“I don’t want any more brandy,” he said.
“It’s not for you.” She took a swig, then faced him defiantly. “And that should be your first clue. I am not the fine lady you apparently think I am.”
“I was already getting that impression from the whole knife-in-the-reticule thing,” he said dryly. “And your not being a ‘fine lady’ is precisely what appeals to me.”
“Really? So it wouldn’t bother you at all to hear that I’m an orphan, left at the Foundling Hospital by who knows whom? That I don’t know the exact date of my birth or where I came from or who my parents are? That they might well have been criminals or madmen?”
“I don’t care,” he said as he rose from the settee.
“You haven’t heard all of it. Before I met my husband, I served as a lady’s maid in a merchant’s household in Edinburgh. I used to be a servant, Quinn.”
Eyes blazing, Quinn walked toward her. “I don’t bloody well care.”
“No? You will when you hear the rest of it.” She gulped more brandy, just for emphasis. “I am a disgraced servant, dismissed from my post.”
That seemed to give him pause. “Does Fulkham know?”
She nodded. “He was there when it happened.”
Quinn searched her face. “Tell me all of it.”
Her throat tightened and she turned away, afraid to see the look on his face when she revealed the rest. She shouldn’t tell him all her secrets; Gregory wouldn’t approve.
But she was tired of the secrecy. “Gregory was in Scotland to meet some dignitary when he happened to attend a party thrown by my employer. One of the male guests caught me alone and attempted to have his way with me. Gregory stepped in to prevent it.”
“As well he should have. I hope he broke the fellow’s nose.”
Quinn’s fierceness startled her, then warmed her. “Most men would blame me for what happened, not the man.”
“As you said, I am not your typical Englishman. And clearly, neither is Fulkham.”
That brought a brief smile to her lips. “True. He defended me to my employer when the guest claimed I’d tried to seduce him. Sadly, my employer didn’t care who was at fault. He dismissed me without a reference for making trouble involving two of his prominent guests.”
“Bastard,” Quinn muttered.
Heartened by his response, she faced him. “Indeed. Edinburgh was so small a community that I would never have found another respectable position if Gregory hadn’t offered to find me one.”
A cloud descended over Quinn’s features. “As what?”
“Not what you’re thinking, apparently. Gregory wanted me to serve as a lady’s maid to a new English colonel’s wife, who was moving to Gibraltar, where her husband was to be the commanding officer of the regiment.” She swallowed. “Gregory wanted me to . . . er . . . report to him about the officers who came in and out of their house.”
Quinn blinked. “You were Fulkham’s spy?”
“Not were.” She steadied her shoulders. Gregory would never forgive her, but how else could she make Quinn see how hopeless this was? “Am. I’m his spy still. He saved my life that day. If he hadn’t stepped in, you know perfectly well what would have happened to me—either that night or later, after I lost my position.”
She could see in his face that he did know. Such women invariably ended up as kept women . . . or worse. No one would hire a servant dismissed for lewd behavior. “So in exchange I . . . ‘do his bidding,’ as you put it.”
Quinn gaped at her. “That’s why you canceled our engagement tonight?”
“Yes. Gregory wanted me to observe a foreign princess at a ball and report back to him.” She scowled. “I was none too happy about it, either. I was looking forward to that exhibit.” She flashed him a soft smile. “To seeing you.”
For some reason, that sparked Quinn’s temper, for he glared at her. “Then why didn’t you just tell Fulkham that? For that matter, why do you insist on keeping our relationship secret?”
“Because I know nothing can come of this . . . this thing between us!” she said, exasperated that it wasn’t perfectly clear to him by now. “First of all, I have an obligation to Gregory that I must repay—”
“Does he say that?”
That stopped her in her tracks. “Well, no. But neither has he said I could stop anytime I want. And if he needs me to continue, I could never do it as . . . as your wife.”
“True,” he said baldly, confirming all her fears. “I could not worry that every time I have guests, my wife is trying to elicit their secrets.”
“Exactly,” she choked out. “And I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to live that way myself. I want . . .” She halted before she could admit just how much she wanted what a life with him could offer.
“What do you want? To be his spy forever?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “No. But I . . . I . . .”
“Then tell him. Because I want a wife who can be happy with me. And I gather that you would be, if not for him.”
It was true, but Quinn didn’t know how difficult it was to tell Gregory anything. Gregory always thought he knew best. He didn’t listen. Besides . . . “It’s not just Gregory that’s a problem,” she said. “You’re rich and important and well-respected in society. And I’m probably some by-blow, whose background is murky at best.”
Her vehemence seemed to give him pause. “That didn’t keep you from marrying John Vyse.”
“No, he was a poor soldier, and also a spy for Gregory during his posting in Gibraltar. That’s how we met. Indeed, we married because of some scheme involving army officers that Gregory had John investigating, which required John to be married.”
She forced a smile. “John liked me well enough, and he fancied the danger of spying. I had no hope of ever marrying anyone else. John knew his work would be more difficult with any other sort of wife, and Gregory had offered us a nice annuity, so . . .” Bitterness had crept into her voice without her realizing it.
“Anyway,” she went on, “it was a practical arrangement. But I could never relax and settle into marriage with John. I was too busy fretting over when he would end up dead. When it finally happened, it was almost a relief. I felt as if I’d been living on a tightrope for years and could get off at last.”
“Except that you couldn’t, really,” Quinn said softly. “Because you’re still working for Fulkham.”
Wincing, she chided herself for being so disloyal as to imply her benefactor was unfairly using her. Even if sometimes she felt that way.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t do the same dangerous kind of work I did before. Just some . . . social events here and there where I keep my eyes and ears open. It’s not like when John and I pretended to be selling British secrets so we could unmask a traitor, or—”
“Good God!” Quinn threaded his fingers through his hair. “I had no idea that Fulkham was so devious as to use you and his own brother in such a manner.”
“He has to be devious, in his position. And to be honest, I think he and John rather enjoyed all the sly machinations and secrets.” She scowled. “I tolerated them at first, but I hate them now. Indeed, that’s what I love about you. You’re exactly what you seem—a decent man devoid of schemes.”
An odd expression crossed his face but was gone so quickly she was sure she imagined it. “Then you should marry me. Get out of spying completely.”
She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Haven’t you been listening, Quinn? You and I are from different worlds. If we married and anyone found out who I really was, it would ruin your family. Why, your mother is the daughter of a count!”
He burst into laughter. “My mother is a former opera dancer, darling.”
She gaped at him. “But . . . but that’s not what I heard.”
“And I heard you were the daughter of an army captain. But Fulkham isn’t the only one who can spin a good tale on behalf of someone he cares about.” He walked up to take her in his arm
s. “My father met my mother when he saw her in an opera in Madrid. And I hope I can trust your discretion about that, since no one other than my parents and I know the truth about her.”
That completely flummoxed her. “Still, the fact that your family have kept it secret proves that you are all concerned about appearances.”
“As are you and Fulkham,” Quinn pointed out as he clasped her head so he could scatter kisses over her brow, her cheek, her ear, making her ache for more. “Neither of you have ever revealed your past. We all have secrets, dearest.”
“Yes, but . . . but your father might disinherit you for marrying a woman so far beneath you.”
“He’d better not, given his own tendencies,” he whispered in her ear. “But he wouldn’t. I come from a family of men who follow their hearts.” He pressed her hand against his chest so she could feel the frenzied thudding there. “Nothing you say will prevent me from following mine.”
He’d never spoken of his heart before. It made her yearn and burn and want what she knew she shouldn’t—Quinn . . . and everything he represented: a happy, regular life where she didn’t have to creep around like a ghost at parties and worry about being caught—or having her husband caught. Where the only secrets she had to keep were her own. And his, of course.
What if she could have a regular life with him? Wouldn’t that be worth whatever difficulties there might be? If he didn’t care about her past, should she?
As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he kissed her mouth. Hard. Brazenly. Thoroughly. And as always, her bones turned to jelly. His hands moved over her neck and shoulders, stroking a curve here, a sensitive expanse of skin there, setting her aflame with each caress.
The heat from the fireplace was nothing compared to the heat from his hands. It was all she could do not to strip her clothes off and let him have his way with her right there. The man had a decided talent for temptation.
Oh, what if she could have a regular life with this as part of it? Him taking her in his arms and making her feel special for reasons beyond the information she could glean.
Did she dare try? And if she did, would Gregory ever forgive her?
“I want to make love to you,” Quinn whispered. “Here. Now. I want to show you how it could be between us.”
A thrill coursed through her. “Are you sure? You’re hurt.”
His laugh was free and full. “I’d walk through the fires of hell to have you, my darling. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
She was beginning to. And the thought of it made her as giddy as a child in a sweets shop. “Then take whatever you want of me,” she said, looping her arms about his neck. “Just make sure you lock the door first.”
Three
Quinn strode for the parlor door with his blood aflame. He burned to make her his, to have her in his bed, his arms, his life, at last.
If she would let him make love to her, surely she would agree to marry him. She’d already admitted that she was attracted to him, that she preferred him to Fulkham because . . .
You’re exactly what you seem—a decent man devoid of schemes.
Hell and be damned. Well, she’d never find out about his foolish plan if he kept quiet about it. His servant was entirely loyal to him.
As he turned the key in the lock, he thrust those small misgivings aside and headed back to her. Then he froze. She had her skirts hitched up to her waist and was unfastening her drawers.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he approached her.
Two bright spots of red stained her cheeks. “I thought we were . . . I mean—”
“We are.” He gently tugged her skirts from her hands. “But I’m not going to toss up your skirts and ravish you like some doxy. I’ve been waiting months for this.” His voice thickened. “I want to undress you, to see you laid bare one delectable piece at a time.”
He took her hair down, and the rich cascade of golden curls nearly brought him to his knees. Twining a hank of it around his hand, he took in her scent, which mingled soap and almonds in heady measures. God, how he loved the smell of her.
Turning her around, he unbuttoned her gown and slid it off, then went to work on her petticoats. “I want to kiss and caress every part, taste every part. I mean to take my time making love to you.” I mean to convince you that marriage to me will have benefits you haven’t yet fathomed.
If he could hold out that long. His cock was already as hard as the fireplace poker.
He ran his hand down the soft contours of her bared arms, and she trembled. “I thought men . . . liked this to be quick.”
“Some men, I suppose.” Smoothing her hair away from her neck, he kissed the nape, exulting when her breath sped up. “Why? Was your husband like that?”
“John was always in a . . . hurry with everything. It was in his nature.”
“Well, it’s not in mine,” he said, praying that he could make good on that just now. “Anticipation is part of the pleasure.”
He undid her corset and slipped it off before filling his hands with her ample breasts through her shift. She gasped, then pressed into his caress. As he thumbed her nipples, they hardened into cherry stones, making him hunger to do more than just touch them.
Drawing her around to face him, he removed her shift so he could see what he’d been caressing. A blush spread down her chest as he surveyed her bounty. His mouth went dry. Her breasts were heavy, topped with luscious, shell-pink nipples he wanted to lick and nibble and suck.
So he did, bending to take one breast in his mouth as he fondled the other with his hand.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, leaning into him. “You do that . . . very well.” She clutched his head to her chest, and he obliged her by laving and kneading her until he had her panting.
When she reached down to unbutton his trousers, he not only let her but shrugged them off, then went to work on removing her drawers.
In his haste, he knotted them, and she murmured, “Let me.”
He stood back to watch as she deftly undid them, then dropped them to the floor, revealing the most perfect mound of Venus he’d ever seen—thickly veiled by blond curls he couldn’t wait to delve beneath.
“God have mercy on me,” he choked out as he scanned every inch of her gorgeous female form.
Her eyes went wide. Then she flashed him her Mona Lisa smile—part seductress, part Madonna. “God may. But I won’t.”
In that moment, his control broke. He half pulled, half dragged her to a table so he could lift her onto it and fall upon her like a wolf upon a feast. As she ran her fingers over his shoulders and chest, he indulged his need to stroke and fondle and generally lay waste to the glory that was Meriel naked.
But when he knelt to worship her with his mouth, she put her hand on his head. “What . . . are you doing?”
He gazed up at her. Had her husband really been such a fool? “I told you—I mean to taste every part of you.”
“Oh.”
With his fingers, he burrowed through her pretty curls to the luscious flesh he wanted to devour, then flicked his tongue over it.
“Oh my,” she gasped.
When her fingernails dug into his scalp, he glanced up at her. “Shall I continue?”
“Yes. Oh my word, yes.”
So he did.
Meriel had never imagined such a thing, but she was more than willing to learn of it. To relish it. Because her dear Quinn used his tongue quite deftly.
Heavens! Her heart pounded in her chest, in her blood, and even in the part of her he was sucking and stroking with his tongue. “You are . . . very good at this . . . too.”
He chuckled against her and went on until he had her shimmying on the table, inching closer and closer to that frustrating point where things had always ended with John.
But Quinn went past that. Within moments he was driving her toward the heavens . . . up and up and up until she shattered in a delicious explosion beyond all her experience.
“Quinn!” she cried a
s her body quaked beneath his expert mouth. “Good Lord!”
As she was reeling from the burst of wild satisfaction, he rose to shuck his drawers. She got only a glimpse of his magnificent, surprisingly large staff before he murmured, “My turn, love,” and entered her with a thrust that lifted her up off the table, burying him to the hilt inside her.
And she was rapt once more.
He was so strong, much stronger than she would have imagined. The feeling of having him joined to her was exquisite.
“You are . . . everything I dreamed,” he rasped against her ear. “More than what I dreamed.”
He began to drive into her in a slow dance that warmed her again, roused her again. Lord, but she hadn’t guessed that was possible. “We should have . . . done this a long . . . time ago,” she said. “I had no idea . . .”
“I knew.” His black eyes smoldered—coals igniting her heat—and his gaze felt even more intimate than the fullness of him inside her. “I always knew it would be you.”
The words, so like a vow, thundered in her ears as he increased his strokes until she felt that wonderful building of tension between her legs again, felt him engulfing her with his body, making her want . . . so much . . . for this to last forever.
For them to be together forever.
Even as she thought it, he drove deeply and let out a triumphant cry that sent her right over the edge again into ecstasy.
And as they stood clutching each other, she realized that this intimacy was what she’d been waiting all her life for. He was the only man who didn’t demand anything of her but that she be herself. He was always himself with her, and all he asked was that she be the same.
Tears rose to her eyes. How was she to give him up? She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
He kissed her hair and temple and cheeks, but when his lips moved over her eyelids, he paused. “Why are you crying?”
She managed a watery smile. “Because it was perfect. And perfect things always make me cry.”
“Then I damned well should be crying buckets,” he rasped. “Because I’ve never met anyone more perfect than you.”
A Talent for Temptation: A Sinful Suitors Novella Page 3