A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2

by Laura Trentham

  She’d wondered about the act for some time. How could she not, when what he’d done to her had been so delightful? Now she had the opportunity to seize control, and truth be known, she relished it.

  She stepped between his parted knees. Every muscle in his body seemed poised for flight. His head was turned to the side as if she’d already slapped him for his impertinence. She leaned over and placed a hand on each of his forearms. His fingers were curled over the arms of the chair, making indents into the supple leather. Slowly, he turned to face her. So much pain reflected in the lines etching his mouth and his eyes. Her heart hollowed, and she wanted to cuddle in his lap to kiss it away.

  She steeled herself. The man needed to understand she wouldn’t be scared away. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear, “Should I unfasten your breeches?”

  His ragged breath skimmed warmly over her cheek. She traced the outer rim of his ear with her tongue and then did the same down the length of his scar into his beard. She pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and sucked. The muscles under her hands rippled. He remained silent.

  She dropped to her knees as he had commanded, bracketed by his legs. Their gazes tangled. Like a trapped, confused animal, he looked panicked, not sure where to run. Would he stop her? Starting at his hips, she stroked down the outside of his thighs to his knees. Walking her fingers up the inside of his thighs, she grazed over his erection. His hips jumped.

  So far, she had maintained the façade of a controlled, dispassionate seductress. Now, her trembling fingers betrayed her. She fumbled with the discs, silently cursing her clumsiness. He made no move to either stop or help her. One by one, the discs slid free, exposing his heavy, extremely aroused member.

  “Are all men this well-proportioned, Rafe? I don’t have any basis of comparison, but you seem uncommonly large.”

  He grunted.

  She wet her lips. He had told her to suck his cock. The entire length? She didn’t think that would be possible, but she’d try. She tentatively licked the tip, never taking her eyes off his face. His lids fluttered down, and his head rolled back on the chair. She opened her mouth and took him inside.

  A groan tore from the depths of his chest, and he curled a hand around the back of her neck. One of her hands wrapped him tightly at the base, as he had taught her in the cabin, and she danced her tongue over the tip. She sucked him deep and hummed, lost in the sensation and taste of him.

  He hooked his hands under her arms, hauled her to her feet and tugged her into his arms. The sudden rise left her lightheaded and swaying. She licked over her swollen lips. “Did I do it wrong?”

  “I’m so bloody sorry. I know I keep having to apologize for my actions, my words, but—”

  “I know. I understand.” She laced their fingers.

  “Will you come upstairs with me? Let me make amends?”

  At her single nod, he grabbed his breeches up and led her to his room. The snick of the lock reverberated in her ears. The huge bed, with its yawning red curtains, beckoned. But not yet. The residual pleasure of power still thrummed.

  He encircled her upper arms with his hands, his intent clear. She stopped him with a soft hand on his chest. Certainly, he could overpower her and take control, but he wouldn’t. She was learning. His face wary, he stilled, waiting. She wanted to punish him for having no faith in her. What would torment him the most?

  “Go sit on the bed.” She nudged him away with her fingertips. He was an immovable object.

  “Why?”

  “Because I told you to. I’ll walk out that door, Rafe Drummond. You’ll learn to trust in me, or I’ll pack my trunk.”

  His hands fell to his side, still curled as if they held her. He backed away and perched on the edge of the mattress, looking ready to tackle her if she followed through on her empty threat to leave. She couldn’t leave him, didn’t want to. Ever.

  She paced in front of him, and he tracked her every movement with his intent gaze. “You must learn I’m no weak-kneed, slack-jawed debutante to run for protection every time you lose your grip on sanity. I care for you, you stupid man. Now, it’s my turn.”

  She turned her back on his stare. Was she really doing this? Her heart felt like it might burst into pieces over the rug. She rubbed her hands down the front of her gown, before taking in a huge breath and holding it. She raised her trembling fingers and removed the pins from her hair, dropping them on the rug one by one until the mass cascaded down her back.

  Rafe had lost the ability to coherently reason. She cared for him. Why, he couldn’t fathom. She should have hit him over the head with something large and pain inducing and stormed out of his life several times over.

  Now, she’d upped the stakes and held the trump card. Her hair danced down her back, and the coy glance she sent over her shoulder gave him a clue where this was headed. Torment and pleasure.

  She released hook after hook until her dress slumped down her arms, the curve of her spine and shoulders exposed. The gown slipped over her hips to fall to the rug, leaving her in her chemise and stockings. No drawers marred the outline of her buttocks through the thin cloth.

  His cock, thwarted in its release, throbbed. As fast as humanly possible, he disrobed and sat back on the edge of the bed, naked and stroking himself. When she turned, her body turned to stone, her mouth parted, her gaze locked on the play of his hands.

  “Pray, please continue,” he said hoarsely. The outline of her nipples made his mouth water. She hooked her fingers around the straps of her chemise and let them fall down her arms, but caught the material over her breasts.

  “You like having me under your thumb, don’t you, my lady?” Rafe teasingly repeated the accusation she had hurled at him weeks earlier.

  “I’d rather have you over me.” Her usual confidence was missing, highlighting her innocence with their sexual banter, but he had a feeling, like with everything else, that she’d be a quick study.

  “I very much agree with the sentiment.”

  “Is this what you want?” She pulled the fabric taut, outlining her already peaked nipples.

  “Drop it or I won’t be responsible for what happens.” He barely recognized his voice.

  Presenting him her back once more, she dropped the chemise. It caught at her hips, exposing the barest hint of her buttock crease. She shimmied her hips, and the cloth floated to her ankles. Spinning, she stood with her arms at her sides. Her nearly nude body glowed in the candles. His breathing rasped faster as his hand tightened around his cock.

  Pink tinted her chest and cheeks, shyness battling an innate sensuality she was only beginning to recognize and tap. Her breathing was affected too. Her lips parted, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. She leaned over and rolled her stockings down. Her breasts swayed as she trailed her fingers over each bare leg.

  Her turn was over.

  “Come here, Minerva.”

  She sashayed toward him, under the mistaken impression she was in charge. As soon as she was within reach, he tossed her in the middle of the bed, ignoring her breathless cry. He came over her like a beast. “Is this what you wanted, woman? Me insane with need and over you?”

  He shoved her legs apart and swiped a finger between them. Even in his primal state, he didn’t want to hurt her, but once assured she was ready, he thrust deep. He didn’t make love to her. He fucked her.

  Her throaty groans and whispered words of encouragement accompanied his every thrust. She climaxed, biting his shoulder and raking fingernails down his back. The combination of pain and pleasure drove him over the edge, and with one final sharp thrust, he spent inside of her. They panted, recovering from their bout like prizefighters.

  “Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?” he whispered.

  “I can assure you, my cries were not from pain. I don’t know why you insist on treating me with kid gloves. I like when you treat me like a woman and not a lad
y.” She ran her hands over his back, tracing one long scratch.

  “Did I hurt you?” Her eyes reflected true worry.

  He fell to his side in a fit of laughter, pulling her close and brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Please, woman. You only wish you could.”

  “No, I don’t ever want to hurt you.” She cupped his scarred cheek, her thumb coasting over his cheekbone and across the puckered scar.

  He bit the inside of his mouth and tasted blood. His fears sat heavily on his chest, making his words emerge sluggishly. “I watched you today with the Wyndams.”

  “What did you see, pray tell?”

  “A lady who is mesmerizing, charming, effervescent. You must miss the whirl of London and all your friends.”

  “Friends? I thought we’d established the fact that I only have a handful. I’m admired and imitated. Even a bit feared. But liked? No one likes me.”

  “Why in the world don’t they like you?”

  “Might I remind you, Lord Drummond, not so many weeks ago you disliked me more than the entire ton put together. The words haughty, conceited bitch come to mind.”

  He harrumphed, rolling to his back. “That’s completely different. I disliked you because…well, I liked you.”

  She huffed a slight laugh. “That was as clear as fog.”

  “It’s neither here nor there. What I’m wondering…what I’ve been thinking on all evening is whether you’d be happy away from all of that for…long periods of time.” The word forever had almost slipped out. He stared at the dark red canopy overhead and held his breath. What was she thinking? Would she laugh? Call him an idiot? Was he mad to consider paying his addresses?

  Her face slid into view, her hair pooling around his neck in a beautiful cascade. She didn’t laugh or call him an idiot. Instead, she brushed her lips over his brow, his scarred cheek and his mouth. “If I had the right sort of company, I’d be more than happy away from London. Forever.”

  Would she? He studied her, trying to determine if she hid her true feelings. Only a guileless sincerity showed in her serious blue eyes. A banked fire spread through his chest and drove back the shadows in his heart.

  She considered her words carefully. One mention of love might send him running in fear. It would take time to tame him. Did they have enough before their brazen bargain was finished? “I’ve never felt like this.”

  “Me either.” His quiet admission lifted her heart into her throat. “Here now, I’ve neglected you.”

  He rolled her onto her stomach and brushed the hair off her back. It was his way of changing the subject, but before she could protest, he skimmed his big, callused hand down her back. Afterwards. They could discuss the future afterwards.

  “Your skin is so smooth and white. So soft.” The bristly hair of his beard tickled her side, and she wiggled away. His heavy hand on her back held her down while he did it again, this time eliciting a giggle.

  The hand wandered over her bottom, kneading and squeezing. She thrust her buttocks up. With each encounter, her shyness diminished. “Please, Rafe, I need you.”

  He was as gentle now as he had been rough before. He wandered his fingers closer and closer to her wet center, teasing her. Finally, with a sob, she grabbed his wrist and forced him into her heat, twisting her hips. He eased a finger, then two, inside of her and groaned into her neck.

  “That’s it, my love, use me. Take your pleasure.” And she did, writhing and holding his hand clamped between her legs.

  Her climax left her exhausted and boneless. He eased her on her side, facing away from him, and lifted her leg, his cock probing for entrance. She arched her back, and he slid inside of her with a hiss. Rocking her from behind, he lay kisses along her neck and shoulders. Very soon, he shuddered and wrapped her in his arms, both of them sated.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Minerva’s eyes opened to her familiar blue canopy. When had he moved her? Had anyone seen them? Considering his training, probably not. He’d even managed to get her chemise back on. She stretched languorously, wondering where he was.

  After dressing and on her way to the study, Cuthbertson passed her a note.

  Simon and I are seeing to tenant cottage repairs. Until tonight.

  The last two words jumped off the paper. A promise. Tonight seemed a lifetime away. She held the note to her chest with a smile.

  Jenny traipsed through the entry, tugging on gloves. “Fancy a trip into Lipton?”

  Minerva sighed, grateful for the distraction. “That sounds perfect. Let me get my cloak.”

  Although the skies overhead were bleak, nothing could contain their spirits. Vicar Appleby would read the first banns for Tom and Jenny at Sunday service. Although Minerva didn’t speak of her love for Rafe, she couldn’t stop the blushes and the grin when Jenny asked about him.

  While the burly young son of the mercantile owner loaded the cart, Jenny shooed Minerva into the inn to get warm while she kept her father company in the smithy.

  A fire crackled, heating the small common room. A handful of local men talked in low voices around the window. Taking a seat next to the fire, she tucked her feet close until her toes tingled. Utterly content with the moment and her life, she settled into the chair, a smile on her face.

  A dirty, booted foot hooked around the chair next to hers. She looked up, thinking Rafe had somehow found her, but her smile froze into a shocked grimace.

  Lord Hampton.

  His face was gaunt, and grime and wrinkles masked his jacket’s quality. His pants and boots were in much the same state. A fetid, stale odor wafted on the stirred air as he sat. Nausea threatened, driven by a combination of his odor and her fear.

  Inclining her head, she adopted her icy ton persona like slipping on a familiar dress, but she curled her hands around the seat of her chair, digging her nails into the wooden underside. “Greetings, Lord Hampton. How are you this day?”

  “Don’t pretend you’re the high and mighty Lady Minerva with me, my dear. We both know what’s been going on these past weeks.” He spoke loudly and with a sneer.

  “Hush, please. I would not discuss that here and now.”

  “Well, my lady, where would you like to discuss it then? For I have a proposition for you. I hear you’re amenable to such.” His innuendo dripped disrespect.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I do. You will accompany me to the alley where I have a horse waiting. Then you will be silent as we make our way to my charming little abode in the forest.”

  “Why would I do that?” She looked around the room but didn’t recognize any of the men. Most were too old to be of much help anyway. Still, it was broad daylight in the sleepy village, what harm could befall her? Of course, she’d made that mistake once before.

  A knife glinted in his hand, and he played with the edge, a smile tugging his lips. “I thought you may take some extra convincing.” Grabbing her wrist, he pulled, but she resisted, her muscles rigid and tense.

  He was too strong for her to win their tug of war, and her arm ended up over the table. Ripping the sleeve of her gown with the knife’s point, he set the edge against the tender skin of her forearm. A thin red line appeared, and stinging pain accompanied the cut. Tiny rivulets of her blood ran to the table. She stared, her head floating somewhere above the horror.

  With his hand like a vise on her arm, he hauled her up and pushed her toward the back of the inn, making sure the tip of the blade stayed pressed into her side. The knife cut through her dress and pricked her skin.

  “Be careful, my dear. I would hate to accidently gut you.”

  How was she to walk on legs that wobbled like an old woman’s? No one had even noticed the drama going on in their midst. Minerva ducked out the back door. The alley was narrow and smelled of old vegetables but was otherwise clean. Crates and barrels blocked one end while an old nag, as disreputable a
s Hampton, blocked the other.

  The heavy wooden door shut behind them, and she managed to pull away to the opposite wall. “I assume this has something to do with my brother. Tell me what you want?”

  He paced back and forth, pulling at his lank, greasy hair, the knife clutched in his hand. She followed its progress back and forth.

  “What I want is my bloody life back. Look at me.” He held his arms out for her inspection.

  “You appear to have fallen in some difficult straits, my lord, but I’m hardly to blame for that. Neither is my brother, I might add.”

  The knife made an arc that had her scrabbling backwards into the bricks. “Bloody Bellingham. I was poised to make a fortune off that numbskull. Until you whisked him away from London. You even had to pull him from our simple game here and almost get me killed.” The tip of his knife was a handbreadth from her nose. Her lungs had stilled, but beneath the terror, a black bird of fury beat its wings.

  She pressed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “Almost got you killed? You lying coward. If Lord Drummond hadn’t found us, we might be lying at the bottom of a river somewhere.”

  “You simpleton! I’m not talking about those yokels. I’ve borrowed a mountain of money from some very unsavory men. If I don’t come up with the funds to hold them off, I will be killed in a very painful fashion. They’ve been on my heels for weeks now, and your brother refuses to see me.” Lord Hampton resumed pacing, his fear and desperation palpable.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m still not sure I understand what that has to do with me.” She shuffled sideways toward the nag, her back scraping on the rough stone. If she could get close enough, she could call for Jenny, or better yet, Black John.

  “I need money. And you are going to get me some.” His lips curled upward, but not in a smile.

  “I sympathize with your plight, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  “My dear Lady Minerva, I know exactly what has been going on at Wintermarsh. I know the details of the bargain that was struck between you and Simon and Lord Drummond. London Society would be very interested indeed to hear about what you were reduced to do at the hands of the wicked Lord Drummond. Cleaning like a common maid and perhaps performing more intimate chores for the lord of the manor?”