The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  He tried to lay her down on the newly cut pile of hay he found nearby, to complete the act of love they had begun on the imaginary beach.

  But it now became an underwater pool that they splashed down into. Billowing downwards toward the ocean floor, he filled her with his manhood, his essence, his seed. Over and over again, he revelled in her body, took and took, gave and gave. He poured all his soul into her, and still soared higher.

  And Viola was right there with him, whispering urgent words of love. Just when he was sure he would explode and his whole body would splinter apart into tiny shards of sharp desire, her lips parted with a sigh, and she smiled up at him beatifically.

  He touched and kissed every part of Viola until he couldn’t even be sure which flesh was his, which hers. Her breasts, with their tightly ruched pink nipples, her delightful feminine core, thatched with tiny silky blonde curls, her slender hips and thighs...

  It was all his, and not his. For even as he possessed Viola, dark, sinister claws snapped and grabbed, snatching her away. The pleasure was still so hot and heavy in his loins he could feel himself exploding, both in the dream and his semi-conscious state as he rotated his hips in the bed.

  As he climaxed, a wall of flames separated he and Viola at once. He saw Philip staked as though at a bear-baiting. Only he was not the bear. And it was not a ring for blood sports, but an auto da fe.

  The Grand Inquisitor gradually brought several more men to the stake. They were naked and bloodied, and hooded in black. Alistair tried to make out their faces, anything about their movement that would betray their identity. They were both strange and familiar to him.

  Of course, in most cases one never saw one’s acquaintances naked. But Alistair knew Philip was dead. Killed in the dreadful fire, he and his wife and children. There had to be something in this dream which could help him save all the others lined up for death.

  The first two men were lashed mercilessly by a huge figure that looked as though he were made of icicles. Something about his face was eerily familiar.

  Then another group of about a dozen or so men were dragged in kicking and screaming, and the hanging, drawing and quartering of them began. Alistair looked at them one by one, and could have sworn...

  Philip and the other two men were tied to the stake, and now the timber underneath their feet was set alight.

  Alistair could hear himself screaming along with the rest of the crowd. Instead of their words of encouragement, he was howling in denial. "Philip, no! Philip! Help me save him!"

  He felt Viola’s touch on his naked body, making him burn with urgent need. But this was wrong. How could he be happy when these poor men were all about to die because of him? No, not him, but how could he help?

  He turned into the circle of Viola’s arms and wept. He could feel George’s presence beside her, and couldn’t decide if he was there to help or harm. But he had saved Sebastian, and brought Viola just when he had been on the brink of death to save him.

  "I love you Alistair, no matter what..." she whispered, caressing him as though he were a god. His face, chest, loins flamed, and he could almost feel himself pushing into her lush cavern once more, longing to lose himself inside her, make it all go away. It was so tempting to just love her until his heart gave out...

  Until his body was at last replete, though he was sure a lifetime inside her rippling flesh could never be enough to quench his ardour.

  The three men at the stake were now struggling to escape from the bonfire.

  "Come, love, come with me," Viola urged softly, her voice a sibilant hiss of seduction.

  "I can’t just leave them there!"

  "We won’t. We need to save them. Or none of us are safe."

  The dozen or so men in the second group were now no more than grinning skeletons. The masks of the two mysterious men had now burnt away, revealing...

  Alistair screamed until his throat was raw. Viola clamped her hand over his mouth to stop him rousing the entire brothel.

  "It’s all right, Alistair, I’m here!"

  "Oh my God!" Alistair said, still trembling with the horror of what he had seen, and desire for the lovely young girl.

  He clutched her to him convulsively, feeling her warm solid flesh, the bed, the sheets made sticky with his flood of desire.

  He thought he heard thunder again, but it was only the hammering of his own heart.

  "What was it? You have to tell me. You’ve had this nightmare before, haven't you," Viola murmured against his ear as she cradled him to her bosom.

  "Yes, yes, I have. But it’s too awful and it always ends the same..." He shivered and shuddered.

  "How does it end? Alistair, tell me!" she urged.

  "With all of us dead. All my friends, you, George, Sebastian, everyone."

  She shook her head and pulled away from him. "I don’t understand. You never met any of us before tonight, or so you claimed. But you’ve had this nightmare before?"

  Alistair held out one hand to her beseechingly. "Please, I know what it sounds like, but I swear, I’ve never lied to you, Viola. I’ve been having this dream for some time now. Well, ever since I was given Gribbens’ case, so far as I can tell."

  He sat up against the wall and adjusted the covers, his long legs peeping out over the edge of the bed. He plumped a pillow behind his back, and patted the bed softly.

  Seeing as it was cold and he was still so distressed, she took him up on his offer and sat beside him. He adjusted the covers over them both, settled her with a pillow, and sighed. She took the sleeve of her nightrail and mopped his soaking face with it.

  "Better now, or would you like some water or something?"

  "No, what I’d really like is you to listen to me, and try not to judge me, hate me."

  "Hate you?" Viola asked in alarm.

  "Well, it’s just that there are some fairly, er, risque parts to the dream which I will try to gloss over, but feature you, Viola. I’m sorry if—"

  She shook her head. "Never mind that. You’ve spent far too much time concerning yourself over protecting my virtue. This is my life and yours we’re talking about, isn’t it? I’m no fool. I know what happened to you before, and just now in the bed. More than once in fact."

  She reached over to the top of the bed, and handed him her still damp towel which she had brought up after her ablutions.

  "Here, try to tidy yourself and bit, and I’ll fetch you some water."

  "God, I feel worse than any school boy. Please believe me when I say I’ve never been like this in my life. Passion has never been a problem for me until now. Nothing I couldn’t control. But ever since these dreams—" He shook his head.

  "I can only guess you’ve been, er, deprived recently. It’s only natural. I can’t blame you for that, or your honesty. Better than sweeping things under the carpet."

  "But you’ve not done anything to deserve my, well, depravity," he said with a blush.

  "Er, desire, I think is the word you’re looking for. And I’m not disgusted. Far from it. I’m rather flattered. I’ll confide something else to you as well," she said as she returned to the bed with the glass and settled herself more comfortably whilst he finished cleaning himself and the bed as best he could.

  "You were right about my fiance. He was a fortune hunter, and a most repellent individual. He kissed me and tried to quiddle his cod. I was literally ill for days afterwards he disgusted me so. You, on the other hand, made feel like... Well, like I knew I was being given the best gift in the world on Christmas morning, and couldn’t wait to unwrap it."

  Alistair laughed shakily. "What a nice comparison. I only wish it were true. But since I came here I’ve done nothing but tiddle you and put you in danger. I should go, before I make things any worse."

  "Any worse? Or are you afraid you’re going to act on your desires? Re-enact the dream?" she guessed astutely.

  "Both." He shivered. "My God, I can already feel myself getting hard again."

  Viola giggled. "It must be som
e dream. Care to share?"

  "You’re some woman. That’s my only excuse."

  "It’s all right. I find you some man. Every inch of you."

  He sucked in a ragged breath. "Oh, don’t, stop, I think I’m going to—"

  Despite herself, Viola’s curiosity got the better of her, and she slid her hand under the quilt and nestled it against his throbbing flesh.

  He jumped and groaned, and trembled like a newborn colt. "Oh, your touch is just perfect. Damn—"

  She felt a flood of wetness in her palm and all over her fingers and wrist, and looped her arm around his shoulder to hold him against her shoulder until at last he calmed.

  "Lord in Heaven. What an ass I am. And a pretty feeble excuse for a man," he grunted as he started to mop them both up.

  "It depends on the perspective. Most of the girls here would say you were the ideal client, easily pleased."

  "But not the ideal lover who wants to make love to you all night until you’re limp with fulfillment. Until your boneless from so many climaxes you can’t even sit up. And then I’d take you higher again."

  She shivered at his words, and said challengingly, "Most men wouldn’t give a damn about satisfying a harlot."

  "You’re not a harlot," he said angrily. "You’re a human being. And I don’t want to be just any client, damn it. I want to be, well, your man. Exclusively. For always. That’s how much I want you." His voice trembled as he said it, and he wondered at his own audacity in making such an open declaration of his feelings, especially to a lady of the evening.

  To his surprise and not a little annoyance, she giggled. "I hope you’re not going to be one of my clients either." She paused for a moment, then added, "You’d looked damned silly in a dress."

  "A dress?" he said blankly.

  She nodded. "This room is in the attic away from all the others for a reason. Well, two. To keep me safe, and because the only clients I have are the girls themselves. And no, we’re not sapphists, if that’s what you’re thinking. No, I sew for them. I make a living as a dressmaker, not a whore."

  "A dressmaker," he repeated, never having felt so relieved in his life.

  "Aye. And while I’m not naive, not after living here, well, nor have I ever had any, er, hands-on experience apart from what I just conveyed to you about my former fiance, and what happened in the kitchen before, and what we did just now. I just thought you ought to know."

  "And you ought to get out of this bed if you want to stay that way," he growled, acutely embarrassed, relieved, and shocked all at the same time.

  "I’m not afraid of you, Alistair. Your desires and mine seem to coincide very nicely. Oh, I know this is all very sudden, but one kiss was enough to tell me how special you are to me.

  "But we can talk about this later. Right now, if you feel up to it, I need you to tell me your dream. You can skip over the really detailed naughty bits, but you need to help me understand what’s spooked you so."

  So he told her. Nearly all of it. He lacked the words to describe the intensity of his passion for her. Even then Alistair shocked himself by speaking so openly of something which was normally never discussed aloud, at least not by him. But he omitted nothing.

  "But what did you see at the end?" she asked with a shiver.

  "I don’t know. The end of my world is the only way to describe it."

  "Who are the two men? Would you recognise any of them again?" she asked, her gaze never once leaving his face.

  "I can’t be sure. I don’t know. I wish I could. I’d like nothing better than to go back and have the dream, try to find out more. Each time it changes. I find another piece to the puzzle. A face, a smell. But I’m almost too scared to try. All I know is I’m sure we’re all in danger. Perhaps I ought to go."

  She shook her head vehemently. "You heard what George said. You’d be lucky to last a day on your own."

  Alistair sighed. "And the fires have pretty much made it so I really wouldn’t dare try to seek any help from my closest friends for fear of the same thing happening to them."

  "It certainly looks that way."

  "But if they know anything about you and Sebastian, it’s only a matter of time before they come here, come for me or us all."

  She nodded. "They can try. But you’ve seen George’s arsenal. Would you really want to go up against him if you were given a choice?"

  Alistair thought for a moment, then shook his head. "You’re right. No, I wouldn’t."

  "Still, we haven’t much time."

  He stared at her in surprise. "What makes you say that?"

  She shrugged. "It stands to reason. They killed Gribbens the night before his trial. Whatever he thought he knew, they silenced him."

  "I still don’t understand about Sebastian," Alistair confessed.

  "Neither do I. But let’s pull back for a moment. Distance ourselves for the time being, not try so hard. It’s going to be dawn in a couple of hours. Why don’t we just get up and dressed, and then go over it all again, and see what we can figure out thus far."

  "All right. I think your instincts are correct, that it's best to be getting on. You’re right. I saw a sundial on your gown in the dream. A symbol of time being fleeting, so you're most likely right, we’re running out of time."

  "I’ll go down and get you some spare clothes. George won’t mind. And then some coffee."

  He nodded, but she could sense his reluctance to part from her. She softly kissed him on the cheek. "Don’t worry. I’m not afraid or disgusted by you. I’ll be back. And I promise not to be long."

  "So long as you’re all right."

  "Yes, of course. I’m not offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. Scared too, though. I mean, it’s all so, well, stirring and intense. But it’s you I’m concerned about, Alistair. Are you sure you’re—"

  He nodded. "I’m fine. It was only a dream. I can manage to get a grip on my feelings if I try hard enough. Nothing to worry about," he said with a shaky laugh, and prayed with all his heart that it would be true.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Once they had both got dressed, they tucked into the toast and coffee she had brought. Alistair and Viola sat side by side at her small table and made notes about all that had happened thus far.

  "So Gribbens is the key to it all. Nothing started happening until you were given the case by the Bow Street magistrates who arrested him?" Viola outlined.

  "Yes."

  "And it was theft, he made no excuses, but his story made no sense?"

  "That’s right. Philip pointed it out to me. He wanted to be arrested, and there were glaring inconsistencies, even about what he had supposedly taken."

  "So let’s just speculate for a moment. The thing he took wasn’t of real value, but something incriminating. A tool for blackmail?"

  Alistair thought for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe."

  "Or maybe he didn’t steal anything. Perhaps he was killed because he stumbled onto something so big that they had to get rid of him. But what? And why kill my brother too?" Viola asked, worrying her sultry lower lip between her pearly teeth.

  "Because they feared he also knew too much."

  "And even more importantly, who had the power to make all of them disappear?"

  Alistair paused to consider for a moment. "And even more odd," he said, a curious expression on his face, "they didn’t have that much evidence against Gribbens, but he didn’t do anything to help himself. It’s like he wanted to go to trial, and be found guilty."

  "Aye, that is odd. Most of the time the lags swear blind that they're innocent."

  "True. And it makes no sense in other ways too. His crime was minor compared to a lot of the other thefts, yet he didn’t even try to excuse himself or cover up. We could most likely have made some sort of deal. But he kept on lying and making things more confusing. It made him look like some sort of hardened criminal."

  "It doesn’t sound very clear at all, though. I mean, he must have known the value of the property would bring with it a capi
tal sentence. What could be so important that he would be willing to die for it?"

  Yet as he looked at Viola, he thought perhaps he could understand after all. "There is one question you didn’t ask. Who did he steal from?"

  "I assumed his employer. You told me he was a footman."

  Alistair nodded. "That’s right. Lord Harrowby’s footman."

  Viola's eyes widened. "The head of the government’s Privy Council? Hmm, interesting. That would certainly fit in with the blackmail theory."

  "It would indeed. But what could be so important? I mean, a sexual peccadillo apart from sodomy wouldn’t really rate such a massive conspiracy to get rid of everyone who had ever had contact with Gribbens or myself, would it?"