Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Sheer panic tightened her chest. “Me? But I know nothing of dinner parties! What would I say—or wear?”

  “Aunt Rachel will take care of your attire. As to what to say, just be charming and friendly. The talk stays light until after the ladies leave. Most guests are coming alone. They are congressmen whose wives are not living with them. Without pretty faces to relax the gentlemen, things stay contentious beneath the surface.”

  “Congressmen?” she gasped.

  “Don’t be intimidated—they’re merely men. You’ll do fine. You may talk about your book if you wish.”

  Oh, fine for him to say. He’d been born to this life. Already it was happening. He was pushing her into things she had no wish to do. “May I refuse?”

  He shook his head. “Not according to the terms of our contract.”

  She gaped at him. “You can’t mean to use that contract to force me to do things like this.”

  “When it affects the outcome of the cause I certainly can and will.” His look softened and a slight smile tweaked his lips. “Don’t you know? There’s a price to be paid for everything in this world. You want your book printed?”

  “It’s not a want, not a choice. My book must be printed.”

  “Well, then, this is my price for doing so.”

  She blinked several times. “You know how vital this work is to the soul of this nation. I know you do. You are possessed of too much sensitivity not to. Yet you want to control me like this.” She jumped to her feet. “I don’t have to accept this. I know I can find another way to get my book printed.”

  She set her spine and shoulders in a determined stance and marched to the door of the study. Tomorrow she would be leaving.

  When he put himself between her and the door, she realized her heart had been pounding so hard she hadn’t heard his boots on the floor. She hadn’t seen him either. Her eyes were filled with tears.

  She jerked her head away from him and wiped at her eyes. How stupid of her to cry. What was she even crying over?

  Not him.

  Never him.

  “Now what’s all this?” His voice was a deep whisper, smooth as honey.

  “I—I just won’t be controlled like this… I can’t believe you’d be so insensitive. I can’t believe you wouldn’t just print my book based on the need for it.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Come here.”

  He pulled her close.

  She wanted to resist. Oh, yes she did. But her body went limp in his arms.

  He pulled her closer, right up to the warm hardness of his powerful body. “Your work is very good, sweetheart. I think your book will make a real difference.”

  “You’re patronizing me now.” Her words came out all wet-sounding and she cringed.

  “No, I am not. Now listen to me, Emily—I need your help tomorrow night.”

  At the thought that he might really want or even need her help, her heart skipped a beat. But it was an absurd notion. He was like some prince in this opulent palace. She was just a beggar girl from a tavern. No one else wanted her here; they thought she was a harlot. She needed Alex to provide the funds to print her book. He needed nothing from her.

  “You don’t need me. I know nothing about…dinner parties and entertaining men.”

  He caressed her hair, a lazy, sensual motion that sent relaxation through her. “You’re a lovely, charming, brilliantly shining girl. You will add a much-needed distraction and female touch to the table. You’ll put those men at ease. That’s something Nancy couldn’t do.”

  She was holding her breath, overwhelmed by his words, wondering if he was perhaps teasing her in some way. Or worse yet, flattering her as a means to manipulate her. Just as Grandmother used to do. It made her feel strange. Tempted to believe, yet afraid of being controlled through that very intense need to believe. She didn’t know how to respond.

  “They’ll all know I was the girl from the Blue Duck.” She blurted the only excuse she could find.

  “Well, sweetheart, of course they will.”

  She moaned.

  “Calm yourself. The best way to face scandal is just to…face it. Directly. With no excuses. If we act as if we’ve nothing to be ashamed of, then we will weather this far more favorably.”

  “Oh, easy for you to say, you are a gentleman. Your wealth and power protects you.”

  “Yes, to all appearances, I am a gentleman.” He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her bones in a delicious way. “And yes, I am very wealthy. I have influence. If I throw my support your way, if I make it clear you have a position of respect in this house, then people will find it harder and harder to believe I met you in a disorderly tavern. It will blow over.”

  She pressed her cheek against his chest, seeking the beat of his heart. “You sound so confident.”

  “I am.” He caressed her back.

  “Alex…” she said, hesitantly.

  “Yes, my darling?”

  “I am sorry, so very sorry.” Her voice caught in her throat with the intensity of her regret.

  “Sorry?”

  Had he truly forgotten?

  “Yes, I am sorry about misleading you at the Blue Duck and that night in your rooms. And I am sorry about the utterly thoughtless things I said in the carriage.”

  “You’re young. Inexperienced and afraid of new experiences.”

  He could see into her that far? How had he done that? Her heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. She was so powerless against this man and he seemed to hold her within the palm of his hand. “I am not afraid!”

  He raised his brows. “You’re not?”

  “Of course not. I mean, I am not afraid of-of…”

  “Sexual congress?”

  “Yes, and I am not afraid of that. Nor am I afraid of you.”

  He chuckled. “I am glad you’re not, sweeting. But I think I am a little afraid of you.”

  Indignation burnt through her. “Don’t laugh at me. It’s not fair.”

  “I was being serious.”

  “I know when someone is laughing at me. You’re gleaning amusement from my inexperience.”

  “You don’t trust people, do you? You especially don’t trust me.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  He leaned closer, until his breath tickled her ear. “We’re friends in this business about your book, correct?”

  Friends.

  She’d never had a real friend.

  She wanted to be his friend. She wanted to believe.

  “Aren’t we?” he asked again in his silken tone.

  “Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “Then you’ll agree to help me with this dinner party. It’s vital, Emily, vital that you do.” His voice was silk, smooth seduction.

  Warmth curled around her heart. He needed her. Truly needed her. How could she possibly refuse him?

  * * * *

  The next afternoon, Emily sat patiently as Sally fixed her hair into a knot at the back, allowing ringlets to fall down her nape and crowning it with a circlet of gilded primroses. An elegant gown had somehow been altered to fit her—even a brand-new, gold satin braiding had been tacked along the bodice’s edge.

  Now alone, and having never possessed such exquisite fabrics, Emily sat on her bed, naked but for her silken stockings and ribbon garters, watching the velvet shimmer from paleness to richness depending on how her fingers brushed the luxurious nap.

  Rachel’s voice sounded in the hall, urgently calling for Sally.

  Shaken into awareness, Emily reached for the new satin chemise that lay next to the gown. It slid over her flesh, as soft as a whisper. She stepped into the gown and pulled her arms into the tight, wrist-length sleeves. The skirt was full at the back and tighter at the front. It was a lovely dark green velvet. She reached behind herself to see how it would look when properly laced up. But she frowned at the sight of the bodice. She wished she had something to fill out such a beautiful gown.

  The feel of the s
atin chemise on her skin beneath the sumptuous velvet created a textural sensation beyond her previous experience. She came alive, her body singing with taut, pleasurable excitement.

  He had kissed her last night.

  Just before she left. Just a press of his lips to hers. Warm and brief.

  The clock chimed and she startled. There was no time to waste, she must hurry. Glancing at her reflection, Emily saw her eyes widen. Her aroused nipples showed clearly through the shimmering emerald velvet. Her breasts were now so small that, unless she was using them to hold stuffing, she never wore stays. She’d never had quite this problem before, though.

  Someone knocked.

  “Yes?” Emily asked, voice uneasy.

  The door swung open.

  Rachel leaned in, her blue eyes as bright as sapphires. “Miss Eliot, you must hurry.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” Emily replied, without turning round.

  “Well, don’t you look exquisite?” Rachel said breathlessly as she hurried in. She took hold of the laces at the back of Emily’s gown and began threading them. “I see they did a wonderful job on the fitting. It looks as if it had been made just for you. Draw your breath in and hold it, child.”

  The rich scent of claret surrounded Emily as the older woman pulled hard on the laces.

  “There, all done. You are ready now. See you downstairs. Soon, eh? James is getting most impatient.” Then Rachel hurried out, leaving the door open.

  Apparently Rachel had been in too much of a hurry to notice, but with the gown pulled tighter, the problem with her nipples was worse than ever. Emily stared at her bodice, panicking.

  What to do? What to do?

  Masculine footfalls. Emily’s eyes darted to the mirror, seeing Alex in reflection as he strode into her room with a proprietary air.

  “Come on—surely you must be ready by now.”

  Dressed impeccably in a black cutaway frockcoat with long tails, a silver-gray and white-striped cashmere waistcoat and light gray breeches, his blond handsomeness took on an almost otherworldly aspect.

  Coming closer, he caught her hands in his own, turning her to face him. “Let’s see Aunt Rachel’s efforts to make you an elegant lady of fash—”

  His voice trailed off. Holding her just at half an arm’s length, he stared at her—at her bodice to be exact—his pupils dilating until the irises looked dark.

  Under his attention, her nipples pulled even tighter and she ached for his touch. His expression became almost pained as if he were struggling with himself.

  “Alex.” The word came out as a breathy plea.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, then took two steps backwards and closed it. He put his back against it and held his hands out to her.

  She went to him but, before she could press herself to his hard body the way she wanted to, he touched her bodice. His fingers brushed her erect nipples and sparks of fire shot through her, wicked heat that centered low in her belly.

  She moaned.

  “Shh,” he warned.

  Blood singing through her veins, she came over slightly giddy with the intense pleasure. Biting her lip to avoid moaning aloud, she arched her back and frantically rubbed herself against his hands. She couldn’t get enough of his touch. Heavens, she’d never get enough.

  “Damn it,” he said. “There’s no time.”

  The regret in his voice made her despair, voracious hunger made her bold. “How long does it have to take?”

  Emily’s earnest expression made Alex grin. She was so obviously ready for him to show her how quickly one could fuck, but—

  He shouldn’t have touched her.

  He’d vowed not to touch her.

  However, the desire in her eyes and her obvious arousal had wiped away every ounce of his self-restraint. He should stop fondling her. Now. But her nipples were hard points beneath his palms, the fuzzy, soft velvet sliding easily over her satin underclothes.

  God, had he ever felt anything so sensually decadent? So utterly exciting? No. And considering all the decadent, sensual things he’d done, that was saying quite a lot.

  She murmured softly. Her body fell against his, forcing him to stop and to catch her. She felt boneless. Totally passive, submissive.

  Damn it. He wanted to fuck her—no, he wanted something a little more exotic than a fuck. But there was no time. His cock twitched in protest and he groaned with frustration.

  He slid his hands over her velvet-covered arse and jerked her pelvis snug to his and he rocked against her. Hard.

  Her body trembled. .

  “How long, Alex?”

  Her soft, sweet voice sent fresh blood racing from his head, hardening and lengthening his cock even more. He grasped her buttocks and pressed her softness to his erection. “It takes as long as it takes…”

  “Then maybe it wouldn’t take too long?” Her voice was all husky with hunger.

  He bent and nipped at her neck. He could smell her excitement on her skin. God, he wanted her and he wanted her now. And no, it wouldn’t take long at all. It would be quick and hard. He moved to thrust his hand into her hair to tilt her head for a deep, ravenous kiss. Then he came up against the veritable battalion of hairpins and froze. What the devil was he about here?

  He took her shoulders and gently pushed her away to put space between them. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of lust.

  “Alex?” Her voice was thready, husky. Pleading.

  He let his eyes caress her in the elegant, dark green gown. “They really do have you dressed to perfection.”

  He met her eyes again. Their rich, sherry-brown depths were smoldering with desire.

  “Alex?” She chewed on her full, luscious bottom lip, as if waiting for him to do something more serious about this most interesting situation. His erection throbbed painfully. Fuck, he wanted her. Wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone else.

  He grinned at her and came close again to drop a kiss on her adorable nose. “If I do what I want to, there will be no fixing the damage to your hair and dress in time.”

  Then he stepped purposefully away from her. His erection strained his fall, twitching. God, he was going to spend the entire meal with aching balls. He deserved it for breaking his promise and touching her.

  “Goodness, what do you want to do?”

  She sounded so sweetly perplexed that he had to laugh. “Goodness, indeed.”

  Her forehead wrinkled and she tilted her head to the side. “Won’t you tell me?”

  “No.” If he told her about it, he’d be unable to hold back from doing it. Then he’d really be damned. For all time. He bent and pressed his lips to hers, quick and hard. “You’re too much of a temptation.”

  He let her go, then turned on his heel, opened her door and left. Once in the corridor, he leaned along the wall and breathed out a long sigh. What had he been doing in there? God help him, having her in his house was going to prove his undoing—and maybe hers, as well. He needed to find her a husband, and soon.

  * * * *

  “So you are an artist, Miss Eliot?” asked Colonel Peter Muhlenberg, Congressional representative for Philadelphia. A tall man with a hawkish nose, his intense eyes twinkled at Emily in a fatherly fashion. A seaport Democratic-Republican.

  “Yes, Colonel Muhlenberg,” Emily said, heart solidly lodged in her throat as it had been all evening. To say that she was utterly terrified of making a misstep would be a gross understatement.

  Fifteen other people, persons of substance, sat in the Chippendale chairs at the English-crafted mahogany table that was covered with a fine linen cloth embroidered with delicate green vines and primroses. Feeling every gaze upon her, Emily inhaled deeply.

  Catching her eye, Alex smiled at her. The white flash of his teeth against his lean, handsome tanned face, the brief, intimate knowledge in his gaze, sent a spark of fire through her. Her mouth parted slightly and she stared back at him, transfixed. He winked.

  She glanced down immediately. Heavens,
she couldn’t look at him. Didn’t dare to look at him for fear that her desire would return and she would suffer a humiliating recurrence of stiff-nippled immodesty. Why had he denied her earlier? He had implied that there would be enough time. Maybe he was already growing bored with her. She didn’t know why it should matter so much, but it did. She wasn’t quite ready for things to end between them.

  “Come now—this false modesty is too much, Miss Eliot. Dalton is to be congratulated on attaining such a brilliant talent for his propaganda purposes.”

  At the familiar voice, Emily jerked her gaze to Mr. Patrick Sawyer. The small-minded printer. It had been a shock to see him here. Apparently, he had much political sway in Democratic-Republican circles.

  He regarded her with a wintery glint in his eye. “This book covers the very issue so dear to Mr. Dalton’s heart—the Barbary captives. So often we’ve been treated to Mr. Dalton’s polemic on the matter; well, this time we’re in for some real handkerchief-in-hand melodrama.”

  “Miss Eliot’s book is a captivity novel?” The colonel’s tone was shocked.

  “No, not mere sensationalism. This work documents the real effects the loss of those men has had on their families and the community. Miss Eliot includes sketches of these mariners based on the descriptions given to her. Very evocative, designed to touch the heart. Once this book is published, the public will surely cry out for justice and the Federalists will have their standing navy,” Mr. Sawyer said.

  A hush fell over the table.

  For a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She blinked and shook her head slightly. Mr. Sawyer’s look turned softer, perhaps holding a hint of sympathy—or was that guilt?—before his gaze shifted away.

  Like a physical impact, realization hit her.

  He had refused her work not because of the cost. No, this was worse. He had feared the sway the book might have given the Federalist’s cause. He had denied those mariners the chance to have their story told over politics. His promise to print her chapters separately had all been just an enticement to get her into his bed.