by Gaelen Foley
The next thing she knew, that warm, clever hand of his was gliding up her thigh beneath the fabric of her skirts, unseen. Higher and higher it climbed. He gazed at her with seductive reassurance, then kissed her.
Her pulse slammed, her skin tingled, and her core pulsated, drenched with eager readiness for him. Beneath her skirts, he caressed her thigh and then explored higher…much higher. Maggie shuddered on his lap, panting. Her senses felt electrified with want. Then her legs parted as though with a will of their own as his fingers pressed into her body, his thumb circling her hard, dampened pleasure center.
He kissed her as he touched her, rousing her body to arch and writhe. She draped an arm loosely around his broad shoulders, panting and moaning, flabbergasted at the pleasure that he gave her. She could not believe what was happening to her. The rest of the world ceased to exist.
Virginal as she was, he brought her to climax within mere moments, capturing her blissful cries of release on his tongue.
Chest heaving, Maggie lay against his chest and shoulder, dazzled for a long moment, but the major wasn’t done with her yet, merely giving her a moment to catch her breath. In that brief respite, she remembered some scandalous remark he’d made to her the first night they’d met. The night of the ankles. Something about how she should’ve known by then whether Bryce was right- or left-handed.
She now realized exactly what the rogue had meant. But she could never have imagined doing this with any other man.
Connor murmured love words to her, nuzzling his face against hers, his breath ragged by her ear, the rhythm like galloping horses. But before long, his kisses and caresses teased her desire back to a state of torturous yearning. Ever the soldier, he was deliciously ruthless, causing yet another crescendo of pleasure to explode through her body, again and again, twice, three times, until she could take no more.
“Stop!” she finally gasped out, exhausted and shaking.
He gave her a naughty little lick on her cheek, let out a husky laugh. “Are you sure?”
“Ohh, you are wicked.” She found the strength to wrap her arms around him, and began laughing with astonishment at the glorious mayhem he had just wreaked on her senses.
“That’s only the beginning of what we’ll do together,” he whispered.
She shook her head, dazed. “Oh, Your Grace, I am going to enjoy being married to you.”
* * *
Seth finally withdrew into the ebony night and crept away from the gazebo in disgust. His heart was still pounding with all that he had witnessed. And though he was throbbing with arousal, he was furious.
Life was so bloody unfair. He shook his head to himself as he stalked through the dark damp of the park, his body on fire.
Why should that bastard have a girl like her panting over him?
Seth wanted her so much after seeing that, he was nearly blind with lust.
Obviously, he dared not make his big move against Duke Number Four in such a state. His head was muddled with want, his blood too hot for him even to think, let alone shoot, clearly.
But his desire for Lady Margaret was now tinged with anger and envy and hate. She’d pay the price for her behavior tonight once all of this was over.
She was supposed to be a lady.
Apparently not.
Very well, then—he would treat her accordingly once he had her in his control. He’d enjoy punishing her for letting Amberley paw her like that.
For now, though, he had to release the fire in him, and he knew just where to go. Straight to Father’s dockside establishment, to make use of his own personal plaything there.
She was no fine, delicate Lady Margaret, what with her vacant stare, and that pretty mouth of hers always hanging slightly open, like she was in the middle of an astonishing thought.
Which, of course, she wasn’t. The little blond nitwit was as thick as a stone.
And yet he had grown oddly attached to Saffie, in a way.
By all rights, he should’ve drowned her in the river after she had served her purpose, but she was harmless enough. Besides, the girl did literally anything he said, believed whatever he told her.
Her stupidity amused him, and fucking her, he always felt like he was getting away with some horrible sin, and that pleased him, too.
In some ways, she was the perfect woman for him, Saffie was. A warm, always-willing body without much of a mind to naysay him or ask questions.
Simple as she was, the duke’s ex-scullery maid worshiped the ground that Seth walked on, and he’d found that a man could get used to that. He couldn’t wait to bend her over tonight with her pale, round ass in the air for him.
Oh, she would enjoy the fiery thrashing he would give her, just as soon as he lifted her frilly skirts.
Of course, thoughts of the physical bliss awaiting him between her thighs were not helping him contain his pulsating hardness.
He paused, took a deep breath and got hold of his discipline, then adjusted himself inside his riding breeches. His arousal slackened just a bit with a few deep breaths after he had put some distance between himself and the writhing aristocratic virgin.
Enjoy it, Lady Margaret, he thought cynically as he reached the wrought-iron gate at the edge of the garden square. You might have a duke’s fingers up your quim at the moment, but someday soon, you’re going to have me.
Whether you like it or not.
As he slipped silently out of the gate, the cool metal was a welcome sensation under his burning touch, and finally, Seth managed to focus his mind on the two useful bits of information that this night had yielded.
First, he’d learned the lantern signal that Amberley and the girl were using to arrange their rendezvous. Second, he’d overheard the duke mention a soirée at his Aunt Lucinda’s on Friday night.
Which meant that Seth now knew exactly where his target was going to be, and when.
A perfect opportunity.
Better still, he was familiar with the old dragon’s house, having been there before. He knew the layout; he had studied it in the past, when it had come time to kill her husband.
But, of course, even before that, the old bitch had been his patroness. Father had forced her into it.
If not for the duchess putting a word in for Seth, he’d never have been allowed to buy his commission in the first place. Not just anyone was chosen for the dragoons.
Since he was familiar with the dragon’s Mayfair residence, it would be a simple matter to set up the assassination there.
Oh Amberley, he thought as he crooked a smile, you’re a dead man. Just like all the rest.
Then he swung up onto his horse, which he’d left hitched to a post around the corner, and rode off to the Docklands.
He’d tucked Saffie away at the lowliest of Father’s establishments catering to the Navy and merchant sailors coming and going. No one would take any notice of her there.
In the brothel, the duke’s former scullery maid, his unwitting accomplice in the poisoning, was just another whore.
The ride through the dark streets of London kept his libido sufficiently distracted until Seth rode up to the tawdry entrance of the low but lucrative Aphrodite’s Cove.
The women here were the workaday harlots, the ordinary cattle with ordinary looks, not those lucky few with dazzling faces, perfect bodies, and enough brains to learn how to carry themselves with elegance—the sort Father picked out to become his high-priced courtesans.
Their kind got fashionable gowns, fine carriages, a box at the theater so that men with real money, including lords, could get a good look at their wares.
Sometimes these investments even yielded rich husbands.
But whenever Father managed to marry off one of his top-drawer girls, it did not mark the end of the income he made off them, but only the beginning, for he charged a steep monthly fee that these courtesans-turned-rich-wives had to pay faithfully, on time.
Or else.
That was the deal the lucky few signed with Elias Flynn, and no woman, no former
whore, was allowed to break it. Even if fifty years had gone by.
Even if she’d long since become a duchess.
Seth smirked at the thought of the dragon lady.
There wasn’t much to smile about, though, considering she was the one who’d got his brother killed. Of course, darling Francis had barely been able to stomach the family trade, but Seth, for his part, admired Father’s sharklike business acumen.
The ruthlessness of his sire was a wonder to behold.
As soon as he walked through the door to one of the family brothels, the familiar sights and sounds and smells of it, and his overwhelming awareness of what this place was all about let him discard the burden of what he was sworn to do: kill Amberley.
He let the onerous task dissolve in the cloud of tobacco smoke that hovered beneath the rafter beams and between the red-painted walls. The place was busy tonight. Should be making good money. He took a few steps in, looking for Saffie.
The cheap carpet was sticky underfoot from countless ales spilled on it, and everywhere were the women, Father’s human cattle, leaning against the walls, fanning themselves, their faces painted, bosoms on display, all ready and available. Fully under control, too, the way a woman should be.
Seth could feel his blood pumping, and his stare homed in on the waifish little blonde sprawled in the chair by the fireplace, waving her gaudy fan with an air of boredom, clad in a crimson dress.
It had been his idea to rename her Scarlet and dress her up in red so that she’d fit in here. But she was off-limits to the customers.
Saffie was studying the ends of her hair when he walked in, as though it were deeply engrossing.
He shook his head, perplexed. What on earth was she about now? But he shrugged it off. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for conversation.
She looked up just then and saw him sauntering in. The girl lit up, and Seth smiled vaguely, nodding toward the hallway. She jumped to her feet, suddenly animated, but he had warned her not to be too open about their connection.
Instinctively, his little nitwit accomplice started toward him, but then she must’ve remembered his instructions, for she smiled almost slyly and twirled around to strut off toward the hallway he had indicated and get on her back.
Seth’s mouth watered with anticipation. He had corrupted her utterly, he knew, but he didn’t give a damn.
“Sir,” said the house manager. Who knew exactly who he was.
Most there didn’t, for Seth’s work for Father regarding the family business was carried out behind the scenes. This degree of anonymity allowed him to maintain his double life.
He gave the cold-eyed man a discreet nod and then headed up to his usual room. The primal drumbeat of raw, mindless sex slammed inside his chest as he surrendered to his want, letting it take him.
He was already hard when he reached for the doorknob to Room 22.
When he went in, Saffie was already waiting for him, sitting prettily on the edge of the cot, leaning back with her hands propped behind her.
Her shapely legs were crossed, those frilly skirts hitched up over her crossed knees. The bobbing of her foot betrayed her excitement to see him.
Seth eyed the bare stretch of thigh exposed above her garter as he shut the door behind him. And locked it.
“Oh Johnny, you missin’ me tonight?”
She called him that because one did not tell such a creature one’s real name. “Badly,” Seth said.
He tore off his jacket and crossed the room, unbuttoning his breeches.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said with a squirm and a little hungry whimper, like a bitch in heat.
His pulse leapt.
There was a stale smell in the room but he ignored it, pulling off his shirt, throwing it aside.
“When can I get out of here, Johnny?” she asked restlessly as he walked over to her and slid his hand right down inside the top of her gown.
“What?” he mumbled as he grasped her breast and quivered.
“It’s so boring here! Why can’t I ever go outside?”
The little nitwit didn’t seem to realize she was lucky to be alive. By all rights, he should have strangled her and dumped the body in the river to cover his tracks after the poisoning had failed.
But she had been of use to him, and Seth had found he didn’t have the heart. No, he had a better use for her for the time being.
So he’d left her alive for now.
“Don’t fret, Saffie,” he said, laughing at her pout as he pulled the gown off her left shoulder. “I’ve only given you a few simple rules to follow.”
“I know,” she whined. “I don’t mind the house chores, but—”
“Good. Because you’ve got to earn your keep here in some fashion. And, after all, you’ve got nowhere else to go.”
She sighed. “I suppose.” Then she arched her back, pushing a nubile breast deeper into the curve of his hand. “At least you’re here now. I’m getting really good at this for you, aren’t I?”
“Practice makes perfect.” He squeezed her other breast, nigh bursting from his trousers at her wanton response. “Your hand, dear.”
Saffie’s hands were strong from scrubbing pots and pans in Amberley’s scullery. Her true talents had been wasted there.
Seth groaned at her touch.
Saffie licked her lips, warming to her new work as she grasped his burgeoning erection.
She giggled when she felt him throb. “Oh, Johnny, so randy you are!”
“Because I knew I’d be seeing you, poppet.”
She leaned forward as she stroked him and kissed his bare stomach a few times with a sigh of adoration. He petted her head while she sucked him for a while. “Johnny, I love you so much. Have you finished that errand for your father yet?”
“Almost.”
“Oh, good! I’m so keen for us to marry.”
“Me too,” he said, panting. Idiot. “Now turn over.”
“So impatient,” she chided, but obeyed, moving onto all fours at the edge of the bed. “You really needed this tonight.”
“You have no idea,” he said gruffly. Unceremoniously tossing her skirts up over that round, ready ass, he stood at the edge of the bed, grasped her bare hips, and took her roughly from behind, thrusting in deep.
With Saffie facing away from him and his eyes drifting closed, Seth could ignore the reality of where he was and who he was, and even whose body it was gratifying him. In his mind, it was easy to imagine she was someone else, under his power and taking whatever he gave her.
Someone with class, like Mother.
Someone worthy of him.
Someone he would take, just like this, once Amberley was dead.
CHAPTER 20
The Dandy
A man could not get properly engaged without a ring for his lady. And so, first thing Monday morning, Connor jumped lightly out of his coach after Will had parked it on Bond Street. Nestor and the lad waited with the horses while Connor strode across the pavement to the jeweler’s elegant front door.
When he went into the sumptuous shop with its Persian carpet and crystal chandeliers, surrounded by the reverent hush of beautiful, expensive objects, he still marveled to think that he could now afford whatever he wished to buy in this top-lofty place.
Good. An ostentatious diamond on the finger of his duchess would be something Maggie could flaunt in Delia’s face.
It would also help remind the ton of his rank as the fourth Duke of Amberley, and how they owed him their respect, Irish blood or not.
He meandered around the shop with a sense of unreality about all of this, until a glittering mass of white diamond flanked by twinkling emeralds caught his eye. Slowly, a smile crept across his lips.
As he went toward the shining glass case where the ring was on display, he could not help mentally poking fun of himself. Who in the world ever would’ve thought he was such a bloody romantic? If his troops could see him now, wrapped around the finger of a little gray-eyed miss with prett
y ankles.
Relishing the knowledge that, soon, everything above those ankles would belong to him, he was downright eager to pay the princely sum the jeweler quoted him for the bauble. He ordered the little man to hold the ring for him—he’d buy it, but he needed to find out his fair lady’s ring size.
Then he walked back outside, debating with himself whether it was better to surprise his bride or bring her to the shop and make sure she liked the ring first. He still shuddered to think of how close he had come to botching his proposal.
Thank God she was so patient with him. And then she had said such lovely things to him…
With memories of her caring whispers trailing through his mind, he drifted back toward his carriage. Annoyed at the necessary delay in his purchase of the ring, the notion occurred to him that surely he ought to buy her something to celebrate their engagement.
He glanced around at the nearby shops lining the famous street. He was already here, after all, and Bond Street was London’s premiere place to find treasures for sale. But what should he get her? He was no expert in female fripperies…
At that moment, whom should he spot dancing out of the fine haberdashery on the corner than Maggie’s former suitor, Bryce?
Connor’s eyes narrowed. He had not forgotten that he owed that blackguard a thrashing for what he’d done to her when he’d seen her walking in the rain.
Connor gestured to Will and Nestor to wait for him with the carriage, and strode after the dandy, eager for a word.
Bryce was engrossed in admiring the new hat he had just purchased, apparently, to replace the one that Connor had destroyed.
Taken off guard when Connor seized him by the shoulder, the marquess’s heir flew across the pavement like a rag doll, then found himself slammed flat against the brick wall next to the haberdashery’s bow window.
“Amberley!” he sputtered, paling. “Wh-what the hell do you want, you insane Paddy?”
People in the fashionable street turned to stare, noticing the row.
Connor ignored them, irked at the slur.
“A word, my lord.” He hauled Bryce into the nearby alley flanking the corner shop.
