by Sharon Page
As though they did not exist. The famous cut direct used by society women to vanquish their foes.
Devlin laughed. They might possess noble blood, but God, they were small-minded and pitiful. He glanced down and saw Grace’s freckles, stark splotches of gold against ivory cheeks.
Hell, Prudence’s rude cut had wounded Grace, had fed into the fears and doubts she kept close to her heart. He knew, because he had carried those fears too.
He was not a gentleman. He was nothing. Worthless.
He knew that was what Grace feared. That she didn’t belong.
He was not about to let Grace tear herself apart over the bloody ton. “Come with me. To your bedroom.”
“You cannot possibly come in,” Grace protested, but Devlin grinned like Lucifer. Ignoring her command, he took a bold step forward, forcing her to retreat into her bedroom and let him in. At least he glanced up and down the corridor first to ensure no one had seen him.
She did wish he would listen to her for once.
But of course he was not going to.
“Well, you’d never fit on that bed,” she warned, folding her arms beneath her breasts.
Devlin laughed at that and sauntered over to it. He bounced on it, testing it first, then flopped back on the yellow counterpane. She rather liked the modest room—with its yellow sprigged wallpaper and buttercup lace-trimmed curtains.
Devlin spread his long legs so his boots touched the floor. But her gaze strayed to the way his trousers tightened over his thighs, his hips, his crotch.
“Do you still have the letter your grandmother sent?”
She hadn’t expected that. “Yes.” She withdrew it from her reticule, gave the folded sheet to him, then dropped the bag to the vanity. She waited by it, nervously, as he read. “A maid might come—to unload my belongings.”
He pillowed his arm beneath his head and laid the letter down beside him on her bed. Her throat tightened. She wanted to lie on top of him.
But that reminded her of Wesley, of her past stupidity, and her stomach churned. Wesley’s hands gripping her breasts. Wesley smirking up at her. His crude talk of her tits. And she, fool that she was, had been excited by it.
Why could she not forget him? Why did she keep remembering that horrible experience?
Why in blazes did he and Prudence have to be here? She’d waited her entire life to see her grandmother. What if Prudence and Wesley spoke to Lady Warren, ruined her chances?
She had to grip the bedpost.
“There’s something about this letter—”
Devlin’s words snapped her thoughts back and she saw him frown.
“Who knows you are the granddaughter of the Earl of Warren?” he asked.
“What do you mean? You think my grandmother did not write it? That makes no sense. Hardly anyone knows, outside of my family. Marcus and Dash, of course. Marcus’s sister, I think, along with Dash’s. But they are family.”
“Anyone else?”
“No. What would be the point in telling anyone, only to be denounced for it?” A hard and heavy pain knotted her stomach. “I wanted to tell Prudence, even, but I didn’t.”
“Why did you want to tell her?” Then he groaned. “To prove you had noble blood. To prove you are as good as her.”
“I don’t know. But anyway, I did not speak of it. I knew I wasn’t supposed to. Anyway, what is it that you don’t like about the letter?”
“I never believe a woman of the ton reveals emotion.”
She shivered at the cold, hard tone of his words. Obviously he had been badly hurt, and she wanted to ask more around the sudden knot of jealousy wedged in her throat, but the bed creaked as Devlin shifted.
He held out his hand. “Sweeting, why can you not understand that you do not have to prove anything to anyone?”
She really did hate it when he gave her advice. He was a man. He could do whatever he wished. She launched away from the vanity and stormed to the side of her bed. “Should I also pick up a pistol and rob innocent people? Is that how I should carve my way in the world? I do not have the luxury of being wild and rebellious.”
He rolled onto his side, his greatcoat fanning over her bedspread. “You’re wild inside, Grace—”
“It is not something to be celebrated,” she protested. “You are merely suspicious of the ton because they never accepted you either.” She waited but he added nothing—nothing to give her a clue as to why he specifically did not trust ladies of the ton. Irritated by the gallop of her heartbeat, she snapped, “And you really must get off my bed and find your own.”
“Trysting is what the ton does at house parties.” Devlin swung his legs around and sat up, but instead of getting up, he undid his cravat. “I’m only doing what Quality does, love.”
“What exactly do you think you are doing?”
“Taking off my clothes.”
Devlin saw Grace’s delicate jaw drop as he pulled off his coat, waistcoat, boots, and trousers. “You know, I’m glad I’m a bastard and not a ‘gentleman.’ I’ve never met one worthy of the name.” He gave her a grin. “Do you know what I do with the money I steal, love?”
She pursed her lips, transforming her sensual mouth into a prim, pinched line. “Support your harem?”
“I use the money to help ordinary people ignored and abused by our society. The ruined women who are cast out, the orphaned babes, the men who were wounded in war and are now forgotten.”
“So the ton is cruel, and you are Robin Hood.” But her gaze betrayed her, raking over his body, and he felt his skin flame in the wake of her wide eyes.
“I’m not a saint. But neither is any member of high society.” Hell, his instincts warned him that Grace was in danger of being emotionally hurt. He’d never met the Countess of Warren, had never had the pleasure of holding up her coach, but he didn’t trust her.
“I am going to wait,” Grace said firmly, “and meet my grandmother.”
“Then come and climb on top of me, love, while you’re waiting.” Sprawling back on her tiny bed, Devlin heard it groan in protest. All he wore was his linens, and his cock was a rigid bulge beneath them.
He saw anger turn her eyes to brilliant green and then the heat of desire flare in them. But she shook her head and her breath caught. “No. I don’t like to…to do it that way.”
Then he understood. She’d done that with Wesley, and the bloody blackguard had broken her heart. Pain flitted across her eyes and she lowered her lashes. He shifted to lie on his side on the narrow bed. Patted the warmed space beside him. “Come here.”
“You are not going to leave, are you?”
At the slow shake of his head, she bit her lip. “Take off your linens.” Her throaty voice slid over him, making his cock buck as she sashayed to the bed. Her pain seemed to have vanished, replaced by fiery need. She was still dressed in her gown and pelisse that fit skintight to her full breasts and generous hips. Normally, he liked to be the one dressed with a naked woman, but he had to admit he was enjoying this.
He peeled his small clothes over his hard cock, watching the thick shaft spring out, and she kneeled on the bed and bent to the head. “If you aren’t going to leave, then—”
He groaned, watching her plump lips get closer. Her tongue snaked out and licked the head of his prick. Hot. Wet. Pressing into his sensitive head. God—
He let his head drop back as pleasure streaked up from his heavy cock to his brain.
She planted a hot, wet kiss to the dripping tip and his cock bobbed its approval.
“I’ve fantasized about this for two years,” she whispered.
Devlin couldn’t breathe. Her lips parted, slick and shiny with the fluid oozing from him. Her tongue traced the curve of her lip. “Delicious,” she murmured.
Hell, he wanted her to like this. He wanted it so damned badly he ached for it, but he wanted it to be her choice—
She opened her mouth wide and took him in. Heat engulfed the swollen head, then the shaft, and her tongue teased the
ridges and veins. Her mouth fit snugly around him, surrounding him with mind-melting pleasure.
Noisily she slurped him in and out, and it was the most erotic sight to watch his cock vanish between her pink lips. His hips began to pump to her on their own accord. He wanted to slide his entire length into her mouth, he needed to, and he fought for control.
He didn’t want to hurt her. He had to give her the control.
Then she hollowed her cheeks, sucked him deep, and toyed with his balls.
“Grace, God—” His fingers drove into the counterpane, the pillow. He felt fabric tear and he clenched his teeth, trying to hold back his climax. He’d never surrendered like this before—
She sucked him deep, her eyes watered, and her clever fingers caressed his aching ballocks and his tight arse.
“Lord!” He jerked forward as his muscles exploded with his fierce climax, as his entire body bucked with the searing heat and intense delight, and he roared with it. Roared. Shouted. Howled as his steaming come rushed out.
She drank it. Suckled it. Took it all. And he fell back on the bed, groaning as her lush lips kept teasing him, as her tongue pressed hard against him and the suction kept coming. Kept him coming, to the point where he was so damned sensitive, he was in agony.
“Sweetheart—” He coaxed her to release him, watched, stunned as she swallowed again. Then he grasped her shoulders, pulled her on top of him, and kissed her hard, tasting his semen on her lips.
She drew away from the kiss. “I think you were loud,” she accused.
Damn. Discretion. He’d forgotten about that. “There’s other ladies’ rooms on this floor. Just look innocent and no one will know it was your room.”
She backed off the bed, away from him, and he shivered at the loss of her warmth. Her expression was troubled.
“I have to stay away from you, Devlin.”
After that, she was threatening to stay away? “Not going to happen, love. I intend to stay close. To protect you.”
“By ruining me? Devlin, it doesn’t matter to me anymore if I am ruined. But it will devastate my family. I cannot just live for the moment. I cannot risk making a mistake. You have to get up, get dressed, and leave.”
He stayed on her bed. She would have to drag him off it. “I want to come to you tonight.”
“Don’t. My door will be locked, my window barred.”
If she locked her door, he had half a mind to kick it off its hinges. But what would that gain him? It was his bloody problem—his stupidity for hungering for a proper lady.
He got up, the bed creaking. She was right. If their affair was discovered, she would be ruined. He clenched his fists. Bloody, hypocritical ton. They’d relish in her downfall—the way Lady Prudence had attacked with the cut direct.
Her cheeks were pink, her breasts heaving, and seducing her now would mean he would be trying to seduce an adversary.
Once he would have found that exciting. Now it left his heart cold.
As he dragged on his clothes, he could not help but give her a last piece of advice. “The opinions of women like Prudence do not matter.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “In my circles, they do.” She bent her head, and muttered, “I’ve spent two years carefully avoiding Lord Wesley, and now I am trapped in the same house with him.”
“Wesley?” Damn, she had been in bed with him and now was thinking of Wesley. What the hell? Devlin’s heart pounded as he slanted a glance to her face. She was nibbling her thumbnail. Pensive. Worried.
At once he tensed with icy cold, but a red-hot rage flared in his brain. Wesley was of Grace’s world; he was not. Could it be she still loved the bastard? Damn and blast. From her thoughtful gaze, her troubled eyes, he couldn’t tell. He’d practically read the thoughts of British Navy captains at they stared him down over cannons, but he couldn’t guess at Grace’s feelings.
She yearned for acceptance by the ton. It was a bloody foolish goal, but he understood it.
He couldn’t risk destroying everything Grace wanted by forcing his way into her bedroom.
And even if he could convince her to give up this mad goal, he will likely end his life in prison. He could never offer her a future.
He had to walk away.
11
Ironic that he chose to stalk to the cliff edge in the dark to look out over the water, clenching an unlit cheroot between his fingers. Women had driven him to the sea years ago, when he had no money and no future. When he had made the mistake of falling in love with a titled woman.
Devlin crossed his arms in front of his chest, his body buffeted by the wind, and he remembered.
Remembered how the beautiful Countess of Dorchester had loved him in her bed.
And how she had feared someone might see him in her parlor.
Moonlight shimmered over the surf crashing onto the rocks below. Salt in the air touched his lips and skin—it tasted like he stood on the bridge of a ship. Clouds had rolled in, obscuring the stars.
He understood why Grace wished so much for her grandmother’s acceptance. For well over two years, throughout their affair, he had been a young, starstruck man, wanting to hear his countess admit that she loved him.
She never did.
Finally she had bored of his passion and devotion and had dismissed him. She had sent him a letter, softly perfumed with her unique scent. Only one line had been written inside. You have been replaced with Rupert. The younger son of a duke, Rupert had lineage, bloodlines, and all the qualities of a fine stud.
So Devlin had seduced hundreds of women, trying to prove that he was damned valuable. That he could not be so easily discarded.
Eventually he’d realized he would never believe it, no matter how many women he bedded to convince himself.
So he did what any brokenhearted man did—he ran away to the sea. Deftly avoiding the navy press gangs, he’d intended to go on his own terms, and one drunken night had found him as part of the crew of the Black Mistress. From there, he’d become a notorious pirate, with a reputation for superb sexual skill and he’d discovered, without a doubt, that women found bad men enticing.
With stolen money, women came easily. With foreign travel, he learned there was much more to sex than mounting a woman and slicking his pole in and out of her creamy cunny. He’d learned the art of tipping the velvet until a woman tore at his hair and begged him for mercy. He’d learned secret arts of control that allowed him to indulge in bouts of sensual play that lasted hours. He’d encountered an Englishman who had created his own harem on a tropical isle—a harem of lovely women who possessed skin the color of clover honey. He’d taken a ball in his shoulder for sampling most of the sailor’s tempting “wives.”
They were memories that made him smile but that didn’t fill his heart.
Crunching leaves warned him that he wasn’t alone. He retreated into the shadows as Wesley strolled down the path. Gritting his teeth, Devlin spied a woman also walking down the path, behind Wesley. Her arms were folded over her chest, her head bowed, and her pale gray pelisse and golden hair shimmered under the moonlight. He didn’t have to see her face to know it was Grace.
Had Grace come deliberately to speak to Wesley?
He had to know. And he had no option but to retreat to the shadows to watch as Wesley stopped and turned. A grin spread over his half brother’s face that Devlin longed to erase with his fist.
Wesley ran his gaze over Grace’s curves, his eyes hot and lusty, and Devlin had to push his fist hard against a rough tree trunk.
“You are following me, Miss Hamilton,” Wesley called out. “Reconsidering my offer?”
The hairs on Devlin’s nape rose.
Grace’s back was to him. “Of course not,” she said to Wesley. “I simply wished to walk, and on seeing you realized I could accomplish two courses of action.”
She had wanted to speak to Wesley? What the bloody hell for?
Wesley stepped closer to her and she stiffened, her arms tightening, but she did not move
. His half brother lifted his hand to Grace’s face and brushed her full lower lip with the back of his hand.
What was she doing? He could see Wesley leaning in to capture her mouth and Grace was staying put.
How could she do this? She should slap Wesley’s face.
Her shoulders trembled even as she held her spine defiantly straight. “Don’t touch me.”
So she didn’t want him.
“You have behaved with perfect propriety since our night together, haven’t you, Grace—”
“Miss Hamilton,” she corrected.
Wesley’s lips lowered toward hers, lips drawn back from his teeth in a cold grin. “Not anymore, love. We’ve been intimate, and that is something that can never be erased. You are ‘Grace’ to me now. You always will be.” He bounced one of her curls on his hand and Grace drew back. “You’ve refused marriage proposals. And, to my knowledge, you’ve been no man’s lover. Why punish yourself, Grace? When you could so easily say ‘yes’ to me?”
“Saying ‘yes’ to you would be punishing myself, Wesley.”
Why did she not slap his brother’s smug face?
“You are a lusty woman, Grace. You can’t spend your lifetime alone.”
Devlin could not hear her answer, goddamn it, as the cold sea breeze swept over them, rustling branches and leaves. But he heard the bloody triumph in Wesley’s upper crust accent as he continued, “You can’t, love. You will bend—you will break. You will yearn to go to a man’s bed and, to be honest, sweetheart, eventually the offers will not be so generous as mine. The position as my treasured mistress—any number of women would leap at the chance.”
For one moment, Devlin’s gut twisted. Anything he could offer to Grace could not compare to life even as Wesley’s mistress. An icy rage swirled in his gut. But what had he expected? He’d been born to shame and he’d thrown himself into deeper scandal out of pride.
Why did Grace not cut Wesley? Damn it, woman. Leave.
“What will you give me, Wesley?” Grace asked softly. “A reason to despise myself every time I wake up in the morning? You cannot buy me. And you certainly won’t convince me that I will die of loneliness if I don’t bed you. But this—” She shook a folded piece of paper. “This will have to stop. You don’t care if someone sees you sending these notes, if someone catches you leaning too close or touching my bottom or taking a grope of my breast. But I care, and I won’t stand by quietly and allow you to do it anymore.”