Wicked As Sin

by Jillian Hunter

  Her body did. “I’m going to die if we are caught.”

  “I’ll die if I can’t have you.” He lifted his knee between her legs, his hand gliding into the damp hollow above her thighs. She sank back against the tasseled bolster, releasing his wrist to touch the lower buttons of his waistcoat.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re not undressing me, are you?”

  “Goodness, no. It’s all illusion.”

  Gabriel cast a smoky glance over her relaxed figure. The tips of her beautiful breasts peeked out darkly from the edge of her bodice. He felt his blood smolder, his heart pound, as he watched her sensual awakening. She had closed her eyes, but her body responded to his lightest caress. His fingers skimmed the silky hairs of her sex, deliberately not touching the pouting flesh below that so tempted him. Her belly muscles shivered.

  “The rules of this game, Gabriel?” she murmured, moistening her lips with her tongue.

  He lifted her dress all the way to her waist.

  “I usually make them up as I go.”

  She vented a sigh. “I thought so.”

  “You may do the same. Open your eyes.”

  She obeyed.

  He eased his thumb over her taut pearl, teasing it in lazy circles until her breathing grew ragged, her eyes glazed. When he sensed that her body could no longer bear the tension, he drove his fingers deep into her glistening sheath. Her low whimper of arousal sharpened his insatiable hunger for her. The sweet essence that seeped from her delicate sex tempted his appetite like ambrosia.

  She caught the edge of her lip in her teeth. Her dusky nipples elongated. Her soft bottom lifted from the cushion, a sign that he knew meant she was near her peak. He leaned closer so he might savor the moment when she shattered. He pushed another finger inside her passage, leaned down, and licked her breasts. She took hold of his shirt and pulled it from his waistband. His shaft hardened in readiness for sex from the knobby head to the root. But if he had to wait until later for his release, he did not mind. Unraveling Alethea was the most potent aphrodisiac he could imagine.

  And he played to win.

  “Gabriel.” She groaned, tugging on the tail of his shirt. “I think this—game—”

  “Yes,” he murmured, restraining a smile.

  “I think you’re cheating at it.”

  He laughed easily. “Does it matter, if we both win?”

  She ran her hand down the fastenings of his fly. He clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt. A veil of lust blurred his vision. She was so close, so pulsing wet that he could have buried himself inside her and gratefully drawn his last breath. He quickened the movements of his fingers, drove inside her until her hips twisted.

  She gave another groan, then convulsed, her gaze unfocused, her hand nestled against his rampant cock. He shuddered as he felt her body ripple in pleasure, the spasms ebbing away. Slowly he withdrew his fingers from her pulsing flesh.

  He threw back his head, took several long breaths to bank the fire in his blood. “I win,” he whispered, “although my heart is hammering so hard—”

  She bolted upright. “That isn’t your heart, Gabriel. It’s the door.”

  He glanced around, unconcerned, “No it isn’t. And it’s locked—”

  “It isn’t coming from that door—it’s coming from over there—the fireplace—”

  Before she could point to indicate the narrow opening at the massive Gothic fireplace, Gabriel had pulled her bodice up, her dress down, and himself into his jacket and onto his feet. He had, however, forgotten to tuck the tail of his shirt back in, which he did at Alethea’s frantic gesturing.

  He had also forgotten that the marquess’s house was riddled with secret passageways and hidden escape routes that had been used more by the Boscastle children for trickery than for emergency purposes.

  It was trickery that he confronted now, in the figure of his dark-haired cousin Lord Drake Boscastle. “There you are, Gabriel,” Drake said pleasantly, dusting off his shoulder as he emerged from the gloomy aperture. “And Lady Alethea. I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure. How good to meet you.”

  She smiled politely, although her hands shook until she clasped them in her lap. “It is an honor, my lord.”

  “Why didn’t you knock?” Gabriel asked bluntly.

  “Actually, I did. But no one answered. You were playing Boscastle Trump?” he guessed, his smile bland.

  Alethea rose, not acknowledging the pleased grin that Gabriel sent her. “It was impolite of us to retire.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was impolite,” Drake said with a meaningful look at the bolster that had slipped off the chaise. “In fact, I rather detest these big affairs myself and always go off alone at the very first chance.”

  Gabriel cleared his throat. “Which is why you sneaked in here, because we are the better company?”

  Drake’s eyes glittered with good humor. “I came, actually, because your company is being sought by quite a few people at the party and I did not think either of you wished the inevitable conclusions to be drawn. I was running out of excuses for your sudden disappearance.”

  Alethea put her hand to her eyes. “Oh. I am mortified.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Drake said with a consoling smile. “The family is used to these…moments.”

  She lowered her hand. “My brother and aunt will be looking for me, too. I have to leave, Gabriel.”

  “Not by that door,” Drake said, placing his hand on her shoulder to guide her to the fireplace. “This way leads out into a private hallway that gives onto any number of rooms. It is no lie to claim you took a wrong turn.”

  She glanced wryly at Gabriel. “Indeed.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at her. “By tonight everything will be revealed.”

  He moved between her and Drake, staring into the darkened cavity. “She can’t go through that tunnel alone. It’s filthy and—”

  Drake held up his hand. “It’s all right. Weed is waiting to escort her.”

  Gabriel gave him a long, hard look. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  Drake smiled. “Well, it’s not as if I’ve never played Boscastle Trump myself.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Alethea studied the medieval Italian tapestries on the hallway wall for several minutes before she deemed it safe to venture forth. When she at last rejoined the majority of the guests in the garden, she discovered that she had not been missed at all.

  Her cousin had ventured off to greet old friends. Her brother and his sweetheart wove in and out alongside the other dancers on the sloping lawn. Gabriel had apparently rejoined the party.

  As Alethea was more in a mood for contemplation, she wandered through the overgrown garden and its private pathways guarded by strategically positioned classical statues.

  By tonight everything will be revealed.

  Gabriel had meant that their engagement would be announced. But the time had come for her own confession. How? How would she tell him? Had she waited too long?

  “Alethea?” a soft voice queried from behind a fountain statue of the Three Fates. “Are you alone? Do not turn around unless you are.”

  She halted on the gravel path and slowly pivoted to see an auburn-haired woman draped in white silk emerge from behind the fountain: Mrs. Audrey Watson, courtesan, celebrated hostess, and one of the most admired demimondaines in London. Alethea had not seen her since the night Audrey had sought to offer her a woman’s understanding of her anguish. It was an encounter so edged in pain that she had thought of it as little as possible.

  Indeed, Alethea cringed even now as flashes of memory from their conversation returned. Audrey had whisked her from the party in her carriage to a private room in her house on Bruton Street. She recalled how Audrey had given her a glass of wine and precious time to compose herself. In a burst of irrational emotion, Alethea had offered her services as a courtesan between salty tears and sips of Bordeaux.

  Audrey had merely smiled an
d allowed her another few minutes to calm down.

  “You are a lovely young woman, Alethea,” she’d said at last. “I have no doubt you could make a fine living as a whore.”

  “A—”

  “However,” Audrey added, “I do not think you are suited to my establishment. You’re simply too tragic. No man wishes to pay a fortune to romp with a miserable companion.”

  “I didn’t realize it mattered.”

  “Darling, you have been despoiled and disillusioned. The ladies who work for me do not view their occupation as a punishment. It is a privilege to be a professional courtesan.”

  “A privilege?” she asked faintly.

  “You’d have a certain freedom. If you end up marrying this cad of yours, you will share his bed and mistreatment for the rest of your life.”

  “Then what do I do?” she whispered. “What do I do now?”

  “You wait.”

  “For what?”

  “I have a feeling that this will resolve itself in time. How, I don’t know.”

  She’d bowed her head, embarrassed, uncertain. She had taken Audrey’s advice—and waited. Looking back, she realized how much it had helped to have a woman of experience listen to her.

  “Forgive me,” she said now, meeting Audrey’s guarded smile. “I don’t know—”

  “—me at all,” Audrey said with a warning shake of her head. “We are merely two ladies at a party who met by accident in the garden.”

  Alethea released her breath. “If the marquess has seen fit to invite you to his party, madam, I will not pretend to ignore you.”

  “Brave words,” Audrey said wryly. “Sedgecroft, however, is above reproach and has no need to please anyone but himself.” She examined Alethea with an expert glance. “It pleases me to see you looking far less tragic than the night we met. Is it true that you have captured the interest of Gabriel Boscastle?”

  The threat of approaching footsteps diverted Alethea’s immediate attention. She turned distractedly, continuing only when it appeared that the person had taken another of the garden’s myriad paths. “Sir Gabriel and I are neighbors,” she answered at length, suspecting that this reply would not deceive a woman of Mrs. Watson’s experience.

  Audrey laughed. “He’s the last man on earth I would have pegged for a country farmer.”

  “The country does have its charms,” Alethea said, her smile giving her away.

  “You being one of them,” Audrey said with a good-natured sigh. “I wish you both the very best. There was a time not long ago when I thought Gabriel would become a favorite visitor. I understand now what—who—has provoked his mysterious disappearance from our entertainments.”

  Alethea glanced around, lowering her voice. “You aren’t going to tell him? I’m not even sure that when I spoke to you that night I was in full possession of my senses. I’ve no idea what he would do if he learned the truth.”

  “I promised I would keep your confidence,” Audrey said softly. “I could hardly have built my reputation by divulging secrets.”

  “I hoped I could trust you.”

  Audrey looked at her in reproach. “There are precious few people in the world I trust. I am honored, however, to count the Boscastle family as my friends. I will not betray you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Audrey nodded graciously. “It might seem odd that a courtesan prides herself on discretion, but private affairs are my business.”

  “I understand,” Alethea murmured, although the mention of Gabriel’s past association with Mrs. Watson’s house had not escaped her attention. She doubted he had gone there to seek advice or solace—well, not solace of the emotional nature that Alethea had needed on that unhappy night. As accommodating as Mrs. Watson had made herself, it would please Alethea to no end if neither she nor Gabriel ever availed themselves of her expertise again.

  “I don’t know how to tell him,” she admitted.

  “Do you think the truth would alter his feelings?” Audrey said.

  “I am not—”

  “Hush.” Audrey turned abruptly to face the fountain. “Someone is coming. It would serve you well to ignore me until we are publicly introduced. Unless you choose not to make my acquaintance.”

  Alethea straightened. “I have learned, Mrs. Watson, that it is not the people Society most criticizes who deserve censure. I shall be honored to admit an acquaintance with you if we meet again.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Gabriel gazed down at the ground in a pose of amused reflection. He had gone straight to Alethea’s brother to tell him of his intention to marry Alethea, but the earl had been engaged in a flirtation of his own. Gabriel had decided to wait a half hour or so, accepting Drake’s offer to walk the garden. Naturally he had hoped to come upon Alethea. And he had. But not in a manner he expected.

  He was aware that Drake had heard as much of that damning conversation between Alethea and Mrs. Watson as he had. No doubt his cousin had come to the same inevitable, indeed, the only conclusion that a man could draw.

  The exchange, albeit brief, that had passed between Alethea and Mrs. Watson had cut him to the quick. It denoted a prior association, a furtive bond of more than casual acquaintance. He had studied enough skillfully masked facial expressions across countless card tables in his life to catch a marker.

  And if there had been a feeble hope in Gabriel’s heart that he had misinterpreted this communication, it was dashed by his cousin’s obvious attempt to ease the blow.

  “Well, my brother’s parties are an endless source of scandal and entertainment.”

  Gabriel shook his head. Beneath the sense of numbness, the pain intensified. “Don’t say another word. There’s no need for either of us to elaborate on what is obvious.”

  They began to stroll back toward the celebration in progress on the lawn. Neither man spoke for a while.

  “I don’t know that what we overheard necessarily implies any deception on Alethea’s part,” Drake said at length. “At least not of the depths you suspect.”

  “Do you hope to convince me she met Audrey Watson at a country dance?”

  “The more I think of it,” Drake continued, “there are a dozen possible explanations that do not denote any guilt on her part.”

  “I have the urge to hit someone, Drake. I would dearly love to commit homicide at this moment. Pray do not insult me further by asking me to deny what we both heard.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “If you were in my place, would you believe she was entirely innocent?” Gabriel asked in scorn.

  Drake shot him a guarded smile. “Probably not. But then again I’ve never been known to possess the most even temperament in the family.”

  Which was quite an understatement. Drake had been famous for the dark moods that his recent marriage appeared to have subdued if not conquered. He and Gabriel had, in fact, once quarreled often in a rivalry that had evolved into an unexpected camaraderie.

  “And to which Boscastle,” Gabriel mused aloud, “am I the most often compared?”

  Drake laughed in sympathy. “If you insist on fighting, we shall have to go to Jackson’s. Jane will have our heads if we ruin Grayson’s day.”

  A young man with a shock of yellow hair emerged from behind a hedge. His face brightened as he recognized the Boscastle cousins. “There you are, Gabriel. I’ve been hunting all over for you.”

  Gabriel frowned as another man—the twin, actually, of the intruder—appeared on the path. The Mortlock brothers, Ernest and Erwin, a pair of Society’s most visible embarrassments. Well-off, slender-boned, the innocent-looking duet ranked as steady participants in London’s most disreputable pastimes. Gabriel was frankly surprised no one had killed them off by now.

  “What do you want?” he asked coolly.

  “Well, my ugly half and I have just caught wind of a plump pigeon roosting in Piccadilly tonight. Hazard is his game, and he’s got cash to lose.”

  Drake sighed in disgust. “Did either of you get
a proper invite here today?”

  “Are you coming, Gabriel?” Erwin asked. “No one has seen you anywhere in almost a month.”

  Drake swore under his breath. “He’s played out. Go to the hells alone.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Gabriel sent him an insulting grin. “I haven’t even begun to play yet.”

  Drake stared at him. “How am I supposed to explain your absence to a certain lady when she asks where you have gone?”

  “She knows what I am.” Gabriel shrugged, walking backward a few steps. “I doubt she’ll be surprised when she discovers where I’ve chosen to spend the rest of the day.”

  He stared through the hedge that separated his path from the one that led to the fountain where Alethea stood. His chest grew tight as he looked at her.

  She pivoted without warning and glanced in Gabriel’s direction.

  He couldn’t imagine her in a brothel.

  But then again, until these past few weeks, he would never have imagined her nude and passionate in his arms, either.

  He closed his eyes. What an irony at his expense, to have worried that he would shame her.

  He’d reconciled himself to the unpalatable fact that she had loved someone else before him. And now—well, whatever the truth was, he had to know. He had never played the fool over a woman.

  It was probably too late to undo what he felt for her. But he’d damned well proceed with his eyes open.

  Chapter Thirty

  Alethea was nibbling a lemon-cheese tart and gossiping with Gabriel’s cousin Chloe, Viscountess Stratfield, and her sister-in-law Eloise, Lady Drake Boscastle, the former governess whose love had brought her wicked husband to heel. She was surprised at how warmly the Boscastle wives embraced her by sharing confidences. It made Alethea yearn for an understanding female besides Mrs. Watson to whom she could divulge her own burdensome secret. But it would make an ugly confession.

  And yet this appeared to be a family one could entrust with private affairs and candid admissions. She had the reassuring sense that whatever was spoken among these women would not be betrayed.