Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  The ground rose to meet her.

  The impact came hard, knocking the wind out of her with a whoosh. The surface was a mixture of broken pavement and sodden grass and mud and ice. Her arms burnt from the scrapes. Fatigue slowed her down. Sharp pains sliced into her sides and each breath was a struggle.

  Heavy breathing sounded behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Green was coming for her, struggling over the uneven terrain.

  She scrambled to get to her feet, but her legs shook with weakness, impeding her efforts. A hard tug on her hair held her there immobile on her knees. Her scalp stung like fire. She winced and cried out, pulling at her head and trying to free herself.

  “Emily?”

  The shout echoed through the alleyway. Emily caught her breath. Green went tense.

  “That’s Dalton, isn’t it?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “You’re in this together—aren’t you?” He gave her hair a brutal yank.

  Her scalp burned. She cried out.

  He tugged harder, pulling her head back mercilessly. “The two of you are trying to make a fool of me.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “No, no, p-p-please…”

  Footfalls sounded.

  Green released her. She knelt, watching as he went, frantically crawling and sliding and spinning over the icy patches. The sight might have made her laugh at any other time.

  The footfalls grew louder. “Emily?”

  “Over here!” she cried.

  Green intensified his efforts and finally managed to get to his feet and hurry in the direction of the light from the street lamps. He slipped around the corner, the wind blowing his plum-colored coattails up and fled into the night.

  “Good God.” Alex’s deep voice echoed off the buildings in the alleyway.

  She turned and sat up as he appeared. She’d never been happier to see anyone, and as he approached, a smile split her face so broadly it made her jaw hurt.

  He helped her up and stood there giving her a steady stare. Then he jerked the edges of her cloak together. “What’s this about?”

  The angry edge to his voice should have intimidated her but instead it sent the most disconcerting thrills through her—half fear, half anticipation. He seemed to loom over her, a taller, broader-shouldered shadow than Green. But he wasn’t wearing his hat and moonlight made his hair glow like gold and accentuated every perfect line and angle of his face. He was the very image of the ideal knight. A protector.

  With his earlier eagerness to fight in mind, she had no doubt he would call Green out over pistols for something like this. She never wanted to be the cause of danger to anyone, especially not the gentleman who’d just saved her twice in one night.

  “I slipped,” she lied.

  “I could see that.” His tone was dry. “My question is, why did you run from me?”

  “I…” Her brain froze at the hardness in his eyes.

  He took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Damn it, girl, this is Hell City. You should know better than to go traipsing through dark alleyways. I ought to haul you back to my carriage and drag you over my knee.”

  She didn’t care for his presumptive, authoritative tone. Yes, he’d just rescued her, but it didn’t give him the right to speak to her like that. Yet the image his words conjured up sent tingling warmth twisting through her core. A strange elation followed, the oddest sort of anticipation. She took a deep breath, then blew it out like a plume of smoke in the chilly air.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t I?” His gaze pierced into hers as the wind gusted and howled.

  Cold bit through her woolen cloak, and the silk gown and its attendant muslin undergarments provided no protection whatsoever. She shivered and hugged her upper arms.

  Cursing softly, he pulled off his greatcoat and laid it over her shoulders, the heavy weight of it exuding heat from his body.

  Before she could drag the edges together, he put his hands on her waist and jerked her to him. Once again, his scent of sandalwood and clean masculinity permeated her senses, and being held to his hard-muscled abdomen and thighs was every bit as thrilling as she’d imagined earlier.

  “The moment I saw you peering into the window at the Blue Duck, I knew you were going to be pure trouble.”

  “Then I’m surprised you bothered to save me from Green,” she said, trying to make her tone light.

  His eyes darkened and glittered. “Maybe I like trouble.”

  He grasped the back of her neck with one hand, brushing her sore, bruised flesh. But it didn’t matter. There was pleasure in the pain. He bent his head and she held her breath. His lips descended on hers, slanting over them with hard determination. He twisted his hand in her hair, sending flickers of fiery pleasure-pain through her head and down her neck as he moved her head to another angle. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.

  Her heart pounded and the back of her throat went dry, for she knew what he wanted.

  John had kissed her like this last New Year’s Eve, when he had been quite drunk. He’d caught her alone in the corridor of the boarding house. He’d crushed her into a corner, his hand upon the angle of her jaw, forcing her mouth open for his sloppy, sodden tongue, his whiskey-scented breath gagging her…

  But this felt very different.

  Alex’s tongue slid over her lips like warm satin, sending spirals of delight sparking right down through her center to her very toes. Making her want to open for him.

  Her fatigue lifted as though it had never been.

  But with it went the last of her will to resist him.

  With a cry, she parted her lips and he swept inside, all wet, wonderful and warm—flavored with a hint of the wine they’d shared, along with something else. Something spicy and exciting and all together singularly him.

  He caressed her tongue with delicate strokes, each brush teasing her, making her crave a deeper taste of him. Her knees went weak and she sagged against him, moving her hands up to clasp his shoulders and cling. His scent intoxicated her. His touch surrounded her.

  She’d never forget his taste, his scent, his feel. Never.

  He put his hand under her cloak and flirted his fingertips over her bodice, touching nipples hardened by both cold and arousal. At the delicious sensation, she gasped.

  Light headed, she opened her eyes and looked up. The sky seemed to loom closer than it ever had before. Surely thousands of stars twinkled above in the inky blackness.

  His touch grew harsher, impatient, commanding her attention back from the heavens. He pulled her bodice down until his hand grazed over her bare, erect nipples—his palm was not smooth as she had guessed it would be, but rough, as if he was used to doing some labor with his hands. The texture only increased the sensation.

  On a soft moan, she closed her eyes.

  He groaned and deepened his kiss, sweeping his tongue between her lip and her lower teeth, touching on areas that were sore from her fall onto the table in the Blue Duck.

  It didn’t matter.

  Even the pain of his tongue on the bruised portions of her mouth became a strange sort of pleasure.

  If only this would never stop—

  Discordant singing broke the spell. He lifted his head and she pulled away and took several gulps of crisp, cold air into her lungs while she turned her head in the direction of the singing. An elderly beggar woman had wandered into the alleyway and was sifting through the rubble.

  Alex’s gaze flickered to the woman and he pulled Emily behind the abandoned carriage. Then he jerked her back to him, moving his hands down to cup her buttocks and press her hips tightly to his.

  There was something between them. Something so hard and throbbing that its heat penetrated even through her gown and two petticoats. His maleness. She gasped and glanced up at him. His eyes were like periwinkle fire now.

  “I want you.” His whispered growl echoed in her belly.

  He sounded so aggressive, so animal. It s
hocked her. Even more shocking was her own reaction. The aching, empty sensation in her core. The flood of wetness over her inner lips and down her thighs. The utter paralysis of her limbs. Her reaction was like a drug in her body, getting stronger with each beat of her pounding heart.

  She was his. His to do with as he wished.

  The very vulnerability of the notion increased her craving for him, for his touch, his kisses.

  “Have you ever been fucked in an alleyway?” He rocked his hips against hers.

  The word—not to mention the meaning of his sentence—should have shocked her. But instead it sent a surge of heated hunger racing through her blood. Seemingly of their own accord, her hips arched against his. He shifted, tightened his hands on her bottom, and lifted her. Then, somehow, she was on her very tiptoes and he was rocking that hard, huge part of himself pressed to her sex—her most sensitive nub, to be specific—and it was pure bliss. She couldn’t stop herself from rubbing back against him.

  Mewling sounds echoed in her ears.

  His breath was hot and heavy on her neck and she clung to his shoulders for dear life as her hips continued to arch up to meet his.

  “Can you come like this?” he whispered in her ear.

  She didn’t recognize the word as used for that, but she knew what he meant. She knew her own body and its pleasures. And, dear heaven, yes, she believed she could. It was unthinkable. It always took her forever to get to this point on her own.

  “Let me take you back to my rooms. We can take off all our clothes and get into bed and you can lie on top of me and rub your cunt on my cock until you come.”

  Despite his shocking, crude word choices, his voice was pure suggestive seduction. There was something almost exquisitely intimate about it. She could feel what he described, his intimate, turgid flesh rubbing her own, even though she’d never experienced it. Her inner muscles drew tighter, then released their tension with sudden, stunning violence.

  A cat’s wailing echoed in the alleyway. He touched her head and gently pressed until her face was crushed to his chest and the wailing sounds became muffled. She clung to his wool-covered, muscular shoulders as waves of pure pleasure came over her.

  And came and came.

  Until she was weak and limp. Spent.

  With her core still humming and ticking, she gasped and turned her face until her cheek lay against his woolen lapel.

  He touched her face, tilted it away. She whimpered. She wanted only to rest and let herself continue to float on the bliss that consumed her, but she was too weak to resist. He cupped her face and gently tipped back her head.

  Then he was kissing her. Passionately, hungrily, sucking her breath from her and pouring it back in. Vibrations shook her. His hands were trembling. His hardness pressed against her, throbbing relentlessly.

  He was everything, swallowing her up, suffocating her.

  She didn’t care.

  If this was what it felt like to be lost, to lose herself, then let him consume her.

  He tore his mouth from hers and he was breathing heavily, yet from the look in his eyes, he still seemed intent on devouring her. Her hood was back and the brisk night breeze cooled her sweat so rapidly that she began to shiver.

  He caressed her hair. “Let me take you to my rooms now.”

  The biting cold cleared the passion from her senses. The sordidness of the past few moments hit her with brutal clarity. What had he done to her to make her so wanton? She’d never acted like this—never dreamt of acting like this.

  She had certainly never come so quickly or so hard.

  She didn’t even know him yet and already he held so much power over her—her mouth went bone dry, leaving behind a taste like bitter, metallic ashes. She’d completely lost her head for a time there. If she didn’t take action right away, she’d lose herself completely. She was sure of it. Panic pounded in her heart, sending powerful surges of energy to her legs.

  Run! The word beat through every part of her.

  Run now, while you still can.

  She pressed against his chest and pushed him away.

  “No!”

  He stared at her and blinked. “No?”

  “You heard me.” She took a few steps back and gave her skirts several fierce shakes to release the wrinkles, as if she could shake his effect off so easily.

  He frowned at her, gaping as if she’d grown a second head. “Do you want more money?” He suddenly grinned. “After that performance, sweetheart, you can have anything you want. Anything within reason.”

  “I don’t want anything. I just want to go home.”

  How would she get home? She’d walked here. But it seemed as if a lifetime of experiences had happened to her since then. She’d developed a new respect for the dangers lurking in the city at night.

  A shuffling sound drew her attention. She looked up. The ragged-looking woman was approaching them. With hands extended, she began aggressively begging, placing herself between them.

  While the woman laid out her pitiful story, Emily quickly backed away.

  * * * *

  “Emily, wait!” Alex cried, trying to rush forward, but the elderly lady gripped his arms.

  Emily turned and walked hurriedly away, heading in the direction of the Blue Duck.

  Afraid he’d hurt the woman if he attempted to peel her hands off him, he tried to reach into his pocket for the money she wanted. But her hold wouldn’t allow it.

  No matter. If the prickly little harlot wanted to run, he should just let her go. A sane man would.

  The crone’s nails dug into his hand and her eyes flashed up at him, totally deranged in the moonlight. He brought his other hand up and clasped her wrist tightly until she let him go. She stood there raving at him loudly and waving her fist.

  He took a handful of coins and tossed them to the pavement. The crazed woman cried out and fell to her hands and knees. Pity held him captive for a moment. As he watched her desperate display, he pictured all the terrible dangers that could face a young woman in the night.

  Yes, Emily was just another harlot in a city full of harlots and people stuck in unfavorable situations, but tonight she’d been in his care. His responsibility. He couldn’t just let her walk the streets alone. He sighed with frustration and hurried to follow her.

  He caught up with her outside the Blue Duck. “You really want to go home?”

  She nodded.

  “And you say your protector cannot see you coming home in a strange carriage?”

  She nodded again.

  A cynical smile twisted his mouth. “All right, sweetheart, I’ll take you and drop you a pace from where you live.”

  * * * *

  Her key was in her lost reticule. Staring at her door, Emily wanted to cry with despair. Realizing the night was full of dangerous men such as Green, she’d had no choice but to accept a ride home from Alex. To her relief, he had sat silent and as circumspect as an uncle on the way from Race to Water Street. She’d given him a false address and even then hidden around a dark, cold corner for a while to make sure he didn’t follow her. Then she’d trudged home in the moonlight with the sharp, cold breeze in her face. She was exhausted and so frozen to the bone that her teeth knocked together. She wanted nothing more than to huddle in her bed under the thick quilt. But she couldn’t get inside.

  “There’s no help for it, dear.”

  At the soft voice, Emily turned. Her neighbor, Flora, was standing there, wrapped in her woolen cloak. Her haggard face had an especially pinched expression tonight.

  “Hawkins done changed that lock.”

  Horror crawled over Emily’s scalp at the woman’s calmly uttered words. “Goodness, no…”

  “He let the ragman take all your things.”

  “What?” Emily’s brain was too exhausted to deal with this now.

  Flora’s mouth turned down and she nodded.

  A sick sensation settled in Emily’s stomach. “But surely not…everything?”

  Her precio
us book that she’d worked on so hard for the past two and a half years. All those hours spent coaxing people to tell their stories, to let her make sketches of their loved ones, were now in danger of being lost forever.

  “Standin’ there in his fancy wig ’n brass buckles sayin’ he can’t wait another week,” Flora said, hand on hip, shaking her head. “Ain’t no pity in the better sort.”

  “I’m sure if I could simply talk to him, I could reach his better side.”

  “Don’t try it, Em—says if he sees you round, he’ll have you sent to the almshouse.”

  Emily closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Goodness, the almshouse. A prison.

  I won’t…I just can’t go there. What will I do?

  Chapter Five

  “We don’t have room to take in foundlings,” Flora’s husband grumbled sleepily.

  “It’s just one night,” Flora replied as she prepared to make a pallet for Emily.

  “I hate to make trouble,” Emily fretted.

  “Never mind him,” Flora said.

  Emily knew the man’s uncertain temper. She wasn’t about to make trouble for Flora and, over the woman’s protest, she made to leave.

  “At least take this blanket,” Flora whispered as Emily followed her through the doorway.

  Emily accepted it, nodding her thanks. Numbly, she walked down the corridor and downstairs, then slipped out into the dark, chilly night. In the alleyway, she found a semi-clean corner to hide in. Dropping to her knees, she burrowed under the shabby blanket. Thank God dawn wasn’t that far away. From a nearby gutter, the smell of rotten fish and human waste caught her nose and she pulled the scratchy blanket over her face.

  If Grandmother could only see her now.

  Shivering, she closed her eyes, not expecting to sleep a wink, yet soon blackness swallowed her.

  Morning sunlight shone in through the large sash window, bathing the bed in warm, rose-gold tones. His large, naked body covered hers. She grasped his shoulders, drawing him close and laughing as he whispered in her ear.