Between the Devil and Desire

by Lorraine Heath

  She dug her fingers into his shoulders, his back. She held him close while he ravished her breasts. His bristled jaw prickled, adding to the sensations. Her hips turned toward him of their own accord.

  He skimmed his hand down her hip, her thigh, and brought it around to rest heavily between her legs, his fingers gliding intimately—

  She gasped as the pleasure spiked.

  He lifted his head, studying her. He glided his finger over her, eliciting another cry, her legs squeezing together as though to hold him there or perhaps to urge him on.

  “I want to watch you, Livy,” he whispered roughly. “I want to see what the darkness of the garden kept from me. Let go, Livy. Let go.”

  She shook her head fiercely, but he gave her no respite. He returned his mouth to her breasts while his fingers worked their magic. When she was close, so very close, he stopped to ease up, roll between her thighs, and take her mouth as though he owned it. His tongue probed and explored as though he didn’t know every intimate corner, while she returned the favor with more boldness than she ever had. She loved his flavor, loved the scent of him heated by their passion. His skin was hot and velvety beneath her fingers, dampened by a light coating of dew.

  He rose above her and she might have been frightened by what she saw in his eyes if she didn’t know him as well as she did. It was almost animalistic, barbaric.

  She felt him testing her readiness, and she immediately tensed.

  “Shh, shh, gentle now,” he whispered near her ear, and she wasn’t certain if the words were for her or himself.

  He glided his hand down her side, over her hip, around her thigh, and he urged her to open herself more fully.

  Then she felt him pushing into her, inch by delicious inch, the fullness of him stretching her further, increasing the pleasure tightening low in her belly. When she thought she could take no more, he lifted her hips slightly, shifted his weight, and buried himself completely into her, bowing her back with the exquisite sensation of feeling his weight pressing against her.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  Threading his fingers through hers, he moved her hands so they rested on either side of her head while he rode her unmercifully, mercifully. Her body sang to his tune, pleasures rippling through her, increasing in intensity as his powerful thrusts moved not only her, but the bed.

  His groans echoed around her, harsh, yet satisfying, and she heard her answering moans. The pleasure became almost unbearable. She wanted to close her eyes, but he was so beautiful, so magnificent to watch, his jaw clenched, his smoldering gaze locked onto hers. She’d never before felt this connection with anyone—that wherever they went they went together.

  He was a devil, tempting her, demanding with every stroke of his body against hers that she surrender. And surrender she did, not only her body, but her heart and her soul.

  He cried out, his thrusts going deeper, so deep that she wondered how she’d survive—

  Then the cataclysm hit, her body tightening around him even as she arched beneath him, catapulting her into never-imagined pleasure. She had no choice except to close her eyes as the sensations rocked her. Her last thought as she shot into oblivion was that she’d vastly underestimated the benefits of being with a man whose life was devoted to carnal intrigue.

  Raised up on an elbow, stretched out alongside Livy, Jack fought not to think about what had just happened. He’d never in his life experienced anything so intense, so gratifying. Even their encounter in the garden, for all its splendor, paled when compared to the reality of taking her in his bed. Watching her as she peaked, with lamplight flickering, had served to enhance his own pleasure.

  He didn’t fool himself regarding what had transpired here. She might want him for a bit of sport, but she was nobility, while he was gutter trash. They would never have more than this. And with that thought came an unexpected sharp pain in the center of his chest.

  Never before had he felt so much a part of something, of someone. It terrified him to feel this closeness, he who’d always worked so hard to maintain his distance. She’d effectively knocked down his walls. If he thought about it too hard or too long, he’d gather up his clothes and leave, never to return.

  If he cared for her as much as he suspected he did, that’s exactly what he’d do. Leave, now that he’d had a taste of her, and do all in his power to find her a proper husband. Instead he recklessly trailed his finger between her small breasts, gathering up the dew that lingered there, and said, “You’re not going to sleep, are you?”

  Slowly she rolled her head from side to side where it rested on the pillow. “You’re very good at this.”

  He laughed softly, taking his fingers across her shoulders from one side to the other. He thought he’d never get enough of just touching her. “It appears, based on your body’s responses, I invested my money wisely.”

  She furrowed her brow. “You pay for it?”

  “Always.” He shrugged. “Except for tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Why I did before? Or why I didn’t tonight?”

  “Before.”

  How to explain without sounding callous. “Because I wanted no emotional entanglements. It was always business. Some business ventures are more enjoyable than others.” And some rewards were intangible.

  “Have you been in this bed before?” He didn’t know why he asked or why the answer mattered.

  “Only once, when you brought me.” With her hand, she cradled his cheek. Covering her hand with his, he turned his face into her palm and kissed it.

  She rolled into him. Reaching down, he whipped back the sheet gathered at her waist. She kicked it down farther, until nothing separated them, until their naked bodies were pressed together.

  “I’m sure it’s in bad form to talk of another man, but I want—I need—you to know that it was never like this with him.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply kissed her palm again, then her fingers.

  “It was so very impersonal, which always struck me as odd for such a personal act. And I never, I never realized that I should actually enjoy it. You are really quite remarkable, Jack Dodger.”

  Again, he was left with nothing to say. He dipped his head and took her mouth as he intended to take her body, with a bit more patience this time, a more leisurely pursuit of pleasure.

  Her hand stroked his chest, almost tentatively, as though she thought he might break. He drew back and studied her. The wonder was still there, a wonder he’d never known because it had been stripped of him at an early age.

  “As tonight appears to be a rather new experience for you, you should know that I will not break and that there is no part of me that you are not welcome to explore.”

  Her gaze traveled the length of his body, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. Her hand glided down, wrapped around him, and he couldn’t stop the low moan of satisfaction.

  He kissed her, rolling onto his back as he did so, giving her easier access to learn the various textures of his body.

  With each passing moment, her hands became less tentative as her confidence grew. She touched, she stroked. She broke off the kiss to rain smaller kisses over his chest. She flicked her tongue over his hardened nipple, and his body jerked. He rammed his hands through her hair, holding her close, encouraging her with sweet words and low moans.

  When he could stand it no more, he eased her over him until she was straddling his hips, her hair forming a curtain around her shoulders.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” he said.

  “I don’t think this is proper.”

  “Sweetheart, nothing we’ve done tonight is proper.” While he’d meant to tease, he regretted his words as soon as they were spoken, because he saw in her eyes the hint of shame. “Don’t, Livy.”

  She raised her gaze to his.

  “Don’t regret any of this.”

  She shook her head, but he could see the damage was done. He threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her do
wn to his chest, holding her close.

  “You’ll never tell anyone, will you?” she whispered after a time.

  “No.”

  She lifted her head, digging her chin into his chest. “I don’t regret what passed between us, but I suppose a small part of me knows it was wrong.”

  With his fingers, he combed back her hair. “How can it be wrong when it’s what two people want?”

  “But there will never be more than this between us.”

  “Quite honestly, I don’t see how there can be, but that doesn’t mean that this can’t be very, very good while we have it.”

  With his hand buried in her hair, he turned her head and latched his mouth onto hers, kissing her deeply, wondering how in the hell he was ever going to let her go when the time came.

  Chapter 19

  “This is probably an exercise in futility,” Livy said.

  They were in the study, a small room where Lovingdon had stored all manner of ledgers, record books, journals. Livy had told Jack that Lovingdon had often sequestered himself inside for hours. “They go back for years and years.”

  Jack looked up from a book whose dates corresponded with the year Beckwith had first come to see him. Livy was sitting on a sofa by the window, the sunlight casting a halo around her. He’d never been one to believe in angels, but he couldn’t deny that she appeared very angelic sitting there. Not at all like a woman who’d been ravished that morning before calling for her maid.

  “Even if we find nothing, I’m fascinated by all this information. To see the fluctuation in the number of servants hired, the salaries paid, the income brought in from various estates. Even the investments that have been made. I have the present-day information, of course, but it’s advisable to examine past practices.”

  She made a funny face and shuddered. “You’re not going to look through everything are you?”

  “I may.”

  She gazed around at all the books housed on shelves, stacked on the floor. “There’s almost a haphazardness to the way things are arranged. I wonder what he was looking for in here.”

  “Maybe it was those who came before him who left the mess and he was simply trying to tidy it up.”

  “Perhaps. I suppose all this really belongs to Henry.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “How do you figure that, Duchess?”

  She gave him a pointed stare. “Because most of these records involve ducal properties.”

  “But they’re in my residence. Consider their worth. We’ll negotiate.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  He got up, walked over to her, and placed his hands on the back of the couch, effectively hemming her in. “Deadly. That book you’re holding, I’d say, is worth a kiss.”

  He cut off her laughter, his mouth plundering hers, no doubt giving the book she was holding far more value than it was worth. She returned the kiss with equal fervor, turning into him, the heavy book sliding off her lap and onto his foot.

  “Damn,” he muttered, breaking free of the kiss, wiggling his throbbing toe, grateful it didn’t seem to be broken. He bent to pick up the book that had fallen open and froze—his gaze arrested by words precisely written in an elegant script.

  Very slowly he lifted the book as he sat beside her.

  “Jack? What’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He placed his finger beneath the words, and Livy leaned in for a closer look. “Emily Dawkins? June 15, 1815. Hired as a scullery maid at the age of twelve. Five guineas. What of her?”

  “That was my mother’s name.”

  Olivia helped Jack scour through the books. He was almost obsessive. Not that she could blame him, but it also worried her to see him so consumed.

  “Jack, it might not be her. Neither ‘Emily’ nor ‘Dawkins’ is an unusual name.”

  He snapped the book shut. “I can’t find any notations to indicate when she left. Someone must know something.”

  “It’s been thirty-six years. Most of the servants are no longer here, and the few who are…they’re not likely to remember a scullery maid.” She placed her hand over his. “Why did you change your name?”

  “Because I didn’t want the man to whom she’d sold me to ever find me.” He gave a caustic laugh. “I changed my name several times before I settled on ‘Dodger.’”

  “I still have a difficult time believing she sold you. You told me in the garden that you did something to lose her love. What did you do?”

  “I don’t know. When she gave me the locket, she said, ‘Never forget I loved you, Jack.’ Loved.” He shook his head. “She loved me once, but no longer.”

  “I’m not convinced that’s it.”

  “I know what I heard, Livy.”

  “You were a child, Jack.” He opened his mouth and she pressed her fingers against his lips. A mistake, because he began kissing them. “Hear me out.”

  He nodded, still nibbling on her fingers.

  “If you’d sent me away, I’d have said to Henry, ‘Don’t forget I love you.’ Because I would have been sending him my love from wherever you sent me. And I’d expect to see him again. But if I thought I’d never see him again, I might say ‘loved.’ Was it possible your mother was ill? Perhaps even, heaven forbid, dying?”

  He stilled, her fingers pressed against his lips. “I remember she had a cough.” Still holding her hand, he dropped his to his lap. “Good God, Livy, all these years I thought she was trying to get rid of me, that I’d disappointed her somehow.”

  Releasing her hand, he got up and walked to the desk. “She seemed to know that man—”

  “Could it have been a servant in the Lovingdon household?”

  “No, he was no servant. And it was a grand house.”

  “You may never know, Jack.”

  “Swindler likes a good puzzle. I think I’ll take some of these books to him tonight.”

  Olivia was helping Henry put together a wooden puzzle while Ida was downstairs having a spot of tea. When the door to the nursery opened, Jack didn’t come into the room. He simply stood in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against it, with arms folded across a chest that she’d kissed every inch of the night before. She wondered if his heart beat as rapidly as hers.

  He’d gone to his club in the early hours of the morning and had not returned in time for breakfast.

  “Did you have any luck with the books?”

  He shook his head. “Frannie and Swindler are taking a closer look.”

  “Do you want me to help you search some more?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Then what is your purpose in coming here? Did you come to check on your ward’s progress?” Olivia asked.

  “Not exactly,” Jack said lazily.

  “Did you wish to see me?”

  His smile was a flash of white that promised forbidden things. “Not exactly,” he repeated.

  “Am I to guess your reason in being here?”

  He unfolded his arms, sauntered into the room, reached down, and moved the last puzzle piece into place. “Now that’s done, how would you like to go on an outing?”

  She gave him a look and before she could speak, he’d rasped his finger beneath her chin as though he might tickle her.

  “I know you’re in mourning,” he said, “but there is very little chance you’ll be spotted where I intend to take us.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “On the railway.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “With a locomotive?”

  “Naturally.”

  Olivia scowled at Jack. Honestly, how could she convince the man he could not speak in front of Henry until he’d confirmed with her that she agreed to the matter? Now Henry would be disappointed. Or Olivia would be forced once again to don her boy’s clothes.

  “Hundreds of people travel on the railway,” she pointed out.

  “Ah, yes, but I now have a private car, and the only ones who will be in there are you, Henry, Ida, and me. So you’ll be
separated from the masses.”

  “You purchased a private railway car?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He sighed as though his patience with her was dwindling. “One of my customers owed me a great deal of money. I took the car as payment—which was a very good arrangement for him as the car is worth less than what he owed me.”

  “I’d have thought you a better bargainer than that.”

  “I thought the enjoyment we might have would make it worth it.”

  “But we must get to the railway car,” she pointed out.

  “We’ll move quickly. Besides, those who know you seldom take the railway.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Brighton. We’ll go there, dip our toes in the sea, and head back.”

  “You’re going to leave London?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Can’t imagine I’ll like anything I’ll see, but I’m a bit curious.”

  “Please, Mummy,” Henry said. He looked so hopeful.

  She’d never traveled on the railway, was almost as excited by the prospect as Henry was, but more, she wanted to be with Jack when he first left London, when he first saw the world beyond this city. She took a deep breath. “Very well.”

  Seeing the satisfaction in his eyes, she had a feeling she was agreeing to more than he’d revealed.

  He was as good as his word, getting them to the private car quickly. His footman brought in a large basket of food so they could either eat on the journey or picnic at the seaside. Olivia removed her veiled hat and glanced around at what appeared to be finer than some people’s homes.

  “Who was the gentleman who originally owned the car?” she asked.

  “I don’t remember.”

  She gave him a hard look, while he gave her one to remind her that he had secrets to keep. She graciously let the matter rest.

  The private car was well appointed with a red couch in the center, but it was unlike any couch Olivia had ever seen. It had a curving back with a seating area on either side of it. She supposed it made sense. It saved turning the couch around if a more pleasant view was visible in another direction.