He leaned forward and whispered “Beautiful Rheda” against her mouth before he stroked a finger deep inside her tight sheath. This time her gasp verged on something more.
She gave a little moan of surrender when he eased a second finger inside her. He wanted to give her pleasure. Exquisite, extraordinary pleasure. The kind of mind-clouding pleasure that might make her forget to be wary of him and divulge what he needed to hear.
With one hand fingering her taut nipple, he plunged his tongue deep within her mouth to match his fingers’ ministrations. Her hips rose and she cried out again, but softly. A wither of a sound. Her breathing slowly grew raspier with each stroke of his thumb over her tightened nub, as he continued to penetrate her. Over and over he drew his fingers through the folds that guarded her pleasure until he could feel the little nub of her arousal, unmistakably firm and trembling.
“Rufus,” she whispered, her hands clawing the bales of hay they sat upon.
He felt her climax inching near. She was murmuring his name over and over, and it fairly blew his head off. The endearment almost making him spill in his breeches, something he’d not done since a very young lad.
Her head jerked up, and her breath came on a rough cry. Her hips undulated with each stroke. He felt her begin to tighten around his fingers. She was passion personified. Beautiful. Wild. Sensual. With one finger and his thumb, he opened her wider, teasing her with quick, delicate strokes until she gave a strangled cry. And then she was shaking all over, her limbs stiffening as she shuddered with her release. He kissed her slender neck as she trembled and then nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. Erotic. The sight and sound of her was so erotic it killed him.
He rose up and took her trembling lips in a searing kiss. He felt his heart flutter and engage in his chest. No. He forced the heady feelings down. He could not want to want her. His own needs must be denied. There was too much at stake.
Just then a commotion out by the corral made him draw back. He took in her flushed face. With a pang he realized he wished there could be more. Wished she wasn’t who he knew her to be. A woman with secrets. A possible traitor. Never again would he let himself feel for a woman involved in his mission. He would have no more deaths on his hands.
He felt tarnished at the knowledge only her seduction and complete surrender would aid in the capture of the traitor. If he could he’d wish more for her.
He needed some fresh air. The scent of her was making him light-headed.
“It seems another female is impatient for her mate’s touch. Please excuse me while I see to Caesar.”
How could she have let that happen? Her body tingled in the afterglow of his skillful lovemaking, quickly followed by heated shame. He’d boasted of his skills as a rake, and he was not wrong. The pleasure was indescribable, and to her horror it left her wanting more.
Worse. Wanting him.
Why did he unleash these strong feelings within her? He was a rake like any other.
Except, cried a tiny voice inside her, he is not like any other. His combination of beauty, wit, and brains had her in a scramble. She’d not met a man who matched her in intellect. Nor one whose outer beauty made her feel, and want, naughty, forbidden delights.
Rheda was still trying to make sense of what she’d let occur when Rufus moved to exit the stable. Turning with a shrug, he looked back at her. His face was all dark shadows as he blocked the light from the doors. It was a moment before he spoke. “When I’m done, I want you to show me Fraser’s Landing.”
Rheda stiffened. “You said you knew where it was.”
He shook his head. She wished she could see the expression on his face. “I want you to show me exactly where you found the barrel.” He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Only then will I know if you deliberately lied to me.”
This time a shiver that had nothing to do with delicious desire slid down her spine. How could he do that? It was as if the splendor of their intimate moment had never transpired. She was still tingling all over, while the warm yearning in her feminine center continued to throb.
Rheda’s heart ached in her chest. God he was ruthless in his pursuit of the truth. And skillful. Her body still hummed. She tidied herself up, determined to remember that she could not let his seduction weaken her resolve.
“I lied, my lord,” she whispered hoarsely under her breath. “And no matter how much you make my body sing, I’ll never tell you the truth. But I’ll play your game. I’ll let you seduce me until I’m sated with pleasure.” His seduction of her should keep him off balance and out of their business.
Chapter 11
It had been an exhausting day. As he’d thought, there was no way Rheda could have rolled the barrel up the slope at Fraser’s Landing. Unless she had help. Rheda was either lying about where she found the barrel, or lying about being on her own.
Why did he not simply use his strength and power to overwhelm her? The growing desire to spank the truth from her had seen him send her home alone.
He’d spent the rest of the afternoon working with White Lily and Caesar. Near the end of the day Daniel arrived home and suggested a swim. He’d readily agreed. The scent of Rheda on his skin had driven him mad all afternoon.
Daniel invited him to stay for dinner, and the men had drunk into the early hours. Rufus took the opportunity of seeing if a little alcohol would loosen the baron’s tongue. It had loosened but not about Dark Shadow, only his angelic sister. Daniel was taking the opportunity to push a match. If only he knew the truth. Rufus wanted only one thing from his sister—all right, two—her knowledge and her body.
Now, close to dawn, he rode into Hastingleigh and stabled Caesar himself. He’d enjoyed his dinner at Tumsbury Cliff Manor. Daniel was exuberant in his youth. It was fun to remember what he’d been like at Daniel’s age. The only drawback was his body had been hard almost the entire evening. His awareness of Rheda annoyed him. He was old enough and experienced enough with women to be able to ignore her appeal.
His body stirred once more. Tonight Miss Kerrich had obviously decided to play a very dangerous game with him. How like her to throw down a challenge. No doubt having Daniel in residence made her brave enough to flaunt her abundant charms.
Her attempts at seduction were successful; he was hard and hungry for more than food. Her dress had obviously been altered to show more of her stunning cleavage than was acceptable. Daniel, so caught up in his own excitement of having another male dinner guest, didn’t seem to notice how she leaned over the table at every opportunity, her ripe breasts almost bursting free of the scanty material covering them.
Halfway through dinner it had been he who was praying. Praying he could hold fast to his determination not to throw her on the table and ravish her before the main course.
He needed a woman. Any woman would do. Any woman except a golden-haired goddess who, if she knew how much he craved a taste, would likely use it against him. Perhaps a quick trip into Deal was needed. A dalliance with young Lucy would see to his needs. He sighed out loud. He knew he didn’t want any other woman. He wanted Rheda. He growled deep in his throat. Why did he desire the one woman he could not have?
He’d sworn that after Marguerite he would not get involved with any woman when on a mission. He could seduce when required but never lower his guard enough to enjoy or engage any feelings other than lust. Rheda made him feel too much—exactly like Marguerite. What was wrong with him?
Upon entering his bedchamber he crossed directly to the table to pour himself a large whiskey. He was too tired to ride into town anyway. Controlling his frisky stallion that afternoon had taken a lot of strength, and his patrol along the coast on his way back, hoping to catch a glimpse of smuggling, had meant it was now almost morning.
He knew searching on his ride home would be a waste of time. Smugglers rarely operated on a cloudless, star-filled night. About a mile from Hastingleigh his warm bed had beckoned.
He took yet another sip of dulling alcohol and le
t it slide down his throat. Sinking into the chair by the dying fire, he closed his eyes. Immediately, Rheda’s image flashed in his head. Her bare breasts, her nipples puckered and hard in his mouth. Her scent, her soft moans as he’d pleasured her. His groin throbbed. God, he was going to have to take matters into his own hand before he burst.
With his free hand he popped the buttons of his breeches. His erection sprang free. He wrapped his fist around his throbbing shaft, imagining Rheda down on her knees, her mouth hot and warm, sucking him dry. He groaned.
He continued to pleasure himself. The dream of her so real he swore he could feel her. God, her mouth felt good. His glass of unfinished whiskey dropped to the floor. He could feel her small hands on his thighs, her silken tongue running up the length of him. Her mouth teasing the head of his cock, until she sucked hard and drew him all the way into her mouth. He didn’t want the dream to end. He was close to coming. His hips lifted in the chair. A woman’s whimper of pleasure filled his hearing. Her moans sent him over the edge. He surged up and emptied his seed, his eyes flashed open, and to his horror Lady Umbridge was on her knees, her mouth drinking him dry. The whiskey began to rise into his mouth. He hurriedly pushed her off him and rose to his feet, fumbling to right his trousers.
He swung around to face her, humiliation burning his face. With anger building he watched her lick her lips and give a satisfied smile. “I’ve been dying for a taste of you for so long, my lord. I was not disappointed.”
His voice matched how he was feeling, full of disgust, flat, and cold. “Get out.”
She rose to her feet and let her robe slide to the floor. She stood before him completely naked. Naked in more ways than one. There was not a hair on her mound. Rufus had never seen the likes of this before. He’d read about the Arabs’ preference for hairlessness, but he’d never known an English lady to indulge. He couldn’t help himself. His body stirred at the sight of her woman’s lips clearly visible to his eye.
She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. He watched with revulsion rising as she made her way toward him. How could he feel such loathing for a woman and yet feel his body undoubtedly reacting to her exposed charms?
She stood before him, a smug smile masking her hard features. She took his hand and placed it on her mound. “Feel me. Have you ever seen or felt a woman who has been de-haired ?” The skin was smooth, and he could feel and see all of her. He felt himself hardening against his will.
“When I sit on your face you’ll feel like you’re pleasuring a young girl.”
He withdrew his hand as if she had leprosy. His desire withered, and he once again felt ill. He knew men who craved young girls and some even boys. The thought of tainting the innocence of one so young was abhorrent to him. “You disgust me. Get out of my room. In the future I shall have to remember to lock my door.”
Her face darkened with anger. “You didn’t seem to mind when I had my mouth wrapped around your cock. Your groans told me how much you enjoyed my attentions.”
“I did not know it was you.”
Her eyes narrowed. She spread her naked arms wide. “I don’t see anyone else here.”
He felt his face flush further.
“Ah, I see. You were dreaming of someone. Who?”
Rufus ignored her and moved to pick up her robe. “Put this on and get out.” He shoved the garment at her. “Before I summon Stephen.”
Lady Umbridge gave him a knowing gaze. “Lady Hale said you’d stayed at the baron’s for dinner. Your reputation with the ladies clearly indicates it is not the baron you were dreaming of, but he does have a sister.” She pulled the garment on and covered her nakedness. “How interesting.” At the door she hesitated. “You’d be unwise to make an enemy of me, Lord Strathmore. I could make your life very difficult”—she paused—“or very pleasurable. The choice is yours.”
He refused to answer, but simply held her gaze.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Tomorrow night I shall come to your room. If your door is locked I will know what path you have taken.” With that she slipped from his room.
Rufus moved and locked the door after her. He ran a hand through his hair and, appalled with himself, whispered, “It will be bolted.”
Their secret pleasure room, tucked away in the old ruins, was suffocating with heat. The fire roared, and the manly scent of sweat, sex, and alcohol filled the air.
“No more boys for a while, Master. Once the villagers of Deal realize another boy is missing, they will ask questions.”
Master—the name soothed his ego and filled his body with ungodly pride—how he craved the name. He watched his plaything bend and stoke the fire, the sight of open buttocks causing his sleeping manhood to stir. His sex slave had been with him for five years now, and must be getting on toward twenty. Perhaps it was time to replace him, but oh his mouth could do such wondrous things to one’s body, and his appetite for perversity rivaled his own.
“Mon ami, don’t worry your pretty head over such things.” His French accent was more pronounced in his opium-induced haze.
Although the room was already hot, the young man stoked the fire until they could’ve been sinners in the depths of hell. But to him it was heaven. For the added heat aided the body’s absorption of the opium contained in the oil sleeking their skin.
His sex slave turned to face him. “Master, you should not have brought the boy here. It was dangerous. What if he were found here? What if they caught you? I couldn’t bear to lose you ...”
“Hush, my sweet. The boy is dead and gone. Come here.”
His eyes greedily roamed over the young man standing naked before him, and his needs roared to life. His shaft hardened in an enticing offer. He loved watching the fragrant oil they rubbed all over their bodies glisten in the firelight. The young man before him looked like a Greek god: sleek, hairless, and more beautiful than any man he’d ever seen.
Except one. Rufus Knight, Viscount Strathmore.
Soon he would have the virile viscount at his mercy and when he did ... He closed his eyes and let his imagination run wild. He felt himself grow harder as he pictured Rufus on his knees at his feet, his cock in Rufus’s mouth.
His sex slave groaned.
He opened his eyes and watched the young man’s eyes light with animal lust at the sight of his master’s stirring member. God, he was lucky to find such a toy.
“Veins m’aimer—come love me, my boy—” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before a groan was torn from his lips as his plaything’s clever tongue and mouth began servicing him with relish.
Chapter 12
Rufus awoke very early, with a very sore head. He’d drunk himself into oblivion following Lady Umbridge’s distasteful visit. Taking a washcloth, he’d almost rubbed himself raw. His skin crawled remembering her mouth on him. Blast Stephen and his inability to keep his mistress under control. Perhaps he should tell him what occurred and let him deal with it. Why did he feel guilty when he’d done nothing to encourage the situation? He chose to remain silent. They didn’t need any distractions while on this mission. He’d tell Stephen afterward.
Not wishing to face his friend, Rufus dressed and decided to ride into Deal alone to see if the villagers’ tongues had loosened any since Stephen had thrown a large amount of coin around.
However, the gallop into Deal did little to shake the indecent thoughts of Miss Kerrich. The little devil sitting on his shoulder told him to take her—forget about seducing information—claim her. She was like a drug running rampant in his blood. If he did not have a taste and soon, the craving would race out of control.
She was becoming an obsession, like Marguerite. And look how well that ended, he growled to himself.
Marguerite had led him about like a bull with a ring through its nose, a dog on a leash, a stallion broken to saddle. She’d been his contact in Belgium. He’d fallen in love with her at first sight, the word angel instantly popping into his head. She’d been small and delicate, a fair-haired waif whos
e decorum signaled perfection.
All his protective instincts had roared to life. He’d hated the fact Marguerite put herself in danger in order to help him and to aid the British government.
Fool. In Belgium the only person who’d been in danger was him. He’d been the one in need of protection. From her. From her treachery.
This time he’d not let Rheda get close. He’d not be fooled again. He’d take what he required from her, and he’d succeed in his mission regardless of the consequences to Rheda. She would have to face the penalties of her actions. He would not try to save her and risk his mission.
He set a fast pace, and Caesar rose to the challenge. All too soon, horse and rider rode into the main town square. There was little activity at the normally bustling port. Rufus could tell something was wrong. Decidedly wrong. The town felt even more morose than usual.
Deal was more like a den of iniquity than a thriving fishing port. The dock’s abundance of sailors and smuggling cutthroats made the port town look like a version of hell.
Rufus handed Caesar over to the Bosun’s Inn stable boy and, ducking his head, entered the somber enclave of the inn itself. Inside he found a mixture of sailors, local shopkeepers, and Revenuers—for once cohabitating without animosity.
They were all silent, with heads bowed, and no one seemed to notice his entrance. There was no sign of Lucy. He’d been half tempted to seek her out for some pleasurable relief. He refused to admit that only a golden-haired goddess with fire in her emerald eyes was the one he craved. It was business that stopped him dallying and nothing more.
His thoughts were interrupted when one of the men present began to speak. “I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to his mother. Her husband, Harry, has only been gone six months. Now her Davy’s been taken.”
Invitation to Scandal Page 12