by Lavinia Kent
And men would worship her if she allowed them.
—
Her hips pressed hard against the back of the settee, her feet braced hard on the floor. She felt Derek’s hands settle hard on her buttocks, pulling them apart.
Then he was in her, so good, so hard, needed.
One hand lifted, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, arching her back. His other hand held her fast, bracing her as he plunged in, filling her as she needed to be filled.
“God, yes,” she cried as he pulled out and thrust again, harder.
She slammed her hips back, meeting him, wanting more.
He did not disappoint. He pulled out completely, made her wait, and then pressed in until his balls slapped against her.
She rubbed her hips forward, trying to find friction against the settee. The man made her feel like a cat in heat, her whole body ready to incinerate at a moment’s notice.
As if sensing her need, the hand that had held her hips in place slipped around her, working its way between her legs, finding that spot, rubbing her clit hard and firm, timing each movement to the thrust of his hips.
The tempo grew faster.
She felt her whole body speed, her muscles clenching and tightening, reaching for that place, for that need.
“Harder, harder,” she groaned.
“As you command.” He pushed forward, pressing her tight. She had to bring her arms forward, to brace herself to prevent from slipping.
His lips were on the back of her neck, nipping, laving. Each tiny shot of pain zinging right between her lips, her body a single sensation, growing, tightening, growing.
He was panting behind her, his breath heavy on her neck.
More, she needed more. She tried to shift her hips, to bend herself further. He filled her fully and still she wanted more.
She pushed on the balls of her feet.
His teeth scraped along her neck.
God, it was coming. She could feel it fill her, feel herself ready to burst, her whole being a tightly wound screw.
He slammed forward. His wicked fingers stroking her, pressing her, squeezing her. The intensity of the sensation was raw, almost painful. It felt almost as if her skin were gone and he stroked the very core of her.
She was going to lose it. She was going to come right now.
Biting down on her lip, she held it back.
Not yet.
He needed to be with her.
Not yet.
She would not be conquered. She would hold strong.
So good.
God.
As if sensing her resistance, his fingers moved faster, his cock thrust impossibly deeper.
He stiffened. She could feel the brace of his thighs against her own.
He pulled back. Held a moment.
Then slammed forward, hard, fast.
It was too much.
The dam broke.
Her neck arched.
The cry left her lips.
Her body clenched around his, strong, tight.
He surged further. She could feel it happen, feel him come apart.
And she gave in, screaming her pleasure as she felt him spurt hard within her.
His lips bit down, hard, deep, cutting.
The pain added to her own sensations.
Too much. Too much. God.
Her body spasmed, unable to stay still.
Her eyes went wide; the room swirled with color.
One last scream.
And then it was over. She collapsed forward, letting her body fall over the front of the settee.
Deep breaths. Air. She needed air. It was hard to breathe. Her stays still held her tight, her bodice still gripping her breasts. Hot. Damp. Only her bare legs were cool where Derek’s heat did not warm them.
Another breath. Another.
She was sweating. She was damp—and sticky.
Her eyes opened, focus returned.
“Damn and blast,” she muttered. “I was not going to do this.”
“Do what?” he sounded as winded as she.
“I was going to exercise caution. I was certainly not planning on letting you tup me in the parlor again before we’d even said our greetings.”
“I think this is a mighty fine way of expressing welcome.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. You were supposed to go upstairs and wait for me. I meant to treat you like any other patron.”
“But, I am not any other patron.”
“No, you are not and that is the problem.”
“I am still in you and you are calling me a problem.” He slipped out, cleaned himself with a pocket square, and buttoned his breeches. He stepped away and rounded the settee before coming to settle on it.
She stood straight, her black skirt falling about her. She gave a little shimmy and shake. He probably hadn’t even mussed her hair much. Hell, there were plenty of evenings when she aimed to look like a woman who’d just had a good tumble. She just wished she didn’t feel so much like one.
Rounding the settee after him, she settled in the chair across from it. “I can’t go on like this. I am not setting a good example. I can’t ask one thing of my girls and act another.”
“Why? You are the boss.”
“And you damn well know it is not that simple. There are some rules that are different and some the same. Behavior with men has always been the same. I cannot act like this.”
“Don’t argue with me, Ruby. I’ve had a tough day.”
Now, that was the wrong tone to take. “You’ve had a hard day?”
“Yes.” He bit the word off.
“And you think I’ve had an easy one?”
“God, sometimes a man just needs to relieve a little tension.”
“And that’s what this was, a way to relieve tension?”
“Yes. No. God, why do women always have to make everything so complicated? You and Anne both, nothing can ever be simple.”
Anne? Ten minutes ago she’d been on the edge of her seat waiting for his arrival and now she’d like to boot him to the door. “Would you like to sit down and tell me about it? Should I send for some tea and whiskey?”
“And some bread and cheese. I haven’t had any dinner.”
Ruby raised a hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t even sure which of them was being sarcastic any longer. “Oh, but you’re already sitting.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t nourish me.”
This was not how the evening was supposed to go, on so many different levels. She pushed a fake smile up her cheeks, not even trying to look natural and at ease. “Why don’t you tell me about your long day first? Tell me about Anne.”
“Anne?” She could see him playing for time.
“Anne.”
He raised his head and stared across at her. “She’s my fiancée, or she will be in a couple of days’ time. I should have asked her to marry me in Manchester, but she wants a large engagement ball. Do you have any idea how many details must be managed for such a thing? And I am not even the one throwing it.”
“I do have some idea. I can’t say that I’ve ever put on such a show or even attended one, but I’ve managed a few affairs.” She kept her face still, allowing no piece of what she was feeling to show. Madame Rouge would not be angry over such a thing—she understood the life she led. There must be something else she could concentrate on. A grand affair. A society ball. She’d dreamed of attending one when she was younger. Lord Percy had always promised to take her, had assured her that no one would notice one more girl, but it had never happened. She doubted he’d ever intended it to.
“Then you’ll understand the day I’ve had—and that does not even begin to include the other things I must do, the important things, the cargoes I must arrange, the warehouse I must be assured is emptied, the merchants I must deal with. I was away far longer than I meant and everything is stacked up—and the delays, the endless delays. And with the Dawn’s Light having had time f
or an extra journey, I’ve got far stranger inventory that I had imagined. For some reason I don’t know, Timms decided to fill a galley with terra-cotta pots in Spain. What am I going to do with three thousand terra-cotta pots?”
“So Anne, the fiancée you have never mentioned, does not count as important?” The bitterness was leaking through. There was nothing she could do to hold it back.
“Are we back to arguing? Of course she’s important. And I’ve never mentioned her because she has nothing to do with us.”
Nothing to do with them? Did he really feel that way? He probably did. He did like things simple. “I am not sure who is the fool here,” she said. “You for thinking that she doesn’t matter or me for thinking she does. What I do know is that you should have told me.”
“I never think of her when I am here.”
“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” If only she could find her sense of calm, of peace. She could not allow herself to be so upset—but how could she hold it back when she felt the sharp edge of the dagger in her heart? Calm. She must find calm. It must not end like this.
“Can’t we just let this go?” Derek asked, his tone soft. “It has nothing to do with us.”
Ruby rose and arranged her skirts about her. She walked toward the door.
“Are you leaving? Do you expect me to leave? I can assure you that my marriage does not matter.”
“Yes. No. And you are a fool.”
Derek stood, rising to his full height. “You make me want to leave. My head is beginning to ache. This is not what I wanted for this evening.”
“I would have to say that it is not what I had in mind either. I must attend to business. I have been neglectful these last nights. I thought I would walk you up the stairs and make you comfortable to wait for my return.”
She watched him open his mouth and then close it. Biting back a retort?
“If you would rather you may leave,” she said, after a moment. “I certainly cannot keep you if you wish to go.”
He took a step toward her. “No, despite this foolishness, I do not wish to leave.”
“Good. I would like you to stay—at least for tonight. After that I do not know.” And that was truer than she liked to admit. At this moment she knew nothing.
Running a hand through his already rumpled curls, he paused. “What does that mean?”
She turned back to the door, did not look at his face. She would give him the honesty he had denied her. “Would you believe me if I said I did not know? I always swore I would not sleep with a married man and I have held to that. I will not be my mother, nor will I do that injury to another woman.”
He reached out and placed a hand upon her arm. “Do you really think Anne would care?”
She stepped away, letting his fingers fall from her arm. “I do not know, but that is not the point.”
“Then…?”
“I said I do not know. Do not push me now or I will send you away. If you were already married I know what I would do despite all temptation. I must figure out how to react to the almost married—and to the fact that you did not find it important enough to tell me.”
“I would have told you if I was married—only I wouldn’t have been here if I was married. I do intend to take that vow seriously.” He did not sound happy.
“I am glad of that. You do seem a man to take a promise seriously. Now, let Simms take you up and I will join you shortly. I am putting you in the duke’s room in honor of our first night together. I hope you enjoy the shower bath again.”
“I was rather thinking of the tub. I will always remember how you looked in damp linen.”
A bitter smile twisted upon her lips. “Did you know even then that you were off to Manchester to find a wife?”
“I was off to Manchester to find a weaving machine—but yes, I knew that a wife might come with it. I had not fully decided how I would respond.”
It was hard to know if that was better or worse. Would it matter if it had all been resolved before they ever met? She hated the thought that he would ever have sought out a brothel with the commitment already settled, but it was not better to think that he had decided to marry another after meeting her.
She knew she was not a woman who men would marry, but she did not need to have the dagger thrust repeatedly into her breast.
“Go with Simms,” she said. “I will join you when I can.”
Chapter 13
Was she coming? Derek lay sprawled upon the great bed, still fully dressed. He wouldn’t blame her if she did not. Why had he ever mentioned Anne? He certainly had not meant to, but he did not think it had been a complete slip either; his innate sense of honesty had won out. The situation had made him uncomfortable and he could not regret that the truth was finally known.
But was she coming?
His stomach roiled at the thought she might not. He was not prepared for it to be over.
He wiped a hand up his face. Only what did it matter? There was nowhere for them to go. These last days might have been some of the best of his life, but that didn’t mean they could last. He would have said goodbye to her when he wed. Granted he’d also be heading back to Rhode Island, so the choice would not have been difficult. But regardless, he did believe in being faithful, even to a wife who was not of his choice. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about a fiancée. That was not the same as a wife.
There was nothing wrong with continuing with his lover until the vows were said.
He’d spoken truthfully when he’d said Anne would not mind. She’d made it clear that all she cared about was that he could keep her in the manner to which she was accustomed and that the match would be profitable for her family. She’d been much less sure about moving to the colonies—as she so graciously described his homeland.
Footsteps in the hall, light, feminine.
He waited.
No, they had passed. They were not Ruby’s.
He rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary. Perhaps he should just head back to his rented rooms.
Even if Ruby did appear, what could he expect? He certainly did not wish to…
Hell, he didn’t even know what he wished. He swung off the bed and began to pace about the room, a caged wolf. It should have been so easy, come back, spend a few nights with Ruby, and then forget about her. Only it was impossible to forget about her; she dominated his thoughts.
Perhaps it was best to make a clean break. There was a decent chance that she was going to send him packing anyway. She’d not been pleased before he told her about Anne—and after…Well, he could hardly blame her. Most people might have found it unreasonable that a woman in her profession would care about a wife or even an almost wife, but he did understand Ruby’s position and her past.
Yes, she would probably…
And then he heard the water splash.
He turned to the door leading down to the bathing chamber.
Ruby had told him there were only two doors to the room, one from this chamber and one from her own. Could Ruby…? The footsteps he’d heard in the hall. Where was her room? He’d never inquired. Could it be…? His mind skipped from thought to thought.
His feet needed no such delay. He walked to the door and placed his hand upon the handle, his mind filled with images of their first encounter, of Ruby attired in damp linen kneeling above him in the bath, of her breasts pressing tight against the fabric, of her pale nipples showing through, of the shadow between her legs—and of her face damp with steam, her lips full from kisses, her eyes heavy with passion.
His cock thickened against his leg, the sharp edge of desire biting into him.
The handle twisted easily beneath his hand, the dark wood door easing open. Steam and the scent of soft perfume met him. His boots clicked as he tread down the white marble stairs that led into the chamber. The shower bath stood empty before him. Steam rose in a wafting column from its bucket, but no slender body stood ready to receive the gentle flow of rain.
He turne
d to the large brass tub. At first he thought it was empty, but then he heard another splash, saw the long, delicate foot curl over the edge.
He knew that foot.
The thought made him smile. He’d never thought to recognize a woman by her foot.
He stepped closer.
A slender hand gripped the edge of the tub, and then slowly the wet woman rose, water streaming from long blond curls. Suds still clung about her neck and chin. She didn’t look at him but picked up the brass cup and began to pour water over her head, letting it trail down her face and chest, washing the suds away.
Her eyes were closed, the now pale lashes spiky against her cheeks. Blond curls clung to her neck. Another cup of water. Another splash. The smell of perfume was stronger now, filling the room like a garden. There must be oil in the water.
The very scent had his cock swelling even more, his balls drawing high. It was her scent. He doubted he’d ever smell it again without his body reacting.
Another step.
He could see down into the tub, see the soft swell of breasts half covered by water, the small waves of her movement dancing about the barely submerged nipples. The lower half of her body was more hidden by the water, but his memory filled in what his eyes could not see.
She set down the cup and leaned back, shaking her damp hair over the edge of the tub. The foot that lay on the edge of the tub moved, her thighs opening wider.
His gaze dropped down into the water, to the treasured secrets that it hid. One of her arms moved beneath the rippling surface. He swallowed as he understood its movement, understood the small gestures as it slipped between her legs.
Her other hand, the one that had held the cup, moved to her breast, cupping and stroking, the middle finger rising to circle the still-soft nipples. Her head fell back, her lips parting, her breath whispering through the steam as it rose from the tub.
Her fingers kept gliding over the smooth flesh, small circles and then larger ones. She plucked lightly on the nipple, elongating it and then letting it fall back. Her fingers splayed across the whole breast and then returned to the nipple, plucking and releasing, plucking and releasing.
His heart began to pound to that same rhythm.
