Aycliff's Vow: A Hellfire Club Erotique

by Reed, Kristabel

  “How is it,” she wondered, hand curling around his neck to pull him closer, “that you can still want me after everything?”

  “I know you,” he said with a smug grin. “And I always have. And I will forever want you.”

  His mouth was hard on hers, possessing. Elizabeth shuddered and leaned into him. She wanted to feel him, wanted to throw off whatever caution she still held and simply feel. Callum deepened the kiss, holding her hips tight as he pulled her up. His hardness pressed against her, and she whimpered, kissing him harder.

  She didn’t know how he did it, perhaps it was the sheer force of his love for her, his determination. Whatever it was, Callum had managed to remove all her doubts. Perhaps not remove, but assuage them.

  He backed her up several steps, carrying her the short distance to the front parlor. When he abruptly stopped Elizabeth opened her eyes. Callum was shaking his head, and she could see reason clear his eyes of the passion that always sprung between them.

  Laughing, for this wasn’t the first time they’d started to make love in a completely inappropriate part of the house, Elizabeth started to tease him. A shadow moved behind Callum, and she blushed, positive Stark or one of the footmen had caught them.

  But then her own gaze cleared and she saw not Stark or one of the other servants, but Dervin.

  “Dervin!” she shouted, reaching for the knife she carried, a replacement for the one Donald had given her. Elizabeth moved, pulling Callum back with her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Callum turned just as Elizabeth cried out. Instinctually raising his hand, he managed to block the downward swipe of Dervin’s knife. The blade ripped through his clothes and burned as it sliced his skin. Ignoring it, Callum rushed at Dervin, knocking them both backwards.

  Quickly standing, Callum eyed Dervin as the other man also regained his footing. Cursing his own stupidity, his lack of vigilance, Callum briefly wondered who John thought hid in the gaming house.

  “Oh, come now, gov’nor,” Dervin said, brandishing the knife. “Give us a hug. You’ve finally found me after all this time.” He circled several steps to the side and Callum saw he moved for Elizabeth. “Or is his lordship afraid to do his own bidding?”

  “I’m quite happy to do my own bidding,” Callum snapped, eyeing the knife, “and slit your treacherous throat.”

  “Oh, the earl is going to get his hands dirty!” Dervin laughed, a low, mocking sound. “Before too long all you titled fobs will have to get your hands dirty.”

  Having no idea what the other man meant, Callum eased forward. He needed to get the knife from Dervin, it was his only weapon. The wild look in the other man’s eyes changed, and he moved left. Callum braced himself, but instead of left, Dervin moved right. Caught in mid-move, Callum pivoted on his heel.

  Before he could reach Dervin, Elizabeth threw one of the many statuettes dotting the foyer. The marble caught Dervin in the shoulder, knocking him down. Suddenly she was by his side, thrusting a knife into his hand.

  Callum didn’t look at her, kept all his attention on Dervin. The other man hadn’t seen Elizabeth give him the knife.

  “You’re next dearie,” Dervin snarled, holding his shoulder. “I won’t be forgetting about you.”

  Elizabeth said nothing, but did move out of the way. Callum angled his wrist to hide the knife from Dervin, unwilling to let the other man see how the odds had changed. Dervin rushed him, gripping his long, curved knife tightly as he did so.

  Callum jumped to the side and followed Dervin. The other man spun easily, obviously well used to fighting in close quarters. Advancing on him, Callum still kept the knife out of view.

  “I would’ve preferred to see you hang.”

  So saying, Callum leapt the distance and stabbed Dervin, thrusting the knife upwards. It took a movement for Dervin to register the shock at having been stabbed. The other man’s fingers fell open and the knife clattered to the marble floor as he automatically reached to cover the wound.

  It was far too late. Callum stepped back, bringing the knife with him, and Dervin collapsed to the floor. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the white-veined marble. Strangely, the shock on his face changed. And as the life bled from Dervin, the look on his face transformed into one of triumph.

  Stepping back, Callum turned to Elizabeth who ran into his arms. She held him tight, a fierce hug that told him everything he needed to know about her feelings. She didn’t cry out at the sight of Dervin’s body, didn’t sob over him.

  “You’re safe,” she breathed, the relief evident.

  Callum could hear the servants rushing through the house. There were people to contact, explanations to make but right then all Callum wanted was to hold Elizabeth.

  “It’s over,” Callum whispered, holding her close. He tangled his hand in her hair and breathed in the lush scent of her. “It’s over and no one will ever hurt you again.”

  She pulled back and kissed him hard. Elizabeth didn’t say anything, didn’t retreat from his arms as the servants raced into the foyer, but he could see everything she felt in her eyes.

  “No one will ever hurt you,” Callum repeated. “Never.”

  She nodded once and pulled him close.

  ****

  Henrietta read through the missive once more. She hadn’t known what to think when Aycliff and Miss Darton had left this afternoon. Oh, she’d been pleased her little plan had worked, and seeing them leave together did warm her cynical heart, but Henrietta hadn’t been sure.

  Her people had informed her that neither Miss Darton nor Lord Aycliff had left the room she’d had prepared for them until doing so together. And knowing Aycliff’s passion for the young woman, she doubted Miss Darton had been able to deny her own feelings. Still, one night of passion did not necessarily mean all had been resolved between them.

  Now, having received Aycliff’s detailed letter and having all her fears for the young couple assuaged, she found herself giving a romantic sigh at the conclusion of this business.

  Which did naught to appease her worry over this Dervin business.

  Donald came in with several papers, muttering as he mentally calculated the numbers on them. Their masque ball had been extravagant, but Henrietta cared little for the expense. The reputation of the Club amongst its members had only increased with yesterday’s event. Standing, she poured herself a cup of tea and offered Donald Aycliff’s letter.

  “You’ll be happy to know,” she said as he took the missive, “Elizabeth and Aycliff have found their way back to each other. Our little scheme worked perfectly.”

  Donald looked up at her with a wicked grin and set his papers on her desk. “Oh?”

  “And there’s a bonus,” she added with relish. “That snake, Dervin, decided to slither into Aycliff’s house.”

  Donald raised an eyebrow and scanned the letter. “I assume Aycliff didn’t take too kindly to that? Is Dervin in prison?” He flipped the letter over. “Or being prepared for a pauper’s grave?”

  “Straight to the grave,” she told him. “Minus a visit to the courts.”

  Circling her desk, she picked up the scandal sheet and looked it over as Donald read the end of Aycilff’s letter.

  “This rubbish,” she said, brandishing the paper with a frown, “will no doubt celebrate Elizabeth’s return tomorrow. Just as it vilified her a year ago. I hope she soon realizes that her and Aycliff’s story has become a legend. And she’ll undoubtedly be welcomed, with great fanfare, back into society.”

  Having finished the letter, he handed it back to Henrietta. “I’m afraid,” he said, shaking his head, “that’s something she hasn’t believed in all this time. It’ll be nice for her to witness how Aycliff’s love for her has enraptured even the coldest, sharpest tongued gossip in London.”

  Henrietta smiled at her lover and nodded. “Yes it will. However, now that Aycliff’s story is finished, I still believe there’s more behind Mr. Darton’s framing than meets the eye. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
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  She tapped the scandal sheet, but her eyes drifted to the papers Donald had set down. Perhaps she needed to look over a roster of the Club. She didn’t exactly know what she looked for, but the niggling fear that this whole business was far from over refused to leave her.

  “I do believe you’re correct, my love,” Donald said.

  Epilogue

  One Week Later

  Elizabeth took Callum’s hand as he helped her into the carriage. Unbearably conscious of the looks leveled at them, she did her best to ignore them as they took their first outing as Lord and Lady Aycliff. Callum hadn’t wasted any time in securing the special license or finding a willing vicar to perform their long-delayed marriage ceremony. And while the guest list consisted of her, Callum, Henrietta, and Donald, Elizabeth found she didn’t care.

  The sun hid behind several ever-darkening clouds and a hint of rain scented the park, but Elizabeth felt as if the sun shone down on them. It was quite the change from a mere week ago when Callum took her home from the Hellfire Club. Then, she’d wanted to hide from the world, to protect his reputation no matter the cost to herself.

  Today, despite the uncomfortable, and blatant, gazes from the ton, she felt far freer than she had since they arrested her father.

  “See,” Callum said with a wicked grin that heated her blood. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  “No,” she agreed, surprised. Sliding across to his seat, she curled into his side and sighed, perfectly content. “No, it wasn’t.”

  The ride to the townhouse was short, and Elizabeth closed her eyes to enjoy the silence. Callum’s arm came round her and she wondered if the invitations, the dinners and parties so important to a man in his position would continue to flow. Or if marriage to a traitor’s daughter would cause those invitations to evaporate into nothing.

  He must have sensed her concern, for Callum caressed her shoulder, took her hand and kissed the back of it. The carriage pulled up to their townhouse, and he tilted her chin up for a brief kiss.

  Several people walked along the street, but the one who stood out as she walked purposefully toward them proved to be Lady Hightower. Elizabeth gathered her cloak to her and squared her shoulders. Lady Hightower’s reputation preceded her—known for her wicked tongue and unforgiving manner, she wasn’t the woman Elizabeth wanted to see so soon after her first successful outing.

  Refusing to back down in the face of so renowned a gossip, Elizabeth purposely waited for the other woman to walk closer.

  “Aycliff!” Lady Hightower said with as much enthusiasm as Elizabeth had ever heard from another person. “And my dear Lady Aycliff,” she added with a bright smile. “You must allow me to congratulate you both. Such a story,” she gushed, taking Elizabeth’s hand and patting it. “Such a wonderful story.”

  She took Callum’s hand and squeezed it as if they were all the closest of friends.

  “Your match will be the celebration of the season!” Lady Hightower turned back to her and squeezed her hand again. Elizabeth suddenly wished she’d disappeared into the townhouse. “You are such a lucky young woman, my dear Lady Aycliff, to have so romantic a husband. One,” she said with what Elizabeth swore was a wink at Callum, “who has proven he’d go to any lengths for you.”

  Then she frowned with such ferocity, Elizabeth feared she might hurt herself. Lady Hightower shook her head vehemently. “It’s a good thing those scoundrels have been properly dealt with.”

  She shook her head and was once more all smiles. “But we’ll forget about that now, shan’t we? You’ll be the busiest couple this season, as everyone wants you on their guest list. And you must come for tea very, very soon, Lady Aycliff,” she insisted. “We’ve much to discuss.”

  Having no idea what they could possibly have to discuss, Elizabeth kept her smile in place and thought quickly on how to proceed. Not truly wanting to have tea with Lady Hightower, she nonetheless supposed she should, if only to appease the old biddy—and quell all future gossip about her and Callum.

  “I look forward to it, Lady Hightower,” Elizabeth said before the other woman could continue on. She couldn’t even be certain the woman breathed when she spoke.

  “Have you heard about Westfield?” Lady Hightower asked, though she had to know Elizabeth had been ostracized from the ton and wouldn’t have heard a thing about the earl. “There’s some slight scandal about his intended bride.” She waved as if to say she’d tell all over tea. “But I’ve held you up enough, my dear. I’ll let the newly married enjoy their day.” She winked at Elizabeth and added, “We’ll talk soon.”

  Callum escorted her to the front door, which Stark already held open. He shot her a look that clearly said he’d been right and all her fears over her reception back into society were for naught. She refrained from commenting on that and instead chose to make one about Lady Emilia Hightower.

  “Has she always been like that?” Elizabeth asked as they walked inside.

  “Always,” Callum agreed. “And I do believe her meeting us here was no accident.”

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth had to agree. She took off her cloak, gave Stark her gloves and hat, and turned back to her husband. Unable to help the warmth that word gave her, she took his hand in hers, uncaring if the butler saw her action or not.

  Callum’s eyes darkened to nearly black and Elizabeth’s blood heated. He lifted her hand to his lips, turned it over and kissed her palm. Lips parted, breathing heavy, she stepped closer. Stark had disappeared, and some distant part of her wondered if he had beat a hasty retreat because he remembered how she and Callum used to be.

  The insatiable passion between them, the often inappropriate areas of the house they enjoyed each other in.

  “Come upstairs, love,” she whispered, tugging him to her. “I think we’ve scandalized the servants quite enough for one day.”

  His eyes flashed, and she laughed. She knew her lover all too well, and knew he cared not one wit for the servants or their sensibilities. Still, with her reputation so newly restored, and a niggling piece of her still concerned over him, Elizabeth didn’t want anyone gossiping about them so soon after their hurried wedding.

  Tugging his hand again, she walked backwards and urged him to follow her. Callum did so without hesitation. Before she reached the first step, he grabbed her about the waist and pulled her to him.

  His mouth crushed hers, a hard, demanding kiss that left her breathless and aroused. Elizabeth wound her arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his back. She needed him closer, needed to feel his skin against hers. After so long without him, Elizabeth found she couldn’t get enough.

  “Callum,” she breathed.

  Before she could think clearly enough to turn for the stairs, Callum had picked her up. Holding on tight, she kissed him again, grinding her hips to his as he carried her across the foyer, down the hallway, and to his office. It was a short trip, and Elizabeth nipped along his jaw as he carried her to the privacy of the room.

  The door slammed behind him, and, without bothering to look around, Elizabeth kissed him. Some small part of her wondered if they’d had this last year if they’d still be this passionate or if their ardor would have cooled by now. Somehow, she doubted it.

  “I love you,” she gasped as he sat her on his desk, mouth hungry on hers.

  His hands slid up her thighs, mouth tasting down her neck, across her shoulders. “And I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “Without you I’m in hell.”

  Elizabeth whimpered, desperate to feel him, and quickly untied his breeches. Callum teased her, one nail scrapping over her nub until she thought she’d go mad. The fingers of his other hand gently lifted her breast from the confines of the bodice, pinching the nipple until she gasped and jerked against him.

  “Callum,” she begged, arching against him. “Callum, please.”

  She could feel his wicked grin curve against her shoulder, but instead of answering, instead of easing her need, he kissed over her shoulder and took her aching nipple
into his mouth. His teeth mercilessly tugged it, and Elizabeth cried out, holding him closer, wrapping her legs about his waist, pleading.

  Cupping his cock, she circled the tip. Pleasure spiked through her when he growled at her touch. Guiding him into her, Elizabeth cried out when he thrust hard, filling her.

  His hands gripped her hips, and he moved then, pounding into her. Her orgasm built and built, and Elizabeth urged him faster, harder. She held him close, needing this completion, needing him in her as she climaxed.

  Callum’s fingers found her nub again, sending her careening over the edge and she cried out his name. Shuddering in his arms, Elizabeth felt his release, heard him say her name over and over.

  Holding him tight, she kissed his shoulder, his neck, found his lips. A slow kiss, she felt it wind through her—love and need.

  “I love you,” she repeated, resting her head on his shoulder, eyes closing.

  “Don’t leave me again.” It was a growl, a threat, a promise. Callum gently lifted her and straightened her gown, but Elizabeth didn’t care about the material.

  Staring into his eyes, still black with passion, with the strength of his need, she kissed him once on the lips, ensuring his complete attention.

  “Never again.”

  About Kristabel Reed

  Kristabel Reed lives on the East Coast and loves to explore the steamier side of historical romance. “There are so many sexy situations that didn’t just pop up in the 21st century and my goal is to burst the myth of the prim and proper debutante.”

  She loves romances but historical ménages particularly which add an element of danger and discovery not seen in contemporaries. Historically speaking, unusual romantic connections put lives on the line—people were ostracized and some even put to the death.

  In the coming year, Kristabel is going to try her hand at mainstream historicals with an added element of eroticism, which she hopes won’t be too overt.