by Galen, Shana
Colin went very still. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, he’s willing to take other forms of payment. That he added the interest in the hopes I would not be able to pay.”
Colin did not move for three fast heartbeats, then he turned and started for the door. Daphne went after him, grabbing his arm. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I’ll kill him.”
“You can’t kill him. You’ll be hung.”
“I don’t care.”
She managed to dart in front of him. “I do. I have enough problems without being married to a murderer.” She held out her hands to stop him. One hand glanced off his injured ribs and he hissed in pain.
“You’re injured!”
“Not enough that I can’t kill him.”
Daphne pressed herself against the door, and Colin frowned at her. “Move out of the way.”
She shook her head. “And to think, all of this time I thought you were a gentleman.”
“I am a gentleman.”
“No gentleman dresses like you are or fights the way you fought. Gentlemen don’t kick.”
He placed on hand on the door frame beside her head and leaned close. “I learned a few things from the war, sweetheart, and one of those is that the enemy doesn’t care who your father is. They’ll kill you just the same.”
She reached out and touched the rough material of his coat. “I rather like this look on you. It’s...dangerous.”
“And you have a taste for danger? Isn’t that what landed you in this trouble in the first place?”
“Probably. But one does tire of shopping and gossiping all the time.” Her hand trailed over to his ragged waistcoat and thin linen shirt. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to distract him from going after Battersea this moment, which would undoubtedly be a mistake. So perhaps he could allow himself to be distracted.
“And now you wonder what it would be like to kiss a common man or perhaps even a ruffian?” he asked.
“It has recently crossed my mind.” She looked up at him, and he didn’t mistake the look in her eyes. It was pure arousal.
He moved his free hand to her cloak and freed the fastening. It slid from her shoulders, revealing a dark pink gown with huge bows on the shoulders. No bow beneath her breasts, unfortunately. She moved forward, pressing her breasts against his chest. “Colin?”
“Hmm?”
“Kiss me.”
He obliged, but he wasn’t gentle. She wanted a taste of danger? He would give her that. He claimed her mouth hard, and she gasped in what sounded like a mixture of shock and pleasure. He needed to claim her at the moment. Needed to know she was safe and his. Since he was not playing the gentleman, he cupped one of her breasts, fondling it until she was wriggling against him and breathing hard.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice rough.
“Yes, more.”
Ignoring the sharp pain in his rib, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the couch. But he didn’t lie down beside her. Instead, he took the hem of her skirts and began to raise it.
Nine
She’d never done something like this before. Yes, she liked to play at breaking the rules, but Madame Renauld or one of her seamstresses could walk in at any moment. And what would they see? Daphne sprawled on the couch with her skirts at her knees and what looked like a common street bully between them.
Of course, the bully was her husband, but he didn’t look like it at the moment. He hadn’t shaved this morning so a rough layer of shadow darkened his jaw. His light green eyes seemed darker under the cap he hadn’t even taken off to kiss her. His clothing felt rough on her skin, and his touch, while not rough, was none too gentle. His hands slid up her calves and paused at the pink bows of her garters. He looked at them for a long time then bent and kissed them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, both scandalized and aroused.
“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” he murmured, his stubble rasping across the bare skin just above her garters. She squirmed as heat began to throb between her legs.
Her heart thudded faster as his hands slid higher. Her first thought upon waking this morning had been the feel of his fingers on her sex. Just the thought was enough to make her nipples hard. They were tight points right now, chafing against her chemise. “Touch me again,” she said, knowing she would be horrified by her behavior later but wanting it too much in the moment to care.
“Not this time,” he said, and his tone held a threat. Her gaze flew to his face and the slight smile on his lips. She watched as he slid her dress higher, uncovering her thighs. He parted her legs, holding them open with his broad shoulders.
“Then what?” she asked. He hadn’t loosed the fall of his trousers. Not yet, at any rate.
His gaze lowered. She knew she was exposed to him. Knew he was looking his fill at that most secret place. He moved one hand from her knee and slid it down the inside of her thigh. She groaned softly and arched her hips. He made a sound like a growl as he slid his fingers over her exposed flesh.
“You’re wet,” he murmured.
“I take it that’s a good thing.”
“A very good thing as I want to taste you.”
She frowned. “What do you—” But she broke off when his mouth began to follow the same path his hand had a moment before. His stubble tickled her, but as he neared her sex, she began to tremble. His lips were so warm, his tongue so wet when it darted out to lick the skin of her thigh. She looked down at his head between her legs, his cap still on. She knocked it off, and he glanced up with amusement in his eyes.
“Is my hat not to your liking?”
“I want to see you.”
The amusement fled his face, and his eyes darkened. “Then watch.”
He lowered his head again, and she felt his tongue probe her sex. She gasped and took hold of his shoulders as he licked at her, exploring. Daphne tried to speak and found she couldn’t. This was the most wicked thing she had ever done. And even worse, she was doing it on Madame Renauld’s couch above the shop where her staff was working.
And then Colin found the spot he’d teased last night, and she didn’t care where she was. She spread her legs wider to give him access.
“So you like this?” he murmured, his breath making her quiver.
“Don’t stop,” she begged, half ashamed of herself, half afraid he might break off. She needed him to continue. His tongue touched her again, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her entire body was shaking, every single sense centered on the way he licked and laved and flicked at her.
And then the world seemed to go dark before exploding into a thousand tiny pinpricks of light. She couldn’t stop a cry of Yes before biting her lip hard to contain any other outbursts. Her hips bucked, and he slid one finger inside her, bringing his palm up to press hard against where he’d licked a moment before. To her great horror, she ground against his hand and her body seemed to want more of him.
“Colin, more,” she all but sobbed.
“Not here,” he said, but he pressed his hand harder against her and slowly, very slowly, she began to descend.
She lay very still then, feeling completely drained, far too warm, and sated. This was what it must feel like to be debauched. Her hair was probably a wreck, her skirts up to her waist, her legs spread, and Colin’s hand was still stroking her sex lightly.
“That was better than I imagined it might be,” he said.
“I’d say you are a quick study,” she murmured.
“And you are beautiful,” he said, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. He’d never called her beautiful before. Many men had given her compliments, but never him. And while she’d always enjoyed the compliments of other men, none made her heart swell painfully in her chest as it did now.
But she didn’t want to feel this way about him. He’d hurt her before, and she was afraid if she allowed him into her heart, he would do it again. There was obviously physica
l attraction between them. He lusted after her. She couldn’t think of any other reason he would put his mouth...where he had put it. Or perhaps he felt the need to prove himself after her less than glowing critique of their wedding night. But lust was not all she wanted from him, and she knew better than to hope for anything more.
She turned her head, and his hand fell away. He moved back and she closed her legs and tossed her skirts down over her legs. “We had better go down,” she said. “Madame Renauld will need this room soon, and surely Battersea has given up on us.”
“Not to mention we have an appointment with your mother later.” He pushed off the couch and hissed in a breath.
Daphne was beside him in an instant. “I forgot you are hurt!”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You just winced. Where are you injured?”
He pushed her hands away and straightened. “A bruised rib. I’ve had far worse.”
“Let me see.”
He gave her a look. “You just said we should be on our way. This isn’t the time for me to undress.”
“This will just be a moment. And if it’s serious, we can send for a physician.”
A quiet tap sounded on the door. “My lady, have you finished your, er—shopping?”
Colin smiled. “Shopping. I like that.”
“Yes, and we were just leaving,” Daphne answered, going to the door and opening it. “Is the man who came in after us gone?”
Phaedra nodded. “Yes, my lady. He stormed out in a fit of pique.” Her dark eyes darted past Daphne to Colin. They were both completely dressed, but Daphne doubted the dressmaker missed how rumpled her skirts were or how tousled her hair.
“Your coach is waiting outside,” Phaedra said.
“Thank you.” Daphne looked at Colin. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together. You go out the back, and I’ll go out the front.”
“Is that really necessary? What if Battersea is out there?”
That was a concern, but all her father’s servants were well-trained. “My coachman will protect me. Besides I don’t wish to anger Madame Renauld. She will not be happy with me if a man who looks like a ruffian is seen leaving her shop by the front door.”
Obviously, he could see the logic in that statement because he agreed. But he watched and waited until she was in the carriage and safely away. She found that gesture oddly charming. She’d always had a footman or maid or her mother watching over her. After she’d been married for a few years, her mother gave her a bit more freedom. Daphne had thought it was high time.
But it turned out all she had done was embroil herself in a situation that could not help but end in scandal—or worse. She didn’t think Battersea would kill her, but she knew he would not have the slightest qualm about having one of his men snatch her off the street and carry her to the country for one of his infamous house parties. If she wasn’t a willing participant in the debauchery, she’d be locked in a room and plied with opium or drink until she was more malleable.
It would be rape all the same.
She covered her eyes with her hand, wishing for the thousandth time she could go back and do it all differently.
COLIN WENT HOME, SHUSHED Pugsly before the dog could alert Louisa, Mary, and Anne of his presence, went straight to his room, and ordered a bath. A cold bath. He needed something to cool his ire and his desire. He wasn’t certain which was stronger at the moment, but they were definitely in a brawl for first place.
His valet, Jacobs, returned with the water quickly—probably because he did not have to heat it—just in time to assist Colin with his shirt. Jacobs was used to seeing Colin in a variety of clothing and disguises. Jacobs had been in the theater when he’d been younger and knew as much, if not more, than Colin about the art of creating a character. But Jacobs raised his brows when he saw Colin’s chest.
“Find yourself in a bit of a scrape, sir?”
“A bit.” Colin walked to the mirror to peer at the area where he’d been hurt. The skin was already turning slightly yellow.
“Shall I ask Cook for her salve?”
“No. It smells like piss, and I have an appointment later today.” Colin shed the rest of his clothing and stepped into the tub, sitting with his knees up to his chest.
“A brandy then, sir?”
“I wouldn’t say no.” Colin soaped his arms then sat for a long moment, shivering. “Jacobs, what do you know about the Earl of Battersea?”
Jacobs paused in the act of pouring the brandy and cast a look at Colin over his shoulder. “I know his servants don’t stay in his service long. He takes liberties with the female servants and bullies the males if they speak out.”
“If I gave you the afternoon off, do you think you could find time to loiter about his town house and learn more?”
“I can try, sir.”
“Then try.”
“Shall I shave you before I go, sir?”
“I suppose you’d better. And get out my good coat. I am going house shopping.”
The term shopping made him warm all over again. He could easily picture Daphne’s face after he’d pleasured her. Her cheeks were pink, her lips parted, her blue eyes even brighter than usual but with a sated, heavy-lidded look. He wanted to do it all over again, just to see that look on her face.
He wanted to do much more than that.
But he was playing with fire. They couldn’t keep having these intimate rendezvous. When he kissed her and touched her, emotions swelled in him that he didn’t understand. He did not know what to do with them, how to store them. He wasn’t a man easily frightened, but some of what he felt made his lungs tight and his heart hammer. It wasn’t lust; it was fear. The more he was with her, the more he wondered about that fear, and the more it tried to escape. Colin had decided years ago it was not a box he would open.
Besides, she would never be content with a purely physical relationship. She would want to know what he was thinking and feeling and then be disappointed when he wasn’t thinking about anything other than seeing her naked.
Jacobs had finished shaving him by then and as soon as the valet had assisted with the most difficult aspects of dressing with bruised ribs, Colin sent him on his errand. He slipped out of the house again, after deciding that mentioning Battersea to his sisters was a bad idea. They probably knew something about him. They were much more inclined to read the scandal sheets, but they’d ask too many questions.
He’d have to go somewhere people didn’t ask unwanted questions. Or if they asked and he didn’t answer, they wouldn’t peck him to death.
The Draven Club was situated on King Street in St. James’s Street. Lieutenant Draven had opened it as a place for his men to congregate after the war. There were thirteen members, including Draven himself. They were the thirteen who had come back from the Continent alive.
As usual the Master of the House seemed to know he’d arrived even before Colin did. Porter opened the door just as Colin was about to knock. “Mr. FitzRoy, come in,” Porter said. Colin entered the wood-paneled vestibule. It was just after one and the chandelier had not yet been lit. Even without its light he could make out the shape of the enormous shield mounted on the wall opposite the door. An equally impressive sword bisected the shield. It was too shadowy to see the pommel molded into the shape of a fleur-de-lis or the skull on the cross guard. He didn’t need to see the smaller fleur-de-lis around the shield, symbols that honored the eighteen Survivors who hadn’t returned from the war.
“Is the Duke of Mayne here?” Colin asked. Phineas was the most social of the group and, as a duke, the most likely to have been to the same functions as an earl.
“No, sir.”
Colin hadn’t really expected him to be back in Town yet. He was probably happily ensconced in some little cottage in Berkshire with his new wife. He’d wanted to talk all about his feelings the last time Colin had seen him, and Colin had been forced to grit his teeth for almost three minutes and listen. No doubt the duke had no interest
in reviving all the stories in the papers about him and his bride by making an appearance in London just as the scandal had died down. The scandal being that his new wife was quite a bit older than he and past childbearing years. This was a problem for a duke without offspring. But Phineas hadn’t seemed to care that some distant cousin or other would inherit.
Still, he’d have to come to Town periodically to sit in the Lords. As much as Colin had been at Mayne House lately, he’d thought he might see his friend more.
“Mr. Murray and Mr. Fortescue are in the dining room, sir,” Porter told him. Colin shook his head. He did not want to listen to them bemoan all the balls and fetes they’d been forced to attend nor did he want Duncan badgering him as to when Daphne would find him a wife.
“Then I’ll go anywhere but the dining room.” And too bad as Colin had not eaten since the night before.
“Lord Grantham is in the card room.”
Jasper. His presence here was perfect as it fit right into his plan. “Thank you, Porter.”
Colin ascended the blue carpeted staircase. The dining room was at the top, so he slipped by the open door as sleekly as possible so Duncan and Stratford wouldn’t see him and call him in. Colin stopped outside the card room. The green baize tables were empty at this time of day. Jasper stood at one staring intently at a deck of cards. He wasn’t wearing his mask. He hadn’t worn it as much since his marriage, though he’d almost never worn it at the Draven Club anyway. They’d all been there when Jasper, Ewan, and Peter had been ambushed by the French. Jasper and Ewan had managed to fight back the French soldiers, but Peter had been trapped inside a burning building. Jasper had gone in to save him and had been felled by a burning piece of debris that left a scar on the upper part of his face.
Jasper had survived thanks to Ewan. Peter was now represented by one of the fleur-de-lis on the shield in the vestibule.
Jasper looked up, even though Colin hadn’t moved or made a sound.
“Good. I need a mark,” Jasper said.
Colin shrugged. He liked Jasper. The man didn’t bother with all the social niceties unless he had to. Colin supposed that was because his work as a bounty hunter often took him to the less savory areas of the city.