Appetites & Vices

by Felicia Grossman

  The memories roared back. Delicate, lovely Sophie. Sophisticated, gay Sophie, except for her eyes—her gray eyes still held that note of sadness, of the sixteen-year-old who crossed an ocean to marry a much older man.

  “And you two were lovers.” Urs stated the fact.

  For once could she not be so readable? The story would hurt her in so many ways, no matter how he told it. Still, he owed her all of it, with as much veracity as he could muster.

  He gave a curt nod. “Though I never saw her as one. Our relationship was different. I didn’t think of it as a friendship either. In many ways she was almost a mentor. She taught me things. We weren’t in love, but we enjoyed each other. I had a wonderful trip and I thought we’d remain close acquaintances. I made quite a few in the city.”

  It had been a magical time. He’d left with something akin to confidence, more than he’d ever had. People liked him in New Orleans, even respected him. He could’ve lived there.

  Urs had her hand over her mouth, concern in her eyes. He stared back at the table and shook his head. It was still like a dream. A nightmare.

  “I wasn’t even supposed to go back. My parents were sending me to Hong Kong, but I wanted to speak to a contact in New Orleans and called on her while I was in town.”

  “And she was pregnant?” Urs’ voice was now a whisper.

  “Already showing. She wasn’t even going to tell me.” He shook his head. That’d hurt more than anything, even the dagger-like words she’d used when he proposed marriage.

  I’ll be damned if I make this child an obligation. It and I deserve to be wanted. I want to be married out of love this time, not out of guilt.

  Not out of guilt. That was impossible because no child of his was going to grow up a bastard, no matter how wealthy the household. Anything else would’ve been wrong, right? Even years later it was hard to fathom how his instincts to be honorable steered him so off course. Well, people did say the road to Hell was paved with good intentions.

  “But that hurt. You wanted her to have thought better of you,” Urs said not asked. The gentleness in her voice was almost melodious. He ached for her bluntness.

  Jay nodded, unable to say the words.

  I want this child raised by adults, not children. There’d been tears in Sophie’s eyes—tears that made him protest and promise.

  Urs was still for once, not a fidget or a pucker. “What did you do?”

  “Do?” He smiled at his own stupidity. “I married her. It took days to convince her, but I wore her down. Night after night, I begged and she finally relented.” They’d both been exhausted. There were circles under her eyes at the church. He’d made so many vows, vows he didn’t keep. “I didn’t tell my parents. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. She took that as a sign.”

  The anguish in Sophie’s voice tore at him.

  I wanted to marry a man, Jay, not a boy. You promised me you’d be what I wanted.

  He’d hated her in that moment, told her she was insane as she threw perfume bottles at him. If anything was proof that he wasn’t worthy, it was those two weeks of fights.

  Urs quivered so hard the table shook. He should’ve never told her. She was going to cry, or flee, as she should. He was a reckless fool who’d destroyed so many lives.

  Instead though, she reached across and slipped her hand over his. She stroked his thumb and he almost burst into tears. “What happened to her? And the baby?” Her voice was calm, implacable.

  He didn’t deserve her strength, not after what he did. She should scold him or yell at him or throw him from the house.

  “The baby was never born. Sophie developed a fever and... We were married less than a month. It wasn’t a good union. We weren’t suited. We admired and liked each other, but weren’t meant to marry. She deserved an easier time.” He closed his eyes again. Had Sophie been happy for any of it? Those were her last weeks on earth and he’d ruined them. He’d made so many mistakes. A good person—a good husband would’ve done things differently.

  Urs squeezed harder and somehow he managed to keep talking. “After we buried her I went to Hong Kong. Her family was kind, especially as I didn’t want any of the company. Her son took his place and they still use Truitt Industries, though I no longer handle that account.”

  They’d all been so civilized, so polite, so genteel. Him, included. He’d yearned to scream, to cry, to tear his hair for all that might have been, but that wasn’t what was expected. That wasn’t how he was raised. He found something though, something that took those urges away.

  He raised his head into blinking blue eyes behind wet, black lashes. Everything he wanted to bury right there on her face. It wasn’t right. He didn’t deserve that reaction from her.

  She cocked her head, her voice still somehow steady. “And you told no one? You kept this all to yourself, bore it all alone?”

  “Not until today,” he said. “Not until you.”

  Ursula turned the information in her head. She’d sussed out the source of the rumors. The best lies always had a grain of truth. Someone’d found out—probably an employee of the Truitts—and used the information for a scheme. Delaware was so small and the gossip so thick...but why had J.T. Truitt believed strangers, not his own son?

  Rage boiled in Ursula’s veins as her heart answered the question. His father paid those people money behind Jay’s back and treated Jay like a child, who wasn’t even fit to be questioned in the matter. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. Jay punished himself even after he tried to take responsibility for his actual mistake, after he tried to prevent Sophie from bearing the burden alone. And yet, no one, not even his family, saw who he really was.

  She balled her fists under the table, clenching and unclenching them. How could she fix this? How could she make it better?

  “But there have been women since Sophie—you haven’t given us up.” The statement was out of her mouth before she could analyze the consequences.

  Jay grimaced.

  Blast.

  She reached out and squeezed his hand harder. “That’s not a criticism, Jay. I want to understand.”

  “I failed as a husband, as a parent, but I still enjoy giving pleasure. Often giving more than receiving, because in those moments, I feel...” Jay shrugged again.

  Ursula’s body stilled. This was the cusp of something. “You feel what?”

  “Useful, I suppose, or competent or good or something more than what my parents and cousins—” He gazed at the coffered ceiling.

  But he was so very good at so many things. He made people feel special and happy: her, her family, strangers. It was the best skill, the most important. How could he not know?

  The image of J.T. Truitt’s pained expression when they’d bumped into him and Jay’s overly serious cousins flashed through her mind.

  They were wrong. They were all wrong. But how could she convince any of them or, more importantly, convince the man sitting in front of her, staring past her into the ether, his mind someplace dark.

  Jay slumped backward, and his shirt spread again. Could he be more handsome? New images flashed in her head. What would it be to sit on his lap and run her fingers through his hair while he pulled her dress over her—what in the world was wrong with her? He was in pain and she was thinking about him and her and it was inappropriate and ill-advised and...brilliant.

  She bit her lip and nodded even though she’d said nothing aloud. Genius, actually. What better way to show that she trusted him, that she didn’t think less of him?

  “Show me,” she said.

  “What?” Jay’s head shot up and he dropped his hand, giving her a full view of his pair of kings with a singular queen.

  “Or demonstrate, teach me, you know, like with poker.” She chewed on the tip of her tongue. How could she explain what she wanted?

  “It’s not like poker, Urs.” Jay frowned
at her—not a good sign.

  “Yes, it is. You said it’s enjoyable and I like doing enjoyable things with you. It isn’t like you haven’t—” Ursula swallowed. “Pleased hundreds of women. What’s one more?” She raised an eyebrow, imitating his most charming mannerism. If he was going to be the one who felt lesser than, she was going to have to take on his role.

  His frown deepened to a scowl. “I haven’t ‘pleased’ hundreds of women. Rumors of my prowess have been greatly exaggerated and you have too keen an imagination. Further—” He bit his lip. “I’ve never—” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I want to make this point very clear, Urs, as I said before, I’ve never forced or manipulated a woman into doing something she didn’t want or would regret and I’m sure as Hell not starting now. What I said wasn’t intended to make you offer anything.” He grabbed his hand and squeezed, bending the cards. They’d need to purchase another deck.

  Bollocks.

  Didn’t he want her, at least a little?

  “You aren’t interested?” The words were intended to sound playful but fell flat.

  “That’s not what I said.” Jay sighed. “I would love to teach you quite a few things in that area, make you feel very, very, very good, but I—” He studied his cards. A shadow fell over his features and the temperature in the room dropped.

  “But what?” This was all wrong, but the way he used three verys had her mind spinning.

  “I don’t want to do it because you feel some sort of pity towards me and furthermore I wouldn’t want you pretending I was Hugo the entire time.”

  Her gasp was audible. Was he mad? “How in the world could I pity you? You’re the great and powerful Jay Truitt.”

  He rewarded her with a half smile, but his brow was still knit. Ursula laced her fingers together to hide their trembling, and pressed forward.

  “Also, pretend you were Hugo? How would I do that? You are you and he’s him and I can’t imagine Hugo knowing any of the things you claim to know or being able to accomplish any of what you’ve suggested. I’m quite positive that whatever occurs, I won’t mistake you for anyone else. The idea is just ridiculous.”

  Jay laughed.

  “Touché, Miss Nunes.” Jay leaned backwards in his chair. She mirrored him, as he ran his ever-changing eyes over her body. His appreciation was evident, but the more she paid attention to his body instead of his reactions the more her stomach clenched with attraction.

  The silence stretched onward. She was more exposed than she was when she laid her hand on the table after being called. He had to respond, had to return the gesture or—or what? Something awful, no doubt. Her lump grew so it enveloped her chest and throat.

  “I still can’t get past the why and what of it all.” Jay ran a hand through his hair.

  “If I can explain that to your satisfaction, would you be persuaded to—” she inhaled a deep breath “—pleasure me?”

  Jay’s eyes widened. The gray and green disappeared and a deeper, darker brown remained. He might have gasped before he started to laugh.

  “Oh Urs,” he sputtered. “I may have to just give in because getting to hear you say that was one of the most incredible things that has ever happened in my life.” The last words were garbled as he clutched his stomach, bending over the table.

  “It’s not that amusing.” She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together even as the laughter bubbled to the surface. It wasn’t funny, but the way he laughed was just too infectious.

  The two stared at each other. Ursula’s heart thumped faster and louder. This was foolishness. She should flee, after cutting out her tongue.

  And yet—the more she gazed at him, the more her body tingled, the more she craved—something. She sighed.

  “Well, like you, I don’t needlessly moralize in these manners. You have no God and I don’t believe he concerns himself with such provided it affects no one but us. As for the rest, we are betrothed. You’ve made me curious. You promised that I’d feel good and you’ve boasted enough of your abilities that I’d like some proof. Besides, I do enjoy learning new things. We’ve worked well together. Rose is off. The servants are occupied. My family is out. I’m not sure how many other ways I can argue that I’d like you to teach me whatever you can with no other motives whatsoever.”

  Her voice was on the edge of a whine, but bollocks, he was infuriating. Why was he forcing her to nearly beg? Perhaps despite the glances and the teasing and kiss, well kisses, he really didn’t actually want her.

  Jay tented his fingers. A ghost of a smile brushed his lips. “You formulate an excellent argument, Urs.” He tapped his chin.

  “Please?” She choked out the word. “I’m...acceptable, aren’t I?”

  “More than acceptable.” He pressed his fist to his mouth for a moment. “You win.” He rose and extended his hand.

  Her heart was in her ears as her fingers mingled with his. Static and tiny comets jolted through her as soon as her skin met his. Perhaps she underestimated what was going to happen. No turning back now though. She’d won, hadn’t she?

  “Bedchamber?” she asked.

  “If that’s where you’d be most comfortable.”

  She chewed a nail. An image of her and Jay, on the table, Jay on his back and her on top of him, her skirts hitched to the sides flashed through her head. Terrible idea. Her dress would be ruined at the very least.

  She ducked her head and brushed past him into the hall. He followed deeper into the wing. She held the door of the chamber open and he sauntered over to the bed and sat, bouncing a minute or two, almost testing it. Ursula closed the door and leaned against the knob as she turned the key. Better safe than sorry.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ursula pressed her tongue against her teeth as a shiver passed through her body. She wanted this moment, him, more than she should. She trembled so hard she rattled the doorjamb.

  She was engaged to Jay so there were rumors regarding her activities already. If she was going to suffer the stares, shouldn’t she at least reap the rewards?

  He grinned at her and crooked his finger. Ursula’s heart thudded as fizzles coursed down her spine, settling between her legs. Her knees knocked together, but she obeyed and approached. She stood before him and twisted the pendant around her neck.

  With a deft motion, he grasped her free hand and pulled her onto the gold and white satin-covered bed, springs creaking as she bounced. Before she could process what happened she was on her back, Jay leaning over her, his arms on either side of her torso, encasing her.

  “Jay.” In a trance, she reached around his shoulders and tugged his head downward. She needed—him, his weight pressing against her.

  She parted her lips and welcomed the invasion of his tongue. The taste of cloves and whiskey and cherries overwhelmed her senses. Fully clothed, her hips bucked against him, as if her body demanded a further union of its own accord.

  The man above her though, had other ideas. He broke the kiss and hovered, his hands encircling her wrists so she couldn’t move. She whimpered in protest at the absence of his mouth on hers. He smirked, but took pity on her.

  He trailed his tongue around the outer edge of her ear, before he dropped featherlight kisses down her throat. Her body temperature ignited higher than anything that could burn in the fireplace as he flitted just under the neckline of her dress, so near her aching nipples, but still so far. Every nerve in her body tightened. Her breasts strained against their encasement, desperate for him.

  “So,” he whispered. “How good do you want to feel?”

  How could she answer the question? Was there a word for the ultimate amount of good? Would “I don’t care, provided you keep touching me” suffice?

  “I want you to show me all of your secrets.” What was intended as a tease was more a gasp. Her blood pumped in her ears, but warm tingles reverberated from her core.

&n
bsp; A grin spread over his face. “That’s a dangerous request, Miss Nunes.” He released a wrist and stroked a hand straight down from her throat above her pendant, between her breasts, over her stomach, so close to the area that ached most, only fabric separating them.

  “Perhaps I’m a dangerous woman.” Her voice was hoarse and breathy. If only she was dangerous, and not just with a balance sheet. Jay sparked not mere feelings but a hunger.

  He must have read her mind. Her stomach clenched with desire as he slid his hand back up to her breast. He clasped down—such delicious pressure. But she needed more. She moaned in frustration—too many layers between them. Worse, the blasted tease traced a circle in the center and her nipple rose, hard and wanton, straining towards his touch.

  “Jay, oh Jay.” His name was more of a strangled cry on her lips now.

  He chuckled. “Now that’s a tone I enjoy hearing.”

  She opened her mouth to giggle, but moaned as he sucked her through the material. It took all her self-control not to rip her own garments down the center.

  Her mind raced. How could she remove all of her clothing as quickly as possible? Why had she worn six petticoats? Whomever had decided on the fashion had not experienced what Jay was doing.

  “You can tear the dress. It’s old. I’ll pretend Arte did it or Hecate, maybe blame it on Rachel and Lydia. I just want it off.”

  The bastard laughed—a throaty, deep, baritone laugh.

  “It’s not funny, and why are you stopping?” So what if she whined. Charming, not charming, seductive or not, he had to hurry or she’d explode with need.

  “No, it’s not funny, it’s adorable and the most attractive thing you’ve ever said to me.” He brought her hand to his lips. His first kiss was chaste, but he flipped her palm and licked down to her wrist with a vigor that was anything but.

  She whimpered. She was pathetic, but all pretense of dignity was gone. Only naked want remained.

  His grin widened at the sound. “Come, sit again. I’ll take care of that. It’s one of the benefits of experience.”