Reckless in Pink

by Lynne Connolly

  If her maid had not been so well trained, she would probably have smiled. Claudia caught the ghost of her amusement in her grey eyes.

  She bobbed a curtsey. “Very well, my lady.” The maid quietly left the room.

  Claudia waited for ten minutes and was just making up her mind that Dominic wasn’t coming, when the door opened and he entered. After a muffled exclamation, he backed up, but she was too fast for him.

  “No, come here. I need someone to wash my back for me.”

  With a winsome smile, she held out the sponge. He swore, and then he swore again, but very low, under his breath, as if he thought she wouldn’t hear. “You will be the death of me.”

  “I sincerely pray I will not. Who will catch me when I fall from my horse?”

  He snorted. “You have the best seat of any woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Who will stop me getting into appalling scrapes at balls and making indiscreet comments?”

  “People love you for it.” He came forward and took the sponge. “Those who do not?” He snapped his fingers. “That for them.”

  Then he proceeded to get his revenge. He washed her very, very thoroughly. He rubbed the soap on the sponge and passed it over her back with such a gentle touch he barely roused her senses. Only just, but with a thoroughness that made her gasp. Then he gently urged her back against the towels draped over the tub to soften and warm her and treated her front with the same kind of detailed attention. He lifted her left breast and ensured the fold beneath was clean, making her gasp with longing. He cupped the curve of it and held it steady while he washed and rinsed it. Then he did the same to her right breast. He took care over her navel was clean, moving close to study it. Then he skimmed past her cleft to wash her legs, calves, ankles, between each toe to come back up and finally wash her thighs.

  By then she was shuddering with need.

  He abandoned the sponge and leaned over to kiss her. Not one of the sweet, loving kisses of the last few days, but a ravaging, conquering kiss, the kind that laid waste to her senses.

  Curling her hand around his neck, she tried to drag him closer, into the water if necessary, but he resisted her easily. He stroked down her stomach and between her legs. He eased her inner lips apart to reach the sensitive skin inside and gave it to the same thorough treatment. “Dominic please…” Her voice trailed off in a shivering gasp.

  “Let me do this. Let me touch you.” His voice was deep and not entirely steady. Dominic probed her skin, slid his fingers just inside her opening and then up to her pearl, to pinch and tease her into hardness. At the same time, he marauded her mouth, claiming it for his own with slick glides of his tongue.

  Neither cared when, as he lifted her, a sheet of water landed on the carpet. He grabbed one of the towels lying on a chair nearby, tucked it around her, and carried her to the bed. For once she didn’t care if he wouldn’t allow her to walk. Once there, he kept his burning gaze fixed on her while he undressed. To think this man had once been the neatest she had ever met.

  Dominic tossed his clothes to the carpet, and climbed into bed with her, his shaft satisfactorily hard. She grabbed it when he was with her, glorying at its erect potency and the softness of the skin that covered it.

  “Claudia, I meant to let you rest for a week. I want you, my love. Every way I can have you. I want you like this.” Instead of climbing over her, he sat cross-legged on the sheets. “Come to me.”

  Arousal rising in her like a living thing, Claudia went. She sat as he instructed her, her legs over his, their bodies meeting. They both watched as he entered her body.

  “A miracle,” she said, but wasn’t aware of saying it out loud until he agreed.

  They moved together, and she understood why he wanted her this way. This was equality, togetherness, both exerting the same effort to bring joy to the other. His happiness was more important to her than hers was, and she knew without him telling her that he felt the same way.

  His shaft lay deep in her, and when he touched her, he sent her up and up until she flew. Her body turned into living flame as she moved on him. She took him as deeply as she could. His voice sounded increasingly hoarse as he cried her name. Then with one rough cry, he came in jagged, uncontrolled jerks, taking him with her, triggering her peak.

  Panting, laughing, they lay down, and he drew a sheet over them, for the evening was warm and they needed no more than that.

  “I love you,” she said, totally unnecessarily.

  But he seemed to take pleasure from her saying it and repeated the sentiment before kissing her with tender lasciviousness.

  “You are and always will be the love of my life,” he said. “Also the thorn in my side and my exasperation. I will never know what you plan next, will I?”

  “Probably not. May we go riding tomorrow? I want to see the estate.”

  “I thought we already went riding. I may not let you out of this bed for a week.” He laughed and kissed her. “You are adorable, you know that? I love that you never hide your expression from me. Sweetheart, you may have anything you choose. Ask me for anything.”

  “How about the throne?” she said, secure in the knowledge that he would take the statement as frivolously as she made it. Few people understood her sometimes rash statements, but this man did. He always would.

  He kissed her once more. “I’d rather be an emperor than a king.”

  That was the perfect answer.

  Meet the Author

  Lynne Connolly was born in Leicester, England, and lived in her family’s cobbler’s shop with her parents and sister. She loves all periods of history, but her favorites are the Tudor and Georgian eras. She loves doing research and creating a credible story with people who lived in past ages. In addition to her Emperors of London series she writes several historical, contemporary and paranormal romance series. Visit her on the web at lynneconnolly.com, read her blog: lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @lynneconnolly.

  Keep reading for a special sneak peek of the first Emperors of London novel

  Temptation Has Green Eyes

  There’s more to love than meets the eye…

  The daughter of a wealthy merchant, Sophia Russell has no interest in marriage, especially after a recent humiliation—and especially not to Maximilian, Marquess of Devereaux. But it’s the only way to save herself from fortune hunters—and those who wish to seize a powerful connection she prefers to keep secret—even from her future husband…

  Marrying Sophia is the only way Max can regain the wealth his father squandered on an extravagant country palace. And while Max and his bride are civil, theirs is clearly a marriage of convenience—until a family enemy takes a questionable interest in Sophia—one that may lead all the way to the throne. Forced to become allies in a battle they hadn’t foreseen, the newlyweds soon grow closer—and discover a love, and a passion, they never expected…

  A Lyrical e-book on sale now!

  Learn more about Lynne at http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/31122

  Chapter 1

  Maximilian Wallace, Marquess of Devereaux, strode through London’s crowded streets, feeling completely at home. With the dexterity of a seasoned Londoner, Max dodged past an urchin who appeared determined to collide with him—and probably relieve him of his purse at the same time. That boy’s Wednesday haul would be absent one fine linen kerchief and a purse heavy with guineas.

  Max reached his destination and flattened his palm over the weathered paint of the door to Lloyd’s coffee house. As he shoved it open, he breathed in the intoxicating fragrance of coffee and tobacco.

  A group of men sat in the worn leather-upholstered chairs by the fire, puffing on long-stemmed churchwarden pipes. More sat at the long, plain tables, making deals that would cause even a duke to gulp. Max had made many in his time.

  This place had been part of Max’s life since he’d attained the age of sixteen and discovered the state of the family’s finances.

  Spo
tting the man he’d come to meet, Max made his way past the tables and cubicles to the one Thomas Russell occupied, in the corner, where they wouldn’t be overheard. Men nodded to him and he returned the acknowledgement. He was well known here, despite his title, not because of it. Men of the City had little time for aristocrats. He liked the busy hum of people doing business. Lloyd’s was the center for insurance and shipping matters and as such could get very noisy at times. Not today. Obviously, no large ships or cargoes were in dispute.

  Russell stood as Max approached. He was smiling broadly, his round, apparently guileless face displaying nothing but bonhomie and pleasure. That was part of his danger. Max had been trying to work with Russell for years but had never before gathered the capital to make an investment of this size and importance. With this deal, Max would become an insurer in his own right. His fortune would expand beyond anything he’d achieved, his future secure. So much was balanced on this transaction that he was keyed up beyond the level he considered possible. Not that he allowed any of it to show.

  Max went on guard at Russell’s words. When Russell showed that untroubled, smiling face, he had something on his mind. A twist in the deal?

  Mentally, Max went through the complicated contract he knew by heart. They’d made a few tiny amendments, none of which threatened to wreck this agreement, and that was all. Nothing. But this man was planning something. Russell hadn’t climbed the tree to become one of the wealthiest men in the precious square mile known as the City of London by being pleasant to everyone.

  Russell was in many ways the epitome of the City businessman. Dressed in sober, though excellent, clothes, today of russet brown with spotlessly clean linen and a simple bob-wig, he was neither this nor that, neither ostentatious nor puritanical. Keeping a steady course between all factions had gone a long way to his success. His shining face spoke both of his attention to cleanliness and the heat in this place. Whatever the temperature outside, it was never cold in Lloyd’s, due to the huge fire kept burning well into April and the hot air rising from the discussions.

  A waiting-woman approached him. Max gave her a friendly smile and asked for tea. No women were allowed here except for the serving girls and the lady sitting behind the desk by the door, where the customers paid before they left. Knowing the caliber of some of the women in the City, Max wondered that none of them had stormed the citadel before. Perhaps they disliked tobacco smoke. Or preferred to use agents, as many of the City’s other investments did.

  Max had always conducted his business for himself. Just as well, since he couldn’t afford an agent when he first started to make deals at the tender age of seventeen. He’d had to use the estate trustees to commission the actual business and sign the documents until he came of age. Now, partly due to the man who took a seat at the table across from him, he could afford much more. He was as wealthy as anyone in this room, and that was saying something.

  He waited on events. One thing Max had learned over the years was the value of silence.

  “You were concerned about the quantity of barrels on the lower deck?” Russell queried.

  Right to business. Max settled into the final discussions. “I thought we could get more in if we stacked them deeper into the hull.”

  Russell nodded. “It’s possible, but not advisable, although when you brought the matter up, I did speak to the captain of the fleet. Apparently it would unbalance the disposition of the cargo.”

  Max agreed to let that part of the contract stay as it was. He dug in the inside pocket of his olive-green coat for his account book and flipped through the well-worn pages until he reached the one he needed.

  The coffee house kept a bottle of ink and pens on every table for that purpose, the ink invariably gritty and the pens often blunt. It made a mark, and that was all Max required.

  The girl delivered his tea. He picked it up and took a sip.

  They worked through the other matters swiftly. This contract would involve a fleet of six ships with varied cargo. They’d insure them all, and Max had some investment in the cargo, too.

  A failure at this stage wouldn’t ruin him as it might have at the beginning of his City career, but it meant a great deal. Success would finally boost him to the heights he’d been aiming for right from the beginning.

  Light at heart, he finished his tea and prepared to leave to sign the contracts. Probably in triplicate, at least.

  “A moment,” Russell murmured.

  Max’s mood plummeted to his well-shod feet. He hadn’t been wrong then. Russell had suggested Lloyd’s because he wanted to discuss something else. “You have another caveat?”

  Russell shook his head. “Not precisely. Hear me out, if you please.”

  “I’m very happy with the business as it stands, sir.” Would be happier after they’d signed. “Is this a fresh agreement?” His heart lifted at the prospect. More business would only prove better, especially with this man.

  “This is, I hope, the first of many contracts between us. Our methods suit and our processes are similar. We work well together.”

  Max said nothing, but nodded. He agreed completely. Russell was so wealthy Max suspected even the man himself didn’t know how much he was worth. Max had the prestige and the contacts to find new opportunities, which benefited everyone. The burgeoning wealth of the men in the City with the new worlds they were opening could only be good for the country. This association with Thomas Russell was the start of many such contracts. He didn’t doubt that for a minute.

  Was the man suggesting a more formal association? A jointly owned company? Despite his determination to remain focused, Max breathed deeply to quell his excitement at the prospect. His fingertips tingled. Under the table, he pressed them together. He forced a slight smile to his lips. “I, too, look forward to the day when we may work together again.”

  “I’m gratified that you would think so.” Russell waved, flicking his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

  Max turned his head. The serving girl retreated. A private matter, then. His heart in his mouth, he waited to hear what Russell had in mind.

  The wily man bent nearer, speaking lower. “I have worked hard to build a business my descendants can be proud of.”

  Russell was a widower with one child, a girl. Max had met Sophia Russell a time or two but taken little notice of the self-effacing, cool woman.

  So Russell wanted a more permanent association. Perhaps a company that would give his daughter a good amount of money. Enough to net herself a husband.

  Max needed Russell to speak clearer, but he didn’t know the man well enough to demand clarification straight out. “You’ve done much. You have a great deal to be proud of.”

  “So do you.” Russell fixed him with a clear gaze. “I’ve worked hard to make the business my father entrusted to my care even greater. When it became obvious I would have no more children of my own, I expected to find a youth I could train, who would take over when I was gone. I found one and set matters in place. I was also considering marrying him to Sophia. She liked him well enough. He was an intelligent young man, presentable and bright who would continue the business after I’m gone.”

  His face changed to heavy-jowled depression, his mouth turning hard and his eyes to chips of flint. “Unfortunately, the man I chose did not prove suitable after all.” He paused. “He was—untrustworthy.”

  Had this person endangered Russell’s business? Was it safe to invest with him any longer?

  “He attempted to…seduce my daughter before I’d given him permission to approach her.”

  “Seduce?” Max snapped. Had the man offered violence to Sophia? Violence to any woman was anathema to any decent man. He glanced around. Nobody sat within listening distance, but still… “Why meet here to discuss such a personal matter?”

  Russell rubbed his forehead. “Sophia is at home to visitors today. The house is full of her guests. Today at least, I have considerably more privacy here than at home. I need my daughter married, and soon.”r />
  No, oh no. Not that. Surely Russell wouldn’t want that.

  Russell spread his hands, indicating the company. Men chatted, busy about their own concerns, uninterested in the doings of two of the regular customers. Whereas, if he visited Russell’s home during an at home day, gossip would spread.

  If Russell took him to his office, showed him favor, he would be bound to go through with it to save face. However, if either of them walked away here, in the coffee house, nobody would consider it amiss. Gossip was the very devil.

  If he wanted this business—and he did, so badly he could taste it—he’d have to take the daughter. His head whirled. He needed time to think this over. Time he didn’t have, because this wily old fox had arranged it that way.

  He could always ask more about the situation. “So tell me,” he said, careful to keep his voice low. “What did you do with this man?”

  “I sent him away.” The older man’s pale eyes sharpened. He lifted his coffee cup to his lips and then put it down, the rim rattling against the table. It was already empty. “Unfortunately he spread a rumor that Sophia had seduced him. And succeeded in persuading some. It has besmirched her reputation in certain circles.”

  So he was being asked to take on soiled goods. As long as the chit wasn’t pregnant, he would at least consider the possibility. But for Russell, marrying his daughter to a peer of the realm was a leap up the social scale.

  “I haven’t heard it.” But then, Max didn’t move in the social milieu of the City. He attended dinners and other functions at the Guildhall, but no more than that.

  “Good. I had considered leaving my business solely to Sophia when I die. She’s a clever woman, and it’s not unknown for women to run businesses.”

  The worm on the end of the hook. Take Sophia, take the business. A very juicy worm. Max would be an idiot if the prospect didn’t tempt him.

  Max quirked his lips. “I’m not unaware of that, sir. The company that provides much of my silverware is run by a woman.” He had no objection to a female running a business. Max never denied the truth when it presented itself as such.