Silver Deceptions

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Annabelle waited for Colin with clammy hands and a pounding heart. She tried to take her mind off the coming ordeal by removing the remaining traces of balm on her skin. Then she donned her only mantua, a silk wrap that well covered her smock once she tied it with a sash.

  Feeling better prepared, she tidied the room, opening the windows wide to dispel the foul odor. Yet when she heard Colin’s footsteps on the stairs, she found herself far more tense than while awaiting Rochester.

  Colin walked in without knocking, as if he belonged there, and shut the door behind him.

  She tried to make light conversation. “It’ll be some time before my poor rooms are back to normal. And my body, too, I suspect. I thought I’d never get the bad taste out of my mouth. Fortunately, I still had an orange in my pocket.”

  “How do you feel? Is your stomach still roiling?”

  His concern touched her. She faced him with a wan smile, which faded when she noticed he’d removed his coat and sash and slung them over a chair. She tried not to notice how handsome he looked in his sleeveless vest and white shirt. Or how dangerous.

  “No,” she said, “my skin is still a bit flushed, but I’ve removed the balm, so it should return to normal soon. My stomach has finally settled as well.” Then she couldn’t resist adding, with a burst of defiance, “I’m quite capable of withstanding your inquisition now, my lord, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Not even a raised eyebrow betrayed his thoughts. He simply continued to regard her with an oddly pitying look. “ ’Tis not meant to be an inquisition. But I don’t think it unreasonable to want to know why we’ve just gone through an elaborate scenario that risked the reputation of my best friend’s wife and caused you no little discomfort.”

  She dropped her gaze from his, reminded of how much Lady Falkham had chanced by involving herself with the affairs of an actress. “No, that’s not unreasonable.”

  “Then let’s begin with the most obvious question. Do you want me to continue to protect you from the king’s advances?”

  “As long as you can find a way to protect me that I can accept.”

  “All right.” Settling his hips against the table, he crossed his arms over his chest. “If I’m to help you, I must know the reason for your reticence. Why do you fear lying with the king? The truth, Annabelle.”

  She tipped up her chin. “I thought you’d already answered that. I’m a virgin, remember?”

  “But even a virgin would lie with the king. ’Tis every actress’s aim to bed His Majesty, in hopes that she may gain his affections and perhaps even bear him a child.”

  She turned her back to him, rubbing her hands over her now chilly arms. “ ’Tis not my aim,” she said softly.

  She heard him leave the table and move closer. “Why not?”

  How could she tell him the truth without also revealing that she sought revenge against her father, who might be his friend?

  As she hesitated, he spoke in a sharper tone. “If you’re worried about the pain, don’t be. Once you’ve made His Majesty aware of your innocence, he will be more than gentle with you.”

  She whirled on him. “Aye, and then I’ll be bearing his bastard nine months hence, like all the other women he’s bedded!” she blurted out. Then she realized how he would take what she’d said. In horror, she clapped her hand over her mouth, wishing she could take it back.

  He went very still, his eyes hard. “I see I misunderstood your reasons entirely.”

  “Yes . . . no . . . oh, devil take it . . . Colin, I’m a bastard myself. I don’t know who my real father was, and I suffered . . . for being what I am. I won’t do that to a child of mine. I won’t!” She wheeled away from him to hide her tears.

  As she stood there fighting the sobs that showed her weakness, he came up to draw her into his arms. With infinite tenderness, he stroked the hair back from her face. “Hush, don’t cry. Hush, now, hush.”

  He was so kind, so caring. Why was the one man she could consider losing her virtue to also the one man she feared she couldn’t trust?

  Yet she badly wanted to trust him. Hardly thinking of what she did, she curved her damp cheek into his palm. “I’m sorry for . . . for being so blunt. ’Tis something I only learned recently. It still pains me to speak of it.”

  “If anyone understands that, ’tis I.” He nuzzled her hair, sending a thrill through her that she tried fruitlessly to squelch.

  “Then you must see why I fear lying with the king . . . or any man. You’re right. I’m a virgin. And though I worry about the pain and humiliation, I mostly worry about finding myself with child. You do understand, don’t you?”

  “I do.” He traced the line of her tears with his finger. “You know,” he said, now stroking her lips, “there are other ways to make sure one bears no child.”

  She tensed. “Yes. I’ve heard of herbs that will kill the unborn child. I know other actresses use them, but I . . . I just couldn’t.”

  “That’s not what I meant. There’s a way to prevent a child from being created inside the womb.”

  She drew back to gape at him. “What do you mean?”

  “ ’Tis a device made of sheep’s gut. Some use it to protect themselves from disease, but I use it to keep from siring children. Like you, I have an aversion to bringing a bastard into this world.”

  Searching his face for signs of duplicity, she found only sincerity. “But . . . but how can sheep’s gut keep a man from having a child?”

  “It’s a sheath that the man puts over his member to contain his seed.”

  She blushed, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her change the subject. “Does it work?”

  He shrugged. “For the most part.”

  Still skeptical, she asked, “Why haven’t I heard of it before?”

  He glanced away. “Many men don’t know about it. I learned of it while I was . . . er . . . gathering information for the king in France.” He paused, then added, “The men who do know don’t like to use it. It limits their enjoyment.”

  Anger made her nod bitterly. “I should have known. Isn’t that the way it is with everything? If something limits men’s enjoyment, then they certainly don’t tell women about it.”

  She left his arms to pace the room. “Never mind that women suffer through hard births every day, that they often die in childbirth.” She whirled to face him. “If something limits the enjoyment of men, then by all means, keep it a secret, and let the women suffer.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “Yes, there are men like that, selfish, inconsiderate men. But not all of us are engaged in a conspiracy to make women miserable. After all, I told you about it, didn’t I?”

  His defensive words brought her up short. “Aye, you did tell me.” She thought of all the ways he’d given her the benefit of the doubt in the past few days. “You’re not like other men, Colin. I’ll give you that.”

  With a curt nod, he acknowledged her thinly veiled apology. “I hope you’re not going to use your newfound knowledge about sheaths to cut a wide swath through London’s gallants.”

  She couldn’t miss the jealousy in his tone and teased, “Even if I were interested, I can’t see any of London’s gallants ‘limiting their enjoyment’ by donning such protection for my sake.”

  That brought a grudging smile to his lips. “True. No man in his right mind would wish to limit his enjoyment of you.”

  Her mouth went dry at the blatant desire that suddenly flared in his face. She took an involuntary step back, but he refused to let her put distance between them. “Why do you play the wanton with half the rakes in London when you shy from me like a newborn colt? You said you’d tell me if I helped you. I held up my end of the bargain. Now I want the truth.”

  Devil take the man! She forced herself to meet his gaze, searching for a half-truth to pacify him. “What else does a virgin do if she wishes to protect herself? You know what it’s like for an actress on the stage. Only last week, Rebecca Marshall was violently assaulted because she
dared to resist a nobleman’s advances. And she received no help from any quarter.”

  “Rebecca doesn’t play the wanton. She is a wanton.”

  “That’s true, but it’s not the point. She became a wanton because she had few other choices. The rakes make whores of the actresses, one way or the other, and delight in deflowering innocents most of all. The only way I could see to escape their advances was to pretend to be thoroughly scandalous with certain companions, whom I chose for their vanity and pliable natures. My ruse at least kept most of the gallants under my control.”

  “Not the king . . . or me.”

  “Indeed.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I didn’t count on His Majesty’s attention. Nor yours. Both of you seem quite intent on stripping me of my innocence.”

  He came very near. “If you’re so determined to save your virtue, then why are you an actress at all?”

  She sucked in her breath, cursing him for being so astute. His questions circled nearer and nearer to the truth. “My parents died recently, leaving me penniless. Charity had a friend on the stage and suggested that we could earn a living there. So we came. After a time, I . . . found that I enjoyed the work and was good at it, so I continued in it. The theater was a haven for me.”

  “Until now,” he remarked dryly.

  She nodded. “Until now.”

  He clasped her waist to pull her against him. “Why are you so afraid of me?” he whispered, his breath ruffling the curls at her temple. “Is it because you fear I’ll give you a bastard?”

  No, it’s because you may know my father and tell him of my purpose.

  “I don’t want you to reveal my ruse to the other gallants,” she said instead. “If they know what you know, I’ll be hounded endlessly.”

  He cupped her cheek. “You’ll not be hounded again, I promise you. Not after I make our liaison known. And I will make it known, as soon as I can. Because the only person who’ll hound you in the future is me.”

  His voice was husky, cocksure . . . and incredibly tempting. Like a mating call, it drew her to look at him. What a mistake that was. He smiled as a tiger before it pounces. Then he lowered his lips to hers.

  She didn’t want the excitement building in her as his mouth covered hers. She didn’t want her heart pounding in anticipation or her body straining against him when before it had strained away.

  But somehow what she thought she wanted and what she actually did were two different things. She let him kiss her.

  And oh, what a kiss. Firm, warm lips molded hers. Firm, warm hands pulled her closer until her body met his, soft thigh to hard thigh, soft belly to hard belly.

  It began as a gentle coaxing, his mouth caressing hers, but it rapidly flared into something hotter, fiercer . . . harder. Try as she might to keep some part of herself separate and protected, she could not resist his heady ravishment.

  He unknotted the sash of her wrap, then slid his hands inside to clasp her waist, with only the thin muslin of the smock separating their skin. As his tongue invaded her mouth with long, sensuous strokes, one of his hands covered her muslin-draped breast and began to entice it with sweet caresses.

  It was too much pleasure all at once. With a low moan, she entwined her arms about his neck, kissing him back with all the fire that had long lain banked within her. A wondrous desire roused her blood, making her skin tingle.

  And he obliged her in her half-named desires. He rubbed her breast with the heel of his palm until it burned and ached for more. All the while his lips feathered kisses along her jaw to her throat, where he ran his tongue over the spot where her pulse beat.

  Dear heaven, she shouldn’t let him do this, suck at her neck and thumb her nipple into a hard, aching knot and turn her into a mass of need. She should take on some role to protect herself from the desire flooding her.

  Yet no role fit her anymore—injured virgin . . . wanton actress. Truth was, she only wanted to be Annabelle. And Colin seemed to be the only man who’d let her be Annabelle.

  Tired of thinking about it anymore, she gave herself up to the delights he offered with hands and lips and tongue. She just wanted to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted.

  She slid her hands down the front of him, now eager to caress his bare skin as he was caressing hers. A pity that men wore so many unwieldy garments. She was having a devil of a time unfastening the long row of buttons on his vest.

  He brushed her hands away and worked the buttons loose himself. Then she yanked at his vest, and he let her remove it, reciprocating by sliding her wrap from her shoulders until she stood only in her smock. Her fingers were already unbuttoning his shirt. When at last she slid her hands over his bare chest, marveling at the expanse of skin over iron-strong muscle and sinew, he groaned.

  “Hell and furies, dearling, you’ll kill me yet,” he muttered as he swept her into his arms and strode for her bedchamber.

  She caught at his neck to keep from falling. “What are you doing?” she whispered, although she knew.

  “Taking you to bed.” His eyes gleamed at her. “You’ve haunted my nights once too often. Time to put an end to both our miseries.”

  “But, Colin—”

  He stopped her mouth with a fierce kiss, and when it ended, they were in her bedchamber. Laying her on the bed, he sat down to remove his boots.

  Alarm skittered through her as she rose to kneel on the bed, dragging the crumpled counterpane up to her neck. “Colin, you mustn’t do this,” she said in a whisper, though she watched with fascination when he dropped the second boot, then stood to unbutton his breeches.

  His gaze locked with hers, wickedly taunting. “Why not?”

  With quick movements, he slid off his breeches and then his drawers. Her protests died in her throat as she heeded the demands of her curiosity and gazed at his chest, then followed the line of whorled hair that began there before passing down his lean waist to end at . . . at . . .

  Annabelle couldn’t help it—she stared. It had been one thing to joke with the rakes about “staffs” and “swords” and “plows.” It was another thing entirely to see one in the flesh. She ought to be shrieking and covering her eyes, but she couldn’t stop gazing at it.

  “You gaze like a virgin amazed,” he said with a rumbling chuckle. “I take it that you’ve never even seen a man naked before.”

  She knew a man’s member grew with his desire, but somehow she hadn’t imagined this . . . this . . . “I’ve seen statues, that’s all,” she admitted in a whisper. “But on a statue, a man’s . . . I mean, yours is so . . . so . . . big.”

  “You’ve roused it from its sleep.” His low, husky tone sent tremors of desire through her. He knelt on the bed in front of her. “Would you like to touch it?”

  She jerked her gaze away. “Dear heaven, no!” Yet the very thought stirred a strange hunger.

  What in heaven’s name was she doing, kneeling on a bed with a naked man? And gawking at his private parts like a . . . like a true wanton.

  Still, it was very fascinating.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to touch me?” he teased. “I can see curiosity in your face.”

  When she shook her head quickly, then attempted to slip from the bed, he caught her at the waist. He stroked the tumbled locks of her hair as she flamed with embarrassment.

  “ ’Tis naught to be ashamed of, dearling. I’m equally curious to see what lies beneath your gown.” He kissed a path from her cheek to her throat. “To touch your slender belly.” He undid the ties of her smock, then pushed one sleeve off her shoulder. “To taste the honey between your legs.”

  She gaped at him. How did he know about that?

  But of course he knew. She might be inexperienced, but he was not.

  “Aye, that, too, my shy swan maiden,” he said. “There are sensual delights awaiting us that you’ve never even considered. And we have all night to relish them.”

  His words took her breath away. She watched, both curious and alarmed, as he slid her smock c
ompletely off her shoulders. The thin material dropped to her waist, baring her breasts to his gaze. As her eyes remained riveted on his face, he put his finger in his mouth, then circled her nipple with the dampened tip.

  She stayed very still, afraid that if she moved, the delicious feeling would leave her. When he replaced his finger with his mouth, she sighed and buried her fingers in his hair, giving herself up to the piercing pleasure.

  He teased her breast with teeth and tongue until she thought she would melt from the excitement heating her body. She’d never dreamed something so embarrassing could be so . . . so enticing. Oh . . . sweet Mary . . .

  Once he had her aching and needy, he sucked the tip of one of her fingers, then carried it down to smooth along his shaft. “Here is your chance to sate your curiosity, dearling,” he murmured.

  He released her finger, but she didn’t jerk it away. Fascinated, she slid it along his hard flesh, marveling at the tight, silky skin. Half in a wondering daze, she wet her finger again and rubbed it over the tip, taking a perverse delight in seeing his knowing expression slip.

  Then some instinct made her close her fingers around the firm length and pull. An explosive curse escaped him as he jerked her hand away, then pushed her back onto the pillow and covered her with his body.

  She blinked up at him. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “Not exactly.” He breathed heavily a moment, his gaze glimmering at her, hard and hungry. “But I do hurt with wanting you. You do things to me that no woman ever has.”

  She took a very feminine pleasure in hearing that. “Does that mean you like me to touch you?” She worked her hand between their bodies to stroke his muscled thigh, inching her hand closer to his shaft once more.

  He halted her hand. “Yes, but if you do that right now, this will be over before it’s even begun.” He stared down at her with eyes that glittered like emeralds. “It has begun, hasn’t it?”

  She swallowed. “Do you . . . have one of those sheaths with you?”

  Her question seemed to startle him. Then he dropped his head onto her shoulder with a groan. “I should have known my honesty would come back to haunt me.”