Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She gripped his shoulders fiercely as he moved deep, fast, hard. Her hips met his, thrust for thrust. Her legs gripped his waist to propel him deeper until the head of his cock banged against the mouth of her womb. At her appreciative cry he continued, fucking her with a brutal abandon.

  The smell of their sweat and sex filled the closed, humid carriage. This was what a fuck should be. Always.

  The wet heat convulsed around his hardness, the waves of her pleasure long-lasting and violent. He must withdraw. Now. He tore his mouth away from hers as something between a groan and a sob forced its way past his lips. His whole body shuddered as he withdrew.

  Release exploded through his loins, surge after surge of his seed spilled onto her thigh in furious jets. And it kept coming. And coming. Each pulse of intense pleasure jolted up his spine, sparking through his whole being as though he were struck repeatedly by lightning. Lightheadedness swept over him, he groaned and closed his eyes. It seemed as though literal flames rushed through his body, his blood humming and hissing in his ears as though layer upon layer of ice were being scorched into nothingness. Ripping away his defenses.

  He shuddered again and again, seized by the tempest of sensation and helpless to do anything but surrender to its force.

  A thousand fiery starbursts exploded within the dark of his mind, light and heat filling the emptiness.

  Spent, he fell from the heights. Fell against the soft, petite feminine body beneath him. Silken hair tickled his cheek. He gasped for breath and inhaled the scent of womanly arousal and sweat, overlain with that tangy, fruity-sweet, gardenia-like scent. The scent of this irresistible siren who had lured him away from his pressing schedule. This strange, audacious young woman who had intruded into his business day with her sad, sad eyes…

  He touched his forehead to hers. “Dear God.”

  * * * *

  Beth sat in the farthest corner and cast a sideways glance at her dark-haired stranger. The angular cut of his cheekbones and strong, imperious jaw gave him an air of granite-hewn arrogance.

  His pale-gray gaze cut into her. Hidden behind her worldly-woman smile, her heart fluttered. As if she’d been truly touched for the first time.

  The horses’ hooves. The rain beating on the roof. The distant thunder. The rustle of her skirts as she drew her legs up underneath her. All of it sounded unnaturally loud.

  She felt raw, exposed, bleeding.

  Not even her first lover, Joshua, had affected her so.

  And she had no one else to blame but herself.

  She’d come to the lecture to meet him—the owner of Sexton Shipping. And what an excellent conquest. Well-born, obscenely wealthy, politically connected, and powerful.

  Once, when she’d been too young to know better, she’d allowed herself to be seduced by a wealthy gentleman. He had promised eternal love then abandoned her. A bitter lesson but one she’d learned well.

  Now she was the seducer.

  She decided who, when, and most importantly, for how long.

  She was very particular, choosing the handsomest and wealthiest of men. To know she could tempt any man of her choosing, even dressed in her shabby clothes, added a perverse thrill. Made her dizzy with power. Conquest and control often proved a headier thrill than love.

  And then, too, there was the carnal pleasure.

  She couldn’t deny it.

  She’d always been weak to her sensual drives. Her mother’s wild blood, some would say. But today it had not merely been Sexton’s wealth or handsomeness that had drawn her. It had been the way his frosty eyes cut into her, stripping her bare of all her secrets. And how those eyes had warmed to silver, shining with such empathy.

  How silly of her to imagine—but it had seemed so real. It was as though he knew her, as though he could see all her faults, all her weak longings and petty spites. Even the tears she shed at midnight, silently into her pillow. And he didn’t judge her for any of it. After that moment of rare soul-to-soul connection, she had to know him. And that had been the problem.

  Of course, he had succumbed. Gentlemen always did. But today had been different. The need to experience him gave him a power over her that made her throat go dry and her palms slick.

  It was time to part ways.

  She always cut the strings after one encounter. Always left them wanting, burning for more. It made the conquest sweeter.

  She flicked the curtain open and gazed out, trying to determine their location. There was nothing to see but the shore and gray rainy sky. She turned back to the gentleman. “Asahel—”

  “Grey.” His voice, deep and strong, resounded in her stomach.

  “Grey, I am desperately late getting home.”

  He reached back and tapped the carriage wall. “You are not so very late. This normally takes longer.” He paused and grinned. “A lot longer.”

  Dear God, that grin—had her heart completely stopped? Would it ever beat normally again? She drew her lashes over her eyes and laughed softly. “I think it was more than adequate.”

  His touch was gentle on her face. “I want to see you again.”

  Covertly, through her lashes, she let her eyes caress his broad-shouldered, powerful yet elegant form. Desire tingled through her.

  Oh, that wasn’t a good sign.

  Normally, once her heated passions had been sated, she was eager to leave. To get away from the scene of her sins. Never to set eyes on her accomplice again. But today, she longed to linger in his company. To meet with him once more.

  Her heart began to pound and she longed for a drink of rum punch to wet her increasingly dry mouth.

  Fool, fool, fool!

  She should have never started this. She should have abandoned her seduction the moment he’d offered her that understanding look. The moment she felt the need to experience the man beneath the veneer of wealth and power.

  He must not guess the strength of her temptation.

  But gentlemen were all the same to her. Their wealth and power aroused her. What did she care about the man beneath all the trappings? Another tingling bolt of fear went slamming through her insides.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath then laughed with affected lightness. “You want to see me? In the parlor, with my sister in attendance, perhaps? Shall we have tea and biscuits, or do you prefer wine and cakes?”

  His eyes darkened and the tanned skin tightened over his cheekbones. A thrill of danger passed through her belly.

  “You want bluntness?” His tone cut her. “All right. I want to fuck you again.”

  At the loss of his warmth, sadness filled her. Would he be sad—possibly a little vexed—when she never met him again? For the first time, the prospect of a gentleman’s disappointment failed to fill her with a rush of satisfaction and she couldn’t keep the conciliatory note from her voice. “It is very hard for me to get away.”

  His expression eased and he moved closer, a lock of coal-black hair falling over his brow. “You must.”

  He took her hand and she watched transfixed as he pulled it to his lap. His erection felt huge and throbbing beneath the nankeen cloth. Again. Already. All that male power at her disposal. She closed her eyes and gripped him as tight as the fabric would allow, her channel clenching to remember the mind-drugging effect of his lovemaking. A woman could become a slave to this sort of passion.

  “I shall be staying at City Tavern. All month.”

  His eyes sparkled, making her stomach bottom out.

  He described small circles on her palm. “You must come see me, and soon, too. You must promise, cross your heart.” He traced an x across her left breast.

  She stared at his tanned hand against her bodice, bemused. He was not what she had expected. Not in the least. Heaviness centered in her chest, a slight burning in her eyes.

  Truth could only spoil their last moments.

  She arched up and put her lips upon his. As she kissed him in a long, leisurely fashion, her hand slid up to his chest to feel his pulse racing beneath. And wh
y shouldn’t his pulse race? She was, after all, very good at goodbye.

  Chapter Two

  “Girl, where have you been?”

  Looking into her brother’s fierce green eyes, Beth swallowed back the lump in her throat as she approached the back stoop of her family’s Southwark cobbler shop.

  Charlie resented her time away.

  She beamed her brightest little-sister smile. “Good evening, Charlie.”

  His frown deepened and he loomed over her. “Why are you so late?”

  “I had to wait. I couldn’t very well walk home in the storm.” She tried to go around him to enter the back door. With any luck, she could slip inside and find a few moments alone to collect her thoughts before starting the evening’s work.

  Charlie moved his bulky frame and blocked the door. He was an immense man, strong as an ox. “Storm blew over a while back. Seems like you could’ve been home an hour ago.”

  Her stomach twisted and she took several steps backwards. God, could he smell the sin on her? Her heart pounded up into her throat.

  Why did she take these risks? After her heated blood had cooled, the thrill never seemed worth the danger.

  And why had she let herself be so late? Upon leaving Sexton’s carriage on Morison’s Alley, she had ducked into a shop on Third Street for fear he might try to follow her home. She’d meant to stay only a brief interval, but Mrs. Staples, the baker, had engaged her in a chat.

  But that had given her time to slip back in the skin of being the good, dutiful Elizabeth.

  “I stopped in the bakery to get you some jam tarts.” Elizabeth lifted up the sack containing the pastries. “You know what a chatterbox Mrs. Staples is. She insisted I sit and have a cup of coffee.”

  He scratched his head. “None of the men at these lectures get forward with you, do they?”

  She caught her breath, then forced a laugh. “Oh, Charlie. Don’t be silly.”

  He cracked his massive knuckles. “Just tell me. I’ll put it to an end.”

  Tingles of fear frizzled through her belly. The last thing any of them needed was for him to challenge a gentleman over her long-since surrendered honor.

  Caught! You’re going to get yourself caught! Are your pleasures worth the price you will pay?

  Her heart sped and her stomach lurched. She swallowed back the rising panic and took a deep, lengthy breath.

  Never again. No more gentlemen.

  How many times had she vowed that before?

  It didn’t matter. This time she meant it.

  She truly did.

  She forced a laugh past the tightness in her throat. “Now Charlie, you know there’s no one at those meetings except scholars and old men.”

  “I worry enough about those men at Mrs. Bickle’s getting ideas about you. What if they start thinking you’re—”

  “They are all gentlemen at Mrs. Bickle’s.”

  “Gentlemen, eh?”

  She nodded quickly. “The best of gentlemen.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “And don’t you know gentlemen can be the worst sort?”

  Oh, didn’t she know! In her mind, the years fell away. She could smell the warm summer air, thick with humidity and scented with rose and jasmine. The moon was bright silver against the inky dark sky. The stone garden bench was cool beneath her palms, the grass soft and dewy beneath her bare feet.

  Trust me. She could feel the heat of Joshua’s breath on her cheek, his whisper just audible above the hum of insects and the hushed rustle of the soft breeze through the leafy branches of the large maple that made a canopy above their heads. She could feel the tickle of his fingertips upon her knee, under the skirt of her prim, lace-trimmed nightdress. Trust me, my Beth, I’ll never hurt you.

  The sound of her half-brother clearing his throat made her glance up at him with alacrity. His round face contorted as he studied her intently. She couldn’t speak. She had to swallow, hard.

  Charlie shook his head. “What you know about men could fill a thimble.”

  She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “I know enough.”

  “You expect too much from life. All those high-and-mighty ideas Mrs. Hazelwood put in your head. A man could lead you down a trail of empty promises and break your heart. Lucky for you, your big brother is here to watch out for you.”

  She understood his need to see her as an innocent. Their mother’s adultery with Beth’s unknown father had broken Charlie’s heart as a boy, and as a man, his own wife had betrayed him. He needed to believe in the purity of at least one woman in his life. It was another reason why he could never find out the truth about her secret life. It would hurt him too much.

  “These afternoons away from the shop are gonna stop,” he said.

  Her heart pounded so fast that it made her a little dizzy as she stared up into his thorny expression.

  Oh, mercy! He was really wroth today.

  He blinked rapidly. “I am determined in this, Elizabeth. You’re my younger sister and while you’re under my roof, I’m responsible for you. You’re gonna quit that job, too.”

  For the past year she’d been paying a third of the monthly mortgage on the shop with the tips from her job playing piano in the dining hall at Mrs. Bickle’s inn. It smote his pride that she had to seek outside work.

  She swallowed hard. “You know I can’t quit.”

  A flush darkened his face, then his jaw tensed and his mouth compressed into a grim line. She had hurt his pride but it had to be said. Charlie gestured about at the yard. “Get this picked up.”

  Elizabeth glanced around. She’d been too focused on him to notice before, but the laundry she’d spent the morning scrubbing and hanging lay scattered about. The storm must have blown it down. Worse, the pigs had trampled and streaked it with mud and heaven only knew what else.

  Her stomach sank. All this morning’s hard work, ruined. “Couldn’t you or Ruth have brought them in?”

  “The storm sent Ruth to bed with a megrim.”

  “Oh.”

  “Aye, oh, I had no one to help me. I got the shelf full for you.”

  Her shoulders sagged. She’d be up half the night, sewing by lantern light.

  “Well, get a move on,” he said. “Supper’s late and I am starved.”

  “Of course, Charlie.”

  He turned to go inside, then stopped and braced his hand on the doorframe. “And do something about Alan, too. My poor boy has been bawling his head off without his favorite aunt here to soothe him.”

  “He is cutting a tooth, a normal event in the life of an infant. I showed you the tonic to put on it.”

  He turned and held up his coarse, dye-stained hands. “Do these look like hands to touch a baby’s mouth?”

  He coughed, spat on the stoop, then went inside.

  She glanced about the yard. Oh bother! Her life here was a never-ending stream of dreary, gray drudgery.

  Rejected by love, she’d come to her half-siblings’ home almost five years ago, to seek to know them. To find a place where she belonged. To find a different, more lasting kind of love. But her siblings were at times still strangers she didn’t understand. She couldn’t relate to them very well and service was the only way she knew to show them her affection.

  And they needed her. She could never abandon them now.

  On a sigh, she took the basket off the stoop and began gathering the soiled items. A wave of fatigue washed through her at the thought of the long evening ahead.

  * * * *

  Over the next two weeks, fatigue became Beth’s constant companion. The dreariness of her life seemed even more burdensome than before. She found sleep to be a scarce commodity. And when it did come, she wished it hadn’t, for her dreams carried her up into the blue, velvet darkness of the night’s sky, where temptation burned like shimmering silver starlight.

  The New York gentleman’s hard, angular face, his lean solid-muscled body, even his scent of refined cologne and clean masculinity were engraved on her consci
ousness as if he were a ghost haunting her. There, but just out of reach or sight.

  * * * *

  Beth pressed her back against the wall, feeling slightly lightheaded as she watched the dancing couples twirl by. She was taking a break from playing piano for hire at a small gathering in the home of a local middling merchant. A coming-out ball for their seventeen-year-old daughter.

  From the open window, warm breezes blew the tiny fly-away hairs of her nape, caressing her skin with teasing effect. She took a deep breath. Mercy, how seductive the warmer weather was.

  She craved to feel those breezes on her own nakedness… The lilting tunes, the dancing couples, it all faded away. She closed her eyes and focused solely on the sensation of the breeze on her skin.

  Dear God, she could just picture herself wallowing in clean linen sheets, in a grand bedchamber with the windows open, the breezes caressing every inch of her flesh. She could feel it. Her nipples became hard points; her breasts ached to be touched. Crushed against a hard-muscled chest. For the countless time, her sex clenched and wetness seeped over her intimate folds.

  What was the matter with her?

  She frowned.

  Of course she knew exactly what was the matter. She didn’t simply crave to wallow naked in clean linen sheets. She craved to feel her New York gentleman pressing her down into a featherbed.

  Her frown deepened and her heart gave a rapid burst of thumps. Oh, this wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all.

  Was she becoming a completely inveterate wanton? Were her drives becoming worse?

  Normally an adventure lasted her a while before she found herself craving more. Her memories usually fueled her private pleasuring well enough. But this time, self-solace wasn’t quite adequate. She wished she were once again at the piano, so she could cross her legs, tightly. Her entire body longed for—

  “My dear Miss McConnell, you play so much like an angel would.”

  She startled out of her reverie, the lean, arrogant face in her dreams quickly replaced by the kind, pleasant face of the young man before her. Soft, warm hazel eyes. Could they see into her heart—could they discern her wicked secrets?