He wrapped his arm about her waist and devoured her sweet offering, sucking and nipping her tender flesh while using his other hand to return the gift of pleasure to her.
Agatha was dimly aware that she was next to naked in the parlor, with Simon’s hands and mouth upon her while she threaded her fingers through his black hair to urge him closer. She was even more vaguely appalled at her own wanton ability not to care.
“Tell me what you want,” he growled into her breasts, his breath hot on her skin. “Say the words.”
“I want you inside me,” she gasped. He drove his fingers deeper in response, making her quiver. But it wasn’t enough. “I want you.”
“In time,” he murmured. “First I want to watch you come apart. Simon says, fly for me.”
Agatha whimpered as he began to touch her in rapid stroking motions that sent ecstasy splintering through her.
With gasping sighs, she rode his probing fingers until she could stand no more. He seemed to sense that, and the pressure changed. Suddenly his slippery fingertips moved forward, caressing somewhere else entirely.
She remembered his mouth upon her there, tasting her, nibbling and flickering over her, and the memory combined with the new rougher sensations was enough to send her over the edge.
She cried out, then clapped a hand over her own mouth as she helplessly continued to spasm with pleasure.
“Oh, God, damsel—oh, God, I have to—” Dimly she felt his hands return to fumble between them and used the last of her conscious will to pull away slightly to allow him to release his erection.
Each brush of his knuckles against her threatened to set her off again. She leaned her face against his neck, trying to gather her wits and her strength.
But it was no use. When he at last drove into her with an animal growl of triumph, she felt the wave sweep her up once more.
Simon thrust forcefully into her slippery heat. Then he withdrew until he barely held his position at her cleft.
“Oh, please.…” She quivered above him. “Simon … I need … please…”
Simon grasped her bottom hard and drove upward, forcing a cry from her lips. She shuddered in his hands as he pierced her again and again.
His woman. His.
She was such a sight above him, such a vision of abandon in the daylight. His own eruption began building. He took a hard pink nipple in his mouth and sucked deeply. In reaction, Agatha jolted violently upon him, then began to tremble anew.
When he felt her spasm around him, he’d not the control to hold out any longer. Burying his face into her breasts, he groaned aloud from the sheer shuddering power of his release.
She collapsed upon him, sagging in his grasp. He kept her there, only shifting enough to lean back against the cushions with her in his arms, still wrapped quivering around him.
He’d never seen a woman orgasm so powerfully, without reservation or self-conscious restraint. It was uniquely Agatha, although he had to admit to a certain exhausted pride in his own role.
She finally began to breathe more easily upon him. With one finger, he tipped back her chin to see her face.
“Are you still with me?”
She nodded, taking one last ragged breath. “I may be dead soon, but not yet.”
“Why would you be dead?”
“Because it grows better every time. And if it grows better than that, I shall surely die.”
“That good?”
“Yes, that good, as you very well know.” She wriggled to lie beside him, her legs still draped over his. “You still haven’t answered my question. And now I have another.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He stroked a lock of her mussed hair from her face, although she was astonishingly unrumpled from what they had just done. In fact, she was lovelier than ever.
Her skin glowed with satiation, and her sweet lips were further swollen and pinked. Never had her brown eyes been brighter or her gaze gentler.
“Not merely pretty,” he murmured. “I can’t believe I ever thought you so.”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Oh, I’m well enough, I suppose. But I’m no Lavinia.”
He could tell that she was not merely fishing for reassurance. She honestly believed it. He obviously had not been doing his job. A man who couldn’t make his woman feel beautiful was neglecting his function. Simon only wished he had the rest of his life to do it properly.
He took her face in both palms and made her raise her gaze to his. “Do you still want to know why I suspected you in the beginning?”
She nodded, watching him with wide eyes.
“This is why—this way that you make me feel by simply breathing the same air that I breathe. I couldn’t believe it was real. I’d never been so susceptible to a woman before, and I couldn’t believe it was not some artifice, some spell you wove apurpose.”
She blinked at him. “But I’m so ordinary—”
He kissed the thought right out of her mind. When he raised his head, she’d apparently forgotten what she had been about to say. He smiled.
“You are a most extraordinary woman, damsel. And I intend to make sure that you remember that.” He tucked her against him once more. “Now what was the other question?”
“Oh, yes. My other question is … Do you think James is coming back to finish your session?”
With horror, Simon realized where and when they were. “Oh, God, Agatha, I’m sorry.” He sat them both up and began tugging her bodice up once more.
She helped him while regarding him with a smile. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who sat upon you.”
“True. However, as much as I enjoy being sat upon, I fear we must be more discreet.” He put himself back in order as well.
“That will be difficult, for I cannot look at you without wanting you within me.”
Her simple honesty took his breath away. He gazed into the warmth of those long-lashed brown eyes and wished he could keep her forever.
Then she toppled the moment by grimacing and squirming off the sofa. “But I never suspected it was all so very … messy.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid it is rather basic in nature—”
There was a discreet tap on the door. When Agatha raised her voice to answer, Simon had to admire her nonchalant tone. Then Pearson appeared in the doorway.
“Madam, there are two gentlemen here to see you.”
“Oh, hell, not bloody Etheridge again,” muttered Simon.
“No, sir. It is a Lord Fistingham and—”
Pearson was shoved rudely aside and two men entered the room. One was older and shorter, with a balding head and a round girth.
The other was tall and would have been called devastatingly good-looking by any definition. Golden-haired and possessed of a physique to make women drool, he strolled cockily into the parlor. He waved a folded news-sheet triumphantly at Agatha.
“Ha!” the fellow said. “I knew it was you, Agatha. You didn’t know that we get the London papers at Fistingham, did you?”
He tossed the paper down on the side table and posed before Agatha with his chin thrust out aggressively. “Did you think that I wouldn’t remember the many tricks you and your brother played on me, then blamed on your imaginary Mortimer Applequist?”
“Reggie?” Agatha said faintly.
Simon stared. This was Repulsive Reggie?
Agatha turned toward Simon, instinctively reaching toward him for help. It took only the tiny flash of fear in Agatha’s eyes to send his fury to its zenith.
He struck so quickly that all Agatha saw was a blur. One moment, Simon was standing beside her. The next, with a roar and a crashing impact, he had Reggie pinned to the wood-paneled wall, hands about his throat.
“What’s this? Stop that!” Lord Fistingham raised his walking stick to break it over Simon’s head.
Agatha stepped quickly beneath it and snatched it before he realized what she was about. “My apologies, my lord, but I cannot allow you to strike him.”
Then she turned to the purpling Reggie. “Reginald, may I introduce Simon Rain? I fear he has an unfavorable view of you.”
“Why?” demanded his lordship. “I say, let him go before I call the magistrate!” He turned to Agatha. “What have you been telling this man?”
“The truth, I’m afraid,” she replied. She tapped Simon on the shoulder. “Darling, please let Reggie go. His lordship is going to make a terrible fuss if you kill his heir.”
“No,” Simon growled. He gave Reggie’s neck an extra wrench. “Not until he’s dead.”
“What the bloody hell is going on in here?”
Agatha turned to see a fascinated audience of servants in the doorway. Armed servants. Sarah Cook brandished a giant rolling pin, while Pearson carried a fire-iron.
And there stood James, who held a pistol in one hand.
Lord Fistingham gasped. “James!”
Even Reggie managed to turn his head in Simon’s grip. At the sight of James, Reggie’s eyes widened in astonishment. The fight went out of him then, and he hung limply from Simon’s hands.
“Fistingham? Reggie? What are you two doing here?” James looked from one man to the other. Then he seemed to notice Simon’s murderous intentions. “Ah, Simon? Reggie surely deserves whatever you think he does, but would you mind killing him later? I’m truly curious now. I’d like an explanation.”
Agatha stepped back as Simon reluctantly liberated Reggie, and the five of them stood in an uneasy circle in the center of the room.
Lord Fistingham seemed unable to believe his eyes. He kept looking wonderingly at James and shaking his head. “It’s over,” he mumbled. “It’s all over.”
James looked at Agatha. “Do you have any idea what he’s speaking of?”
“I rather think he’s disappointed that you are alive, for that means he cannot force me to marry Reggie.”
“Marry Reggie? I should bloody well hope not! Not after what he did to you, the bounder!” James shot Reggie a venomous glare.
Agatha’s mouth dropped open. “You knew?”
“Of course I knew. Mott knew, the servants knew, we all knew, except for Papa, because he didn’t want to know. Why do you think you never went anywhere alone after that? Why do you think he never dared get close enough to touch your hand after that day? I beat the living hell out of him, that’s why.”
Agatha stared at her brother’s face, marveling at his white-hot anger. He’d been there for her after all.
She turned to Reggie. “That’s why you thought you could compromise me into marriage, isn’t it? Because you thought Jamie was gone and there was finally no one to stop you.”
Reggie paled, looking from Simon to James. “I don’t know what she’s told you—but she pursued me! Women are always pursuing me—”
Simon moved again, but it was James’s fist that smashed into Reggie’s face and left him slumped groggily on the floor. They all stood and gazed at Reggie, James rubbing his fist with his other hand.
Even Lord Fistingham seemed disinclined to help his son. “Bloody twit,” he muttered. “If he hadn’t ruined his chance with the girl years ago, she would have been easy plucking for him. That face of his would have got her wedded up before she knew what was what.”
Agatha could barely keep from sneering. “Your faith in my sense not withstanding, my lord, I’ve always hated your son. I’d never have been ‘easy plucking.’”
Reggie shook his head. “Bitch unmanned me once already,” he muttered. “And now this. I won’t marry a sorry cow like her now, no matter how many notes he holds.” He jerked his head toward James.
Agatha blinked. “You hold his IOUs?”
James nodded grimly. “Many of them. Enough to take Fistingham, what isn’t entailed.”
Lord Fistingham wheezed. “The pretty simpleton ran us out of every penny with his gambling. He had to marry you. It tied everything up so neatly. I’d have had possession of Appleby and its income, and we’d have wiped out any chance that you’d find those IOUs and call them in.”
James angrily answered his lordship, but Agatha wasn’t listening. She was too worried about Simon. He’d not taken his lethal glare off Reggie for a moment. From the way Simon held himself poised in predatory readiness she had the distinct impression that he was keeping himself on a very short, very weak leash.
“Jamie,” she interrupted, “Simon still wants to kill something.”
James looked at Simon. “Oh, hell. Simon? Simon, stand down!”
There was no response from Simon, not an easing of his stance, not a glance aside from his target. Reggie began to seem truly afraid.
“What’s he doing? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s fine, Reggie,” replied Agatha. “I fear you are the one who is doomed.” She glanced at James. “Simon has never by any chance … killed anyone, has he?”
James shrugged. “I’ve no idea. He never tells me anything.” He carefully approached Simon but didn’t touch him. “Simon, old man. You can’t kill Reggie. I know he’s a bad sort and needs killing, but this house is only rented, and Aggie will have to replace all the rugs and things if you get them bloodied up.”
Logic wasn’t working. Agatha stepped up. She put her hand gently on Simon’s arm. He twitched beneath her touch but never looked away from Reggie, who was by now frankly cowering.
Stepping between the two men, Agatha slid her hand slowly up Simon’s arm to his shoulder. She leaned in close.
“Do you know, I can still feel you inside me,” she whispered to him. She trailed her fingers over his shoulder and stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. “I never think of Reggie or of fear anymore. I only think of you. Come back to me, Simon.”
With a giant shudder, Simon finally tore his hunting-lion stare from Reggie. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was back.
Reggie whimpered and collapsed limply on the floor. “I want to go home,” he whined.
Lord Fistingham was finally able to take a breath himself. He moved to leave and strode by Reggie, stopping to plant a swift kick in his son’s pants as he passed. “Get up and get out while you can, you fool! Who knows when that madman will go off again?”
“Oh, Fistingham?” called James as the two men scrambled for the door. “Don’t forget that little matter of the vowels. I’m not happy that you tried to compromise my sister, not at all. I’m giving all my records of your debts to her as of today. Do keep that in mind, won’t you?”
“Oh, thank you, James. That’s a lovely thought.” Agatha turned back to Simon. “You see, I now have them just where I want them.”
Simon took a deep breath and gave her a strained half-smile. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather let Kurt have them for a moment?”
Agatha shook her head. “No. As entertaining as that sounds, I’d rather never spend another moment worrying about either of them.”
Then she smiled sweetly. “But I’ll be sure to tell every woman on the Fistingham estate to alert me if Reggie so much as pats a single bottom.”
Simon let his rage go in a gust of laughter, then gathered her close in a tight hug.
“Ah—Ethelbert?” James indicated the watching servants with a nod.
Simon released Agatha and turned to Pearson. “I don’t suppose all this could be forgotten?”
Pearson blinked serenely. “All what, sir?”
Harry pointed. “Him gone mad like a cat sighting a mouse, Uncle. And her calling him Simon, and that Reggie fellow—”
Agatha didn’t see Pearson move, but suddenly Harry went red and gasped, “All what, sir?”
“Thank you, Harry.” She smiled at her little Carriage Square family. “My thanks to all of you. I couldn’t ask for a better band of friends.”
Pearson actually blushed at that. He gave a stiff bow. “Madam.” Then the audience was gone, leaving Agatha alone with James and Simon.
Agatha smiled, her ancient fear of Reggie snuffed like a candle. Then she saw the glower on James’s face.
&
nbsp; “Jamie, what is it? We handled Reggie beautifully. He’ll never bother me again.”
“No, Reggie won’t.” James’s glare targeted Simon. “But what about you, Simon?”
Agatha put a hand to her hair. Blast it. James had noticed her mussed state. She’d truly fumbled her plan now, for she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to suffer objection from James.
Simon only gazed calmly back at James. “I can make no such promise, my friend.”
James stared at him, jaw working furiously. “Damn it, Simon! She’s my little sister!”
Agatha moved closer to Simon. “James, please understand. I love you terribly, but I am little no longer. I know what I want.”
“But, Agatha, you’ll be ruined, ostracized, if you’re discovered. I’m supposed to protect you from this very thing!”
“I know.” She stepped softly to James and gently removed the pistol from his hand unnoticed. He gazed at her with anguish in his eyes. “Someday you’ll understand.”
James looked from one to the other, then shook his head. “If this is any example of the pain love will bring me, I don’t want it.”
His words struck Simon with a jolt. For he did want it, pain and all. He’d freely trade a lifetime of numb existence for one moment of Agatha’s loving gaze, even if it was followed by the agony of leaving her.
The clock struck three in the hall, and Agatha started.
“Oh! I nearly forgot. There’s a meeting of the volunteers at the hospital at four o’clock. I must change.”
Simon reached to stop her as she bustled by him. “But they think you’re in mourning. Surely they’ll excuse you.”
She furrowed her brow at him. “But I’m not really. And I refuse to use that as an excuse not to do my duty. Surely you of all people can understand that?”
Simon let her go, a half-smile on his face. Indeed he did understand. He turned to James. “I’ll accompany her to the hospital. She’ll be safe enough there. The place is nothing but soldiers as far as the eye can see. Then I’ve some business at the club. Anything you’d like for me to do for you while I’m out?”
James watched him with narrowed eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Kindly drop dead.”
Simon shook his head. “Sorry, old man. I can’t do it, not even for you. We need each other, she and I, even if it only be for now.”
Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 01] Page 27
