He clenched his jaw against the temptation. Evidently misinterpreting his reaction as a sign of pain, she regarded him thoughtfully.
“Do you trust me?” she asked with a touch of a smile.
“Absolutely not.”
“In that case, we’re well matched. Being followed at all hours of the day and night has not added to my level of trust. Not one whit.” A sudden hesitation slowed her movements. Her forehead creased into shallow rows.
“Second thoughts?”
She shook her head. “I assure you I am not afraid of blood. I require that cloth now.”
He tore a clean towel into strips. “As you wish.”
“Raise your arm, please,” she instructed gently.
Slanting a wary glance, he extended his injured limb. “This is unnecessary. A waste of time.”
“Nonsense. Hold your arm out just a bit.”
She pressed a hot rag over the slash and methodically cleaned the wound, seeming quite unfazed by the sight, then blotted the moisture with a dry cloth.
“Fortunately, the injury isn’t deep. I don’t believe it will need to be stitched,” she said. Peculiar, the confidence infusing the barmaid’s statements. Her forehead furrowed, and she frowned, pausing to reach for a dark glass bottle. “There is one more thing before I wrap your arm…”
She poured a liquid that smelled almost as bad as it stung over the cut. The effects of the pungent solution nearly jolted him out of the chair.
“Bollocks,” he bit off between his teeth. “What is that bloody stuff? Acid?”
“Even Achilles had his weakness,” Jennie observed cheerfully. “Yours is tincture of iodine.” She wrapped the injury with confidence born of skill. Her mouth relaxed as the furrows above her brows eased. “Finished.”
“Most impressive.” Indeed. Where had a barmaid learned to disinfect and bind a wound? Another layer to the puzzle that was Jennie. He tugged his shirt over his shoulder, came to his feet, and crossed the room. Raising the window shade, he scanned the road outside the tavern. “I’ll see you home.”
Jennie trailed him to the window. “You haven’t even buttoned your shirt.”
He cast an idle glance at the torn, blood-stained garment. “There’s not much left of it. The action seems rather pointless.”
She took a button between her fingers and fastened the opening below his collar. Her fingertips glided against his skin. The gentle contact seemed an exquisite torment. Summoning the fragile shreds of self-discipline he still possessed, he caught her hand in his.
“Don’t.”
At his response, she stiffened. Her teeth grazed her lower lip. An innocent gesture. Yet so sensual, he clenched his jaw against a surge of desire. Thoughts of what he yearned to do to that luscious mouth provoked a rebellion against his common sense.
Her warmth washed over him, driving away the cold, unforgiving night. Notes of lavender and Jennie filled his senses. He slid his arms around her waist, pressed her slender body to his, and surrendered to his soul’s hunger.
…
One touch, and Jennie’s senses betrayed her.
She splayed her fingers against Matthew’s lean muscled chest. Not in resistance, but in longing. As his lips trailed a scalding path over her flesh, she drank in the texture of his skin, the heat of his body, the faint aromas of shaving soap and whiskey. Her body tingled all the way to her toes.
And then, he kissed her.
No practiced act of seduction, the touch of his lips was sweet desire channeled into a caress. Carnal possession blended tenderness with undeniable need. Jennie melted to the hard planes of his body. Unable to think. Unable to reason. Craving his touch so desperately, she could not imagine how she’d lived without the heady sensation for so long.
He drew in a sharp breath and released Jennie from her willing captivity. An emotion far more powerful than simple desire radiated in eyes darkened by passion. He dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss against the tiny vein pulsing at the base of her throat, anointing the sensitive column, lightly nipping her flesh.
Pleasure rippled to her core. She closed her eyes and surrendered. The flat of his hand slid along the curve of her back, wantonly molding her to his demanding length. A shiver of pure wanting coursed to her womb.
He slowly brushed a finger over lips swollen from his ardent attentions. “I want you so damned much.”
Intoxicated by the blur of sensations, she clung to his strength and his warmth. His heartbeat thudded against her breasts while the longing in his voice betrayed his desire, a hunger far more powerful than mere conquest.
Cupping her breast against his hand, he caressed the sensitive mound. Her nipples strained against the fabric. Seeking his touch. Craving his possession.
His fingers roamed to toy with the delicate fastenings on her blouse. He caught a tiny pearl button between his fingers and freed it, then stilled. His eyes heavy-lidded, he waited, allowing her a final opportunity to evade his claim.
Jennie’s heart thrummed. Her yearning for him was madness. She needed his touch as desperately as an addict craved opium.
His lips resumed their leisurely conquest. He captured her earlobe between his teeth, nipping and teasing until she thought she’d go mad with the anticipation of pleasures yet to come.
Swept away.
In too deep.
She braced herself with the truth. Brutality. Seduction. Both were weapons in his arsenal.
“As exhilarating as this…game may be, I’ve no intention of spending this night in your bed.” If only she trusted her own words.
Jennie ran her fingertips along the edge of Matthew’s stubble-roughened jaw. Desire threatened to consume her. How could she give in to it? How could she want this man so badly the need permeated to the marrow?
With a sigh, she fled the circle of his arms. The chill in the room prickled goose bumps over her flesh. Matthew closed the distance between them. His warmth and strength enveloped her.
“This is not a game.” His husky rasp tore at her defenses.
“I shouldn’t be here with you.”
“I know.”
She traced the faded scar on his chin with the pad of her thumb. She shouldn’t want any part of him. He was a source. Nothing more.
Her heart recognized the lie for what it was. My, she couldn’t even convince herself, could she? A fierce hunger roared deep within her, a longing for contact, a yearning to know the man who stood before her. Body and soul.
Her desire for him was insanity. Wanting Matthew Colton could only lead to disaster. Why did this man have the power to make her knees absolutely weak? Why did her heart ache every time she glimpsed the emotion buried deep within his gaze?
“This is madness,” she whispered.
He answered her with another kiss. More gentle now. Infinitely tender. A delicious caress.
Her arms looped around his neck. Accepting his kiss. His touch. His hunger.
She shouldn’t want him so.
But she did. There was no denying that truth.
And then, her feet no longer touched the ground. Swept into his arms, she stared up at him. He met her puzzled gaze with a rake’s smile.
“What in blazes are you doing?”
His eyes flashed. Teasing. Yet colored with passion. “Taking you to my lair.”
She wriggled in his arms. “I don’t fancy the notion of being carried off like one of the Sabine women.”
“I rather like it. It’s far less exhausting than chasing you through the streets of London.” He mounted the stairs, two at a time, bearing her weight as if she were no burden at all.
“You must put me down,” she insisted as he reached the landing. The images of several gilt-framed portraits of the Lancaster’s owner blurred before her eyes as he strode purposefully toward his office. “This is no longer amusing.”
“I assure you, amusement is not my intention.” The smile touched his lips again, even as his eyes devoured her. Hungry. Arrogant. Utterly male. “You bring out
my primitive instincts. Perhaps I’ll carry you away every night. That might keep you out of trouble.”
Chapter Twelve
Matthew’s confident pronouncement washed over Jennie like an icy deluge. Keep her out of trouble. Indeed.
“I must insist that you put me down,” she said.
He opened the door, carried her over the threshold, and lit a small lamp.
“As you wish.” He deposited her on a plush settee.
She popped up as if the seat had been covered with thorny brambles. “I should leave.”
Matthew draped his coat over the back of a padded chair. “My driver should be arriving shortly. Bertram is late, as is his habit. I’ll have him see you home.”
“I assure you that is not necessary.”
“I can’t chance any harm befalling you.”
“Of course. Especially given that we might have been seen together. You’d be the Yard’s prime suspect.”
“I don’t give a damn about that. Everyone in this cesspool knows I’m a cold-blooded villain. What’s one more sin attributed to my name?”
“Rather dramatic, Mr. Colton.”
He shook his head. “To the contrary. The London press hailed me as the devil incarnate during my trial. Many in the Yard felt deprived of the opportunity to watch me swing. They’ll find a way. Sooner or later.”
His statement struck her like a physical blow. Matthew hadn’t been able to conceal the depth of feeling in his gravel-edged words. Guilt? Or another form of regret?
She lowered her gaze, studying the textured carpet beneath her toes. “And yet, you expect me to trust you.”
“I’m the last man on the planet you should trust. You pretend to be a woman of the world, but you’re not.” He raked a hand through his dark strands. “I should not have touched you.”
“So you’ve gone noble on me, have you, Mr. Colton? It doesn’t suit you in the least.”
“A woman like you deserves better than what I can give. I’ve neither the time nor the patience for gentle wooing. I’ll leave that to the man who speaks his vows at your side.”
“By all accounts, gentle wooing is highly overrated.”
“Indeed.”
He studied her beneath hooded lids. His mouth crooked into a sly smile. Oh, how she loved the taste of that full mouth.
“I must say, I rather liked you better as a scoundrel,” she said, tempting him. And fate.
He prowled toward her. “You’re enough to drive a man to Bedlam.”
“You say the most romantic things.”
“My talent for whispering sweet words is even less developed than my patience. You’re too beautiful to resist. God knows I’ve tried.”
He kissed her again. Slowly. Deliciously. Mercilessly. She coiled her arms around his neck. His clean male scent awakened her to new temptations.
His breath tickled her earlobe. “I need you, Jennie.”
“Yes.” The whisper sounded decadent on her lips. Utterly, positively so, and yet, she could not stop herself. Closing her eyes, she savored every sensation as he opened her blouse with a gentle touch. Anticipation surged through her veins. Finally, he slipped the garment from her body.
“Much better.” His hands moved lower, freeing the closure of her skirt. The heavy wool slid easily to the Oriental carpet. His deft fingers glided her camisole over her skin, and then, he peeled away her corset.
Covered only by the thin gauze of her chemise, she stood before him. Cool air prickled her bare flesh. He freed her upswept hair. Uncensored desire flickered in his eyes.
Her senses were now fully in command. Emboldened, she whispered against his ear. “I want to feel you. I want to see you.”
She slid her fingers under his collar, eased his shirt from his shoulders, and smiled to herself as it drifted to the floor.
Light flowed through the amber-tinted sconce, casting a soft glow over the crisp dark hair on his chest. His skin was rough and velvet beneath her fingertips, his torso a superb melding of lean muscle and flesh and bone.
She drew her thumb over a scar below his right collarbone, a near-perfect circle the size of a shilling. “You’ve been shot.”
“I trusted the wrong person.”
Stunned by the raw vulnerability in his tone, she pressed her lips to the raised circle in a featherlight caress. She heard his rough inhalation, sensed the ripple of awareness that careened through his body.
He watched her with the intent focus of an artist capturing his heart’s desire on canvas. Gently, he brushed her unbound hair over her shoulder. “I need to see you, Jennie. Don’t hide yourself from me. Ever.”
Ever.
The word taunted Jennie with its promise.
“Let’s see how bold you really are.” He claimed her mouth. His tongue parted her lips as his hand stole beneath her chemise. His fingers glided along the length of her thigh, seeking and finding the slit in her drawers.
“Silk,” he murmured. “Nearly as smooth as your skin.”
He slipped a finger within the opening, the most intimate of touches. A tiny sound escaped her lips, no louder than a squeak. “Open for me, sweetheart. I want to touch you. Everywhere.”
His husky plea unleashed a delicious yearning in her core. “I can’t get enough of you.”
His voice, gruff with passion, shredded her meager defenses, soothing her as much as it thrilled her. A single word rang out in her mind. A demanding chorus. Her heart’s desire.
Surrender.
…
Matthew drank in Jennie’s intoxicating essence. Lavender and rainwater and a gentle feminine fragrance uniquely hers. Devil take it, he should cast aside the damnably inconvenient sense of honor that held him back, the shreds of an inner code he’d believed long dead. Jennie deserved better than what he could offer. Better than the likes of him. Hearth and home and a man who would cherish her for the rest of his life. Not a stolen night in his arms.
In his gut, he knew the truth. Jennie’s worldly attitude was an act, as much a disguise as her shabby, serviceable cape. She wrapped herself in coarse wool better suited to a housemaid while against her skin, she indulged in silk drawers and a corset trimmed in fine lace. Just as that contradiction betrayed her moneyed origins, her heated response to his touch and his kiss told their own story.
Or was her passion also an act? A way to break down his defenses and extract whatever the hell it was she thought to gain from a liaison?
Where did the real Jennie begin?
What madness had overtaken him? A woman like her expected to be cherished and courted. He’d never met a chit he cared enough about to court. He’d never found a woman he cherished.
Until Jennie had fallen into his arms.
Unfamiliar longings burned into his soul, deeper and more potent than he’d known in his thirty-two years. He’d had his fair share of women, beauties who’d honed their sensual skills on his all-too-willing body.
But those women had not been Jennie.
Her eyes framed by smoky charcoal lashes, she regarded him with a look of pure challenge. An inviting smile curved her luscious mouth as her gaze raked over him. Bold. Passionate. Would she meet his seduction kiss for kiss, caress for caress?
Twining her arms around his neck, she glided her fingertips over his flesh. The play of her skin against his stirred the need deep within him. He was hard as granite, the urgent demands of his body as cunning a torture as any medieval despot might have devised. A night in the Tower would have been easier to endure.
“Kiss me again, Matthew.” Her eyes simmered with emerald fire. “Being a scoundrel suits you.”
Pressing her against the wall, he caged her within his arms. He dragged in a long breath. God only knew he’d never craved the sound of his name on a woman’s lips more than his own release.
Until tonight.
He pressed a kiss to her mouth. His tongue parted her lips. Gently. Tenderly. Kindling the searing heat.
Her skin was silk beneath his fingertips. War
m, living silk. The sweet perfume of her body filled his senses, blotted out everything but Jennie. Christ, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his bleak existence. But he had to know she was ready. Had to know she wanted this. If she uttered the slightest murmur of protest…bloody hell, how he’d ache for her, but he’d walk away.
“I’m going to touch you. Everywhere.”
“Yes.” Her lids drifted shut as his hands swept over her.
“Your body was meant to be touched. Meant to be pleasured.”
His fingertips trailed leisurely along her thigh, grazing her warm, supple skin. Her whisper-soft moan brushed his lips, and he upped the stakes. Gliding a single finger over her flesh, he returned to the slit in her drawers. Caressing her, each tiny, featherlight stroke drew delicious response. She canted her hips, seeking his touch, demanding he pull her closer to the brink.
His cock throbbed, bucking against the confines of his trousers. There was nothing to be done about it now. Not at this moment. Not when Jennie dug her fingers into his shoulders, as if struggling for purchase at the edge of a delicious precipice. She was nearing utter surrender. So damned near. How he craved her unraveling in his arms.
“Sweet, sweet Jennie.”
“Oh, Matthew.” Her voice was infused with pleasure and passion and longing. He’d hungered for this moment, a bone-deep yearning. Her throaty whisper offered sustenance to his very soul.
A soft cry escaped her, and she shuttered her eyes as the shattering bliss overtook her. Holding her secure in his embrace, he pressed a kiss to the valley between her breasts.
“If you were mine, I’d never let you go.”
The truth in his own words stunned him. Never had he felt this need for a woman, an intense hunger that went far deeper than the flesh. Never had he thirsted for a woman’s soft fragrance. Not until he’d drunk in Jennie’s gentle essence.
Such a damnable shame he’d lost his head over a woman he could never have.
She met his gaze, a soft smile curving her plump lips. Without a word, she pressed her palms to the solid plane of his chest and marked his flesh with feathery kisses. Light brushes of her mouth against his flesh. A tempting torment. Nearly chaste. Yet stirring him to the limits of his restraint.
When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Page 13