A Most Indecent Gentleman

by Bronwyn Scott

  “I want you, too,” she replied softly. Why fight the attraction any longer? Maybe fighting it only made it worse.

  “Then show me.”

  She understood. He would not disrobe her. She was to do this as an act of mutual consent. There would be no grounds on which she could cry foul play in the morning. He wanted her to come to him on her own terms.

  Cassandra started with the drawstring on her blouse, pulling it loose slowly before slipping it over her head, well aware of how the motion drew her chemise tight across her breasts. Her own arousal heightened. There was something consciously erotic about undressing in front of someone. Jocelyn was affected, too. His eyes darkened as she dropped her skirt, taking in just how little her remaining undergarments hid.

  “You can feel what I can see, can’t you?” Jocelyn purred, finally coming to her. His hands rested at her waist. “I can see the tautness of your nipples, but you can feel them straining and full against the cloth of your chemise, you can feel them wanting my mouth.” His description acted as an aphrodisiac.

  “You should have been a poet with the things you can do to words,” Cassandra murmured. His hands cupped her breasts, lifting them beneath the chemise, his thumbs rubbing across their tips, the fabric creating an irresistible friction.

  “I am a poet.” Jocelyn chuckled, his teeth nipping at her ear.

  “Oh, yes, I quite forgot. ‘Nick the Prick, Part Deux.’” She laughed, her brain forcing itself to engage once more in the effort of speech.

  “Not quite my finest effort. I had to give the boys something.” He lifted the chemise over her head, ridding them of the last piece of clothing either had on.

  No, Cassandra thought. His finest efforts he’d saved for the women, she was sure of it. If he talked like this, stringing one erotic thought together after another, a woman would be prostrate with need before he even touched her. His next words confirmed it, a most sensual command, if she’d ever heard one.

  “Lie down on the bed for me.”

  She did as she was told, watching as he levered his body above hers. His hands met her bare skin, warm and inviting as they cupped her breasts once more, this time without any barrier between them. His lips were on the move, kissing her mouth, her throat, each breast in turn, working their way down to press a kiss at her navel. He paused and looked up at her before moving on. “May I pleasure you with my mouth?”

  “Yes, please,” she rasped.

  The moment his mouth reached her mons, she knew this new pleasure was the most wicked of them all. To have a man’s head placed just so between one’s legs made her feel both powerful and vulnerable all at once. The flick of his tongue across her hidden nub sent a shot of white heat through her, again and again until all she could do was moan. She thought briefly lightning must feel like this, so thorough, so focused in its intensity. She bucked hard against him, but his hands held her hips firm, a tantalizing prison while he helped himself to her pleasure. At last, he gave her release, letting the pleasure sweep her while he covered her in full, his arms taking his weight as he let the first wave claim her.

  It would have been enough, but this release, she discovered, was merely an illusion, a temporary effect. There was more to come and she welcomed it. Her thighs parted for him, letting him settle at her cradle, urging his phallus to seek her entrance. His hand reached between them, momentarily taking his phallus into his hand and stalling its progress before unerringly guiding it back. “We have to keep you safe,” Jocelyn explained the brief interruption, dropping a kiss at her throat.

  There was a gentle push, then a hard thrust and he was in, sheathed at the core of her, her body stretching about him, welcoming his presence. He began to move, and she joined him, creating a dance between them as they’d done at the bonfire; rocking and thrusting, entering and withdrawing, her hips rising to meet him, her body wanting to keep him close as each repetition brought the culmination of pleasure nearer.

  His body felt it, too, his breath coming harsh and ragged as the pleasure closed in on them, his thrusts shorter and harder until at last he pushed them both over the edge. She clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as they fell into the whirlpool of release, crashing into it frantically at first as the initial waves buffeted them and then slowly, gradually, floating until the thunder of pleasure waves had become a gentle lapping against sated shores. This indeed was a whole other world. How would she ever come back from it?

  Chapter Ten

  He’d slept with the enemy. How did one come back from something like that? His efforts to scare Cassandra Burroughs off had only escalated her resolve and they’d dared one another right into bed. Not that it hadn’t been pleasant. It most certainly had been, and more. He could not recall the last time sex had been so fulfilling.

  Jocelyn stretched and moved his arm out from under her, trying not to wake her. Channing would be laughing his head off. Maybe. He couldn’t decide if this was a good turn of events or bad. For Channing’s sake, he had her confession. She’d been sent by her uncle for the purpose Channing suspected. For his own sake, he had confirmation that she’d genuinely wanted him. Whatever other agendas were at work, her passion had been very real. As was his, and nothing could come of it other than perhaps a few more furtive joinings. This could be nothing more than a brief affair at best. Their game would end soon. Indeed, it was almost over now. He had what he came for, no pun intended on his part, he thought. He also had a little more and that was where the difficulty and disappointment lay.

  Two things were clear to him in the aftermath of their lovemaking: first, her randy vicar had been a poor lover. She had not known such release was possible. He’d seen in it in her face as it claimed her, and heard it in her voice. Such raw surprise could not be feigned. Jocelyn felt a small glow of pride in knowing he’d been the first to give her such an intense climax. The second was that while the completion of her desire had been very new to her, it had been new to him as well.

  Yes, he’d had orgasms before, lots of them. Men always did. But nothing this profound. It unnerved him as much as the sentiments that followed the physical act. He was plagued with the problem of what to do now. If he told her about the league, he’d be betraying Channing and the others to horrible scandal. If he didn’t, she’d go back to her uncle utterly ruined and nothing to show for it. He understood all too well the penalties she was facing for her social violations.

  He was her last chance at redemption, but that redemption required a betrayal he couldn’t give her. He could not give up the league. He and Channing had worked far too hard for it years ago when it had started. But he was not willing to give her up to certain ruin, either. She deserved better than that. He couldn’t save them both. Unless. An idea came to him. He’d been working this problem the wrong way when he’d assumed that for him to win she had to lose. Ah, clarity at last, something else orgasms were good for.

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead, “Wake up, Cassandra, wake up, sleepyhead.” Morning was nearly upon them with its first rays. They could stay abed and talk for a while, but then they would need to make haste back to town.

  Cassandra stirred and gave him a sleepy smile. “Morning? Already?”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun.” He intended to have a little more fun after their conversation, but first they needed to talk. “I’ve decided to tell you about the league.”

  “No, you don’t have to.” Cassandra sat up hastily, shaking her tousled head, a wild tangle of red flame. “Please, don’t.”

  “If I don’t, you’ll have nothing to tell your uncle.” Jocelyn stretched out beside her on the bed, but even the presence of his body wouldn’t make her stay. Cassandra threw back the covers and got out. Apparently he wouldn’t be having any of that fun later. Perhaps he should have led with that and saved his news, a rare miscalculation on his part.

  “If I have nothing to
tell him, then I can’t betray you. I know what you were about. You were trying to scare me off, but it didn’t work. Do you know why?”

  “Why?” Jocelyn knitted his brows, still contemplating the fact that a woman had gotten out of his bed before him, a rarity indeed.

  Cassandra started to dress, her words coming fast. “I wanted you and everything you had to offer. I knew exactly what the cost would be when I came with you and I came anyway because...” She paused here, chewing on her lip in a moment’s hesitation. “Because you intoxicate me—your laugh, your confidence, your love of life, your flaunting of convention.”

  “My looks? My prowess in bed?” Jocelyn propped himself up on one arm, watching her dress. They were usually the two things women mentioned first when he was under discussion. It was quite telling that she had not led with those. It gave him hope his plan would indeed succeed. But hope only, not surety. Worry came to Jocelyn for the first time in his adult life when dealing with a woman. He’d never been unsure of his reception before, but he was suddenly unsure now. He began to worry they were still deep in the game. Was she still playing and was this her method of pushing him away? They’d had their night, she had some answers, not all the answers she needed, only that the league existed. Perhaps she thought that was the best she was going to get now that they each knew the other’s role in the game. He’d thought last night had broken through that barrier, that they had transcended the game when they’d become lovers.

  “Well, those things, too, at first, but I’ve come to discover you’re rather more than that. I can’t betray you, Jocelyn, so you best keep your secrets.” Well, that was positive. That sounded like genuine concern. He’d capitalize on it the only way he knew how.

  “You won’t have to. I have a plan, if you’ll trust me. Come back to bed and let me tell you about the league.” Jocelyn patted the empty place she’d left beside him, but she hesitated. He would have given a fortune to know if she hesitated because of the game or because of the man.

  * * *

  Cassandra clutched her blouse to her chest, debating. Trust him? Her track record with trust was a bit tarnished. She’d trusted the vicar when he’d declared his feelings, but they’d been short-lived sentiments when the parish had protested his behavior. The vicar had been quick to free himself of culpability and pass the blame on to her, and that behavior was from a man she’d known for almost a year. If a girl couldn’t trust the vicar, who could she trust? The handsome likes of Jocelyn Eisley, a man who’d casually made a business of bedding any woman that came along? And here he was, demanding exactly that on the strength of a three-day acquaintance. And here she was, contemplating giving it.

  “Please, Cassandra. I have a way to make it all work.” Something in his green eyes was compelling, his voice soothing, as if he could indeed fix all the problems of the world if she’d just climb back into bed with him. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

  Cassandra dropped her blouse on the floor and slid beneath the covers. “All right, tell me about the league.” His skin was warm against her body, his hand a comfort where it rested against her waist, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth along her hip. Maybe they could solve all their problems in bed.

  Jocelyn began to speak, his voice low, weaving intimacy around them like a cocoon. “Channing Deveril and I established the league about seven years ago, back when we were twenty-three. It was to be a secret society, a way to thumb our noses at the marriage mart and all the things the Season stood for. Channing was rankly against the idea of marriage being used for practical alliances at the expense of a couple’s true, genuine feeling for one another. It was his idea to dedicate ourselves to the pleasure of women.”

  Cassandra smiled coyly. “It’s true then. The league exists for the provision of ecstasy.”

  Jocelyn waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, yes, and a serious business it is, too. Pleasure should not be underrated.”

  Cassandra turned serious. “In truth, it’s no laughing matter, is it? What we shared last night is not a foregone conclusion when two people mate and yet that is what our bodies are made for. We are built for pleasure and yet we deny ourselves.”

  “With the right person.” Jocelyn affirmed. “Not everyone cares enough to learn the rites of pleasure. There are plenty of husbands out there who do not include it in their husbandly duties.”

  Cassandra felt her cheeks heat. “The vicar did not,” she said softly. “I didn’t know so much was possible, not until you.” She managed to meet his eyes. She wanted to see his face when she told him. He’d been the first to bring her pleasure.

  His grip tightened at her hip. The comment had moved him. “Thank you.” An awkward silence sprang up, neither of them sure where to go after her confession. It was a different kind of intimacy than any they had shared already.

  Cassandra took them back to the conversation at hand. There were still questions she wanted answered. They were for herself, however, not her uncle. “Seven years? That’s a long time to keep a secret. How does that work?”

  “That’s the best part.” Jocelyn was grinning again, the awkwardness past. “There are mailboxes stationed all over London where a woman may drop a letter requesting our services. Channing has a boy he’s hired to pick up the letters. In the beginning, the boy didn’t even know what he was retrieving. He thought he was just picking up a lord’s messages for a few shillings.”

  “But now?”

  “Now our messenger knows.” Jocelyn flexed his hand. “The business has changed. It’s bigger, more thorough. In the beginning it was just myself, Channing and Nick D’Arcy. Everything was fairly informal. Eventually, we got more requests than we could fulfill and Channing had to branch out. He recruited more men, gentlemen down on their luck who could be trusted not to tell.” Channing had carefully recruited the likes of Captain Grahame Westmore and Amery DeHart, among others, to help fill the gap.

  “Business requires an office and administration. Channing turned a property he owns, Argosy House on Jermyn Street, into a headquarters. On the surface, it looks to be apartments for well-to-do bachelors much like the other residences on the street. But for those of the league who can’t afford their own quarters, it’s where they live.”

  Cassandra nodded, taking it all in. The league was quickly surpassing her expectations. This was not some clique of rakish gentlemen. This was an organization. Her uncle had no idea of how deep it truly ran. But at its core, there was still the issues of sex and money. Cassandra traced a pattern around Jocelyn’s nipple, idly watching it harden. “It’s very impressive, as I’m sure your string of lovers is. Seven years is a long time. How many women have you had, Jocelyn?”

  It was asked casually, but they both knew the answer needed to be serious. Jocelyn shrugged. “I’m not sure you want me to answer that. Of course, not all women come to the league looking for sex. Some just want an attentive escort to the opera while their husbands are out of town or in town and too preoccupied with parliament to squire them about.”

  “Is that what they come to you for? Trips to the opera?” Cassandra challenged, drawing her finger provocatively down his chest. “Because, after one look at you, I can hardly imagine it is.” No one could sit beside him at an opera and not want more than a carriage ride home and some polite conversation about the aria.

  “I’ve had plenty of women,” Jocelyn admitted. “Does that bother you? Does that change anything?”

  “Did they pay you?” Lots of men had sex with a lot of women throughout their Seasons. Young men were expected to sow their wild oats before settling down. She’d not expected Jocelyn to be any different in that regard, as long as he did not expect her to adhere to the double standard of female chastity. But one thing still niggled at her. Many men sowed those wild oats, but they weren’t paid for it.

  “The league does charge a fee,” Jocelyn began slowly, perhaps sensing correctly this was the r
eal sticking point for her. “Many of our members use that money for living in London. However, I am a man of independent means. I have no need of payment. There have been gifts over the years, I am told. Jewelry and such. Channing collects them, manages them. I’ve never actually seen them. The payments don’t come directly to me. I have set up several charity funds for boys’ schools and orphanages to provide young boys with apprenticeships when they come of age.”

  She’d not expected that, nor did she think that was something he told anyone. It was the second thing he’d shared with her that was intensely personal to him, and it was one more reason she could not bring herself to betray Jocelyn and the league. Cassandra reached for him, framing his face with her hands and taking his mouth in a gentle kiss. “You are an extraordinary man, Jocelyn.”

  “And you are an extraordinary woman.” Jocelyn rolled her beneath him and looked down at her with a melting smile. “What shall we do about that?” He was laughing and there was relief in his eyes as if a great burden had been removed for him in talking about the league.

  She smiled up at him, a hand reaching for his phallus where it lay between them. “What shall we do, indeed,” she said wickedly, running her hand down the hard length of him. “I have some ideas.”

  Jocelyn nipped at her ear. “I just bet you do.”

  She did have some ideas but none that would serve them once they got out of bed. Perhaps Jocelyn knew it too. He let her stroke him into readiness and then he took her, tenderly, thoroughly, in a manner far different than the heat of last night, as if he was trying to imprint every nuance, every feeling of this joining in his mind forever because this might be the last time. Outside of this bed, there was still a game to finish and then what would there be for them? He would go back to the league and she would...well, she didn’t really know. She supposed it would depend on how the game ended. But it was hard to worry about that when she was in Jocelyn’s arms, the strength of his body surrounding her as she came apart.