by Anna Bradley
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. She tore up Lord Peabody’s face, didn’t she?” Clarissa shrugged. “Helena got what’s coming to her, the way I see it.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” Emma gritted out, her jaw tightening at the woman’s callousness. “I asked if you knew where she is now. If you know anything, I’ll make it worth your while to tell me.”
Emma took off her diamond ear bobs. Clarissa watched, her expression calculating as Emma dropped the glittering jewels one by one onto her palm and held them out, so the moonlight would make them sparkle.
Clarissa stared at them with gleaming eyes. “Mayhap I do know something.”
Emma had thought as much. Madame Marchand might rule with an iron fist, but every single courtesan under her roof knew everything there was to know about the Pink Pearl, right down to where the tiniest silver teaspoon was hidden. “Tell me, and they’re yours.”
“I didn’t see her myself, mind you, but Lizzie went to the theater earlier, and she said she saw Helena hanging about Drury Lane.” Clarissa licked her lips, her eyes on the jewels. “I can’t say if she’s still there, but it wasn’t but two or three hours ago.”
Emma took Clarissa’s wrist, drew her hand forward and dropped the diamond ear bobs into her palm. “Thank you. Here you are.”
Clarissa snatched her hand back, and the jewels disappeared into her bodice with a casual flick of her fingers. “Helena’s not worth it, you know,” she said, as Emma turned to leave.
Emma didn’t bother with an answer, but hurried from the alcove back onto the Dark Walk, her quickened breath rasping in her ears. She could see the faint flow of light from another transparency on the opposite end of the path, but it felt far away, and the tall hedges on each side seemed to close around her, the overgrown branches meeting above her head, blocking out what little moonlight struggled through the clouds above.
Should she go back in the direction from which she’d come? Or stay on this path, dark as it was? If she kept on, she’d soon reach the Grand Walk, and would be back at the supper boxes much more quickly than if she went the long way. She could claim she’d somehow gotten turned around, and lost the others.
Mind made up, Emma hurried off toward the Grand Walk, but before she’d taken a dozen steps an enormous hand closed around her upper arm, and a low, furious voice whispered in her ear. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Emma jerked back instinctively, tugging at her arm to free herself, but he hurried her toward a shadowy alcove off the Dark Walk.
The sort of shadowy alcove she’d just left. The sort Vauxhall was famous for.
Or infamous.
“Release me this instant!” Emma fought him instinctively, but it was like struggling against a wall of solid stone.
“Emma, it’s me. I’m not going to hurt—”
But Emma wasn’t in any mood to listen. She hissed angrily, even landed a blow or two on him with her flailing fists and kicking feet, but it made no impression on him whatsoever. He held her as if she weighed no more than a child, and deposited her in the alcove with a wrathful grunt.
“Cease that squirming before you hurt yourself, and answer me, Emma! What the devil do you think you’re doing, wandering off into the darkest part of the gardens by yourself?”
It was pitch black inside the alcove, even darker than the Dark Walk, and his face was cast in shadows, but as his words sank in, she realized it wasn’t Lord Peabody who had her in his clutches. Her panic receded enough that she recognized that rough growl.
It was Samuel, and he was furious.
She considered darting around him and making a dash for the walkway, but it was as if he’d read her mind. Before she could stir a step, he blocked her with his large body, looming over her, frustration pouring off him in heated waves. “Well, Emma? I’ve no qualms about keeping you right here until I get an answer out of you, but I hope you won’t make poor Lady Flora worry for too long. Offer her that much consideration, even if you won’t do the same for yourself.”
Emma blinked up at him, taken aback by his words. “What do you mean, consideration for myself?”
“What do I mean? For God’s sake, Emma! Don’t act as if you don’t know how reckless it is for you to enter the Dark Walk by yourself. Unscrupulous men lurk in these shadows, and any one of them would be delighted to find a sweet young lady wandering these pathways alone. Good Lord, you may as well be a fox wandering amongst a pack of slavering, rabid hounds.”
Emma shivered. “That’s…descriptive.”
“It’s accurate,” he snapped.
“I wasn’t on a stroll, my lord. I, er…lost track of you and the others, and—”
“Stop it, Emma,” he said, taking her shoulders in his hands. “I told you never to lie to me again.”
Emma could feel his big body vibrating with tension, but for all his anger, he touched her so gently, his words more a plea than a command. “I-I’m sorry, Samuel, I—”
“Shh.” He stroked his finger down her neck to the hollow of her throat, his eyes following it as if mesmerized. “You skin flushes pink wherever I touch you.”
Emma caught her breath, but he didn’t give her a chance to say anything more before his lips came down on hers, stealing her reason.
He’d kissed her before, but not like this. Never like this.
His unexpected kiss in Lady Tremaine’s rose garden had been hesitant, but there was nothing hesitant about this kiss.
If the kiss in the rose garden had been a question, then this kiss was the answer.
A soft, choked sound caught in Emma’s throat when his tongue teased at her lower lip, nipping and sucking at it. “Open your mouth for me, sweetheart.”
He held her still for him, panting, one hand clamped on the back of her neck and the other wrapped lightly around her throat. When she parted her lips he plunged inside, taking her mouth roughly, his rasping breaths drifting over her damp lips, making her heart pound and her head spin with desire.
“I’ve dreamed about kissing you here,” he whispered as his tongue curled around her earlobe, licking her before his teeth closed down in a gentle nip. He sucked the tiny fold of her skin into his mouth and teased at it with his tongue, his mouth hot and demanding, commanding her response.
“Oh!” Emma gasped, shocked at the sudden heat gathering in her belly. She’d never wanted a man before, nor had she ever imagined she would.
Until now.
That it should be him—a gentleman, an aristocrat, a man so far out of her reach he might as well be on the moon—would lead to nothing but heartbreak, but she clung to him, grabbing handfuls of his coat in her fists, her lips opening eagerly under his.
“Is this how an innocent young lady kisses a gentleman?” he growled against her lips.
“Is this how a gentleman kisses an innocent young lady?” She nipped at his full lower lip, the only soft feature in his otherwise stony face, that pouting lip the only hint there was a passionate man his underneath his cool façade.
He groaned and sank his hand into the mass of curls at the back of her neck. “Have you kissed other men like this? Brought them to their knees with that sweet mouth?”
“No. Just you, my lord.” It was both the truth and a lie at once. Another man had kissed her, had done whatever he wished to her while she waited, still and cold, for it to be over.
But Samuel was the only man she’d ever kissed because she wanted his lips on hers.
A hoarse laugh tore from his chest, and the hand on her throat vanished, giving way to gentle fingertips on her neck, caressing the bare skin with light, teasing strokes. Emma moaned, every inch of her skin quivering in the wake of those caressing fingers, clamoring for more of his touch.
He sank his hands into her hair and urged her head back, baring her neck. “So soft, my lady, like silk,” he whispered as he traile
d his lips down to the pulse point at her throat. “I’ve dreamed of tasting you here, too, every night since I first laid eyes on you. Does that gratify you, knowing you haunt my dreams?”
“No.” Yes. Emma closed her eyes, her lips parting on a silent cry as his teeth grazed her collarbone.
“Why did you chase those men into the garden, Emma?” He slid his hands down her neck and over her ribcage, letting his thumbs brush against the sides of her breasts before they settled on her hips and he jerked her harder against him. “Tell me.”
Did he think he could seduce the truth out of her? Weaken her with his drugging kisses until she told him all her secrets? Perhaps the two of them weren’t so different, then, but what Samuel didn’t know was the truth he demanded wasn’t hers to give.
But she’d give him as much as she could—as much as she dared. Emma melted against him, her soft curves molding to his hard angles, the long muscles of his thighs pressing into her belly. “I wasn’t following them. I told you, I got lost.”
She stroked her fingers back and forth across his neck, then slid them down over his chest. His stomach muscles tightened as her hands drifted lower, over his abdomen and under the edge of his waistcoat before coming to rest on his waist.
Samuel took her wrists and set her away from him, so he could see her face. His lower lip was swollen from her bite, his dark eyes blazing. “I doubt you’ve been lost a day in your life. Tell me who those men are to you. What do you want with them?”
Emma clung to him, feeling as if she were drowning. “I don’t want anything from them. They don’t matter.”
Warm lips touched her temple, but for all his tenderness, there was a hint of hurt in his voice. “Why do you always lie to me, Emma? What are you hiding from me?”
Emma gripped the thick, dark waves at the back of his neck, still amazed at how soft they were. Another lie rose to her lips, but this time, she couldn’t force her tongue to speak it. Not to him. “I-I don’t want to lie to you.”
“Do you want my kisses, my lady? Or do you want me to stop, and return you to your grandmother as pristine as you were when you entered the garden?” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, the tip of his tongue making her shiver.
She wanted his kisses—wanted him. It was the one thing she wouldn’t lie about, and the one thing she wouldn’t give up. Until she’d kissed him, Emma had never tasted desire such as this, had never believed it was anything more than a fantasy. She’d keep it now, while she could, hold it in desperate hands until it vanished again, like the quiet footsteps passing by them in the garden beyond.
But she didn’t tell him this. She didn’t say anything at all as she drew him deeper into the alcove, the tall, thick shrubs curving protectively around them, shielding them from prying eyes. It was madness, utter madness, yet she took another step backward, then another until the back of her knees bumped into something hard.
It was a stone bench, tucked into the trees.
They both paused then. It was too dim for Emma to see his face, but she could feel his gaze on her, hot and heavy. She caught her breath as he dragged his fingertips along her jaw, and then he was kissing her—not the hard, demanding kisses of before, but slow, gentle, his lips brushing over hers again and again, soft and coaxing.
She sank her hands into his hair to drag him closer, her entire body leaping to aching awareness when his tongue slipped between her lips. He was warm, so warm, and his mouth so hot and sweet against hers.
It might have been the darkness surrounding them, or the dizzying press of his lips, but everything around Emma faded to nothingness then. She twined her arms around his neck and let it all go, her world suspended as she gave in to the pleasure of his caresses, his lips on hers.
“We need to stop, Emma. I need to take you back to your grandmother,” he murmured in a broken whisper, but he didn’t release her, nor did his mouth cease its breathtaking progress from her lips to her neck and down her throat, then lower still, until he was pressing open-mouthed kisses on the tops of her breasts.
Emma whimpered as he plucked at her sleeve, dragging it down and baring her shoulder and burying his face in the sensitive arch of her neck. “This is madness. Tell me to stop.”
But Emma didn’t tell him to stop. She pressed closer still, her body going limp against his as he lifted her and dropped down onto the bench, dragging her over his lap. “Oh.” Emma’s breath left her lungs in a rush at the hot press of his arousal beneath her.
“Do you feel that?” He moved his hips in a restrained thrust as he settled her more snugly against his erection. “That’s what you do to me.”
He nuzzled the swells of her breasts, nipping at her skin until her head fell back in invitation, and he sank his hands into her long, silky curls to hold her still while his fingers slipped under the edge of her bodice, dragging the heavy silk down, down…
He opened his mouth to nip at her shoulder, his breathing ragged, and eased his hands higher, giving her a chance to stop him. When she didn’t, he cupped her breasts in his hands and brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. “Look how they peak for me, Emma, how they beg for my touch.”
Emma’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, but a strangled whimper was her only answer.
“God, so pretty,” he choked out when he’d bared her to his hungry gaze. “So perfect,” he whispered, cupping the generous swell in his palms. “Such creamy skin, tipped with the palest, daintiest pink.” He traced a reverent finger around one nipple, his gaze shooting to her face when she shifted in his arms. “You like it when I stroke you here.”
“Yes.” Emma gripped his shoulders in frantic fingers, afraid one more word, one more touch, another of his heated breaths drifting over her skin would shatter her into a thousand pieces.
She could feel his eyes on her face as he did it again, then again, teasing her, brushing his thumb over her tight nipple until a sharp cry fell from her lips. “I…I…”
But Emma didn’t know what to say, what to do, so lost was she in a haze of desire. It wasn’t until he touched the peak with his tongue that she understood she needed his mouth.
“My lord.” Her eyes dropped closed at the exquisite sensation “Sam—”
“Shhh.” He didn’t tease her this time before drawing her aching nipple into the dark cavern of his mouth. He suckled at her for long, breathless minutes, the soft, wet sound of his lips against her flesh seeming loud to Emma, obscene, yet nothing would have made her stop his sweet torment.
He didn’t release her until he’d reduced her to a moaning, quivering bundle in his lap, her nipples a deep red from his mouth. He rested his cheek against the soft skin between her breasts, a pained groan tearing loose from his chest. “I must be mad, touching you like this.”
Emma let out a soft cry of distress. She caught a handful of his thick hair and tried to urge his mouth back to her breasts, but he captured her wrists in his hands.
“No. I want you too much, Emma. You steal my logic, my reason. This,” he jerked his hips against her, “is why we can’t be alone together in a dark garden. Everything about you—the way you move, your scent, your voice, your wicked, delicious mouth…” He pressed a hard, desperate kiss to her lips. “You make me forget I’m a gentleman.”
Emma’s breath came in short gasps as she traced his lips with her fingertip, then slid her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, so her breasts were flattened against him. “I don’t want you to be a gentleman.”
* * * *
Samuel was losing his mind. Emma was stealing it from him, one soft moan at a time.
She was enthroned on his lap, her round bottom pressed tightly against him, her tongue in his mouth, and he was mere seconds away from lifting her skirts and sliding into her warm, welcoming heat.
Samuel shuddered against her, easing her closer until he enveloped her, her vanilla scent teas
ing his senses. He held her there, his body crushed against hers so he could feel the shape of her thighs and her breasts, and dear God, she felt so good, her soft curves such a perfect fit against him, her belly cradling his stiff cock.
Even now, as his mind screamed at him to stop his hand was slipping under the hem of her skirts, his palm sliding up her calf, then higher, higher, over long legs in fine silk stockings until his fingers touched her garters, and then…
The smooth, bare skin of her upper thigh.
He was close, so close to the warm, damp haven between her legs. Once he touched her there, it would be over. He’d take her, right here on this hard stone bench in Vauxhall Gardens, with her grandmother a short walk away in their supper box, drinking champagne with his mother.
Samuel let out a tortured groan, but before he could give in to temptation again, he grasped her hips, moved her off his lap onto the bench beside him, and shot to his feet. He was panting, his cock straining against his falls. He’d never been so hard in his life, had never wanted a woman the way he wanted her, and it took every shred of his control to resist taking her into his arms again, and sinking into her tight heat.
He paced from one end of the tiny alcove to the other, trying to reason with his cock. It was long agonizing minutes before it relented enough for him to be able to turn back to Emma without snatching her up again, and losing himself in her arms.
She was sitting on the bench, her skirts tucked demurely around her ankles. The luscious breasts he’d worshipped had disappeared back into her bodice and the heavy silk was smoothed into place over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, but she sat with her spine straight, and her hands folded neatly in her lap.
To look at her now, he would never guess she’d been writhing on his lap mere moments ago. Samuel stared at her, wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. Would he wake in his bed alone, sweat pouring off him, his cock jerking against the coverlet, and find he was once again caught in an erotic dream about her?