by Sahara Kelly
Now he had her against him, now that her breasts were crushed to his chest and his leg between hers, he devoured her, unleashing his tongue, teasing his way inside her mouth, and kissing her passionately.
Far from being shocked, Judith responded, much as she had the night before.
A tiny moan from deep in her throat lit a corresponding fire in Ragnor’s breeches and he pushed harder against her, feeling her legs part to admit the intrusion. He moved, rubbing his leg against her, lifting it a little, making her ride it as he moved.
The sound changed to a whimper and without moving their mouths apart, Ragnor found the buttons on her spencer and opened them, delving beneath and cupping her breast through the soft fabric of her gown. Her nipple was hard, and he rubbed his thumb across it, loving the little cry she breathed into his mouth.
“Dear God,” she pulled her head backwards. “Ragnor…”
He rubbed some more, his other hand sliding down to that deliciously round and firm bottom. “Am I hurting you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know…” She closed her eyes for a moment, and he squeezed, pushing her further up onto his thigh.
“You will tell me if I hurt you, or do anything you don’t like, Judith,” he whispered, licking her earlobe.
She shuddered. “Yes.”
He released her buttock to grasp handfuls of her skirt and lift it out of the way. She gasped as he found bare skin and put his hand on it, cupping her backside again, but this time skin-to-skin.
“God,” she said again, a muted groan barely intelligible.
He glanced down. Her gown fastened with a ribbon—easily untied. And then…and then, he had her. He had a warm and full breast in his hand, bared to his gaze, the tight rosy peak crying for his mouth.
He dipped his head, found her, and suckled, feeling the shudders going through her body as his tongue played and rubbed over her nipple. Being adept and eager, Ragnor also caressed her buttocks, sliding his warm hand over the mound, trickling a finger down the inner crease and keeping the pressure of his thigh constant as she rode him.
He prayed she didn’t sneeze because that might well cause him to lose track of all the different things he was so enjoying doing to her.
Her spine stiffened under his ministrations, and she shook, her breath coming in harsh quick pants. He blinked, then realised in surprise what was happening to her. With a rapid move he released her breast and grabbed the front of her dress lifting it away from her and replacing his thigh with his hand.
One touch and she gasped for breath, her body curving into his grip, her hips thrusting for more. Gently he slid a finger past her wet and burning folds of flesh, as he simultaneously sought her seat of pleasure with his thumb.
It didn’t take long.
She arched back over his arm, buttocks taut, breast bared, mouth open as she mewled and moaned, sounds that shot through him to his own arousal, making him wish something else was inside her rather than just his finger.
Her hands clenched violently on his jacket and she shattered as he caressed that little spot, rubbing it tenderly, circling it and watching her face as she soared to the heights of pleasure.
Stunned, he couldn’t take his eyes away from her face as her release took her, tightened every fibre of her being—and then released them all. She shook, whimpered a choked cry, then sagged, lax and languorous in his arms.
If he could have freed himself and thrust deep into Judith Fairhurst at that moment, he would have done. He knew she’d be fire, boiling hot around him, her inner muscles grasping his length, milking him.
He clenched his teeth, fighting the need to erupt, harder than he’d ever been and hanging on to Judith who was still dragging in rough breaths of air.
At last she eased, finding her feet, taking her weight and giving him the chance to remove his hand and straighten her skirts.
She couldn’t meet his eyes for a moment, but hurriedly tucked her gown into place and re-tied the ribbon of her bodice. Then she cleared her throat, fumbling with the buttons on her spencer.
He pushed them aside. “Here. Let me.”
“Ragnor,” she said, her voice a croak.
“I know, my dear,” he muttered, struggling with the last damn button.
“No, you don’t.” She grabbed his wrists. “Ragnor. Look at me.”
He stilled and obeyed, meeting her gaze, seeing her brown eyes soft and dreamy as they roamed over his face.
“I want to thank you.” She smiled.
“Er…you do? Well, then…” He was lost.
“That was the most amazing experience of my life. Thank you.”
And she rose up on her toes, leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Ragnor knew without a doubt that he’d just sealed his own fate.
But he grinned down at her. He wouldn’t have it any other way. “Your pleasure is my pleasure, Miss Fairhurst.”
Chapter Twelve
J udith was finding it hard to concentrate on all the activities and visits incumbent upon a young lady of good birth in London. She obediently paid a few calls, some with Lady Maud, others with Lydia, Rose and Ivy. She attended a performance of a new string quartet, took tea with an old friend of the Sydenham’s, and squeezed in a game of piquet or two with Sir Laurence, one of which she won.
At least she still had her abilities with cards.
But it was a struggle to keep Ragnor from monopolising her every waking moment.
Memories of what they’d done, how he’d touched her, and the exquisitely magnificent feelings she’d experienced—in a cupboard at the British Museum no less—it wasn’t surprising she had more than a few moments of dissociation from reality.
Should she be feeling guilty? Wicked? Wanton? Probably. But was she? No. She was simply overwhelmed by how wonderful it had been.
Her upbringing nagged her about the improprieties while her heart sang at the joy. It was a somewhat annoying conundrum that she spent more than a few nighttime hours pondering, but her conclusions were always the same. It had been ecstasy, plain and simple. And she’d like more of it. A lot more.
Not that she could announce that decision, of course. Especially to the man who had caused it all. When it came to Ragnor, she was much less certain, unable to discern his feelings about the incident, and not confident enough to ask.
He was still in attendance, however, and it was becoming almost a daily event to find him at her side during her activities.
A few mornings after their eventful encounter, she and Lydia were taking tea in the Davenport’s London residence—a neat and graceful home in a row of similar mansions.
Sure enough, Matthew and Ragnor appeared with the tray, and since Ragnor was well known to the household, nobody felt a maid or chaperone to be necessary. They were free to speak their thoughts, and on this particular morning their conversation revolved back to the problem of Lord Rolfe.
“I’ve had no luck trying to find out the identities of the dealers,” said Matthew. “All the women have false names, it would seem. Adds to the mystery.” He looked irritated.
“That’s true,” replied Ragnor, sipping his tea. “Their identities are well concealed. It is possible that any lady could be behind that mask, and I’ve heard rumours that several of our more daring Society darlings have spent an evening or two there.”
“Unnerving, I should think,” observed Lydia as she scrutinised the tiny cakes on the tray. “Imagine wagering a goodly sum, only to find your wife is dealing the hand.”
There was a respectful silence as everyone absorbed that horrid thought.
“Matthew, your friend who believes he was cheated. Did he have any idea at all of the identity of his dealer?”
“Not one.”
“Hmm.” Judith looked around at the faces near her. They were becoming very important to her, especially Ragnor. So she ventured to share a suggestion, knowing it would probably not go over very well.
“What if I could become a dealer for a night?”
The silence was deafening.
“What?” Lydia recovered first.
“I know cards. I’m not a familiar face amongst the Ton, and presumably wouldn’t know anyone at my table, anyway.”
“Out of the question,” said Ragnor firmly.
“It wouldn’t work,” added Matthew in an equally firm tone of voice. “Much too risky.”
“How?” challenged Judith. “How can it be risky?”
“Where should I begin,” Ragnor shot back.
“By dismissing all those stupid thoughts about me being too young, too inexperienced, too naïve, and all the other objections I see trembling on your lips.”
“Too much of a ninnyhammer,” muttered Ragnor. “You forgot that one.”
“Pshaw.” She waved his comment aside.
“No, seriously, Judith,” Lydia frowned. “This is a gambling establishment. It’s not like the Wednesday Club…”
“Good God, I know that,” replied Judith. “But I’m not one of those fragile flowers, Liddy. I’m no debutante who’s afraid to get her boots wet in the rain. I don’t spend five hours agonising over which pair of gloves to wear with which cloak. I have the necessary requirements…I’m a female and I can play cards.” She looked at Ragnor. “And if anyone knows that, you do, sir. If Lord Rolfe has a piquet table, I can take on anyone who wishes a partie and I can win. I’m sure Lord Rolfe would be quite happy to hear that.”
Ragnor shook his head. “I will agree that you are a remarkably fine piquet player.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“All right, I’ll amend that. You are one of the best piquet players.” He nodded at her. “Better?”
“Thank you.” Her appreciation was gracious.
His lips twitched. “But even the knowledge of your talent doesn’t convince me you belong in a place like Rolfe’s, if only for an hour.”
“Matthew, what do you think?” Judith snabbled a gooseberry tart off the pastry tray.
“I think I was after that tart,” he grumbled.
“Matthew…”
“All right,” he sighed. “Logically, you’re a good choice, Judith. But you are young. And I think Lord Rolfe would be hesitant to allow someone of your years to play any kind of role in his establishment.”
“Good point,” endorsed Ragnor.
“I have to agree with Matthew, though it pains me mightily,” added Lydia.
Judith’s tart turned to ashes in her mouth as her companions dismissed her suggestion, one by one.
She knew some of their objections were valid, but if they were to help Fiona and catch Lord Rolfe doing anything untoward at this club, then she could see no other course.
“You’re focussing on the wrong things,” she mumbled, washing down the last of the tart with a sip of tea. “We’ll never get Fiona’s earring back any other way.”
“I agree,” said Ragnor, surprising everyone at the table. “We do need an inside pair of eyes.”
“Well, then…” Judith straightened.
“Just not your eyes, Miss Judith.”
She slumped in disappointment. “I assume you’re not intending to masquerade as a servant, sir. You don’t have the bearing for it. And being a dealer is out of the question. Besides,” she snorted. “Blue is not your colour.”
“A jibe.” He raised one supercilious eyebrow. “Unworthy of you.”
She sighed. “I know. But you asked for it.”
“I probably did,” he admitted.
“So what did you mean, Ragnor? You agree we need someone inside?”
“Yes, we do, Lydia,” he nodded. “So all we have to do is find someone who can actually pretend to be a servant, who is not commonly seen around town, and who will be able to observe all the activities closely and report back on his findings with accuracy and detail.”
“Oh. Is that all?” Judith’s eyebrow quirked every bit as sharply as Ragnor’s. “Well, that’s quite simple then, isn’t it? Of course, I’m not sure if any of us knows someone who fits that description…” She looked around at the three faces currently deep in thought. “Anyone? Matthew? You’re a member, after all…”
“I’m not a good enough player to spot this kind of cheating, Judith. Um…perhaps Chuffy Billington?” Matthew offered.
“He’s left town,” said Lydia. As everyone’s eyes fell on her, she shrugged. “He sent me a note letting me know. He seemed to think I would worry.”
Judith bit her lip. “Oh dear. Is there a tendre there, do you think?”
Lydia closed her eyes briefly. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but God knows I’ve given him no encouragement whatsoever.”
“Billington needs no encouragement other than a polite good morning,” said Ragnor wryly. “It’s well known.”
“Remind me to avoid him when he returns,” commented Judith.
“We’re getting away from the point,” said Lydia. “It’s pretty obvious that we have no suitable candidates for our plan yet, so I suggest we all give it a great deal of thought. There’s not a lot of time left before everyone leaves town for Christmas, so let’s make this a priority?”
She stood, and the others else followed suit.
“May I escort you home, Miss Fairhurst?” Ragnor smiled as he offered his company.
She smiled back. “Thank you, sir, but that won’t be necessary. Lady Maud will be collecting me in her carriage. We are attending a lecture by a Miss Thorpe-Jameson.”
“Good luck,” grinned Lydia. “That woman does love the sound of her own voice.”
“She also knows her archaeology,” answered Judith. “It should be interesting.”
Thus the little tea party ended, with no real solutions having been reached, but many of the Davenport’s brilliant tarts consumed.
Ragnor bid her a correct farewell in the doorway.
“Forgive my objections, Miss Judith. You have all the right qualifications, indeed. But I find one overriding issue preventing me from acquiescing to your suggestion.”
“What is that, sir?” She watched as his gaze met hers and something softened in his eyes.
“You are much too important to me. I couldn’t possibly risk putting you in harm’s way.”
And with that, he departed, leaving Judith to make what she would of his words.
*~~*~~*
The day had turned blustery and by the time Judith had bid farewell to Lydia and Matthew, wrapped herself up in her cloak and stepped outside to get some fresh air and await Lady Maud, the sky had darkened and there was the scent of rain in the air. Maybe even sleet since it seemed cold enough. She sent the butler back inside, telling him that the carriage would be there in moments and there was no point in him getting blown around as well.
She stayed within the path to the front door, but even so a vicious gust swept down the street, and made her grab the Davenport railing, watching as hats and other items tumbling along. A scarf sailed out in front of a small carriage, and the results were disastrous.
The horses shied in fear, a young child screamed, and before she could catch her breath, Judith saw the little boy almost beneath the horses’ hooves.
In a flash, a man leaped into the street and grabbed the child, stumbling out of the way of the frightened beasts, and hugging the boy tightly. They both ended up gasping, staggering onto the pavement next to Judith.
“Good God, sir, are you all right?” She touched the man’s shoulder in concern.
He nodded and glanced at her. “Yes, yes I think so.”
Judith’s eyes widened. She recognised him from a recent concert when Ivy had pointed him out, along with other notables. They’d not been introduced, but she knew it was Lord Rolfe.
At that moment, the child started to cry, and a woman rushed across the now empty street. “Sir, oh sir,” she staggered toward them with her arms spread wide. “My son. You saved Arthur…”
“Think nothing of it, Ma’am,” said Rolfe, handing back the boy. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
“
He was frightened of the horses…I couldn’t hold on to him…” The mother shook visibly as she reached for her son. “Thank you, sir. Thank you…you saved his life…”
Clearly embarrassed, Rolfe shook his head. “I’m glad Arthur is well.” He glanced at the child. “You keep hold of your mama’s hand, young man.”
The youngster nodded and put his thumb in his mouth, his eyes wide. After more thanks, the woman finally left, Arthur securely wrapped in her embrace.
“Well,” said Judith. “You are indeed the hero of the hour, my Lord.”
“Miss Fairhurst, isn’t it?” He smiled.
“Yes, sir,” she curtseyed. “And I have to say you just did a very brave thing.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “I was in the right place at the right time. Don’t make anything special of it.”
Surprised at his modesty, Judith nodded. “As you wish, but I still say it was well done of you, sir.”
“I’ll accept that,” he agreed. “May I escort you anywhere, Miss Fairhurst?”
“Thank you, but no. Lady Sydenham is to meet me here any moment. I can only assume her carriage has been delayed.”
“All right. But please wrap up well. This wind is bitter indeed.”
Judith discovered herself to be in a dilemma. Lord Rolfe’s actions and conversation belied the general impression as to his character and she found it a puzzle.
Impetuously, she reached out once more and laid a gloved hand on his arm. “My Lord,” she stayed him as he made to depart.
“Ma’am?”
“I wonder if I might ask something quite outrageous?”
He blinked. “At this hour? In public? You astound me, Miss Fairhurst.”
She chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment since I doubt you are easily astounded, but what I would like to ask is probably not what you have in mind…”
“Now I’m not only astounded, I’m intrigued,” he smiled.
Judith hardened her resolve. “Well, you see, the thing is…I’d rather like to be one of your dealers.”
He blinked, and his gaze roamed her face as she waited for his response.
“Why?”
“Um…” Her mind worked rapidly. “Because…because it sounds exciting. Thrilling. Because I doubt I’ll ever have the opportunity to do anything like it again in my life. I don’t have to tell you the fate of a correctly brought up young woman. Sadly, it rarely includes nights in a gambling house in disguise.”
