by Shana Galen
Yes, he’d been with women before, but they were hurried couplings in back alleys or against a wall. Good girls who fancied him and who he fancied in return. But no one had the luxury of a room or a bed or time to remove clothing.
“Your hands are warm,” she murmured.
“Yer warm and Christ, so soft. Yer skin is like silk.” One hand slid over her bottom, and she took in a jagged breath.
“Don’t you want to take off your clothes?”
He frowned. That idea had never occurred to him. “Do ye want me to?”
“Of course.” She moved out of his arms and stepped back until she was leaning against the bed. “Do you mind if I watch?”
He took off his coat. “Have ye ever seen a man undressed before?” he asked.
“In paintings,” she admitted as he toed off his shoes.
“What about in the flesh?”
She shook her head. “Is it terrifying?”
He nodded. “Oh, most certainly. Ye might want to turn away.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He had most of his livery off and untucked his shirt then pulled it over his head. From a few feet away, he heard her murmur, “oh, dear.”
He dropped the shirt on the floor. “Shall I stop now?”
“No. It’s just that your shoulders and your chest—” She made unintelligible gestures with her hands. “You’re quite strong, aren’t you?”
“I suppose.” He reached for the placket of his breeches. “These too?”
“Can I—can I get used to this first?” She indicated his bare torso.
“Ye want to touch me?”
“May I?”
“If I can touch ye back.”
She beckoned him to come closer, and when he was within arms’ reach, she put out a hand and touched his shoulder then slid her fingers over his chest down to his abdomen. His muscles tensed, but he held still. “My turn,” he said.
Her gaze flicked up to his in surprise. He put a hand on her shoulder, then slid it down and over her breast, palming the hard tip. She moaned softly, and he cupped her before tracing a path down her abdomen. Only he didn’t stop at her waist. He went lower, his fingers threading through her hair and dipping between her legs.
“Oh, dear,” she said between pants.
“Ye liked it when I touched ye like this, did ye not?”
“Oh, yes. I liked it. I like it now.”
He smiled. “I can feel that.” His fingers stroked her while he bent his head to take one rosy nipple in his mouth. She bucked against him and arched. It didn’t take much to lower her to the bed and position her in the center. Then he knelt over her, kissing her neck, her breast, her lips. Her hands clutched at his bare back, while his parted the folds of her sex and found that small nub. She moaned when he circled it, and her hips rose in response.
He’d ensure she experienced as much pleasure as he could give now. Later, when he breached her, maybe she’d remember the pleasure more than the pain. His mouth ministered to her other breast then lowered to her belly. She writhed and giggled then whimpered in protest when his hand moved away from her sex to part her legs.
“Don’t stop.”
“No chance of that, lass. But being that we only have the one night, I want to make sure I show ye as much as I can.”
“What does that...” Her eyes widened as his mouth curved over her hip then her thigh then settled between her legs.
“Relax,” he murmured, easing her tense legs open again. “If ye don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
“I’m not afraid I won’t like it,” she said, her hands fisting in the bedclothes as he found that nub and licked it once. “Oh, yes.”
“Then what are ye afraid of?” he asked, moving his lips against her tender flesh.
“That I’ll go to hell. This must be a sin. James, yes.”
He drew back and smiled up at her. “Then we’re both damned to hell. Let’s enjoy the voyage.”
He made certain she enjoyed it, and there was no question, given her cries and gasps, and the way her hands fisted in his hair. When she finally lay still, cheeks pink with pleasure and eyes glazed, he slid off the bed.
“You’re not leaving are you?”
“I thought ye might want yer robe back.”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still a virgin.”
“Lass, I think we’ve done enough.”
She pointed to the bulge in his breeches. “I’m ready for you to take those off now.”
“Do ye know what yer asking? It may hurt.”
“Then I’d rather it hurt with you.”
“What if I get ye with child?”
“Then I’d best marry quickly.”
“Ye have a reply for everything.”
“I do, yes.” She pushed herself up to her elbows. “So you might as well stop arguing and take off your breeches.”
He laughed. “If ye put it that way.” He unfastened the placket and his cock sprang free. He’d expected her to squeak or recoil, but she simply stared at him with the same mixture of lust and curiosity he had looked at her with earlier. He slid off his breeches and put his hands on his hips. “Ye still want to continue?”
She nodded. “May I touch you?”
Christ Jaysus but she was determined to test his willpower tonight. “Go ahead.”
She moved to her knees and crawled to the edge of the bed, then reached out and stroked him with one finger. “You’re warm.”
He nodded, and she trailed her finger down him again. Her light touch was making him mad, and he grasped her hand and fitted it around him. Her gaze met his, her mouth forming an O. He guided her up the shaft and then back down to the root.
“You like that?” she asked.
“Yes, and if ye keep at it, ye’ll see how much. Lie back.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now you’re giving the orders?”
“I am. Lie back, me lady, and spread yer legs.”
He saw the flash of desire in her eyes and the way her throat worked as she caught her breath. And then she did as he’d asked, lying back and parting her legs slightly. He climbed on the bed and knelt beside her. “More,” he ordered, gesturing to her legs. “Let me see ye.”
“Oh, I am definitely bound for hell,” she murmured, opening her legs wider.
“Beautiful,” he said, and she was—pink and glistening and ready for him. He moved between her legs and cupped her face with his hands. “Last chance to say no. Are ye sure, lass?”
She nodded. “I want this with you, James.”
He kissed her until he could feel her relax, until they were both dizzy, until her hands were urging him closer. And then his hand was between them, stroking her. He inserted one finger then two, testing her. Christ, she was tight. This would be over in a matter of seconds if he didn’t concentrate. Her muscles tightened and she arched her hips toward him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and positioned his manhood against her channel. With one last kiss, he entered her.
Seven
Phil could tell when he’d removed his fingers and replaced it with his sex organ. It felt fuller and thicker. She moved against him, trying to adjust.
“Be still,” he ordered, his voice harsh. But then he kissed her again, his lips so sweet that she couldn’t seem to stay still, even though she wanted to obey him. He slid deeper, and yes, that was what she wanted. More of him. If he would just press there. He seemed to read her thoughts and his hand was on that one place where she needed him. He stroked her, and her hips bucked.
“Lass, I am trying not to hurt ye,” he said between clenched teeth. “Stop moving.”
“I can’t. And you’re not hurting me.”
“I’m not fully sheathed.”
That gave her pause. “There’s more?”
He looked down at her and nodded. “Try and be still so I can ready ye.” His fingers circled and flicked at that sensitive nub and she had to move. He slid in deeper and she could feel herself stretching. It wasn’t painful but nor wa
s it comfortable. But her body was arching for climax as his hand continued to tease her. She could ignore the discomfort if he continued to stroke her. His thumb must have circled her, and she cried out. “Please,” she begged.
“Ye will be the death of me,” he said, but he circled her again, and she broke free. Her hips bucked hard and pain sliced through her along with the pleasure. It was a dull pain and a sharp pleasure, and the mixture left her quite breathless. “Are ye hurt?” he asked.
“I’m everything,” she moaned. “More.”
He moved inside her. It was so strange, and yes uncomfortable, but when she looked up, his dark eyes were locked on hers. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, all of him. She could see everything she felt for him mirrored in his eyes when he looked down at her. Her heart felt like it would burst with the love she felt for him.
“I love ye, Phil,” he said, as though echoing her thoughts. “Christ help me, but I do.”
Afterward, he held her for a long time. He stroked her back and her hair and kissed her brow. When she couldn’t seem to stop yawning, he gave her a quick kiss and said, “I’d best go to my own bed. The other servants will be up in an hour, so they will.”
Before he could pull away, she caught his face and kissed him. “Thank you,” she said.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Lass, it’s I who should be thanking ye.”
“You know what I mean.” She gave him a serious look. “I’m glad my first time was with you.”
He took a breath and nodded. “Ye know I’d never allow anything to happen to ye. I’ll keep ye safe.”
She frowned in confusion. She was already perfectly safe. “Thank you again,” she said. He dressed and crept out of her room, leaving the key she’d given him on her bedside table. With a smile, she closed her eyes and slept.
WHEN DAWSON WAS FINALLY able to drag her out of bed, they were late for their appointment with the lacemakers and the dowager duchess was in high dudgeon. “You know how difficult this appointment was to come by, Philomena,” her mother said in the coach on the way to the lacemakers’ shop. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she turns us away.”
Phil was looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of James. She had spotted him when she’d entered the carriage, and her cheeks had felt as hot as flames. For his part, he had studiously avoided her gaze.
“Philomena Anne Duncombe, are you listening to me?” her mother demanded.
“Yes, Mama. Mrs. Draven will not turn us away. For one, Phineas served under her husband in the war. Two, Catarina, her sister Ines, and I are friends.”
“I hardly think inviting them to our box at the theater makes you friends.”
Phil smiled. Her mother did not like her to make friends who were not titled, but she’d liked the Portuguese sisters the first time she’d met them. They were not only talented lacemakers but witty and entertaining.
The duchess peered out the window. “Ah, here we are then.”
They’d arrived at the shop, and Phil noticed there were several women admiring the lace in the window outside. Catarina lace was highly coveted and also outrageously expensive. A footman—not James—handed Phil and her mother down, and Phil didn’t dare look over her shoulder to peek at James. She knew he was there, and that would have to be enough. Perhaps she could look out the window of the shop and spot him.
She followed her mother inside, where they were greeted by both Catarina and Ines, served tea, and regaled with stories of Ines’s foolish suitors and Catarina’s very naughty cat.
Finally, they discussed lace, and her mother ordered her what amounted to a fortune and asked that it be sent to Madame Renauld’s so the modiste could finish her dresses for the Season with it. As her mother and Mrs. Draven discussed the last details, Ines rose and offered to show Phil about the shop. “I think the last time you ordered lace, we were working from Lieutenant Draven’s home.”
“You’ve certainly moved up in the world,” Phil said as Ines showed her the work room and the showroom.
“We owe a great deal to your brother as he is the one who found this shop and negotiated the purchase.”
“He does have a knack for negotiation,” Phil agreed.
“There is even a room upstairs. I keep telling Catarina I should move here and give her more privacy, but she likes me close. Come, I’ll show you.” The ladies climbed the steps and Ines showed Phil the small but cozy bedchamber.
“I like that it has a separate entrance,” Phil said, opening the outside door and looking down the steps that entered from the back. “One could come and go without having to walk through the shop.”
“Exactly. Catarina thinks that makes it less safe, of course. But perhaps if I can convince one of the lacemakers to stay with me, she will reconsider.”
Phil nodded then she leaned in close. “Ines, tell me the truth, you really haven’t met a single man in London you fancy?”
Ines’s cheeks went pink. “The truth?”
Phil nodded.
“I have met half a dozen men I fancy, but none have that special...I do not know the word in English.”
“Quality?” Phil offered.
“Something like that, yes. None of them—how is it you say?—sweep me off my feet. I want to be dizzy with love. Breathless with it.”
Phil smiled. Ines was still a romantic. And she could understand. Hadn’t James swept her off her feet and left her quite breathless?
“You should wait until you find that man, Ines.”
Ines sighed. “I am impatient. Catarina says I have plenty of time, but she would say that when she has a man in her bed. I am lucky if the cat will sleep with me!”
Phil laughed. “I understand, I do.”
Ines hugged her. “I know you do.”
“Senorita Neves?”
Ines pulled back. “Oh, that will be the shop manager. Let me see what she wants.” She hurried out of the room, and Phil followed, joining her mother in the showroom.
“We had better be off,” her mother said. “Philomena slept quite late and has made us tardy to all our appointments.” She pushed Phil ahead of her. One of the clerks opened the door, and Phil continued outside. She had barely stepped clear of the shop when the breath was knocked out of her as a man barreled into her.
She tried to cry out or murmur an apology as she must have stepped into his path, but she couldn’t seem to manage a word. Before she could even react she was being thrust along, away from the shop, and down the sidewalk. She heard her mother and her servants cry out and then the man who held her tightly began to run. She fought but another man at his side grabbed on to her and together they propelled her forward. Other shoppers’ faces passed in a blur, their shocked looks terrifying her as she continued to fight.
And then she was thrust into a carriage, pushed to the floor, and held there by something or someone heavy. A moment later the coach was moving, and she slid to one side. She could hardly even think what might be happening as she was struggling too much to breathe. Whatever was holding her down pushed all the air from her lungs.
“Get off her. Jaysus, she can’t breathe,” said a voice.
Slowly, the weight holding her down lessened and moved away. Phil took a breath and then another then looked about her. She was in a hackney or some inexpensive conveyance. The straw on the floor was none too clean and the squabs had tears in their fabric coverings. A man was sitting in front of her; she could see his feet and legs. The other man must be behind her. She’d already been scared but now terror gripped her. Who were these men and what did they intend to do with her? They’d abducted her right from in front of Catarina’s shop. They were obviously bold criminals. They might demand a ransom from her and then kill her. Or rape her or both.
She looked up at the man sitting in front of her, her heart thundering so loudly she feared it might burst and save the criminals the trouble of killing her. Something about his clothing looked familiar. She looked higher and higher
until she met his gaze.
She jolted and gasped in a breath.
No wonder his clothing looked familiar. It was her family’s livery.
And the man in front of her was James.
He looked away, guilt like a mask over his features. But Phil didn’t avert her eyes. She kept them fast on his face, allowing her hatred to burn through her and into him.
He’d been a part of this scheme. For that was what it was, she could see that now that her mind had a chance to catch up. He had probably planned it. Oh, and she had played right into it. She had made his work easy for him.
She struggled to sit upright. “How could you?” she practically spat.
“It’s not like ye think, me lady.” He still didn’t look at her.
“No? I think I’ve been abducted. Is that wrong?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said quietly.
“I also think you and this man”—she gestured to the man behind her who wore his hat low over his face—“abducted me and plan to force my mother to pay ransom for my return. Is that wrong?”
“No,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“I am such a fool! And to think I trusted you! I believed you!”
He winced. “Ye weren’t a fool.”
“How long have you been planning this? Weeks? Months? Since the very beginning?”
James didn’t answer and the other man nudged him with a boot. “Why don’t ye answer the lady, James? Tell her ye’ve been planning it from the start.” His hard eyes met hers. “Sure and it’s nothing personal, me lady. We need the money, we do. As soon as yer ma pays the ransom, we’ll let ye go. No harm done.”
No harm done. Not to her body, if she believed them. But her heart—oh, her heart was irreparably damaged. Shame seared a hot trail through her as she realized how easily she had fallen into James Finnegan’s trap. He’d never loved her. He’d never cared about her. He had only ever wanted her money. And to think she’d invited him to her bed the night before. She’d wanted him to be her first lover, so now he’d stolen that from her too.