by Merry Farmer
To save her sanity and prevent her from forgetting everything, Rebecca blurted, “There’s a secret passageway that leads from my bedroom at the school to the East India House.”
Nigel’s eyes shot up to meet hers, and a small frown creased his brow. “A secret passageway?”
Rebecca nodded, inspired to go on. “We discovered it yesterday when Miss Dobson locked everyone in their rooms. Jo, Caro, and I were desperate to escape, and in our search for a way to lower ourselves out the window into the mews, we discovered the passage.”
Nigel gaped at her. “And it leads to the East India Company’s house?”
“Yes,” Rebecca scooted closer to him, resting her hands on one of his massive thighs. “The passages must be extensive. We only went a short distance, but I could see it went on. My parents have such passageways in their house, presumably so they can observe—” Her voice gave out, both because she couldn’t possibly bring herself to confess to Nigel, of all people, what she’d seen from those passages, and because it had suddenly dawned on her that her parents must have enjoyed engaging in similar, voyeuristic activity. They had routinely invited friends to stay the night.
She shook her head to clear away a thousand shocking realizations about the sort of people her parents were. “We saw people,” she blurted. “A man and a woman.”
Nigel’s frown had deepened at the beginning of her explanation. “In a place like the East India Company’s house, passages of that sort must have been designed to listen in on sensitive discussions and learn political secrets. Even private conversations containing vital information can be spied on if few people know those passages exist.”
“We saw a man and a woman making love,” Rebecca blurted, certain her face was as red as the Persian carpet under their feet.
Nigel’s eyes went wide and his thigh twitched under her hand. “You…did?”
“They were talking about the diamond,” Rebecca rushed on. “Or, at least, he was talking about the diamond.”
“What did he say about it?” Nigel’s expression turned serious once more.
Rebecca licked her lips. “He said he should have—” she coughed lightly, “concealed it in her cunny so that she could have just walked out with it instead of him having to go through all the trouble he did to remove it.”
A fire that was both serious and sensual filled Nigel’s eyes. “So the man confessed to being the thief?”
“He did,” Rebecca said, inching closer to him. “Why else would he have said those things?”
“Who was it?” Nigel asked.
Rebecca let out a breath, her shoulders sagging. “We didn’t see. He was facing away from us, and his head was lowered as he—” She ended with a gulp.
“The woman?” Nigel asked, his voice gruff.
“She was on her hands and knees with her skirts concealing her head.” Rebecca didn’t know what possessed her not to stop there, but she went on with, “Her hips were elevated and her legs were spread. The gentleman gripped her around the waist and was thrusting powerfully.” She held his eyes through her entire description, feeling parts of her turn molten.
Nigel stared at her with an intensity that left Rebecca wriggling inside. It was like the night of the party and then some. Her breasts ached, and more than anything, she wanted to rid herself of her clothes. It was simply too hot to wear them. He must have felt the same way. The bulge in his breeches had grown considerably. He couldn’t be comfortable like that.
And yet, he didn’t do anything. Rebecca could feel intensity pouring off of him. She knew he needed something, needed to act. But he held perfectly still. A little too still. She was desperate to discover what kind of excitement might burst from him, if only he would give himself permission to act. If that meant she had to be scandalous, taking a lesson from her sister’s book, and make herself into a harlot, then so be it.
“I didn’t understand what he meant,” she said, glancing coyly at him as she slipped one of her hands to the inside of his thigh.
“About what?” Nigel asked in a rough growl.
“Concealing the diamond,” she went on, inching her hand toward the bulge in his breeches. “How would one place something so precious in a woman’s secret place?”
She was certain that he would leap up from the sofa in offense, that he would admonish her, call her every manner of wicked name, and march from the room, never to see her again, as she closed her hand over his breeches. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d gone too far, been too bold, and that he would reject her. So when he groaned in pleasure and closed his hand over hers, helping her to rub what turned out to be the hot, hard, and rather large contents of his breeches, she gasped.
She was just getting used to the erotic way he helped her touch him when he pulled her hand away.
“Damn me if I’m going to come in my breeches in less than a minute,” he panted.
Before Rebecca could do more than open her mouth to ask what he meant, he scooped her around the waist and drew her across his lap. He cradled her with one arm, reaching for the hem of her skirt. At the same time, his mouth came crashing down over hers. The force of his kiss parted her lips, and before she could get her bearings, his tongue invaded her mouth.
It was the strangest and most unexpectedly enjoyable sensation she’d ever felt, and she moaned in encouragement. His tongue slipped along hers, tasting her fully and making her feel as though she were completely at his mercy. He couldn’t seem to settle on one way of devouring her. One minute his tongue was mating with hers and the next he nibbled on her bottom lip, teasing her with his teeth.
Rebecca didn’t think anything could be more glorious. At least, not until she realized his hand had found the hem of her skirt and was sliding slowly up between her legs. A quick bolt of shock hit her, then gave way to the heated, heady feeling that he was going to do more than fondle her knees.
He did stroke the surprisingly tender flesh at the back of one knee, but only for as long as it took to push it to the side. His motion caused her foot to lose purchase on the far end of the sofa and for her entire leg to slip off the side. The result was that her hips opened as his hand continued its scandalous journey.
His mouth covered hers and his tongue played against hers as his hand reached her sex. It was a good thing his mouth claimed hers too, because she cried out with the pleasure his touch brought her. He absorbed the sound, matching it with a groan of his own as his fingers stroked her hot, damp flesh.
He broke away from her long enough to growl, “My God, you’re so wet.”
Senses overloaded, Rebecca could only answer with incoherent sounds, her hips twitching against the things his hand was doing. He kissed her again, making sounds of his own as his fingers slipped deeper into her folds. Her whole body began to tremble as he traced the entrance of her sex.
“This is how you insert something precious inside a woman,” he said in a low rumble.
He circled the opening of her sex once more, then thrust one of his large fingers inside. Rebecca gasped at the sensation and tensed, her body arching into his touch. He didn’t remain still inside her, though. He moved his finger in and out, stroking her inner walls in a particular way, and producing a flood of delicious sensation that had her begging for more.
He seemed to hear her heart’s plea and added a second finger to his ministrations. That felt even better and left her aching for more. Her body resisted just a bit, hinting that some barrier would need to be breeched in order for her to be filled completely, but she was ready for it.
“Nigel,” she sighed as he broke their kiss. He watched her with such intensity that she could only imagine it must give him pleasure to see her so thoroughly undone.
“Come,” he told her.
The command loosened something wild and wanton inside of her, and when he thrust his fingers deep inside of her, using his thumb to stroke the aching nub that she already knew could produce remarkable sensations within her, she gave up and let the most power
ful orgasm she’d ever experienced thunder through her. She cried out as her sex pulsed, squeezing his fingers inside of her.
Nigel grunted in response, moving his fingers to keep her convulsing for as long as possible. When her tremors slowed and the liquid warmth of completion had turned her body to jelly, he growled, “I can’t hold back anymore.”
He drew his hand out from her skirts and grabbed her waist with both hands. As if she were a rag-doll, he lifted her and brought her down, straddling his hips. With a quick movement, he bunched her skirts around her waist, then arched his hips as he fought to undo the falls of his breeches as fast as possible.
Even though she was overcome with the heat of orgasm, Rebecca instinctively knew what he was after. She gripped the back of the sofa behind him as he tugged at his clothes to free himself. At last, she felt his hot, hard length rub against her sex. She jerked her hips, biting her lip at the pleasure that coursed through her as she ground her clitoris against his cock. He grunted impatiently and grabbed her hips, and Rebecca knew the moment had come.
But the doors of the parlor slid suddenly open, and before Nigel could drive himself home inside of her, Lord Thomas Manfred stepped into the room.
All three of them froze. Rebecca’s legs shook as she balanced over the tip of Nigel’s swollen cock. Nigel held her hips and held his breath as his head whipped to the side, glaring at Lord Thomas. And for his part, Lord Thomas couldn’t have looked more surprised at what he was seeing.
Lord Thomas recovered first. “Bloody hell. I’m sorry, Kent.” He looked genuinely embarrassed as he took a large step back, reaching for the sliding doors. “I wondered why these doors were closed. A thousand apologies. Do carry on. Sorry. Sorry.” His words grew quieter and quieter until the last apology was delivered in a whisper as he shut the doors.
Rebecca sucked in a breath at last, but she still couldn’t move. Every part of her wanted to bear down and sheathe Nigel firmly inside of her, but she sensed the magic of the moment had passed.
She was proven right when Nigel cursed under his breath and undulated his hips to draw his cock away from Rebecca’s sex. He pushed her firmly back, and Rebecca was forced to plant her feet on the floor and stand to keep from tumbling backwards. As she did, Nigel tucked himself into his breeches with a frustrated growl.
“Is that the end?” Rebecca asked, her breath still coming in shallow pants.
“It is for now,” Nigel said, sounding supremely uncomfortable. He stood so fast, pain pinching his face, that Rebecca had to stumble back several feet. “Thank you for the information you’ve given me. I’m terribly sorry if I’ve offended you. I need to find a toilet.”
Rebecca snapped her mouth shut in surprise at Nigel’s lightning-fast rush of words. The last clipped phrase made no sense to her at all. Nigel zipped out of the room, his gait hinting that he was highly uncomfortable.
“Wait,” she called after him. “I haven’t told you everything. The man had a birthmark.”
Nigel didn’t so much as pause as he fled the room.
“You didn’t offend me,” she yelped, rushing after him as far as the doorway. “I liked it. I wanted it. I want to do more. Can we do more?”
But it was no use. Nigel disappeared around the corner, leaving her feeling prickly and overexcited, and without true satisfaction.
Chapter 4
Nigel Kent paced back and forth across the confines of his cluttered office on Bow Street, unable to shake the energy that pulsed through him. Days had passed, and the Chandramukhi Diamond was still missing. Not that the thief would be fool enough to attempt to sell it so soon after stealing it. Even if he had, surely someone in the network of eyes and ears that stretched out over London would have whispered something about the sale.
It further irritated Nigel that he had a list of suspects, but no firm leads on any of them. Any one of the men who had been at the house owned by the East India Company could have had a motive for stealing a diamond as precious as the Chandramukhi. There was Lord Rufus Herrington, whose estate revenues had reportedly fallen off so precipitously that he had resorted to selling his family’s art collection in order to pay his servants. Then there was Mr. Wallace Newman, a mill owner from the north who had come to London in the spring to drum up investors. He’d overextended his company’s finances and needed cash fast to stay in business. There was also Lord Felix Lichfield, who had just had his engagement to the elegant and high-placed Lady Malvis broken off for unknown reasons.
Those were only the English gentlemen who had been present the afternoon of the theft. Any one of Khan’s Indian staff or guests could have been responsible as well. Although it was likely Rebecca would have noticed if the man who had confessed to the crime was Indian.
His pacing stopped abruptly and his thoughts flew back to the afternoon before. A hot rush shot through him, tightening his trousers. He’d been within inches, literally within inches, of driving himself home in Rebecca’s hot, wet quim. She’d been biddable and pliable, and he had no doubt that she would have let him fuck her until they were both sore. She certainly would have been. He had no doubt she was a virgin, despite how readily she let him pleasure her. She was still intact, although maybe slightly less so now, after what his fingers had done.
He groaned at the memory, walking back to his desk and sitting hard in his chair with his legs splayed to relieve some of the pressure on his cock. He’d suspected Rebecca had a wanton streak in her from the moment they’d met. She might have claimed to be nervous the night Grey was apprehended, but he’d watched her as she posed on the sweets table. The way she’d held her body, large, heavy breasts thrust forward, thighs twitching ever so slightly, had been a dead giveaway.
She’d been lively in the carriage as well, sitting closer to him than was proper. It’d been all he could do not to ravage her that night, as the carriage bumped along the dark streets of London. He would never forget the scent of her—sweet mingled with spice—or the way she’d glanced at him, as if waiting to be pounced on.
He should have pounced.
“No,” he grunted aloud. He shouldn’t have pounced then and he most certainly shouldn’t have taken the liberties he had with her at Lord Landsbury’s house. He’d been raised to be more of a gentleman than that. But the way he’d behaved yesterday, anyone would have thought that he really was the raw, low-born scoundrel he was believed to be. His father would roll his eyes if he knew what a cad his eldest son had become. His mother had been rolling her eyes for years, ever since Nigel had left his birthright behind to be lowly thief-taker, as she liked to call it.
Which was why he should have been concentrating on finding the diamond thief, not reliving the way Rebecca had sighed with pleasure as he touched her silken cunny. His cock twitched with the rush of blood that the memory brought him. She’d wanted it and wanted it badly. He’d made her come and she’d reveled in it instead of being terrified of the sensations, as he imagined polite virgins would be. He closed his hand over his crotch, sucking in a breath and remembering the boldness with which she had done the same. Yes, she’d wanted it all right.
With a furtive glance to the door, Nigel undid the fall of his breeches and grabbed his cock. He let out a low grunt and closed his eyes, stroking himself slowly. The memory of Rebecca’s gasp as she’d come filled him with a desperate sort of pleasure. He imagined what that moment would have been like if she’d had her tits out. He couldn’t forget the sight of them that night at Grey’s—full and round with large, dusky areolas. He stroked himself harder, pressure tightening his balls and heating his groin. He tugged a handkerchief out of the pocket of his jacket with his free hand, holding it ready.
His imagination flashed back to the day before. Rebecca had been so ready to be fucked. He could have sheathed his entire, substantial length deep within her. She would have taken all of him, no matter how tight the fit. He could imagine the way her face would have pinched with the effort, the impassioned cries she would have made as he stretched her to
her limit. He didn’t want to hurt her, but the idea that he would have been almost too much for her made him—
“Kent, what have you discovered about—”
Nigel’s door flew open and his superior, Mr. Adolphus Gibbon, marched into the room.
Nigel flinched so hard, his hand clamping convulsively around his swollen cock—which was in full view, flushed, and tipped with moisture—that he let out a strangled cry of pain.
“Good Lord,” Gibbon exclaimed, whipping to face away from Nigel. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, then, a beat later, hissed, “You’re at work, man. Pull yourself together.”
Nigel did just that, doing his best to tuck his thick, throbbing penis back into his breeches and to fasten them in some semblance of order before standing. “Sorry,” he grunted, wincing at the harsh ache that begged for relief, but wasn’t about to get any. “Unforgiveable,” he muttered.
“I’m not against polishing rifles in general,” Gibbon said, clearing his throat and peeking over his shoulder to make sure Nigel was presentable. “We all do it,” he went on, turning gingerly to face Nigel once more. “But on our own time.”
“Yes, sir,” Nigel grumbled. Although he doubted Gibbon ever had to resort to self-abuse. The man was attractive in all the ways women liked—tall and fit, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a reputation for facing danger—both in his infantry days and now, as a Runner—that meant he never lacked for female company.
An awkward silence fell between the two of them. Nigel’s groin pulsed with pain and desperation to finish what he’d started, but he gritted his teeth and stood at attention—in more ways than one—awaiting whatever Gibbon had barged in on him for.
Gibbon cleared his throat, then said, “I was going to ask you what you’ve discovered about the Chandramukhi Diamond.”