He sat on the other end of the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him, laying one arm lazily along the back, his long fingers tantalizingly close to her shoulders, and suddenly the furniture seemed incredibly small, hardly suited for holding more than one person.
“When the ladies spoke of you, your penchant for hard work was never mentioned.”
“The ladies?”
She took a sip of brandy. Inhaling the fumes burned her nostrils, yet she found pleasantness in the sensation. She wondered what pleasures the other bottles held. “During afternoon tea, you’re often discussed.”
He chuckled as though unexpectedly amused. “What would the ladies say about me?”
“That you’re on familiar terms with the devil.”
“That I am.” He lifted his snifter in a salute and drank its contents.
She tried not to be mesmerized watching his throat work. He was not wearing his cravat, waistcoat, or jacket. He’d loosened the buttons at his neck. Considering that she had no desire to upset the camaraderie that was developing between them she decided not to complain about his slovenly dress, especially as he hardly looked slovenly. Even disheveled, he looked wickedly handsome.
“We were going to discuss my finances,” she reminded him.
“Ah, yes. Your finances. You may recall that your late husband placed money into a trust that will provide you with two thousand per annum.”
“Of course, I recall.”
“With a bit of careful investing, I believe I can arrange it so you make five thousand.”
“Per annum?” The words came out on a whisper of disbelief.
“Per annum.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because it’ll make it easier to marry you off.” Snatching the decanter off the table, he reached across the short space separating them and refilled her glass.
She took a sip, studying him over the rim. The flavor of brandy was growing on her. “You seem quite obsessed with the notion of marrying me off.”
“It solves numerous problems for me.”
“If you didn’t want to be guardian, why did you agree to it?”
“Surely, in the short time you’ve known me, you’ve learned I consider nothing too unpleasant to undertake when it places more coins in my palm.”
“After observing you with Henry today, I’d gotten the distinct impression that you liked him.”
“I do. Charming lad. Doesn’t mean I don’t prefer my freedom.”
She took another sip of brandy, then another. Feeling herself growing lethargic, she brought her feet up to the cushions. It was her guilty pleasure, sitting so unladylike in her bedchamber when she read before the fireplace. The brandy made it seem as though now was the time for guilty pleasures.
“Your freedom you can easily gain by simply getting out of our lives,” she reminded him.
“I find it difficult to believe that you, who are so keen on being dutiful, would suggest I shirk my duties.” He poured more brandy into her glass.
“Are you trying to get me foxed?”
He laughed, a deep raspy sound that made her skin tingle. “What do you know of the delights of spirits?”
“I know on more than one occasion my brother returned from your club barely able to walk. I think you would take great sport in bringing me to my knees and spreading rumors about my scandalous behavior.”
His eyes darkened and his gaze was unflinching as he studied her. She was left with the impression she’d said something he found intriguing. He barely moved his arm, but it was enough to take her braid and as his hand skimmed over her shoulder, a shudder of pleasure rippled through her.
He toyed with the end of her braid, brushing his thumb over it. “In my business, Duchess, I have learned to be very discreet. I assure you nothing that happens within this residence will be whispered about beyond these walls. Unlike your ladies, I take no pleasure in gossip. So get roaring drunk and fall to your knees as often as you like.”
She had no plans to get drunk or fall in any manner, but she didn’t object when he poured her more brandy. Feeling more relaxed than she had in a good long while, she swirled the glass, watched the liquid spin. “So how would you do it?”
He seemed startled by her question. “Do what?”
She wondered what he’d been thinking about. “Increase my yearly income.”
“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten that’s what brought us here. I would increase your income by investing your money.”
“In something improper I presume?”
She saw a measure of respect light his eyes, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit thrilled that she’d guessed what he’d planned to do with her money.
“Let’s just say, for the sake of propriety, you’d be investing in providing entertainment. I don’t know that you’d need or want to know the specifics.”
She shook her head. “It would make me a hypocrite.”
“A wealthy hypocrite.”
Smiling, she took another sip of brandy. It was tempting. Spirits she was deciding weren’t nearly as awful as she’d originally thought. They were in fact quite delightful. And they made her feel very happy. More happy than she’d felt in a good long while.
“There is more to life than wealth,” she told him.
“Those who make such reckless proclamations are usually wealthy.”
“You’re wealthy.”
“Because I recognize it’s the only thing that matters, and I put all my efforts into acquiring and holding onto it.”
“That’s sad. Terribly, terribly sad. Have you no one special?”
For a moment, the way he was looking at her, she thought he was going to tell her about someone he loved.
“Do you want me to invest your money or not?” he asked sharply.
It seemed inherently wrong to have her money invested in things of which she didn’t approve, but the thought of five thousand per annum, a sum that would make her quite independent, was a temptation too great to resist. She downed the remainder of her brandy, able for some reason to tolerate it in larger quantities, and nodded.
“Splendid.” He refilled her glass. “Now on to the next subject.”
“And what would that be?”
“Your husband.”
“Lovingdon?”
“No, your future husband.” He reached for her feet, stretching out her legs and placing her bare feet on his lap.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed by the intimacy, but lost enough in lethargy not to want to pull them back.
“Offering you a little more indulgence.”
“I think you seek to corrupt me.”
“With a bit of brandy and a foot rub? Oh, I am the devil.”
Smiling at him over the rim of the glass, she said, “That’s what I thought the first night. That the devil had come to call.”
“And now?”
“I’m not quite sure what to make of you.” Suddenly she felt very comfortable with him, as though all her inhibitions had floated away. She thought she might even be able to trust him with her deepest, darkest secrets.
Jack’s large rough hands began to knead the soles of her feet. It was absolute heaven. Looking at him through a brandy haze, she decided he was quite charming.
“Since you won’t tell me who you fancy, tell me what qualities you prefer in a man and I’ll scout around, see what I can find,” he said.
Olivia couldn’t help it. She giggled. “You make it sound so simple.”
“Isn’t it?” He ran the pad of his thumb up the center of her sole, causing her toes to curl. “What qualities do you want in your next husband?”
She shook her head. She didn’t want to discuss these things. She didn’t want him to know—
“Come on, Olivia,” he said in that soft, raspy voice that did strange things to her insides. “What is it you want from your next husband?”
Closing her eyes, she let more brandy slide down her throat. The heat of it seemed to rise throug
h her head, urging her to confess. It made her feel daring, bold, and not so ashamed of what she wanted. Running her tongue over her lips, she gathered up the last remnants of brandy. She opened her eyes to discover that Jack had moved nearer, near enough that he could tuck behind her ear strands of hair that had escaped her braid.
“Tell me, Olivia.”
“I don’t want him to cast me aside once he has his heir.” She held her snifter with both hands and looked into the glass as though it held images from the past. “Lovingdon did that. He never touched me again once he realized I was with child.”
It took every ounce of courage she possessed to lift her gaze to his. She didn’t expect sympathy from a man like Jack Dodger, and he didn’t disappoint her in that regard. She wasn’t quite sure what his thoughts were, but based on the hardness of his jaw, she suspected it might be a good thing that Lovingdon was dead.
“I thought it was because I was with child and he feared intimacy might cause me to lose it,” she tried to explain. “I thought after Henry was born everything would return to the way it had been. But it didn’t.”
He trailed his finger along her cheek. “The man was a fool.”
“I was the fool. I went to his bedchamber once, thinking to seduce him.” She’d felt so silly then, had never thought to tell anyone, but tonight in the shadows with the brandy coursing through her veins, embarrassment was a distant memory. “He rebuffed me. He tried to be kind. He told me there was a girl in his youth, and when she left him his heart went with her. That he’d betrayed her and could not keep betraying her. I truly didn’t know what he was talking about. I was so mortified, I didn’t really listen.”
He swept his thumb across the sensitive flesh of her throat. “Who was she?”
“I don’t know. It’s often that way among the aristocracy. Political alliances or financial gains hold more sway than matters of the heart.” She shook her head. “I was married to Lovingdon for six years and I hardly knew him at all. It seems as though I should miss him more, that there should be a gaping hole. All I feel is a sense of emptiness, that something’s missing, but I think it was missing long before he died.”
The brandy made her daring. She eased toward him slightly and whispered, “I’m not even certain I’ve actually truly been kissed.”
It was uncanny how still he suddenly became, still and tense, his gaze intensifying as it held hers. “I’ve told you before I’m not a man who settles for only a kiss.”
He’d also warned her never to challenge him because it would only make him do it. She was five and twenty and she’d only ever received a kiss while standing at the altar. Lovingdon had not been cruel, but neither had he been passionate. He’d treated her with kindness, but he’d never stirred her emotions as Jack Dodger did. Jack infuriated her. He mesmerized her. He terrified her. He made her curious.
Licking her lips to steal the remnants of brandy, she saw his eyes darken. His reaction shored up her courage.
“I forbid you to only kiss me.”
“I’ve warned you not to forbid me,” he growled.
Before her next heartbeat, he’d slid his hand around her neck, holding her still, as he slashed his mouth across hers. He was not gentle or polite. He was almost savage with his desire to deliver what she’d requested. She relaxed into him, offered up no objections when his tongue urged her lips to part and slid smoothly into her mouth. Heat spiraled through her, melting her bones as though they were little more than tallow. He touched her with nothing except that one hand and his mouth, yet it seemed as though he caressed her everywhere, inside and out, shallow and deep. How could a kiss be this powerful, elicit such yearnings?
His hand clutched the back of her head as though he would hold her there forever while his mouth ravaged hers. She wondered if he tasted the brandy on her tongue that she tasted on his. It was suddenly a richer flavor, more intense, more enjoyable. She wanted to lap it up, become drunk on it.
She’d always been so good about exhibiting proper behavior, and suddenly she was relishing the forbidden, understanding its appeal. His bristly beard abraded her skin, but it only served to enhance her enjoyment. Intense pleasure swirled through her. Oh, she’d never felt anything like this before. She wanted to curl around him, hold him close. She scraped her fingers along his scalp, the thick tendrils of his hair soft against her skin.
She heard a low moan, barely realizing that it came from her. Her entire body seemed to be awakened, as though all these years she’d been unaware that it had been asleep. If at all possible, he deepened the kiss as though he couldn’t have enough of her. As though he desired her.
The notorious Jack Dodger wanting her? It was a thought almost too heady to bear. Her husband had kissed her at the altar because duty required it. Even though she’d challenged Jack, she felt no sense of duty in his reaction to her. She felt only an overwhelming power, barely leashed. Her own reaction to his greedy demands shocked her. She didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted him to—
Suddenly he broke away and heaved himself to his feet, leaving her bereft, reaching for him before she even realized what she was doing.
Breathing heavily, his back to her, he said, “I’ll prepare a proposal for you, outlining what I intend to do with your money. You can discuss it with Beckwith in order to be assured your best interests will be served.”
Gaping, she stared at him in stunned disbelief. The kiss that had left her trembling from head to toe meant nothing to him. He could play his mouth wildly over hers and then get up and calmly discuss her finances? What a fool she’d been to give in to temptation, only to have it thrown in her face. Tears stung her eyes as she fought desperately for composure and some hint as to how to make a graceful departure from his presence.
Abruptly he spun around and was leaning over her, his arms braced on the couch, hemming her in, his eyes smoldering with passion barely controlled. “I cautioned you that I was not a man who would settle for only a kiss, so be forewarned, I will collect what I am owed. I’ll hold to my promise and not go to your bed, but by God, you will come to mine. I’ll leave the choosing of the moment up to you, but choose a moment you will.”
With a force that tipped the couch, he shoved away and headed for the door. “I’m going to my club,” he threw out, as though she’d asked about his intentions.
But she hadn’t the strength to form words. She could barely stay sitting upright. Her entire body felt weak. Tremors cascaded through her as she gasped for breath. All she’d wanted was a kiss and he’d delivered a great deal more.
She squeezed her eyes shut, his velvety threat echoing through her mind. Oh, the arrogance of the man. She’d never go to his bed. Never.
But even as she thought the words, she feared they were a lie.
Jack stormed into his club, a man with a purpose. He’d thought leaving the duchess would be enough to tamp his desire. He’d been wrong. Even now, it was roaring through him with an ungodly vengeance, refusing to be ignored.
For the first time in his life, he wanted more than he’d ever had. He wanted to hear a woman’s cries as she gave herself over to pleasure. He wanted to be the one who brought the cries rising out of her throat. He wanted to touch her in ways that pleased her. He wanted to taste her. Start with her mouth and work his way down to her toes.
He made his way to the room where the girls worked. Standing in the doorway, he scanned the crowd until he caught sight of Prudence lounging on a man’s lap.
He knew how intense his gaze could be, how he could force a person to feel it and gain his attention. Finally, she looked over at him. He jerked his head in the direction of the offices. She gave him a quick nod before turning back to her customer to smooth any feathers that might be ruffled by her unexpected departure.
Jack barreled through his establishment, ignoring those around him. Something in his face must have shown that he wanted them to disregard him as well, because no one approached or vied for his attention.
Jack shoved open t
he door that led to the offices, walked by Frannie’s without peering in, and strode into his own, closing and locking the door in his wake. He went to the wall and took down an oil painting of a woman sitting beneath a tree. Removing a key from his waistcoat pocket, he inserted it into the lock and opened his safe. He gathered the required coins and dropped them into a velvet pouch. After closing the safe door, removing the key, and returning the painting to its place, he unlocked his office door.
Tossing the pouch onto a desk corner for easy reach, he sat, opened a drawer, removed a condom, and slipped it into his pocket. Tonight he just needed a quick romp. His desk would suffice. He’d have Pru back to her customer before she was truly missed. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey, poured some into a glass, and downed it in one long swallow.
He’d never felt the need this badly. It was almost barbaric. He couldn’t seem to get the vision of Olivia out of his mind. The innocence in her request: I forbid you to only kiss me.
Yet there had been no innocence in her response.
What had possessed him to accept her challenge? It would have been far better to have rebuffed her, to have walked away, to have not tasted her, to have not known the sweet echo of her sighs and moans as pleasure took hold. It had required every ounce of willpower he possessed to go no further than a kiss. He’d desperately wanted to loosen her buttons and remove that hideous nightgown. He’d wanted to bare her skin to his hands and his mouth. He’d wanted to pull her beneath him, grind himself against her—
It was lust—just lust, and nothing more. But even as he thought the words, he feared they were a lie.
He stood, grabbed the pouch, and walked out into the hallway, to the door that led outside. They would go to his room, his bed, for a longer, more satisfying encounter. He’d bury himself so deeply within her—
The footsteps he heard were not the ones that of late caused his heart to pick up its tempo. He watched as Pru approached in her sensual attire. But she didn’t entice him as Olivia did in her ghastly black dresses.
Pru slipped her arm through his and pressed her breast—much larger than Olivia’s—suggestively against his arm. “’ello, love. It’s been a long while since ye called for me. Are we goin’ to your room?”
Between the Devil and Desire Page 15