Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “I am sorry I hurt you, girlie,” Green wheezed loudly under Alex’s hold.

  “And?”

  “And I am sorry I called you a pickpocket.”

  Alex grunted, dropped Green’s collar and walked away.

  * * * *

  After Green’s apology, talking and laughter erupted once more as the crowd wandered back into the main room. Emily dared to open her eyes. Two men dressed in the garb of common sailors crouched near Green, fussing over him. Dalton was pulling his waistcoat on.

  He met her eyes. He stared so fiercely that it seemed to pierce into her very soul. A prickle of unease rippled through her and she shifted on her feet. He smiled, his expression softening, and winked.

  A bolt of pure warmth hit her low in the pelvis and spread even lower. Her legs went boneless and she wavered. His expression changed, his smile somehow becoming lazier, sensual, his eyes hooded as if he was becoming sleepy. The warmth in her belly became fire; wetness seeped from her core.

  He stopped buttoning his waistcoat and took a step towards her.

  Her heart began pounding against her chest wall.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  What could she possibly say to him if he came to her? An urge to run beat through her, but her legs were too weak to obey.

  He stopped and looked down to his side. A curvaceous redhead stood there, holding out a towel to him and smiling with seductive promise. He took the towel, then moved closer. The redhead’s carmine-painted lips moved rapidly. Alex leaned even closer—close enough to touch the creamy tops of woman’s overblown bosoms that strained above her bodice, though he didn’t. His deep laughter echoed over to Emily.

  With a sinking sensation in her belly, Emily pulled away from the doorway, turned and went into the public room. Her legs were shaking so hard she could barely walk. She found an unoccupied table in the rear corner and sank into a chair.

  It was just as well. Mr. Dalton’s effect on her senses, on her ability to think clearly, had been the most disquieting thing she’d ever experienced with anyone. Just now, no longer looking upon his incredible masculine beauty, her clear thoughts were returning.

  And her first thought?

  Her first thought was that she ought to be absolutely terrified of Mr. Alexander Dalton.

  You’re just like my second eldest sister. She was always taking up some cause or another. A real bluestocking. All it took to change her mind was for a handsome cavalry captain to wink and tip his hat to her.

  John’s words echoed in her mind.

  The sinking sensation in her belly increased sevenfold. She put her hand over her midsection and took an uneasy breath.

  But what nonsense! She wasn’t at all like that. She’d never be lured off her course by any man, no matter how handsome or beguiling. She was simply tired. Disconcerted by all that had transpired.

  “Lots of excitement for your first night here, eh?”

  She looked up. Mr. Porter was grinning down at her, his eyes twinkling.

  She tried to laugh but the sound came out reedy and halting. “Yes, you could say that.”

  “Why don’t you take the remainder of the night off? You can start work tomorrow.”

  There was nothing she wanted more. In fact, she wanted to go home and never return. But she needed to work tonight. And that meant more than a few tips—it meant letting a man take her upstairs. At the thought, her heart pounded and she swallowed hard.

  Courage. She must gather it all and not let it go.

  This was going to be her work, her life until she could manage to get her book published. If those men could face their captivity in Algeria each day with courage, she could manage to face bedding a man in tavern chamber. Those enslaved mariners needed her help. Her art would wake the country up to their plight. She couldn’t falter now. She’d been given a mission. She couldn’t forsake them now.

  Renewed determination poured into her veins, like warm coffee laced with a nip of rum on a cold winter’s day. Yes, she could do this. She would do this.

  “Thank you, Mr. Porter.” She coughed delicately to relieve the quavering catch in her voice. “But if it’s all the same, I’d simply like to rest for a moment.”

  “All right, even better.” He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze.

  She tightened her clasped hands in her lap. She still hadn’t got used to the way the man seemed to think he was entitled to touch her at will. With the scenes from the fight replaying in her mind, she stared at the dingy tablecloth and willed her heart to return to its normal pace. Her determination might have strengthened but her body was still shaken by tonight’s events.

  On a deep breath, she willed her swirling emotions to settle. She need only get through tonight and earn enough money to keep a roof over her head until her appointment with Mr. Jefferson, when she would meet her benefactor. She’d probably only have to do this once or twice. It wasn’t such a great thing. Anna had done it and had seemed none the worse for wear.

  And this was her choice. For the first time, she was taking the reins and leading her own life.

  Success or failure, the choice was hers now.

  And she’d come here tonight, resigned to her decision. Losing her virginity was such a small sacrifice. It was the start of her own independence. Her ability to follow the dictates of her mission and her conscience. Just as the soldiers in the war of rebellion against the English king had sacrificed for the nation’s independence, so she too must make a sacrifice. Nothing came without cost in this world. And yet, it had been easy to imagine what working in a tavern would be like. But now the fight had woken her up to just how the Blue Duck was; real, coarse and dangerous.

  “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

  The sound of that cognac-smooth voice made her heart leap into her throat. She looked up and her gaze traveled slowly over his stark white stock to his strong, golden-tanned jaw and sensual lips, his perfectly sculptured cheekbones, and finally met those ghostly pale eyes.

  A red mark on his cheekbone and a scratch upon his left brow were the only signs of the fray. Yet the images of him laying his fists savagely into Green lingered in her mind. Maybe she should be a little afraid of him. Nevertheless, she couldn’t be rude to the man who had just saved her. Had just fought for her.

  Besides, maybe he wanted to buy her for the evening.

  If she had her choice, she’d certainly prefer him. It would be no hardship to let him kiss and caress her. The thought sent warmth chasing down into her sex. A slow seep of wetness began. The sensual arousal did little to help her jangled nerves.

  However, he did frighten her.

  And not just because of his prowess with his fists. And not completely because he was a man clearly seeking an evening of pleasure. Nor because he thought she was a tavern harlot and had approached her.

  Her mouth went absolutely dry.

  Well, that aspect was part of it.

  This was real. This could happen. And with a man who had the power to wipe coherent thought from her mind. To turn her belly into melted honey.

  Could she trust herself with this situation…with this man?

  What other options did she really have?

  With a suddenly shaking hand, she motioned to the chair across from herself, trying to ignore the increasing sensations of fear and excitement tingling through her.

  He sat.

  “Alex Dalton, at your service.”

  Her heart fluttered. Despite her unease, her artist’s eye couldn’t help being transfixed by his handsomeness; she couldn’t stop gaping at him. Heaven help her, she needed to keep her wits. She needed to charm him. To persuade him to spend his money on an hour or two with her upstairs. But what did a woman say to a gentleman in this sort of situation? Now that he was right here before her, a simple thank you seemed rather inadequate.

  His brows rose ever so slightly, as if he were chidingly urging her truant response. “What’s your name, sweeting?”

  “Emily.” Her voice came out h
oarse, foreign to her ears.

  He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, growing so intense that a chill crept down her spine at the uneasy sensation of being picked over and weighed for her value. She knew what he saw. A thin girl with a huge nose. Nothing special. With great effort, she resisted the urge to cover her nose. It had never mattered overmuch to her before, but right now she desperately wished she could be beautiful.

  Beautiful enough for him.

  But what chance was there of that? She sagged a bit all over.

  “You look like you could use a drink.”

  His voice, all tenderness and warmth, seemed to sink right into her. He continued to scrutinize her, giving her the sense that he could see right down to her bones. Right down to how wetness seeped uncontrollably between her thighs. Her strong sensuality was a fault of which she couldn’t seem to cure herself. She was a wicked girl for she often touched herself, intimately, at night in her bed. She always swore she would stop.

  But she never could manage to deny herself. Her carnal feelings overwhelmed her.

  Such feelings were always an unwelcome distraction but never more so than now when she must be in control of herself. She glanced down at the table and crossed her legs tightly, as if she could stop the shameful flood. Then she laid her hand over her nose.

  He snapped his fingers.

  She jumped then lowered her attention to her folded hands. She must maintain her control. If she kept acting so skittish, he was going to see through her façade. He would know she was a virgin. The thought made her mouth dry once more. Fresh tingles of fear mixed with excitement washed over her.

  A brisk rustle of skirts brought Emily’s gaze up again. The red-headed serving maid who had been lingering and laughing at a nearby table rushed over, delighted expectation all over her face. She was the same one who had brought him the towel and, as she approached, she turned a sultry smile on Alex, her large green eyes sparkling.

  Heavens, the woman was lovely. Oh, who was Emily trying to fool? This man would never be interested in spending his money on her.

  Alex barely spared the redhead a glance as he ordered a bottle of Madeira, carefully asking for a particular year.

  The wench flicked a glare at Emily.

  After the wine arrived, Emily took a tentative sip. It glided over her tongue, a fluid, silky sensation. The rich fruity taste astonished her. Electrified her senses. She’d never tasted anything so divine. Decadently delicious. Her throat was so dry and the wet was such blessed relief. She gulped half the glassful down. The burn hit her throat then scorched all the way down to her stomach. She put the glass down so quickly that it made a dull thunk. She tried not to cough and choke. Mercy! She wasn’t used to spirits. Grandmother hadn’t allowed her to have anything stronger than tea, coffee or very weak rum punch.

  “Well then, Emily—what’s a lovely girl like yourself doing in this den of depravity?”

  His eyes glittered teasingly. He was flattering her. But why bother?

  The wine still burnt in her belly. Mellowed to a most pleasant sort of warmth. Her muscles began to unfurl and an unexpected sense of well being slowly spread through her. She studied this charming stranger and the thought came to her—as such things often did—in a flash of illumination. He was playing a role. Being what she expected of him. Suddenly she knew how to behave, how to get through this evening. It was really quite simple—she need only present the image he expected.

  She fluttered her lashes, imitating Anna’s cultivated, sensual smile. “Looking for excitement.”

  “Are you?” He lowered his eyes to her bodice and his voice became oddly choked off as his lips seemed to quirk.

  Self-conscious, she instinctively drew her cloak’s edges together.

  “You’re suddenly so far away,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth. “Did I do that?”

  A glimmer in his eyes made her think he might be mocking her. Panic washed over her, vanishing that false sense of well being that the wine had given her. Had he guessed that she wasn’t a real harlot? She wished she knew how to gain some sway over the conversation—some sway over him. If only she were able to affect him even a tenth of the way he affected her. But she didn’t know how. Her sense of vulnerability was so raw that she drew coldness over herself as a protective blanket. She glanced down at the table. “I simply don’t like being ogled for free.”

  “So you’re expensive? Excellent. I hate cheap women.” The humor in his tone made her bristle.

  Oh, fine for him to make quips about the situation, but for her this was a matter of do or die. And he held all the power. It was his choice whether he wanted to spend his money on her tonight.

  As if reading her thoughts, he tossed some money down on the table.

  She glanced up.

  He smiled a lazy smile that set her body tingling. “Lead me upstairs.”

  His words crashed over her like a tidal wave of icy water. Her hands shook and sweat poured out all over her.

  Oh, God. The moment was upon her. Oh, God. She wasn’t ready.

  This was how it happened? Just like that—so bluntly? Without any coaxing or wooing? Her heart dropped back down to where it belonged and pounded against her ribcage as if it wanted to jump clear from her body.

  She wasn’t ready!

  She’d never be ready.

  She reached for her wineglass.

  He touched her hand, feathering his fingers over hers.

  Her hand shook on the glass and the wine sloshed. A vision splashed across her mind. The dance of firelight upon the walls, fine linen sheets sliding like silk against her bare body, strong hands reaching for her, touching her, pulling her close to his naked, utterly masculine body, his whispers in her ear…

  Her insides went all fluttery and she inhaled deeply. When she’d come here tonight, she hadn’t thought much about being bedded by a man beyond the money. She especially hadn’t anticipated that there would be any pleasure associated with it. But here with this man, she could feel how it would be.

  She hadn’t expected to be able to choose a man—certainly never a handsome and charming one. But he was her choice.

  Suddenly, she felt lighter than she had in all the days since she’d first decided to sell herself. She did a have a modicum of power in this situation.

  He dropped his hand from hers.

  She immediately brought the glass to her lips and gulped half of the remaining contents. It burnt all the way down, and gave her something to center her attention on besides his effect upon her senses.

  “Well?”

  His commanding tone sent her nerves bristling. So did the way he tapped the stack of bills. She took a closer look. Twenty dollars lay on the table. Enough money to pay her rent, yes, but still…

  She took another deep breath, set the glass down and flicked her gaze back to his. “Can’t you ask any better than that?”

  His deep, rich laugh sent another thrill through her, right down to her very toes. “I see—expensive and hard to acquire.”

  Retrieving the money, he pulled aside his coat to stash the bills in his waistcoat, his body rippling against the close-fitting, striped satin.

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight.

  How would it feel to be held against that trim, hard waist? Her nipples pebbled and another wave of tingling heat centered in her sex.

  His hand froze halfway into his pocket. Looking up from his abdomen, she met his eyes. His expression was a shade speculative and maybe a bit amused. Dear heavens, he’d caught her ogling his midsection. Her face flamed and she glanced away quickly.

  Had she just ruined her chance with him? Was he totally put off now? Oh, what a stupid, green girl she’d proved herself to be. She wanted nothing more desperately than to hide her feelings. She’d show him that his rejection didn’t matter.

  “You might still stand a chance with her,” she said, nodding at the curvy redhead, who sat with several mariners, giggling.

  “She’ll be a
round. I’d rather talk to you.” He tapped her gloved hand with a natural authority that rankled her. Grandmother had never ceased in her complaints about how arrogant gentlemen were.

  She jerked her hand away. “Just like a man—so smugly sure of your appeal.”

  “And just how much do you know of men?”

  “Oh, I’ve had many—all quite handsome and wealthy,” she rejoined, in what she hoped was a casual tone.

  He narrowed his eyes speculatively. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  He laughed. This time it was a soft, sensual sound that sent delicious shivers down her spine. “More like fifteen, possibly sixteen, but a very immature sixteen.”

  “I’m nineteen!”

  A small, satisfied smile spread over his lips and she regretted her outburst. In fact, she itched to wipe the smugness off his face. She took a deep breath and continued far more sedately. “The women in my family age very slowly. My grandmother looks about fifty.”

  “Tell me something—why aren’t you with her now?”

  She stared at him blankly, her heart pounding in short jags of rapid beats.

  Grandmother was dead.

  For ever and ever.

  She didn’t want to talk about it.

  Quickly, she rolled one shoulder up. “I refuse to live under her thumb.”

  “Ah, and you’d rather have men vie for your favors in a Hell City tavern?”

  “Something like that.” She was growing weary of his questioning, of keeping up the role she believed he expected of her. The fear of failing, of slipping, was making her nerves draw tight.

  He grinned, flashing white, even teeth against his golden tanned skin. The curve of his lips was pure sensual enticement.

  But his eyes. Those beautiful blue-gray eyes…

  A prickling sensation centered around her navel.

  Something lingered there in the depths his eyes. A shadow. Darkness lurking beneath the glib and charming exterior.

  What did those shadows represent?

  Danger? Possibly.