by Sharon Page
She wrapped her hand around his shaft. Relief hit her as it pulsed, then hardened under her touch. Despite his carved-from-marble expression, his body revealed how much he did like this.
She wished she could go back in time and they were still at his hunting box, when lovemaking had become more exhilarating, more sweet and wild each time they did it.
She unfastened his trousers. His erection lifted his silky drawers. He was aroused, but he still exuded frost. She had to do something. Something that he couldn’t resist. Slowly, she licked her lips and leaned toward his lap.
“Stop.”
He stood, looming over her. He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders. His erection stuck out from the open placket of his trousers, thick, rigid, pointing at her. “Do you want this?” he asked hoarsely. “Or are you doing this to manipulate and distract me?”
“I’m sorry …” She couldn’t bear the raw confusion on his face. “Even though we are in the same carriage, it feels like there is a wall of ice between us. I’m a whore. I don’t know how else to make you stop being angry with me.”
“Angel, you were never afraid of my anger before. You provoked it many times, when you were battering away at my stubborn idiocy.” He lifted her hand. He leaned down and kissed her index finger. “You aren’t a whore, love. Don’t call yourself that. You are so much more. You are the woman who tried to stop my nightmares.”
He sucked on her middle finger. “The woman who taught me to listen to the rain.”
He used the tip of her ring finger to trace his lips. “The woman who helped my sister. The woman who tried to heal me, no matter how damned stupidly I behaved.”
His touch made her tremble. The softness of his tone gave her hope. Perhaps her seduction was working. Daringly, she leaned forward and planted a kiss to his swaying cock. He tasted earthy, slightly sour, delectable. Parting her lips wider, she took him inside. Her eyes shut, and she focused only on pleasing him.
His moans were hard, filled with desire. “It’s been only five days since you ran away from my bed, angel, but it feels like a lifetime. Erotic thoughts about you, along with unbearable worry, haunted me as I rode to London. Do you know how difficult it is to ride with an erection?”
Still using her mouth to embrace his shaft, which kept swelling larger, she shook her head.
His cock pulsed with every harsh breath he took. “Anne, I was so afraid something had happened to you. That Mick Taylor or your cousin had caught you. Or someone had clapped you in jail. I felt like a blackguard, thinking about all the ways I was going to make love to you when I had you safe, while you could be in danger. I’ve realized there is only one way to keep you under control. I have to keep you with me and make love to you as much as humanly possible.”
A jerk of his hips drew him out of her mouth. “I don’t want this to be a job, a duty for you. I want to drive my cock into you until you forget everything but me. Until you are weak with delight, wild with lust. Just as I feel right now. You’re making me lose my mind, Anne Beddington, and I want to return the favor. But first I want to take you to your house.”
“My house?” she echoed.
“I rented a house for you. You will need somewhere to stay. It’s on the fringes of Mayfair.” He smiled gently. “A short carriage ride from my home.”
He had rented a house. This is the life she could have had, as his mistress. “I cannot stay in a house near Mayfair. Not when there are stories about me in the news sheets.”
“The house has been rented for a Mrs. Osbourne. A widow. I believe we can easily change your appearance again.”
The moment Anne saw the town house Devon had acquired for her, she almost cried. Symmetrical white fronts marched down the street; windows glittered like diamonds. Black railings neatly framed each little property, and steps led up to glossy doors.
It was a lovely street. However, it screamed of respectability. “What if my neighbors find out I’m a courtesan? They will be scandalized.”
“You are worried about shocking neighbors?” He shook his head, as if in disbelief. “After we’ve cleared your name, the house is yours. Whether you choose to remain with me or not.”
Whether she chose … What would she do if she was safe? She’d thought only about escape.
He jumped down from the carriage, then helped her negotiate the steps to the sidewalk. Devon had hastily purchased some veiling and they’d wrapped it around her hat. She could barely see through the lacy shield. He had pulled his hat low to hide his face. At the front door he stood behind her, so his broad back blocked her from the view of anyone on the street, and handed her the key.
She unlocked the door and hurried inside. His true generosity struck her as she stood frozen in the foyer. She could barely take everything in. Gleaming marble tile. A massive chandelier pirouetting in a breeze. Dainty Queen Anne benches. Heart wedged in her throat, Anne went from room to room, discovering that each one was more sumptuous and lovely than the last. In a parlor she spied an enormous pianoforte. She ran to it, giddy with excitement. “This is for me?”
He smiled. “Do you play?”
“I did. It’s been so long.”
“Do you like the house?”
Like the house? “I’m … I’m thunderstruck. Overwhelmed. It is beautiful. I wish …” She wished she could have brought her mother here. Wished desperately they could have fled from Longsworth to a home like this. Mama would still be alive, and she …
How could she have had such a house without being a courtesan with a protector? She wished, perhaps, she hadn’t clung to her decency for so long. But her mother had insisted Anne must never become a light-skirts, even for their survival. It was a vow she couldn’t keep.
“It is what you deserve, Anne. Soon, I hope, you will be able to live here without fear. I went to Mrs. Meadows’s brothel last night—”
“You went there?”
“Looking for clues.”
It also meant he had seen the life she once lived. A blush of embarrassment swept across her face. She didn’t know why this seemed so terrible. Devon had been to brothels. As soon as she’d told him she was once trapped in one, he must have been able to guess everything she’d done. Then his words sank in. “What kind of clues?”
“To the identity of the real killer of your madam.”
Hope soared, then crashed. “You didn’t find out anything. You would have told me.”
“I was rather busy chasing you across the London docks. I did find a witness—one of the girls—who saw a man arrive, apparently a client who wanted you.” He told her everything the girl had seen: a lord disguised with a Venetian mask. This man had murdered Madame in anger because he had paid for Anne, and Madame had lost her.
“Do you know who he is, Anne?”
“No. Who would want me so—”
“Your cousin?”
“No! I can’t believe he would kill someone over me … would he? How could he do such terrible things to have me?” She shivered in fear.
“I don’t know, love. It may not be Norbrook, but I will talk with Bow Street. We will find out the truth. The best way to keep you safe is to find out who the man is.”
“What of the girl who spoke to you? She will be in danger!”
“Her name is Sukey. I took her and her mother away from the brothel. They are well hidden and protected.”
Sukey. That sweet, simple girl. Thank heaven, Sukey was now safe. It was so good of Devon. “Without proof of who that man was, the magistrate won’t believe in my innocence,” Anne said grimly. “He will probably think you bribed Sukey to lie for me—”
“I’ll deal with those problems if they arise. For now you should explore your house. And before I go, I’d like to see the bedroom.”
“The bedroom?” she echoed. “Oh, yes, of course.” Not an hour ago, she’d wanted to seduce Devon to coax him to leave her alone. Now she was quivering in shock over the possibility that Sebastian had been willing to kill for her, and she wante
d to embrace Devon and never let him go.
She should please him well to thank him for this generous gift, but for her this was so much more than payment, more than the business of being a mistress. She needed him.
This time, this precious time, he would see her come. The thought had Devon’s desire surging even more. It would be like their very first time, all over again. No—not like the first time. He had been unwilling and angry when she’d first come to him. This time, nothing was going to stop him from enjoying every inch of her. Certainly not her clothes: He dispatched her gown and corset quickly, loving the way her round breasts jiggled as he freed the laces.
He shouldn’t be doing this. She was a viscount’s daughter. She was born to be a lady. But he couldn’t stop. “I am going to protect you, too, Anne,” he murmured. “I will dress you in luxurious silks. Wrap diamonds around you. Here—” He lifted her thick hair and kissed her damp neck. “And here.” Her wrists next. He laved his tongue over them, and she moaned.
“Especially here.” He pushed up her shift as he dropped to his knees. He kissed the insides of her thighs. Silky and lovely, her creamy nether lips, half shielded by gold nether curls, were pure temptation.
“You can’t put diamonds there,” she admonished.
“I’m a duke. I can decorate my lover in any way I wish.” He gently parted her thighs. He should stop. She deserves to be more than a mistress, and you are expected to marry some proper young lady. He shoved the damned thought away. He needed Anne. Needed her so much. He cupped her bottom and pulled her sweet quim to his mouth, then licked and suckled, and watched Anne squirm and arch in erotic abandon.
Anne grasped Devon’s shoulders. Slowly, his tongue swept all over her. Oh, this was devilishly wonderful. She loved the sight of his dark head framed by her thighs, his large tanned hands on her skin, the muscles flexing in his broad back. Now he could see everything too.
He moved away from her and his hand strayed down. He opened his trousers, drew out his erection, then stroked his thick shaft. Watching him excited her to her core. He touched himself so differently than she had. With years of experience, obviously. She drew her shift back up, aware of his hot gaze following the hem’s journey up her legs. Her heart pounded as she touched the damp curls at the apex of her thighs, as her fingers slid between her slick folds, and she—
Giggled. With nerves. With shyness. He winked at her and fondled his ballocks with one hand, as he caressed the taut head of his erection with the other. “Perfect, love.”
She watched him as she stroked herself, as he kept all his attention on her. Nerves melted. They shared a smile, then moaned together. His hand wrapped around his shaft, and he pumped hard into his fist. “Angel, it’s the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen. I want to watch you come. Night after night, I imagined what you would look like. Make yourself come, angel, so I get to see you. You’re on the brink, aren’t you?”
Between gasps, she thought, How does he know? Then her stroking fingers ignited her, and the climax broke upon her like a sudden summer lightning storm. Pure pleasure washed over her. Before her eyes, Devon gave a deep groan, then clutched his shaft. His head fell back, and his semen shot out, spilling onto his hand.
She fell against his chest. “Oh, dear, it is messier for you, isn’t it?”
His rich laugh filled the room. “Only you, angel, would think of that.” He kissed the top of her head. “Watching you was delicious, Anne.”
He drew out a handkerchief, cleaned his hand. Then pointed toward the bed. This was the master bed—one of dark wood and gold hangings. There was a lovely white-and-gilt bed in the adjoining room, which was to be her private bedroom. “Shall we try it out?” he asked.
“Already?” A glance down revealed he was growing aroused again. “Of course.”
He tipped up her chin. “Are you going to stay, Anne? You can run, and live in fear for the rest of your life, or you can trust me, and we can work together to find out the truth.”
If they found the killer, she could stay in England. She could stay with Devon—no, she couldn’t. She’d promised his sister she would encourage him to find a bride, knowing he could never keep her once he did. She couldn’t go back on her word. “I’ll stay,” she whispered.
But eventually she would have to go. How could she stay in London and hear of his marriage to someone else?
He swept her up into his arms. Startled, giggling, she was carried to the bed.
He left Anne and went to his investigator, Wynter, and then to Bow Street. After an interview with Sir John, Devon headed to White’s. He had not been to his club since before he had argued with his father and left for battle. There, he encountered Tris, who urged him to go to a gaming hell on Curzon Street. He went but found he had no interest in deep play. Eventually, he and Tristan ended up in a tavern near the London docks, only yards from where he’d caught Anne.
“What’s bothering you, Dev?” Tris asked. “You’ve turned that whiskey around in your hand for an hour. You haven’t drunk a drop.”
“I’m thinking.” Of how close he had come to losing Anne. Of how Wynter, his investigator, had found Captain Tanner’s missing wife, but not his son, in the stews. He needed to talk about at least one of his problems or he would explode like a jammed rifle. He chose Anne, giving Tristan a summary of what he’d learned from the brothel. “The man wore a Venetian mask, beaver hat, and a cape with the collar turned up. The witness couldn’t give me any detail with which I can identify him.”
“Nothing?” Tris drained his drink. “Not a limp, a wooden leg, or maybe the tendency to drag his right leg behind him when he walked? What about a distinctive coat or cane? It’s not fair if the bugger didn’t give us any clue at all.”
Devon shot him a sour look. “I believe the murderer was Anne’s cousin, Viscount Norbrook, or a thwarted client. If it was a client—”
“Your mistress is cousin to a viscount?”
He gave a curt nod.
“So she was a lady at one time. Interesting.”
It burned on Devon’s tongue to point out that Anne was still a lady—at least in every sense of the word that should matter. “I’ve been trying to figure out the motive if it was a client. Would anger at not getting Anne be enough to drive a man to murder?”
Tristan gave a wry grin. “You tell me. You rode straight to London like a madman and chased her down on the docks. Clearly you’re obsessed with her.”
“I’m not obsessed,” he snapped. “I was protecting her.”
“You weren’t willing to lose her, Dev. Why not let her do as she wants—give her a good settlement and put her on a ship? You know, as do I, that obsessing over a woman is a fool’s game.”
“I can’t just hand her a wad of notes and send her on her way. I wouldn’t know for certain whether she was safe. If her cousin is willing to kill for her—”
“You don’t know whether that is the truth.”
“Who else?” Norbrook hungered for Anne, obviously, but was it enough to commit murder for her? Something about this bothered him. “Bow Street will not arrest a viscount without evidence,” he growled. “They were even reluctant to assign men to watch him, so I hired my own investigator to do it. But I need to confront Norbrook over this.”
“You aren’t going alone.”
“He’s not going to confess if I show up with you, Tristan. Of course I need to go alone.”
It was almost midnight when he returned to the house he had rented for Anne. A maid let him in, but Anne hurried into the foyer. She dismissed the young servant and took his hat and coat.
“Devon, you look exhausted. For heaven’s sake, it is late. You took a terrible blow to the head only days ago.” Her hands stroked along his shoulders, lightly massaging. Her touch felt so incredibly good.
He had to grin. He adored her like this—clucking over him like a mother hen. With her hand tight around his wrist, she towed him to the parlor and led him to a chaise. She poured him a small amount of brandy
, then held the glass over a candle flame.
He watched, bemused. “What are you doing?”
“What mistresses are supposed to do. I’ve also summoned a dinner for you. All this comfort is not only for me, after all—it is supposed to be for you to enjoy when you see me.” She frowned. “You look so tired your skin is literally gray.”
He was tired. Tired, dragged down by guilt. “I spoke with Bow Street today, but they will do nothing to your cousin until I have proof. I went to Norbrook’s home to confront him, but he ran for the country last night. His servants won’t reveal where he went.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry, angel. I will find him.”
She caressed his shoulders again. He groaned in pleasure. “You’ve done everything you can.”
“I have not,” he said curtly. Suddenly he needed to talk to someone, just as he’d felt earlier today with Tristan. “I went to see Wynter, the former Runner I hired to investigate for me—”
“Yes. You told me about him.”
“There’s a great deal I didn’t tell you. There was a man, Captain Tanner. He was killed in battle and left behind a wife and a child. They had been thrown out of their home because they could no longer pay the rent. I hired Wynter to find them and help them. He has found the wife, but the boy, Thomas, is missing. Apparently Thomas was kidnapped off the streets of the stews. Wynter believes he might have been taken to a brothel. The boy is only twelve years old.”
“Heavens! Did your investigator search the brothels? Did he go to the one in Blackbird Lane?”
“No, angel, he hasn’t gone to any yet. I thought that street contained only opium dens.”
“It’s known for that,” she said, “but I heard, from the gossip at Madame’s, that one of the houses also specializes in prostitutes—young male ones. The boys are chained to their cots so they can’t escape.” She blinked quickly, tears glinting in her eyes. “I used to think that if I could become a wealthy courtesan like Kat, I would help children like that. I would fight to close down such evil houses and I would stop the trade in children.”
