Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “What matters most to me is getting my book printed as it is intended to be.” She turned in Alex’s direction and lifted her chin ever so slightly. “Without any alterations from people who couldn’t possibly understand my artistic vision.”

  Alex smiled pleasantly but when his eyes met hers they were steely hard. “You’re young and inexperienced. However, getting what we want in this life often requires compromise and sacrifice, Miss Eliot.”

  Uneasiness took root in her belly. “What possible sacrifice can you mean? It’s just a book of interviews with illustrations.”

  “You’ll sign over complete control of this project to me—”

  “I shall do no such thing!”

  He held up a forestalling hand. “I am not done. In addition, for the next couple of months you will agree to make your home with my aunt and myself and submit to any duties necessary for the completion and promotion of the project.”

  She gaped at him. “Well, I don’t agree, sir—with any of it.”

  He gazed back at her, unconcerned. “Then I won’t finance the printing of this book.”

  She whirled to face Jefferson. “He can’t demand this, can he?”

  Jefferson gave an eloquent shrug. “He can demand whatever he wishes—he’s the one who is paying.”

  “Why should I need to live with you?”

  “I’ll want to promote your book by introducing you to the right people. Besides, you have no kin and you are unmarried. I cannot associate closely with an unattached, unmarried girl who is all but living on the streets. My aunt is well respected and she will make a good chaperone.”

  “I have no need of a chaperone.”

  “I say you do.”

  His gaze was steady and cool, his demeanor polite yet distant. She saw him now as others did. He was a wealthy, powerful and above all respectable gentleman. It was hard to see the man who had fought a brawl in a public house and with whom she’d shared the most shocking intimacies. If she was to be in his more public life he’d naturally want her to be respectable as well. That she could understand. But apparently he thought it was his place to demand that she behave in a certain manner. That was what had her bristling with defiance.

  “Well, maybe I can accept your offer to live in your house, with your aunt acting as chaperone. But I will never let anyone dictate the terms of my artistic work.”

  His jaw tensed. The movement was so slight that she almost believed she’d imagined it. But she hadn’t. He tapped his fingers on her work. “I’ll never put my name behind something that isn’t as good as it should be. Those shall be our terms. You shall live in my house and attend any functions I deem important to the promotion of this work. In addition, you will make any changes I see fit that you should make, or else I won’t publish your work.”

  She opened her mouth to protest and he held up a forestalling hand.

  “That’s my offer—take it or leave it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The carriage door closed with finality. Emily fairly thrummed with awareness of the tall, powerful, yet elegant body on the seat facing hers. Unwittingly, an image of that body covering hers came to her. More than an image. She could smell his scent, could feel the soft rasp of hair on his chest, torso and thighs as he moved on her. The piercing pain of his initial penetration.

  She shifted on the seat and crossed her legs.

  The vehicle lurched forward and, caught unawares, she also pitched forward.

  Strong hands caught her. Alex’s spicy, masculine scent wafted over her. The strength of his grip on her upper arms made her mouth go dry, from a thrilling mixture of excitement and apprehension. God, she’d placed herself totally into his keeping. All for the sake of getting her book printed.

  Even though the carriage was steady now, he didn’t let go. She dared to glance up.

  His blue-gray eyes met hers. Gone was the distant, dignified look of the wealthy benefactor. His eyes were hot. Molten. He was remembering as well—yes, he was.

  “You’re angry with me,” he said—a statement, not a question.

  “How you could do that to me?” The words came in a rush, her voice would not work fast enough to suit her brain. “You gave me absolutely no choice but to sign—sign all my rights away.”

  “You didn’t have to sign.”

  “Getting that book printed is the sole focus of my life. I’ll do anything—”

  His expression turned so fierce that her heart seemed to skip a beat. She caught her breath.

  “Aye, so I know. You would do anything—sell your innocence, lie.” His tone reverberated with the injured air of one who had suffered the ultimate betrayal.

  Her lungs began to burn and she released her breath, taking small hitching inhalations. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt.

  The thought sent her mind awhirl.

  She had hurt him.

  It didn’t seem possible.

  God, she hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. Ever. Her heart gave a quivery little spasm.

  “I-I was desperate…” Her voice cracked and she had to clear it several times. “You must understand, it was nothing personal. I-I would have done the same with anyone that—”

  He paled, slightly. Then his features hardened.

  She threw her hands up and covered her mouth. Oh, God. That had been the worst thing she could possibly have said!

  What was wrong with her? Had she gone witless?

  Yes, she had. Any woman would be witless under that blistering blue-gray gaze. She lowered her hands. “Uh, I-I didn’t mean that I—”

  His expression eased and he loosened his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s have no polite lies between us. It is very clear to me what is most important to you in life and the depths you’ll go to in order to achieve your ends.”

  Goodness, he sounded so bitter. Almost as though he might hate her. Did he? Stunned by the prospect, she moved to lean against the seat and put her hand to her collarbone. “You make me sound so heinous!”

  He leaned against his own seatback. “I am just trying to see you as you are. I know my responsibility towards you and intend to see it fully enacted, no matter my personal feelings for you.”

  Emily sat there under his censuring gaze, feeling like a naughty little girl. Then sudden indignation swept over her. Emotion that energized her. Why, the hypocritical lecher! He had paid her for sexual congress! He wasn’t so spotlessly clean in this situation. And moreover, he was just now restating his intention to control her work.

  Oh God. Oh God. She hadn’t pictured anything like this when Mr. Jefferson had first mentioned the possibility of a ‘benefactor’ to her. She stiffened her spine and raised her chin. “I promise you, I’ll allow you to do nothing to corrupt the purity of my work.”

  Brave words, uttered as panic pulsated with each jarring beat of her heart. Goodness, how would she ever manage a gentleman like Alexander Dalton? He was so wealthy. So powerful. He was alien to everything she knew. She knew little of him beyond that. Conversely, he seemed to know everything about her. All her weaknesses.

  He’d seen her completely abandoned in pleasure.

  He’d seen her cry.

  He needed nothing from her and she was dependent upon him for everything in regard to her book.

  He folded his arms over his chest. “I want to ask you something, Emily, and I want the truth.” He compressed his lips while staring at her sternly. “Though I suppose that’s expecting a bit much, isn’t it?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “That’s a horrid thing to say.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, it is. I do not make a practice of lying. I—”

  “Did you perhaps know that I frequent the Blue Duck and decide to meet me beforehand?”

  “I did not know who you were—not truly—until Mr. Jefferson explained today.”

  “That’s just not possible. I can’t believe that. Everyone in this town knows of my family and our connections.”

  “Until a year ago, I did not live in
town. I lived with my grandmother in Easton. We moved here after my grandfather died.”

  “How did you compile all the materials for your book?”

  “By post. Mr. Jefferson—I contacted him and he helped me to contact the family members. I had to sneak the letters out without Grandmother knowing. She kept me quite sheltered.”

  Alex stared into those huge sherry-brown eyes. They glowed with such outraged anger. As though she were the one who had been deceived and lied to.

  What a little cunning vixen.

  He didn’t know whether to be horrified by Emily’s wiliness or to admire her resourcefulness. No, it was more than resourcefulness and cunning—it was outright deceit.

  Anger at the whole situation burned through him anew, and despite his best attempts to suppress the emotion, he couldn’t help giving vent to it. “I was quite convinced that you were a harlot. How in hell did you manage that?”

  She was plucking at one of her gloves, pulling the finger up and twisting it. “One of the other renters in the boarding house was a… She worked at the Blue Duck. She gave me the idea to—to—”

  Listening to her stumble over the words reminded him—quite painfully—of her relative innocence. Innocence he ripped from her without the least gentleness or honorable intentions. Christ, what had he done? He took a ragged breath, then shifted in his seat. “Yes. Of course.”

  “I simply observed her actions, the way she walked and moved her body and the things she would say and—well, I suppose I must have done a fair enough job of it.”

  “You did.” Despite his efforts to conceal it, his unsettled state came across in his clipped tone. Good God, she sounded so beleaguered yet self-satisfied. She actually felt justified in what she had done. He had to shake his head to clear the sense of disbelief. He must stay on task. He couldn’t allow his feelings to intrude. “You’ve other family?”

  Glassy-eyed, she put the loose end of the glove into her mouth and slowly shook her head. She looked every inch the lost little kitten she had at first glance.

  A sense of being hopelessly, helplessly trapped in a slowly unfolding nightmare washed over him. Futile, impotent anger threatened to overwhelm him again, only this time it was focused upon himself.

  He’d always been so careful to stay away from innocents. What the devil was the matter with him that he’d ignored his first impressions? Had he been mad with lust? He let his gaze rake her. He noted every sharp line of her face, the overlarge nose and too full mouth. Her reed thin body.

  Mad with lust over this scrap of a girl?

  He’d surely gone insane.

  Finally gone insane.

  He released his frustration in a lengthy exhalation. “Your lies have complicated my life so much—there aren’t the words to express how much.”

  “Complicated your life? I don’t follow.”

  “You’re a decent girl, of good family. Now—however unintentionally it happened—I have ruined you.”

  She flinched and went a little paler.

  A twinge of guilt pricked him. He’d spoken too sharply.

  She was just as soft and fragile-hearted as any society miss her age. Probably a lot more so, for, by her own account, she’d been totally sheltered. Likely cosseted. She had no inkling of the kinds of darkness he’d experienced in life. The kinds of darkness that dwelt in the emptiness of his own heart.

  The kind of darkness that came from having innocence ripped from one too soon. It led to the worst, most seductive corruption of heart and soul. It could make one turn their back on a lifetime of moral training and betray one’s deepest beliefs.

  He would not ever have wanted to do the same to anyone—much less to a girl with Emily’s sweetness.

  He could never allow himself to touch her again.

  Never.

  “It was my choice to share your bed.” Always gentle and feminine, her voice suddenly sounded disturbingly girlish. It seemed indecent for her to be speaking those words, for him to be sitting here with full carnal knowledge of her.

  He should be shot.

  No—tarred and feathered, boiled in oil and then shot.

  He lifted a forestalling hand. “Please, Emily, we needn’t speak of it.”

  “But I don’t understand… How is your life impacted?”

  “I am responsible for you now.”

  “You believe you are responsible for me. It doesn’t make it true.”

  He let the subject drop. He had her under his control now. He needn’t press her. He shouldn’t keep prosecuting her, facing her with the deceitfulness of her actions.

  What was done was done.

  A maidenhead could not be reinstated.

  They sat with nothing but the clatter of the carriage between them. Then he remembered something. The assumption she’d made that had eaten into him. Her superior, disapproving tone had echoed in his mind during all those small hours when he couldn’t sleep. She was just a naïve, stubborn headed girl. Her opinion should not matter to him.

  But it did and he couldn’t help defending himself. “Zachariah is not a slave.”

  She looked up, her eyes glazed as if she’d been deep in thought. “What?”

  “I don’t own slaves. All of my servants work for wages.”

  “I am happy to hear it.” Her expression was so sincere, so relieved.

  It insulted him all over again.

  A pang smote his heart. That she could think so vilely of him even after they had shared themselves so deeply. Yes, he was many things and most them not good. But he drew the line at owning human souls.

  “I’m glad you approve, my lady.” He couldn’t keep the sardonic tone from his voice.

  Her eyes flashed at him.

  The rapid rise and fall of her chest drew his attention lower than her face. Her hand was hooked into her chemise tucker and, as if agitated, she had tugged it down to expose her collarbone. Those perfect, delicate lines brought to mind how it had felt to kiss her neck. To breathe in her feminine fragrance. She’d been so sensual, so ready to be shown and taught how to give and receive pleasure.

  He’d never known a woman who had become so wet for him, and he could still taste her, tangy and sweet as the most exotic fruit. He could still feel her flesh pulse under his tongue. Could still feel her nails, digging into his scalp, pressing him harder and harder, could hear her soft cries, begging him for more…

  God, she had been so abandoned.

  Hot desire lit his blood, filling his cock, threatening to make him forget his vow of a moment past.

  Lord, he was so damned.

  He was going to fry in hell’s fire for taking her innocence. For her ruin.

  And now he was responsible for making sure she wasn’t ruined further.

  What the devil was a man like him to do with a lost little girl?

  * * * *

  “Give me your cloak.”

  Despite the pleasant tone, Emily could hear the tension beneath the words. She stared at Alex’s outstretched hand and clutched the aforementioned garment more tightly at the neck. She felt wholly out of place in the entryway of his red-brick Georgian house, amid the gleaming polished wood and brass and the marble tiles beneath her shabby shoes. She was loath to remove her cloak and reveal her threadbare gown.

  Upon their entry, Alex had tossed his hat and greatcoat onto a side table in the hall, showing no reverence for its highly polished, mahogany elegance. This was normalcy to him. His home.

  It felt like a palace to her.

  “Emily?” He raised his brows.

  She released the edges of her cloak and untied it with slow movements. Reluctantly, she handed it over.

  He took it and paused, running his hand over the worn lining and finding all those areas she’d worked so hard to darn. She cringed inside and her eyes roamed over his flawless white stock, his jacket of Federal blue and his buff-colored, ankle-length pantaloons. Both appeared made of the finest wool. His expensive-looking boots gleamed. Everything he wore appeared to have
been purchased for this current season and never worn before.

  She felt like a ragamuffin.

  “Come.” The word was a soft command. He held his hand out to her.

  His eyes were cold, remote. She was nothing more than an unwanted obligation. She understood that with painful clarity. She felt lost. And silly. But she hadn’t wanted to be back in his life any more than he’d wanted her here…

  Oh, but what a lie. She glanced downward, quickly, surreptitiously taking in the length of his tall, powerful form. She’d lain awake in her bed at night, craving his touch. She’d dreamt of him, so vividly that her sleep had been restless and disturbed. She’d longed to be back in his company more than she’d ever craved anything in her life. This last realization galled her.

  “Emily.” His tone was softly insistent.

  She flicked her gaze back to his face. At his continued, cool, disdainful expression, a sharp retort rose to her tongue.

  No, stop being a fool. Remember, this is all for the book. Nothing else matters.

  She clamped down on her rising emotions and let him lead her through the ornate house to a spacious parlor.

  Opulence greeted her at every turn, from the pale blue, silk-covered walls, to the twinkling crystal chandelier, to the dark gold damask settee where Rachel was sitting. The older woman was gowned regally in dark blue velvet and was drinking from a fine teacup and petting the small pug lying in her lap.

  An uneasy sensation blossomed in the pit of her belly. Alex was not merely a gentleman, he was fantastically wealthy. Just as Jefferson had said.

  Nancy was curled lazily—unladylike—on the other settee, reading a book.

  At the sound of Alex’s boots on the wooden floor, Nancy peeked over her gold-rimmed spectacles, having just pierced the skin of a shiny red apple with her teeth. She was wearing a brimless cap with a red, white and blue cockade. A liberty cap—a silent proclamation of sympathy with the revolution in France.

  The little dog barked and Rachel looked up. Her blue eyes narrowed as they landed on Emily. “Good evening, Alex.”

  The frosty tone chilled Emily.