One Night of Sin

by Gaelen Foley

  “Now for the milk.” He reached across her for the small bowl of milk that she had used in her cooking. He held it over her and spilled out the remaining droplets from it onto her breasts. His mouth swooped down upon her nipples; he suckled her with wild, urgent hunger.

  She closed her eyes, transported. “Oh, Alec.”

  When the milk was gone, he rubbed his face in the valley between her breasts. “Becky, I need you. Let me love you, sweeting. Are you ready for me?”

  I’ve been ready for a fortnight. She gasped aloud when he thrust his hand beneath her skirts and stroked her teeming wetness, deftly penetrating her with two fingers. Becky groaned and arched her back, reveling in his exploratory touch.

  God, she had needed this—and more. She needed him.

  He withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts, gazing at her in tender possessiveness. He gently slipped her sandals off, caressing her feet. “You are the sweetest, prettiest thing,” he whispered. “Becky?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to make love to you now.”

  “Oh, yes, Alec. Please.”

  He quickly unbuttoned his falls and freed himself, lifting her skirts. Breathy moans escaped them both as he slowly slid himself inside her.

  He was motionless for a moment, his eyes closed, the sunlight dancing on his dusky lashes. He licked his lips, taking in the experience through every atom, as was his way. Her knees were bent, her heels resting on the table’s edge.

  “No pain?”

  “None,” she murmured dreamily.

  “Good.” He gripped her hips, his questing cock foraging more deeply into her body’s wet welcome. She groaned, sweating in the heat; standing between her legs, he took her there on the kitchen table.

  Becky gave herself without reservation.

  It felt so different from the first time. None of the anxiety, the fear of the unknown. No exhaustion. No strange-feeling condom between them, but Alec’s smooth, slick member, bathed in her juices. She could feel his every blissful pulsation, every quiver of muscle as he stood between her thighs; every pass, in and out, of the firm ridge around the head of his cock, where he was most sensitive.

  “I love being inside you,” he groaned.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  He bent over her and obeyed. She smiled as she tasted the sugar-and-cinnamon flavor on his tongue. Alec captured both her hands and pinned her down against the table, linking his fingers tenderly through hers.

  A few minutes later he went suddenly still as he sometimes did when his desire threatened to run away with him. He ended the kiss, steadied himself with a slow, deep breath, and released her hands, straightening up again. Instead, he grasped her hips, not moving, simply, for a long moment, staring down at her in the midst of their beautiful joining.

  His hard, steamy breathing heated her throat as he wrapped his arms around her and held her more tightly. Their pace quickened, his thrusts deepening. Becky gritted her teeth until a cry of anguished delight wrenched from her lips. Each sumptuous stroke was divine, but as Alec’s lusty passion climbed, the pounding force of his loving began to bruise her spine against the hardwood table. The whole piece of furniture shook as he claimed her; a wooden bowl went jolting off the edge and fell loudly to the floor, rolling away across the clay tiles.

  “Darling, wait,” she gasped out, laughing at the commotion.

  He waited, though impatience blazed in his blue eyes.

  She sat up, wrapping her legs around him, and he was content again. “Yes,” he breathed, holding her closer.

  She moved with him as she balanced with one hand behind her, the other clinging to his big, hard shoulder. He kissed her, one arm hooked roguishly around her waist. He tore his mouth away with a breathless order: “Look into my eyes.”

  She did, holding his storm-tossed stare as he clenched his jaw, clutching her bottom. She could feel his control hanging by a thread, as was her own. “Alec.”

  “Yes.” He dropped his head back. “Oh, God—Becky!”

  They climaxed together with loud, ragged cries of release, their sweating, straining bodies entwined. She was awash in the most primal of pleasures as he filled her with his virility, flooding her womb with one massive pulsation after another. His essence mingled with her own. She heard his shaky exhalation; he rested his head dazedly atop hers for a moment.

  Utterly spent, she laid back on the hard beech table and held out her arms to welcome him to her. With his only somewhat-slackened erection still nestled inside her, Alec laid his head on her chest. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, hugged him tenderly, and kissed his sweaty forehead.

  “You were right,” she said after a moment. “The second time is even better.”

  “Wait until you try the third.”

  She let out a breathless little laugh, too sated even to open her eyes.

  “You smell like cinnamon,” he mumbled.

  “The pudding!” she suddenly exclaimed. Whipping her head around to glance at the hourglass, she saw the time had expired. “Up, up! Get off! I have to save our pudding.”

  Alec released her and got out of the way, startled. She brushed down her skirts, jumped off the table, and rushed to the hearth, her open bodice flapping. She did her best to hold it closed and grabbed a towel to guard her hand from the heat. She swung the creaking fire-crane out of the hearth while Alec fastened his trousers again and tucked in his shirt.

  “Ahem—excuse me—my lord?”

  They both looked over toward the open door. The stout, aproned housekeeper spoke from behind the corner of the hallway to avoid any possibility of seeing things she oughtn’t see.

  “Er, what is it?” Alec called, quickly smoothing his tousled hair.

  “Milord has a visitor,” she informed him from behind the corner.

  “I’ll be right there—thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.” The floorboards creaked out in the corridor as the housekeeper hurried off, no doubt scandalized.

  Alec sent Becky a guarded look.

  “It’s sure to be Fort and the lads. I told them I would meet them at the Pavilion. They never listen.” He shook his head with an irked look. “Stay out of sight till I get rid of them, would you? No need to risk them seeing you and endangering you with their carelessness. I’ll be right back.”

  Becky gave him a wide-eyed nod, blew him a kiss, and then refastened her bodice with a blush. “I’ll just—see to the pudding.”

  Alec winked at her with a lingering twinkle in his eyes after their impassioned interlude. Then he took a deep breath, adjusted his clothes, and marched slowly toward the foyer.

  Some men smoked opium. Others drank gin. A few—poor blighters—became ensnared in the thrill of high-stakes card play.

  Alec was addicted to Becky.

  And he looked forward to indulging, practicing, and nurturing his new habit daily, for the rest of his life. I am engaged, he thought in wonder, marveling, his heart light. His brothers would never believe it.

  Successfully completing the first phase of their quest had infused him with new confidence in his own abilities. Marrying her was the right and honorable thing to do, and he was glad his stubborn lady had finally agreed to it, but it was more than that.

  For the first time in his life, he felt he could make a go of a serious relationship with a woman. For the first time in his life he was ready to commit to it—but he told himself it was best not to think about it overmuch lest he lose his nerve. The idea would still take a bit of getting used to. Nevertheless, nothing could pierce his state of postcoital bliss.

  He floated more than walked out to the foyer, a thoroughly satisfied man. The housekeeper stood near the bottom of the stairs and pointed up to the first-story drawing room with an uneasy look. Alec nodded and climbed the staircase.

  As he strolled to the doorway, it belatedly struck him that his raucous friends were unusually quiet. When he stepped into the drawing room, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of the visitor
who waited for him.

  “Darling!” Lady Campion turned away from her idle study of the small framed watercolors on the wall and greeted him with a practiced smile. She held up her gloved hands coyly, presenting herself. “Surprise!”

  Alec felt the blood turn to ice in his veins as the flush of lovemaking drained from his face. For a second he was utterly disoriented. And then a dangerous, churning wave of dark emotion rose within him.

  What the hell was she doing here?

  “Why, you rogue, aren’t you happy to see me?” she asked with playful indignation, cocking her whip hand on one lean hip.

  Alec lost his voice.

  If, in the past, running into the baroness at social functions had caused him mild embarrassment and uncomfortable sensations of guilty distaste, the sight of her now, under the circumstances, filled him with dread. If she learned about Becky—or worse, far worse, if Becky learned about her . . .

  Alec swallowed hard, realizing, like a man cornered by a hungry tigress, he must make no sudden movements or he would be shredded limb from limb. His attachment to Becky, his need for her, had engendered this horrible Achilles’ heel. He must protect it. He must get Eva out of here. Pacifying her just a little, he recalled, was the swiftest way to get rid of her. Whatever happened, he must not arouse her suspicions.

  Eva Campion had been unnaturally possessive over Alec from the day she first gained a measure of control over him through her gold. As many times and in as many ways as he had tried to tell her it was over between them, she just kept coming back every few months. Alec knew she would not take kindly to seeing her favorite hired stallion betrothed, of all things, to a beautiful girl so much younger and lovelier than she.

  Indeed, if Eva found out about Becky, everyone in Society would also know within the hour, including Mikhail Kurkov. As for his future bride, Alec could not bear to think what she would say if she found out the truth. Especially now. Like this. She would probably retract her acceptance of his proposal. He would lose her.

  He swallowed hard, able to do nothing with Eva standing there, staring expectantly at him, but to pray that Becky obeyed his orders in wifely fashion and stayed out of sight. Damn it, he should have told her while he’d had the chance. His conscience had plagued him to confess his past arrangement with the baroness—indeed, he knew that he would have to, in time—but he was already up to his eyeballs in complications right now. It had been more than he was ready to take on.

  His main reaction, however, as he looked at Eva, standing in the parlor as if she owned it—as if she owned him—was cold anger.

  Get her out of here before she ruins everything.

  He was outraged that this snake dared invade his and Becky’s little private Eden, their holy ground. Lady Campion was poisonous.

  Alec knew that better than most.

  “To what do I owe this honor, my lady?” he asked in a wary drawl.

  “Well! That’s not a very nice welcome for an old friend.” She glided over and presented one rouged, knife-hilt cheek for him to kiss.

  Alec turned away, bristling with hostility. “Oh, so cruel darling?” she chided with a knowing smile and a hard gleam in her coal-black eyes. She tapped him lightly with her folded fan. “You know you’ve missed me. Why aren’t you staying in Black Lion Street with your idiotic friends?”

  He sent her a warning glance from under his lashes.

  “Ah, in a mood again, are you? I should have known. You’re so cute when you’re grouchy.” She pinched him playfully.

  “What do you want?”

  “The same thing I always want, darling. You!” she said with a bright, trilling laugh. “You’re going to the Lieven ball, of course? I need an escort. You may come by to pick me up at nine.”

  He clenched his jaw and propped his hands on his waist, studying the carpet designs and willing himself not to throw her out bodily. “I thought you had a new—friend.”

  “Oh, young Jason?” She gave a worldly little wave of her fan and sighed. “No. He was just a . . . snack. You, on the other hand, my lovely Lord Alec—” She flung herself down into the deep-cushioned sofa and put her feet up on the ottoman, heels crossed. “You are a connoisseur’s feast.”

  Arching her back with a sinuous motion, she stretched like an expensive and pampered pet cat, then smiled at him and patted the spot on the sofa beside her.

  Alec shook his head in answer to her invitation, slowly folding his arms across his chest.

  She frowned. “Come over here. You owe me.”

  He lifted his chin. “I paid that debt, as you’ll recall.”

  “It’s paid when I say it’s paid, darling. Come, haven’t you missed me just a little?”

  Why did she talk to him as though he were a baby or a favorite lapdog? How had he borne it all those weeks when he had been, for all intents and purposes, her sex slave? But then, he thought grimly, a man could withstand quite a lot when thugs working for a low-life East End moneylender threatened to cut off his balls.

  “I hear you’re winning again,” she remarked with a glint in her dark eyes.

  He watched her, on his guard, trying to listen to the far end of the house, where he hoped to God that Becky was engrossed in the task of whatever had to be done next to her pudding. “A bit.”

  “Oh.” Eva gave him a rouged pout. “I guess that means you don’t need me anymore.”

  He sent her a chilly smile. “Guess not.”

  She got up from the sofa and sauntered toward him, folding her thin arms across her waist. “You know, I have the oddest feeling that you’re up to something, Alec.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Nobody sees you, except at the tables. You play as cautiously as an old granny now, they say.” She shook her head. “That’s not like you. They say you always quit without giving the other players a chance to win back any of their losses.”

  “So, you’ve been checking up on me again. You know I hate that, Eva.”

  “It’s only because I care.”

  He narrowed his eyes in warning. How dare she claim to care about him after the way she had used him? Now that he knew what real caring was, her imitation of it sickened him. He turned away. Facing the empty fireplace, he ignored the insipid china figurines that adorned the white mantelpiece; instead, his gaze homed in on the gaudy Poseidon cup, an oversized porcelain goblet encrusted with countless tiny seashells.

  It was kept on display beneath a bell jar to protect it from dust and careless hands, for it was so delicate. So easily broken, all of those little pink seashells held on with mere glue. It had to be kept under glass, he thought, for such fragile things could not withstand the callousness of the world. . . .

  He closed his eyes as a tremor moved through him. Oh, God, how would Becky take the news when she learned he had been the ton’s most celebrated gigolo, and that everybody knew it except her? She would feel betrayed, she’d feel a fool. She would despise him. She—who had come to him a virgin.

  “I’ve heard the most horrible rumor that you’ve turned into a monk,” Eva announced, breaking into his thoughts. “I know it sounds impossible, but that is what they’re saying!” she averred at Alec’s scowling glance. “Not a single one of my lady friends has enjoyed your company in weeks, and I know you hardly ever resort to whores. So, what’s afoot?”

  He took a cool glance at the wall clock. “Dear me, I’m due to see the Regent in ten minutes. Sorry to cut this visit short, my lady, but I really must go.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on, you rogue. You might be able to fool everyone else with your actor’s instincts, but I know you far too well.”

  “You don’t know me at all, Eva,” he answered quietly. “You never have.”

  She tilted her head. “Have you taken a mistress?”

  Alec felt his patience running razor thin. “Either way, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “My business? Darling, keeping track of who’s sleeping with whom is a national spo
rt! And you—darling—well, if sex is our sport, then you are our Gentleman Jackson, reigning champion—”

  “Do shut up!”

  “Ah, there’s that spark,” she whispered, sidling up to him. “You were so cold, I feared it had been extinguished . . . perhaps from overuse.” She had always loved baiting him. Especially when he was tied up. It was a familiar game. The angrier she could make him, the more aroused she got. “What’s that I smell on you?” she whispered, moving around him, taking a whiff. “Smells like come, you naughty boy. Who have you been fucking?”

  His tolerance snapped. He recoiled from her touch. “Get the hell out of here! I don’t want you anymore, Eva! Don’t you understand that?”

  “What the hell,” she demanded, setting her gloved hand slowly on her hip, “has gotten into you?”

  “I have,” replied a voice from the doorway behind him.

  Becky’s voice, cool and even.

  Alec flinched, and then his eyes drifted closed with a look of pain. God, no. Why?

  Too late. He lowered his head slowly as he felt his heart crumble. . . .

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  Becky leaned in the doorway, still rosy from Alec’s ravishing, and barefoot, her sandals dangling from her hand. She had left her pudding to cool and had headed for the bedchamber to clean herself up a bit after their oven-hot, sugarcoated lovemaking. Tiptoeing up the stairs outside the drawing room, mindful of Alec’s warning not to let herself be seen, she had heard a trill of sparkling feminine laughter and stopped in her tracks, frowning over her shoulder in the direction from which it had come. A girl who intended to marry the erstwhile captain of all London rakehells, after all, had to be ready for anything. That doesn’t sound like his friends, she had thought.

  Well, then. Who was it?

  Stunned by the fierce territorial instinct that flooded her veins, she had gone to investigate. What little she had heard of their conversation, she could make scant sense of and dared not try, lest she leap to some very bad, erroneous assumptions about her betrothed of less than an hour. That was no way to start their life together. Best to let Alec explain this to her himself. What she saw, by contrast, she liked even less.