A Talent for Sin

by Lavinia Kent

  “When she arches again push on her belly.” She directed her comment to Peter in little more than a whisper. She didn’t know where the words came from, but they felt right.

  Marguerite strained, Peter pushed down, and she tried to pull.

  Failure.

  Again.

  She felt her arms would break with strain and her heart with the worry.

  Strain. Push.

  Failure.

  Breathe. Strain. Push.

  She felt something move. “Don’t ease up. Keep pushing, both of you.” She felt it slip, and slip again, then in a sudden whoosh the baby sprang free. She almost dropped it, she was so shocked at the final ease.

  A boy. A beautiful, screaming, healthy boy.

  This child was ruddy and fat, his arms already flailing as he let his displeasure at the whole experience be known.

  She suppressed the image of that other baby. The one who was not red and screaming, but blue and limp. Tears began to trail down her cheeks.

  “Is there something wrong? You’re crying.” Marguerite could barely move, but her voice was wrought with worry.

  Violet forced a smile through her tears. “No, they are tears of joy. Your son is beautiful. Let me clean him and I will give him to you. There is still some unpleasantness to be dealt with.”

  She worked methodically first on the baby and then on the mother. She could only cast a second prayer up to God that she had done everything close enough to right that the bleeding would stop and no infection would set in.

  It would be so unfair to lose either one of them now.

  She finished and turned, only to find herself brought full into Peter’s embrace. “You are amazing. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. I always knew you could do anything.” He turned to look at baby and mother, who had drifted off to sleep cuddled together.

  “I don’t know how I did it. You had more faith than I. I could not have done it without you. I would have gone running from the room at the first sign of difficulty. It was you who kept me here.”

  “That’s nonsense, but I’ll take all the credit if you want to give it to me.” He placed an innocent kiss upon her brow and a not so innocent one upon her mouth. He gave her a last squeeze, then set her from him. “You must be exhausted. You should go and sleep now. Marguerite’s maid can sit with her tonight, and I am sure in the morning all will be arranged. I’ll go smoke one of Wimberley’s cheroots, as a good uncle should, and await the proud papa and the physician. They cannot be long now.”

  Violet let out a hysterical laugh at that. How many times had each of them said that as the long hours of the night passed? She clamped her lips shut. She was exhausted. She’d take his advice.

  She walked to the bed and kissed both sleeping mother and child. She nodded at Peter and turned toward her room.

  Her mind was numb with exhaustion. Tomorrow would be soon enough to think about the events of this evening.

  She slept like an angel, a very tired angel, but still an angel. Peter eased the door to Violet’s room open and slipped in, shutting it soundlessly behind him. He’d introduced his brother to his child, kissed his sister-in-law, and finally snuck a bit of oatmeal from the kitchen.

  Now he was ready for his reward.

  He walked forward and watched her in the pale light of dawn. Her hair spread across the pillow more radiant than any sunrise. He grinned as he saw the pile of cast-off clothes beside the bed. She’d always been lazy when tired. He bet she was naked beneath the covers since getting a fresh chemise would have required too much effort.

  All the better for him.

  He scanned the room and took a chair from beside the small writing desk. He shoved it beneath the handle of the door. He’d have to talk to his brother about making sure all the guest rooms had keys.

  He moved back across the room and shed his clothing, jacket, shirt, the boots with some effort, and finally his trousers and under linen. Naked as the day he was born, he slipped into the bed and cuddled up next to Violet.

  Warmth and comfort welcomed him. He took her in his arms, and like a sleepy kitten, she curled into his chest. For the first time in weeks the world was at rights.

  Hmmmm. Ahhhh. Violet stretched in absolute contentment. She was so toasty. She’d slept better than she had in weeks. She smiled without opening her eyes, enjoying that first perfect moment of awakening. The sheets were silky, almost velvet. They smelled of cinnamon. She couldn’t remember anything ever feeling so good. Silk and velvet. And hair?

  She opened one eye, afraid of what she’d see.

  He’d splayed himself across the entire bed, yet again. She knew he was big, but did he need to have a foot off either side? At least this time he’d positioned her across his chest.

  She rubbed her nose in the wiry fleece, resisting the urge to sneeze.

  He had come to her. She had won.

  She laid her head back against him, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. She closed her eyes and thought about the previous evening.

  She’d delivered a baby. A beautiful, healthy baby. No other wonder could compare. She had done that. She had faced a great fear and survived. She would never have believed she could do it, but she had.

  And the earlier part of the evening. What had that been about? She had no regrets, not a single one, but—She looked at the man lying beside her. He’d been a man last night. She couldn’t think of another man who’d have done that for a woman not his wife. She had a hard time thinking of many who would have done it for their wives.

  She ran her toes up his calf, tickling the back of his knee. He wiggled, as if shaking off a bug, and then shifted back to sleep. A great honking snore erupted from his mouth.

  She suppressed a giggle.

  She ran a finger down his chest. He quivered at her touch, but did not awake.

  Her entire body hummed with his nearness. She turned her head and placed a kiss above his heart.

  If he awoke they would have to face what was between them.

  She wasn’t sure she was ready.

  She laid her ear back upon his heart and let him sleep.

  He came awake slowly. First, he was aware of the weight, warm, soft, but not light. Second, he felt the breath feathering over his chest. Third, the hair rubbing against his nose tickled.

  He opened one eye.

  The hair shone russet in the morning light. It had not all been a dream.

  He opened the other eye and found that clear orchid gaze staring back at him. A smile flittered across her face.

  He grinned back. “Good morning.”

  “Is it?” There was a trace of uncertainty under her cheerfulness.

  “The rain has stopped. I have a healthy nephew. Cook makes wonderful oatmeal. And I am in bed with the most amazing woman I have ever known. It seems pretty good to me.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I realized I belonged. It took me a while, but watching you last night I realized that, no matter what, I needed to be with you.”

  “Oh.” A faint furrow appeared between her brows.

  He ran a hand down her shoulder and lingered in the fold of her inner elbow. He’d always liked that spot.

  “I don’t understand. Does this mean you don’t want to marry me any longer?”

  He had to fight back a further grin at her petulant tone. “I am through with ultimatums, they never work anyway. I will take you any way I can get you.”

  “But—”

  “Please don’t tell me we’re going to fight about this now.” He trailed a finger back up her arm, across her collarbone. He stopped at the edge of the sheet she held clutched to her breasts. He ran the tip back and forth at the border of the fabric.

  “Uhhh. No. Yes. Will you stop that?” She batted at his hand.

  “Only if you promise not to argue. Discuss, yes. Argue, no. I am through with argument. If you start to fight I’ll have to punish you.” He nipped at her bare shoulder.

  She
pushed back and sat across from him, the sheet still tightly held to her chest. “Then let’s talk. You are ready for things to be as they were before?”

  “Yes, at least mostly.” He slipped a leg between her silken thighs.

  “I don’t trust that mostly.” She rolled away from him.

  “I am not willing to be your secret anymore. I will not spread our relationship among society, but I refuse to hide it from my family.”

  “Marguerite knows anyway, and I suspect your brother and the whole house do too.” She glanced across the room at the chair pressed tight against the door.

  “Maybe they think I am so tired I wandered into the wrong room and didn’t want to be disturbed while I slept. You, of course, were so shocked you fainted for hours.”

  She raised a single eyebrow.

  He smiled back. “Otherwise, I am fine with continuing our past relationship.”

  “About marriage.” She sat up straighter.

  “Yes.”

  “I am not giving in and you will need to sometime.”

  “I can wait. Why worry about the future now?”

  “The future has a habit of arriving faster than expected.”

  “Are you going to try and make me feel young in the face of your experience again? I won’t stand for it any longer.” He let his hands slide down her shoulders, enjoying the velvet of her skin.

  “I just want you to be realistic. You will need to marry and have a family. I know you will want children?”

  “Well, if you find yourself in an interesting condition, then I will insist on marriage, otherwise I am not even thinking about them yet.”

  “But you will someday,” she stated, sitting up.

  “Why bother with that now?”

  She sat up straighter. “No, I need to know. Do you want children?”

  “I always imagined that someday I’d have a large family. I always wanted another brother or two. Seeing my nephew born”—he remembered the magic of that moment—“well, I’d hate to miss that. You should have seen Tristan when he first saw his son. I can picture you with a whole passel of them. You’ll be a great mother, Violet.”

  She pulled away suddenly. An unfamiliar expression crossed her face. “I think you should go.”

  “What? You’re just acting contrary.” He pushed the sheet down, revealing a tightly peaked nipple. He tapped a finger on the very tip, and a shiver ran though her entire body.

  She yanked the sheet back up and tried to leave the bed.

  He blocked her. “Why are you changing the rules, now?” he said. “I give you what you want and you decide it’s not enough. Isn’t that a woman?”

  “Go away.” There was steel in her tone.

  He ran his finger across along the edge of the sheet again. “Don’t play with me, Violet. I’ve met your conditions.”

  She tried to push away again. He’d never seen her like this. She seemed wounded and defensive. He moved toward her and she hit him hard. He grabbed her hand and held it tight. He leaned forward, forcing her backward on the bed. He saw her eyes darken with desire. He could have her flat beneath him in seconds if he wanted. And he did want. God, did he want. Just not yet.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t want this. I know you too well.”

  “I don’t want this.” She twisted and tried to free herself.

  He didn’t understand her game, but he trusted his instincts. He ran a finger across her collarbone. She shuddered beneath him. “You don’t want me, like you don’t love me. You have to be careful or I won’t believe anything you say.”

  She grabbed a pillow with her free hand. She battered him with it. He pulled it away.

  She hit him with another. He pulled it away also. He placed it back on the bed behind her. She reached for it again and he took the chance to grab what he needed off the floor.

  He turned, and the pillow pounded him hard in the side of the head. She reached back to swing again.

  That was it.

  He caught the pillow and pulled her toward him, grabbing first one wrist and then the other. He held them firmly in one hand. She struggled hard, trying to get away. Did she realize what a reward a lapful of warm, wiggling woman was? She froze. Ah yes, she had just discovered. He cocked his hips, rubbing hard against her soft behind. She tried to move to the side, but he lifted her arms high, forcing her to the center, his arousal tight in the cleft of her buttocks.

  “You bastard.”

  “I did say you’d be punished if you fought—this might not be quite what I meant, but a promise is a promise.” He took the cravat he’d taken from the floor and looped it tightly about her caught wrists.

  A bend, a twist, more struggle, and he had her hands tightly fastened to the bedrail.

  “I never took you for the type to beat a woman.”

  He smiled. “Does this feel like beating?” He ran a hand over her chest and down her bare belly. He let it rest there, fingers spread wide, a gesture of possession.

  “Would you like a spanking? That I could imagine.”

  He leaned forward and slipped his other hand beneath her, giving her buttock a firm squeeze. “God, you’re perfect.”

  “You lily-livered, son of a—”

  He cut off her curses with kisses. She tried to turn her head, but he pressed his lips tight, holding her still with the sweet pressure of his mouth, his tongue taking advantage of her still open mouth.

  She bit at him, and not gently.

  It was his turn to swear.

  He did not surrender. He pressed the tenderest of kisses upon her face. He poured all that he felt into them, tons of tiny kisses.

  He caught her lower lip between his teeth, not hard, just enough to pull. He licked the soft inner flesh of her mouth, flicking his tongue back and forth.

  His hands were busy too. Nothing aggressive, just a long, slow massage of her neck and shoulders. He shut his eyes and allowed the physical sensations to overwhelm him, the suede of her skin, the womanly musk, the quiet but ever increasing moans. He savored each one.

  Finally, with a sigh, she opened her mouth, welcoming him.

  Still he kept the kiss soft.

  She pushed forward, wanting more.

  He refused. There was no hurry. Time was theirs to enjoy.

  She pushed, again.

  He pulled back. “Hush, relax, we’ll get there.”

  “Let me go.”

  “No.”

  “I want to touch you.” She tilted her pelvis up, rubbing against him.

  “No, this is my chance to be in charge. I’ve never been the one in control.” He ran a hand up her arms and over the tie, testing that it was not too tight, not too loose. He shifted his weight until he was kneeling over her. It was a heady experience to balance above her, so in control, able to fulfill his every fantasy.

  “How can you say that? I’ve never told you what to do.”

  “But you have, not always with words. I’ve taken direction in the sway of a hip, the purr of pleasure you give when I do this…” His words faded as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, laving the indent at the center of her clavicle. He sucked. He bit. He savored.

  He could feel her dissolve under him.

  He licked some more, then worked his way up her neck, pausing to nip and then kiss each spot along the way. When he came to her mouth, it was a long, endless kiss. Sweet. Devouring. Loving. He couldn’t say the word to her, but he could say it in his mind.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. Her lips were plump and swollen, her eyes so dark a purple as to appear black even in the bright morning light.

  “Will you let me do what I want?” he asked. “Do you trust me?”

  Her gaze focused slowly. She pulled at her bonds once. Looked him straight in the eye. He could feel the fight within her—and then the surrender. “I am yours.”

  “Really?”

  “For now—for as long as this captive enchantment lasts.”

  Look out or that might be forever, he thou
ght, but did not say. Instead he placed a soft kiss upon her mouth. He raised up on his knees, pushing the sheets aside so that he could admire her in the window’s rosy glow.

  She was perfect. He’d thought it before, but never had she been so incandescent, so soft, so woman. His woman.

  He wanted to beat his chest like the gorilla he’d once seen at the zoological park. He didn’t think Violet would appreciate that. He could almost see the pinched-lip look she’d give him, so different from her current soft surrender.

  Gads, he felt like a king.

  He bent forward and kissed the crinkles that formed at the corners of her eyes. He knew she hated them. “I adore you here.”

  He kissed the corner of her jaw. “And here.”

  The indent he’d loved so fondly earlier he revisited. “This is perfect.” A spray of kisses down her arm, the soft fold of her elbow. “I can always taste you here. It makes the blood flow to my head—both of them.” He leaned back and let her see. When her eyes ran over his length he thought he’d explode.

  She licked her lips. Smiled. She parted her mouth, drew a breath in.

  He moved forward and placed a quick kiss on her mouth. “No, this is my game and I am not done.”

  He moved to her breasts. What had man ever done to deserve such bounty? God was kind. Normally he moved right to the nipples, tugged and sucked the way he knew she liked. This was for him. He took them in his hands, enjoying their full weight, the overflow. He squeezed, massaged. Every schoolboy’s fantasy.

  He buried his face between them. He’d be content to die right now. She shifted beneath him, impatient. His cock came into full contact with her cleft, the curls urging him home.

  He almost caved.

  Control. He started to count the dogs he’d owned, named each one in his head, moved on to the horses.

  He could do this.

  He sat back on his heels.

  She squirmed, tried to bring back the contact. “Please,” she begged.

  “Soon.” But not too soon. He went back to her breasts.

  She was in serious trouble. His lips closed about her nipple and she almost arched off the bed. She didn’t know how long he’d been at it. He flicked his eyelashes over the sensitive peak and all she could do was beg. Please, please, finish this now. Please, please, never stop.