Alex lifted a finger and ordered a coffee from the pretty girl serving the table. “The waiters here are a damn sight better than the ones at White’s.” He got an approving nod from the woman sitting at the cash desk just inside the door and a laugh from the other people at the large table. Good, they were listening.
“Alex, tell me if this is true. Was one of the women Dankworth’s previous fiancée?”
He’d known this question had to come but Devereaux did him a favor by asking, giving the opportunity to explain. He thought he’d prepared himself to answer but rage rose inside him all over again. Only Devereaux would see the spark of fury. Alex fought to keep his sangfroid, his languid air of aristocratic hauteur. “Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over town, dear boy.” The green eyes flashed a warning now and Devereaux—Max—had used Alex’s Christian name, not his title, something he rarely did in public. That was a warning, too. Devereux’s father had died young and consequently Max, elevated to marquess at a young age, had more formality about him than his cousins. And probably a harder edge, though that would be difficult to assess, with a family packed, as theirs was, with influence and wealth. Max had fought for his, after his father had left him all-but bankrupt.
Alex leaned back and forced a bored yawn, covering his mouth as he did so. “How many fiancées does one man need before he settles on one? I had always thought one at a time was good ton but Dankworth seems to be trying to set a new fashion. He will not. He’s not good ton.”
The girl leaned over more than she needed to when she placed the fragrant coffee in front of him. He gave her the smile that made people call him charming. He’d even practiced it before the mirror in his youth, another weapon for his armory, as potent as any sword in certain situations.
Her bosom came a little closer and the fichu covering it wasn’t quite as well tucked in as it could have been. Although she didn’t interest him, he handed her a shilling for her pains. She made a point of pushing it down her cleavage. “You should be careful,” he murmured. “Respectable businessmen don’t like that kind of display.”
She flushed. “Are you respectable, then, sir?”
“Completely.” His firm words gained him sniggers from the other occupants of the table, a mixture of society gentlemen and City businessmen. They all came here for one reason—to facilitate the making of money. They made deals, bought and sold, and picked up the gossip that proved so lucrative. Around the corner, the men frequenting Lloyd’s coffeehouse sold insurance to cover the deals made here. The scent of pipe tobacco wreathed around them and the buzz of a place where something important was happening tingled his fingertips.
The hum of conversation hushed, as he turned back to Devereaux. “Tell me, my dear cousin. Would it be considered good form to dispose of one fiancée before taking another or can a man have more than one at a time?”
Devereaux leaned back but not too far, as the benches in this part of the house had no backs. His eyes gleamed. “Taking one after another is close to the line, two at the same time is definitely crossing it. You know Fox and his friends are taking an interest in Dankworth?”
Fox and his cronies took people up and dropped them again with ruthless efficiency. But while in favor a man would be advised to use them as fast and hard as he could. But their interest could also prove very expensive. No doubt about it, Dankworth was running in circles he couldn’t afford.
Alex shrugged, as if their interest meant little. “I met him at the house of a friend of my father’s. You know Lord Downholland?”
Devereaux shrugged. “I’ve met him once or twice. Prefers to live in the country, doesn’t he? Moderate fortune, pleasant man, as I recall, even if he does talk to you like he’s delivering a lecture.”
“That’s the man. I came to town from his place in Yorkshire. Devilish tedious journey. His goddaughter was visiting and Downholland was brokering her marriage contract to Dankworth. Then I came to London and discovered he’s courting another lady.” Alex laughed carelessly, as if the news he was imparting was mere amusing gossip and not a matter of vital importance to someone very dear to him. “He has a complete lack of staying power. I understood they signed the contract in Yorkshire but I did not stand witness, so perhaps I was mistaken. Or perhaps Dankworth is merely amusing himself with the lovely Miss Stobart until the lovelier Mrs. Rattigan arrives.”
Devereaux took a great deal of not-so-innocent amusement from the doings of others but more than that, he’d built his family fortunes from near ruin to formidable by listening and acting on his discoveries.
That last hint, said carelessly, would interest him, especially if—“Has Dankworth been in here recently?” Alex asked.
“Last week. He seems interested in one of the ships setting out for India. But you need a good stake for that one.”
“The Caroline?” He hoped not. He had a share in that one himself. He’d hate to scupper his own investment but he refused to allow Dankworth to profit from it. He’d buy the ship and sink it himself, rather than let that happen.
“No.” Devereux frowned then his expression lightened. “The Spirit of Adventure.”
“Ah.” Alex knew the vessel but didn’t hold great hopes for the proposed cargo, because the Caroline would get there first and take its pick of the spices available. And being faster, it would return the cargo in better time. He could say that aloud but that would give information the men sitting at this table might not have. “A hefty stake required, then.”
“He has expressed interest in my new delivery of wine from France,” a man said. Alex exchanged a friendly greeting. This City man was a shrewd investor. And of a puritan cast of mind, despite his business. “Would you recommend him as an investor?”
Alex shook his head pursing his lips as if doubtful. “Truly sir, I can’t say. But he was dipping deep in the hells last week. He must be made of juice. I’d say make sure of it but I know you’d do that with any new investor. Trust is earned, is it not?”
“Indeed it is.” The man made a note in his account book. Every man of business carried his account book, which he took back for his clerks to transcribe but his word meant more than the scratches of a pen on a piece of paper. Signing was often a mere formality. Once the word of a man was lost, it took a lot to get it back. Most never managed.
Dropping a hint here was as good as standing in the middle of the marketplace and shouting, “Don’t trust this man!” Alex took the risk that the gentlemen who frequented the coffeehouses of the City would take his word and not Dankworth’s. After all, Dankworth had attracted the attention of Fox and his cronies, so he wouldn’t collapse like a house of cards. And gamblers didn’t lose all the time.
Alex drank his coffee, exchanged the time of day as if he had all the time in the world. Then he took his leave and crossed the floor to speak to another man, one he’d done business with in the past.
He made sure he asked if Dankworth was another principal in the investment. When the man said he couldn’t possibly comment, Alex said that if Dankworth was involved, he might have to think again. When his contact asked him what he knew, Alex shrugged and said he just didn’t like the man. That there was something about him he didn’t trust, so he’d set a few enquiries in train. Once he had the results, he’d make a more permanent decisions.
He left the coffee house well pleased with his work.
Chapter 10
The day after she’d woken up in a second house of ill repute, Connie leaned her hands on the sill of her room and gave herself time to think. The square below had a canopied section in the middle. The remains of the morning market lay on the cobbles, bits of green vegetation, a flash of orange, and some crushed flowers. From what she’d read, Covent Garden was the most important market for fresh fruit and vegetables in London. Perhaps she’d see it in full swing before she left this place. Take one sight of London home to amuse her during the long, lonely nights. An arched passage stretched on one side of the square where men walked
and chatted. They looked perfectly respectable but she’d already learned that appearances could deceive.
She’d always enjoyed watching life. That was one reason she’d gained a reputation for bookishness. She would pretend to read and watch instead, glory in the variety of human nature.
These buildings were part of the reconstruction of London after the Great Fire of nearly a hundred years ago. It was difficult to imagine the vice that went on behind the stately and imposing facades, although some of the buildings were admittedly not in the greatest state of health.
Although she regretted the way she’d arrived, it was still London and she still thrilled to be here. She’d dreamed of a visit to the metropolis for years but never thought it would happen. Her father had no wish for it and her husband had less.
She shed the garish yellow robe and slid into bed, thinking about the rescuer, the man who had aroused her with one kiss, who’d walked away because she belonged to someone else. But she didn’t anymore. Whatever happened next, she wouldn’t be marrying Jasper Dankworth.
She refused to lie to herself.
She wanted Alex. Badly, with a yearning that racked her body. Before she went home, she would compound her sins. If he was willing. She would have that much of him, at least. After all, what did she have to lose? Her reputation? She laughed scornfully.
The sharp knock on the door took her by surprise. Had a customer decided to explore the building? She leaped out of bed, grabbed the robe and shrugged it on, cinching it tightly around her before she called out, “This room is private.”
“I know,” came his voice. “May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Her fingers trembling, she removed the robe and dropped it on the chair before climbing back into bed. She wouldn’t seduce anyone in that.
He walked in, dropping the latch behind him. She found herself gazing into the dark depths. He didn’t look away and neither did she.
After a moment of frozen awareness, he strode to the bed, and sat close to her. They still didn’t look away. When he reached for her, she went willingly into his arms, where she wanted to be.
He touched his lips to her forehead, her cheek and finally, with a kiss that was barely a whisper, to her mouth. Eagerly, she strained up, urging him to come closer.
Instead, he drew back. “This is wrong, Connie.”
“Why?” she dared to demand. “Here I’m nobody, nothing. Soon I’ll be gone, with people none the wiser. And if you hadn’t noticed I’m no shrinking virgin.”
He shook his head and would have drawn back but she caught his face between her hands, making him look at her. His beard stubble abraded her palms. “For once in my life I want to know how good it can be. I want to know what a real man can do, what he can make me feel. And I want that man to be you. Please, Alex. If you desire me, take me. If you don’t want me, if you’re just being kind, say so now.”
She’d been used and insulted enough. Now she wanted to take something for herself. Him. If—
“Of course I desire you.” His breath heated her lips. “How can you ever doubt it? But I want to care for you, not use you.”
She held tight to him, wouldn’t let him move away. “I’ll make a bargain with you. We’ll use each other. That makes it fair, doesn’t it?”
He groaned low. “God help me, I can’t resist you. Connie.” He said her name like a prayer, then he covered her mouth with his, taking her in a deep, possessive kiss, one she couldn’t escape even if she wanted. She sucked gently on his tongue, stroked it with hers.
Alex wrenched himself away and held her firmly, his hands on her shoulders. “Connie, are you sure?”
“I’m sure about only one thing. Make love to me, Alex. Give us what we both want.”
She melted into him, nestling her body against his, pressing her breasts against his chest and wishing there was nothing between them so she could feel his hot flesh on hers, his muscles massaging her, surrounding her.
He kissed her again, made a small sound into her mouth, vibrating against her tongue, making her open her mouth wider.
He banded his arms around her, holding her close but not safe, not this time. She tasted danger in his kiss, peril in that strong body and she wanted it all. Wanted every part of him.
She set her hands to his sides and tugged his shirt, trying to free it from the waistband of his breeches.
He drew back, his eyes slumberous with desire. “Allow me, sweet lady.” He dragged his shirt free and pulled it over his head, tossing it over the chair he’d recently slept in.
Connie caught her breath. “So strong, so beautifully shaped.”
He flashed a grin. “More?”
She nodded eagerly. She might not have the seduction skills of a courtesan but she’d persuaded him of her sincerity. He undid the fall of his breeches, slid down to stand on the floor. He discarded his breeches, underwear and stockings in one move, dropping the discarded garments on top of his shirt. His sideways twist to put the clothes down revealed the curve of his buttocks. They enhanced his slim hips, the muscles flexing with an unconscious strength she’d never get enough of. All his movements enthralled her. Especially when he turned back to her unashamedly naked.
His erection rose from a nest of black curls. He was already hard and straining, the tip of his shaft damp and shiny.
He smiled but the side of his mouth twitched. He wanted her and it looked as if he wanted her very much. Just as she wanted him.
She could only honor his honesty. So she undid the buttons on her cuffs and pulled the linen shift over her head. Leaning back on her haunches, she took her visual fill. Or did until he groaned and came back.
“You would tempt a saint, my lady. Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He leaned her back until she lay down. “I want to feel all of you against all of me.”
So did she. So much that the place between her legs was damp with her need. She’d felt such arousal before but only when Alex looked at her that way. And she’d never felt so blatant about her body. She wanted to display it for his enjoyment, not just undress.
He lay by her side, propped up on one elbow and smoothed his hand down her body from her arms to her knees. “That curve of a woman’s body is so delectable and yours is the most luscious imaginable.”
She smiled up at him, suddenly lighthearted. “So you’re not pretending to be a virgin?”
“No more than you are.” He kissed her, their lips separating reluctantly. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Too late for your conscience. Put it to sleep. You want me to feel better, don’t you? I can’t think of a better way.” She wanted him so much she could hardly breathe. Her words came in small, breathy pants, because it was all she could manage. If he stopped now, she’d die.
She recognized her own desperation reflected back at her when he kissed her and went on to taste her lips, her neck, her throat. Stretching up, she gave him better access. He palmed her breast. As if it were meant for him to do that, had no other purpose his touch made her moan, arch her body towards him.
“Hush,” he said. “Let me please you.”
She melted, flowed into him, put her arms around him and slid her palms up and down his strong, smooth back. He explored her, touched her, made her mad with longing but at the same time she didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want him to stop. Didn’t want him—
When he slid his fingers between her legs and slipped them along the dampness there her breath expelled in one long sigh “Ohhh.”
Smiling tenderly, he took his time, explored her, touched her, always sliding past that part of her she’d barely been aware of before, the little knot of flesh at the front. She’d noticed its sensitivity before, when she’d washed but never like this. She’d tended to avoid it, thinking it too tender.
Now it had become even more sensitive under his ministrations but it felt so good, sending pulses of heat through her whole body. She opened her eyes, not having been aware of closing them and stared up at him. He
was watching her and he smiled. “Good?”
“I—I think so.”
His smile faded a little. “You didn’t know about this?”
Swallowing back her nervousness, she shook her head. “I never—”
“It’s called the clitoris and it will bring you great pleasure. Has nobody…?” He stopped, smiled tenderly down at her. “Obviously not. Lie back, sweeting, let it happen.”
Listening to his voice, she lay back while his fingers increased and intensified their activity. She hid nothing of her reaction, letting him see her pleasure while he played with her, smiling into his eyes until the sensation increased, shivers rippling through her. She twisted under him, but he guided her back into position and relentlessly continued. Gradually, heat spread, sensitivity washing in its wake. She bit her lip, not sure how to react, but he kissed her.
“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you. I want to know, I want to hear.”
She moaned and he gave her an encouraging smile. “Now forget everything else, just concentrate on this, what’s happening to you. Trust me.”
She had from the first moment she’d seen him, which was ridiculous but just the way she was. If she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t trust herself.
The next minute she didn’t care. Every sense she possessed came together in a crescendo. The intimate wetness of his actions should have embarrassed her. It didn’t.
She cried out, arched her body towards him and he pushed a finger, maybe two deep inside her. He murmured words of encouragement she couldn’t hear properly but that didn’t matter because they reassured her, reminded her who was doing this to her. She was his, all his.
In a series of jerks, she exploded, convulsed around his fingers, staring up at him in helpless, delighted confusion.
Before she could find her voice to ask him what exactly was happening, he rose up, removed his hand and eased her thighs wider, settling between them. She lifted her knees, hugged his body between them. His shaft, hot and wet, slid down to her opening.
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