From beneath lowered lids, Maxim studied the coolly composed woman seated across the carriage from him. It was difficult to imagine her as the little hoyden she had once again appeared early this morning in her men’s clothing. Even more difficult to imagine her as the woman who had climaxed, twice, beneath his ministrations.
The feel of her had lingered long after he returned to his bedchamber, tormenting and torturing his own lack of release until he could stand it no longer. He had undressed with the anticipation of a few hours’ sleep before his bath, but instead had lain down upon the bed before taking his engorged cock in hand and pleasuring himself, all while imagining it was Heather’s hands upon his cock and balls, stroking and caressing the former and squeezing the latter. Maxim had come quickly and hard, harder than he could remember doing since last he had been with Heather.
Oh, there had been other women in the years since he had learned of Heather’s marriage to his father. Too many, if Maxim was honest with himself. Women he had necessarily kept from seeing his scars by remaining partially dressed during those encounters, or from asking the questions the gentleman at his boxing saloon were too polite to voice.
Maxim found it difficult, now that his senses were once again saturated with Heather’s beauty and allure and her feminine perfume, to recall so much as a single one of those women’s faces. Certainly the sex had been far from memorable.
Because none of those women was Heather.
She had enslaved more than his body all those years ago. Had engaged his emotions in a way no women had before or since. Emotions Maxim had been at pains to bury these past five years, but which were once again clamoring to be heard and felt.
His jaw tightened as he turned his head to stare out the window beside him, barely registering the skeleton of Wheal Anne, the old family mine, which had been closed and boarded up from before Maxim was born.
Until he knew exactly which Heather was, smuggler or traitor to the English Crown, Maxim knew he dare not allow his guard to drop in her presence any further than he already had.
Except he had no idea how he was supposed to keep his hands—or his cock—to himself, when even now he wanted to lay Heather back upon the carriage seat, throw up her skirts, and bury his face in her pussy and eat her until she came and came against his lips and tongue, her juices dripping down his chin. After which he wanted to feel her hands and tongue on his cock, caressing and sucking until his cum exploded into the heat of her mouth and she swallowed it down greedily, as she had so many times in the past.
Imaginings which had only resulted in Maxim’s cock once again being as hard as steel.
Surely the fires of hell could not be as painful as the suffering of his rekindled desire for Heather.
A desire which, thankfully, became secondary the moment he alighted from the carriage at the Turners’ home and was met with their icy lack of welcome.
“My lord.” Lady Adelle Turner, an older but just as beautiful version of her daughter, greeted frostily as she curtseyed just enough to be considered polite.
“Carlton.” Sir Walter’s welcome was even more cold and unwelcoming.
“Mama!” A young boy hurtled past them all and threw himself into Heather’s waiting arms before Maxim could think of a suitable reply to such discourtesy.
Heather’s arms closed about her young son, and she laughed happily as she twirled him around in a circle before holding him close to her and turned to face Maxim. Her expression became challenging as Maxim studied the boy in her arms.
There was no doubting this child was his much younger half brother. He had the same dark blond hair and gray eyes of their father, his facial features very similar to what Maxim’s own had been at the age of five.
“Ralph, this is your brother Maxim, the new earl,” Heather introduced gently as she continued to hold the boy tightly against her.
Protectively? As if she feared Maxim might hurt him in some way, either physically or verbally?
He would never—
“Maxim, my son, Ralph,” she added in a much harder voice.
The boy struggled to be put back upon his feet before bowing. “My lord.”
Maxim’s heart squeezed painfully as he returned the formal gesture. “My lord,” he greeted softly, forcing a smile to curve his lips rather than show how disturbed he was by this physical evidence of Heather’s marriage to his father. “But you may call me Maxim if I may call you Ralph,” he encouraged gruffly.
The child nodded permission, his expression wary and serious rather than the unadulterated pleasure he had seconds ago shown at being reunited with his mother.
And why should Ralph not feel wary of him? Maxim was his brother, but the boy had never met him before. Well, not since he was a newborn babe of a few days old, at least.
Now, with the critical gaze of the Turners fixed upon him, as well as Heather’s more openly hostile one, was not the time for Maxim to attempt to form a relationship with Ralph.
Maxim dragged his gaze away from the boy with effort and instead looked at Sir Walter. “If we could leave the ladies and Ralph to become reacquainted for a few minutes so that you and I might talk in private?”
Heather noted how her father’s shoulders stiffened even further at the request. No doubt because he was already aware of the subject Maxim wished to discuss with him. As were they all.
As the magistrate of the district, her father could and would be held accountable for not bringing to justice any wrongdoing in the area, including the smuggling, which he knew his sons and daughter had been guilty of the previous night.
“How are you?” her mother prompted worriedly once the two women were comfortably ensconced in Adelle’s private parlor enjoying a cup of tea together while Ralph resumed playing with his toys near the window.
How was she, Heather wondered? Angry. Confused. But most of all ashamed of her responses to Maxim earlier today. He had used her and then abandoned her all those years ago, but despite it all, she had responded to him earlier today much like a cat in heat.
Not that she could ever tell her mother that. The two women were close, but not so close Heather ever wanted her mother to know of her weakness still in regard to Maxim. “I am well enough,” she said instead, keeping her voice low so that Ralph did not hear the rest of their conversation. “The shipment arrived safely last night and is hidden away in Wheal Anne.”
“So your brothers informed us this morning,” her mother dismissed. “And we both know I was not referring to last night’s shipment.” Her gaze was reproving.
Heather sighed. “It is a little strange to see Maxim again and know that he is somewhere in the house, but otherwise, I believe we are making the best of it.”
“We?”
She gave a rueful smile. “I doubt Maxim is any more pleased to see me again than I am him.”
“I fail to see why,” her mother snapped. “He is the one who so callously abandoned you after using you for his own pleasure.”
Yes, he was. But somehow, all these years later, with her son playing happily in the same room as her, and still able to feel the effect of Maxim’s lovemaking upon her body, it was difficult for Heather to completely recall the anger she had felt toward Maxim’s betrayal and abandonment.
Which would not do at all.
She could not allow herself to become prey to those desires a second time. She had a responsibility now, as Ralph’s mother, which she had not had then.
“Let us talk of pleasanter things,” she encouraged her mother with a pointed glance in Ralph’s direction. Young children, as she knew, were apt to hear more than the adults might wish them to.
Certainly Heather did not want Ralph to ever know there had once been more between his mother and his brother Maxim than Society would ever allow or accept.
Chapter 5
“Your parents both look well.”
“Did you think it might be otherwise?” Heather challenged Maxim as the two of them once again dined alone at Treganon House.
The journey home had thankfully not been as fraught with tension as the one there. Ralph’s nursemaid had accompanied them, of course, and Ralph seemed to have gotten past his shyness, his boyish chatter also helping with the passing of the miles. He was still a little shy when it came to Maxim, but the man had surprised Heather by doing all that he could to put the boy at ease. He’d suggested the two of them could go fishing in the cove tomorrow, and talked of several other boyish pursuits he thought might interest Ralph.
Heather was unsure as to whether or not she wanted Ralph to become attached to Maxim that way, but if Maxim intended to stay for any length of time, it would be difficult to prevent it from happening. All she could hope for was that Maxim’s visit to Cornwall would be of short duration.
“Not at all,” he answered her lightly before taking a sip of his wine. “Ralph is a fine boy— Careful,” he cautioned as Heather’s knife slipped from her fingers and only just missed stabbing her in one satin-slippered foot.
Heather’s gaze remained lowered as she thanked Coombe for removing the knife from the floor and also handing her a clean one before continuing about his business. “I trust your conversation with my father was all you hoped it would be?” She deliberately changed the subject, even though she knew the answer to the question.
Her father’s eyes had been glittering with anger when the two gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the sitting room, and Maxim had been tight-lipped. The two men had not spoken to each other again directly during the rest of the visit.
“As much as it could be, yes,” Maxim answered her guardedly, aware that Sir Walter was not being completely honest with him where the smuggling in the area was concerned. But how could he be when Sir Walter and his family were known to be involved in it up to their necks? In Heather’s case, a very pretty neck.
In truth, Maxim was currently more interested in talking to Heather than in her father’s avoidance of giving him honest answers. She looked stunningly beautiful this evening, in a gown of cream satin and lace. The style of the gown, with the short cap sleeves pulled down her arms, left her shoulders and the tops of her breasts bare. Her red-brown hair was once again swept up and secured at her crown.
She looked every inch the dowager duchess this evening, her expression one of haughty disdain.
Nor, Maxim knew, would he be the only one to have noticed her beauty since she’d become a very eligible widow. Despite what Maxim had said earlier, his father had left Heather some money of her own. It was nowhere near the Carlton fortune, which was bequeathed with the title, but it would nevertheless be enough of a temptation for many of the less wealthy gentlemen in Society to seek out in their future wife.
Maxim forced his fingers to relax about the stem of his wineglass before it snapped under the pressure. “Your mother told me she now has six grandchildren,” he said evenly. “Ralph, of course, three from Daveth and his wife, and two more with Jory and his wife.” It had been the only topic of conversation about which Adelle Turner had seemed comfortable talking with him.
Heather laughed softly as some of her own tension seemed to ease. “She assures me she is enjoying her grandchildren, and finds them far less of a strain than her own children have and continue to be.”
Maxim’s brows rose. “I believe Daveth and Jory are happily married and successfully farm the estate together? And you married an earl,” he remarked gruffly.
Heather was aware that neither of them could ever forget which earl she had married.
She shrugged creamy shoulders. “I am sure we have also each caused my mother an equal share of heartache over the years.”
“Even you?”
Especially her, Heather accepted regretfully. Indeed, she was sure the strands of gray in her mother’s otherwise reddish-brown hair had all been caused by her. Daveth and Jory had married local girls, and, as Maxim said, the marriages were happy ones. Jory had received a wound as a soldier, and there was the family’s involvement in the smuggling too, of course, but her mother was accustomed to that lucrative pastime by now.
“Even me,” Heather allowed evenly, sitting back in her chair so that Coombe could remove their used plates. “I do not care for dessert, and it has been a long day,” she announced. “I believe I shall retire for the night.”
Maxim looked up at the butler. “You may leave us now.”
Heather immediately felt alarmed at the thought of being alone in the dining room with Maxim. They had not discussed the events of early this morning, but nevertheless, the awareness of it was there between the two of them. It had been so all day.
“Sit down,” Maxim rasped, Heather having risen to her feet the moment Coombe had departed.
She arched one brow. “I beg your pardon?”
Maxim’s jaw tightened. “You and I need to talk.”
Heather remained standing. “We have done nothing but talk all day, and now it is late and I wish to go to my bedchamber.” There had been little enough time for her to rest this morning before she had to rejoin Maxim for their journey to her parents’ home together.
He rose to his feet. “In that case, you leave me no choice but to join you there.”
Heather’s alarm deepened. “It was not an invitation,” she snapped. “If you have something to say to me, then say it now.” She inwardly armed herself for the conversation. Whatever it might be.
He nodded abruptly. “This morning, the two of us—”
“Anything but that!” She moved away to stand in front of one of the windows, her lace-covered hands tightly clasped together in front of her.
It was now fully dark outside, and so there was little to see outside the window, but nevertheless, it was preferable to looking at Maxim in the dark evening clothes that fit him so perfectly across the width of his muscular shoulders and chest. She was a woman, not a marble statue, and her body still trembled at the memory of those shattering climaxes of this morning.
Her back stiffened as she saw Maxim’s reflection in the window and felt his heat as he came to stand behind her. Candles flickered in the room, adding to the sudden intimacy. Heather’s nipples immediately engorged, painfully so, at the memory of having Maxim’s lips and hands upon them earlier today.
“I am once again hard for you, Heather,” he murmured huskily.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” she snapped. “Get down on my knees and service you like the whore you have always thought me?”
Maxim’s gaze glittered as he easily held hers captive in their reflection. “I have never believed nor said that about you.”
She broke that compelling gaze by turning to face him, chin raised in challenge. “No?”
“No,” he answered calmly. “But, I admit, the thought of you on your knees in front of me is not unappealing,” he acknowledged ruefully. “My cock approves of the idea too.”
Her gaze dropped to where that swollen shaft pressed urgently against the front of his evening trousers. Nor could she look away again as Maxim’s hands moved to the buttons, slowly unfastening each one—perhaps giving her time to protest?—before the flap fell down and his bare cock sprang free. She could not have protested then even if she wanted to. Her mouth had gone dry as she stared at that long and fully engorged member, the bulbous top glistening with precum.
Heather ran her tongue longingly over her parched lips. She had always loved Maxim’s taste, been addicted to it, and him, six years ago.
“On your knees,” he instructed gruffly as he curled his fingers about his shaft and gave it a leisurely stroke, causing yet more viscous fluid to bubble to the surface.
Her natural instinct was to do as Maxim asked.
No!
She would not do it. Could not do it—
Her knees bent, folded beneath her, as she sank to the carpeted floor, drawn, lured to obey by the promised taste of him. It had always been this way between them. Maxim ordered, and, when it came to intimacy, she obeyed.
“Lick.” Maxim was barely breathing as he w
aited to see if Heather would comply with his second instruction.
In all other things, Heather had always been headstrong and rebellious, refusing to have her fiery spirit curbed. But during intimacy, she had always deferred to him in the past. He hoped—prayed—it would be the same now.
His lone release earlier today had not even touched the surface of his desire for her. He needed her lips and hands on him, to have his cock taken into the heat of her mouth while she pleasured him.
To some, it might seem that he was exerting undue power over her, but it had never been like that between the two of them. When it came to intimacy, Heather had always held all the power, to give or receive pleasure, or to make him suffer the pains of hell if she refused him.
In the past, she never had, but that did not mean it would be the same between them now. Even the fact she was on her knees in front of him did not mean she would put an end to his suffering.
“Heather, please,” he pleaded when she made no effort to move and there was only the sound of the mantel clock slowly ticking by the seconds of his endless torment.
Her glance was that of the temptress as she gazed up at him from beneath lowered lashes. Slowly, she lifted her hands to push his hand aside. Lace-covered fingers curled about his hardness while her other hand cupped the full tautness of his balls.
“Fuck!” Maxim groaned low in his throat even as he planted his feet farther apart to maintain his balance.
“I do not think so,” she taunted. “But this…” Her tongue rasped slowly over his cockhead, lapping up the precum. “Mm, this I would enjoy.” Her lips parted, and she took his cockhead fully into her mouth.
Maxim believed he must have died and gone to heaven as Heather’s head began to bob slowly up and down his shaft. She took his cock to the back of her throat before slowly releasing him to the tip and then swallowing him down again. The sucking in of her cheeks imitated the tightness and heat of her pussy.
How many times had Maxim imagined just this as he lay rotting in that French prison, holding on to his sanity by a thin thread? Only the promise of Heather waiting for him kept him grounded and willing to continue fighting his torturers. To live, for her.
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