly between her legs, her thighs opening wider as she felt the first promise of climax build, the sensation elusive but coming closer and closer. When Jessica was certain she would die if it didn’t happen, he leaned forward took the nipple of her left breast in his mouth, sucking hard as he stroked with slightly more pressure, his finger deeply inside her.
Her body stiffened, her back arching, and she felt the world spin wildly, completely away as she found the summit of ecstasy and tumbled from the top.
* * * *
At least the landlord had obliged him, Trenton thought with a lazy smile, his fully aroused body prone on the downy mattress. On his back against the pillows, he watched Jessica’s flushed face, her entire body tinted a lovely, unmistakable orgasmic pink. In the superior light this evening, he admired with an expert’s eye the subtle flare of her hips, the narrowness of her waist, and of course, the voluptuous shape of her breasts. If he had fashioned in his mind the perfect body he wanted to fuck for a lifetime, he thought with a glimmer of facetious humor, he could not have done as well. Coupled with her delicate beauty and unusual pale gold hair, she was going to set society on fire as his new countess.
That realization made him frown suddenly, his brows snapping together. The exalted English nobility wasn’t exactly known for the fidelity of its class—no one knew that better than he did. He’d bedded other men’s wives often enough—the practice was understood between many couples, discreet liaisons perfectly accepted by both parties once a male heir had been produced.
There was no way in hell, Trenton decided darkly as he watched his beautiful young wife finally open her eyes and smile at him, he was going to share. Society be damned, Jessica belonged to him and him only. That unrestrained passion was going to be something he experienced alone, and if some other man approached her, he was going to simply utilize his considerable skill with a dueling pistol to settle the matter.
“Come here,” he said in a less than seductive tone, feeling a rush of possessiveness that was completely out of character before this moment.
Her gaze narrowed a fraction, her expression going from dreamy contentment to confusion. “Did I do something wrong?” She sat up, long tendrils of pale hair sliding over the mounded fullness of her enticing breasts.
“No.” He still sounded too curt, inwardly startled at his own murderous thoughts, and deliberately summoned a charming smile. “I just need you, Jess.” His finger ran the length of his rampant erection. “Can you see how much?”
Just the way she looked at his cock tested his control, her gaze both fascinated and innocently curious. With a tentative touch, she reached out and mimicked his gesture, lightly examining every stiff inch with an exploratory and extremely arousing fingertip. “It’s so hard, but still smooth. I would have never guessed.”
“Put your hand around it,” he urged, shutting his eyes briefly as she complied. “Squeeze a little. God, yes.”
“You like that.”
“Don’t stop,” he growled, catching her wrist and tugging it upward so her fingers slid nearly to the swollen tip, the pleasure so acute it was excruciating. On her knees, her lustrous hair in disarray down her graceful back, Jessica caught on quickly enough, beginning a slow but effective gliding motion that made his breath stop in his throat, his testicles tightening at the grasp of her slender, manipulating fingers.
She looked like an angel, so beautifully formed, with smooth skin, golden t
resses, and that lovely womanly smile, but there was nothing angelic about the motion of her hand as she brought him closer and closer to orgasmic release.
In a very short interval, he went still and groaned as he ejaculated, warm semen spurting over his stomach, his wife’s swift intake of breath indicative of her surprise at this particular aspect of the reproductive process. Before he could even catch his breath to speak, Jessica reached out and touched the liquid evidence of his climax with a tentative contact, looking at the sticky substance on her finger with interest. “How can this make a child?”
Oh, lord, he wasn’t sure he was up to detailed anatomical explanations at this specific moment. He hadn’t come so fast from manual manipulation in years. In a slightly off-key voice, he said, “When a man has carnal knowledge of a woman and he climaxes, his seed is deposited at the entrance to her womb. There it can take hold and often enough will result in pregnancy.”
Still studying the sticky residue of his sperm pooled on his torso, Jessica frowned. “You did that last night. I mean…we did, together.”
“We certainly did.” Trenton sat up a little. “My handkerchief is in the pocket of my jacket, Jess. Would you mind?”
She didn’t move but looked at him with those very lovely midnight blue eyes. “Could I be carrying your child, then?”
“It’s possible, depending a little on where you are in your female cycle,” he admitted, eyeing her expression, not certain if she would be happy over such an event, or frightened. Despite the fact she had apparently been dealing with criminals and doing God knew what else with that damnable note, she had led a sheltered life.
“I see.” Lithe and graceful, she slid off the bed and retrieved the linen square from his jacket pocket, giving him the pleasure of watching her walk naked across the room. When she returned, Jessica handed him the cloth, her brows raised as he cleaned off his stomach and chest.
He was a little unprepared when she asked evenly, “How many children do you have already?”
Tossing aside the soiled handkerchief, Trenton looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“According to everything I have heard, you have certainly done…what we did last night, with many women. Surely you have children.”
This discussion was not one he had pictured having when he envisioned his wedding night. “No, I don’t.”
“Why not?” The tightness of her mouth loosened a little at his denial, but a puzzled frown touched her smooth brow.
“There are ways a man can be careful,” he said, sitting up to scoop her suddenly into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “But there is certainly no need for you, my lady wife, to know anything further on the subject. With you, those techniques are not necessary.”
Willingly resting against him, Jessica said huskily, “But—”
“Hush.” Trailing fingers down her arm, he traced the curve of her hip, looking into her eyes, their mouths just inches apart. “We aren’t nearly finished with our evening, sweetheart. In fact, we’ve just begun.”
The answering flare of heat in her eyes was infinitely arousing, as was the way she welcomed his kiss. As he seduced her mouth, he realized he was already getting hard again.
She was beguiling, he thought with lust spiking through his veins.
And completely his.
Chapter 5
The faint tang of the sea brought back unwelcome memories of his childhood, as did the cloying odor of dead fish. It was a time he did not acknowledge, for he had come far since those degrading, best-forgotten years. Being born common and poor was bad enough, he often thought, but staying poor and common, unforgivable.
Accepting a tankard of ale disgustingly warm and bitter, Gaston Romney hunkered in the corner of the tavern, trying to look for all the world like one of the other plain, rough patrons. He must have succeeded to a certain extent for when Colonna came in, he glanced around and his brow furrowed in disappointment.
It wasn’t until he straightened slightly that the infamous informant caught sight of him, his slight nod the only indication. When he strolled over, the other occupants of the dreary room were still absorbed in the bottoms of their glasses.
“Captain,” Gaston murmured, pushing over his own beverage. “Help yourself. I find I am not thirsty.”
Sitting down at the plank table and resting his elbows on the scarred surface, Colonna nodded and took a hearty swig, wiping his mouth with a dirty hand. “What’s the price?”
“What can you tell me?” All too familiar with negotiations as this, Gaston tried to hide his disdain.
“Where she is. In short, I can lead you straight to the Golden Angel.”
“Ah, then, the price is thirty pieces.”
Ignorant of the irony, lean to the point of emaciation, his beard peppered with flecks of iron gray, his flat black eyes gleamed. Captain Colonna countered. “Fifty.”
“I can ask around in the village,” Gaston murmured mildly, “and probably find out the same thing.”
“They’ll talk about you, a Frenchie here, in Kent, nosing around for information about the girl.”
“A chance I might have to take if your fee is too exorbitant.”
Perhaps it was the even tone of his voice or maybe Colonna was in a hurry, for he gave up very easily, simply saying brusquely, “All right, thirty it is. The girl is in London, or headed there. The King’s men aren’t interested any longer. Word is, she was never the one getting the messages and arranging the shipments. Instead, she was busying herself spreading her legs for the Earl of Declan. Earning that unexplained coin flat on her back, like most women.”
Gaston frowned. “It can’t be so. The fishermen I questioned told me the woman was very fair, with hair like a silver rainfall, and a cultured voice. Miss Fairman is certainly the only woman around here who fits that description.” The men had been tortured, he failed to add, so he was fairly convinced of their sincerity.
The captain shrugged, showing stained teeth as he grinned and swilled more ale. “She was caught in his bed, so they’re saying—all the old village biddies sniggering over it—naked as the very day she was born and his lordship with a grin as big as Satan himself.”
“I see.” Gaston knew nothing about the earl. His name had never arisen before. He would have to gather information on Declan. “What else?”
“He married her,” Colonna informed him, “and whisked her right off to London.”
“Did he?” This complication was unexpected. “How inconvenient.”
“Pretty young chits,” Colonna said with a sage nod, “have no business in such affairs anyway. It couldn’t have been her. What would a well-bred young lady do with the information you are lookin’ for anyway?”
What indeed. Sitting back, Gaston pulled the small bag out of his pocket. The metallic clink of the coins was loud in the subdued gloom of the tawdry tavern. “That is an interesting question, Captain.”
* * * *
Gage Reichert sat back behind his cluttered desk, his thin fingers smoothing the paper in a restless movement. “Where exactly did you come by this?”
Since he was hardly going to admit his new wife had been carrying it strapped to her shapely thigh, Trenton simply smiled blandly. “I found it.”
“Ah.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
Elevating a brow, Gage said pleasantly, “What the devil do you mean by saying you found it, Trent? I know better.”
“I am unwilling to say how I came by it, Gage. However much I trust you, I simply can’t risk any details. My bargain is this, you get to keep the message and pass it on to whatever channels handle this sort of thing, and in turn, you tell me exactly what it is.”
The study was quiet except for the faint tapping of a chilly fall rain against the glass of the window. His friend looked him with inscrutable eyes, his mouth a tight line. Tall, thin, his blond hair visibly receding, he was dressed as always, impeccably. Taking off his spectacles, he began to polish them with his handkerchie
f in a telltale mannerism that meant he was thinking.
Though they had never specifically discussed it, Trenton knew that he served in some capacity in the War Office and held the ear of the very highest authority. Gage murmured, “I am not at all positive I can agree to that.”
Trenton felt a small twist of dismay. If that damned document was so volatile that even a very good friend like Reichert wasn’t willing to discuss the contents, then Jessica certainly had no business ever possessing it. Pasting a determined smile on his face, Trenton leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles casually. “I’ve already looked at it, but admit I can’t make heads or tails of what it means. My French is fair, but whatever is written is so garbled that I gave up trying after the first meaningless sentence.”
After a moment of obvious hesitation, Gage replaced his glasses. “It’s in code, naturally.”
“Naturally?”
“The French continually seek to confound us by changing their missives to a series of fairly complex codes, switching frequently from one to another. We have spies all over Portugal and Spain. So do they. It’s a game we play, and the stakes are high. Often, battles are fought and won—or lost—due to the accuracy of the information being passed on.”
“So, it’s a political communiqué?”
“At a guess.”
“This particular message, do you recognize the code?” Trenton kept the question neutral in tone, his brows slightly lifted.
“I can honestly say I don’t, but then again, it’s hardly my area of expertise. It means as little to me as it does to you.” Reichert rubbed his jaw. “However, once I pass it on, it will be sent to one of our experts who decipher these changing patterns.”
“Experts?”
Gage’s smile was guarded. “The Crown employs a few individuals who have an uncanny knack for numbers, their unique abilities conducive to being able to pick up the sequences much easier than you or I ever could. Missives like this are sent to them, then decoded and returned.”