She tasted as he believed she would: sweet and musky. Each stroke of his tongue drove her towards an intense climax he needed her to experience. He could give her this. He could give her gratification if not all the other things she wished to have. He stroked again, harder. His tongue rubbed against the bud hidden by her folds and she shuddered so suddenly, had he not held her thighs he would have lost his balance from the sheer joy of her reaction. Her body arched. His body ached. He stood at the foot of the bed and watched, memorizing every detail of her pleasure, his fingers working the buttons at his waist.
Chapter Eighteen
She shattered and broke, scattered then awakened. It was the only explanation. And now, reformed from pieces, wonderful fragments of sensation and awareness, she never wanted to stop feeling. How different than when she stood in the hell and Max touched her. How unlike when she’d explored her own body, poking and prodding in an attempt to reproduce the intense impact of his hands upon her. No, this was different, sacred, a moment she’d always remember and never be able to explain.
Too soon, pleasure subsided and she opened her eyes, knowing he was beside her by the dip in the mattress, the heat of his firm chest pressed against her arm.
She wanted to speak, but what did one say after such an experience? Every word seemed inadequate, trite, absurd. He spared her the awkward moment and wordlessly moved above her, his mouth hovering near hers, the scent of her body on his, extraordinarily intimate. He shifted slightly, aligning their bodies, pressing deep into the soft linens. The hot weight of his manhood against her core caused her heart to lurch in triple time.
She wanted this, didn’t she?
Oh, she did. No question clouded her mind. She angled her hips, inviting him, her breath held in wait. Eyes wide she watched him, his jaw clenched tight as he if fought something, but what she didn’t know. She moved again. This time her action caused his hard length to rub against her and he growled so deeply it reverberated in her chest.
But the sensation was fast dismissed when he entered her, by degrees, careful yet with purpose. She melted into him, opened for him, swathed by the bed and the strength of his arms until he pushed on, in, all the way buried to the hilt. A sharp pain pierced her pleasure, fleeting and forgotten, eclipsed by the realization she lay under Max, his body within hers.
She trembled with awareness as her heart overflowed with emotion. She could cry, the moment precious, for this was no time for control. With cautious measure, he withdrew and entered, each thrust better, smoother until they moved in matched rhythm, the push and pull of lovemaking exquisite, the feeling of release building again, intertwined with emotion, more than before. Better.
This transcended lovemaking. The bond they created represented so much more than a sexual act between two people. She’d chosen to give herself to Max and the decision empowered her. So much sadness had filled her life, emptiness and numbed emotion, but in this there existed only joy. Pure, untainted, incomparable joy.
He thrust deeper, each stroke encouraging the release locked inside. She closed her eyes and let it come, let him master her body, taste her breasts, fill her completely, and she revelled in the sensation, gloried in the act as she held tight to his straining biceps. She slit her eyes, lost to the overwhelming beauty of Max above her. She matched his gaze, intense, his jaw tight as he drove into her again, a lock of raven black hair, damp from exertion slanted over his brow. When at last he could wait no longer, with a deep tenured groan he rolled to the side and spilled himself on the bed sheets.
They lay quiet for several long minutes. Together, their breathing evened, their sweat cooled. A blissful smile turned her lips, their fingers still entwined from when he’d pulled from her. She liked the feeling of his fingers locked with hers. Perhaps she liked it too much. Her brain, lethargic and content, caught up with the emotion pulsing through every corner of her body.
She loved him.
Not because of their intimacy. Not because of their differences or her desire to escape Nettlecombe or even the loss of her mother and displacement of all that comprised her life. No, this realization stood alone. Independent. She loved Max. At the least, she’d begun to love him and need him, need to hear his voice and see his smile. It was all a little overwhelming and confusing, but in a good way if such an element existed.
A hard pounding echoed through the stairwell where the door remained ajar. Ransom barked, alerted to the disturbance on the lower floor and much to Vivienne’s dismay Max released her hand, rose from the bed without words and threw on clothes before he took the stairs.
Left alone, she reassembled, dressing as well as possible and straightening the bed sheets for lack of something to do. She was a proper lady and tidying the linens after an illicit tumble in the sheets was not a skill she’d learned at finishing school. With a wry smile, she moved towards the door and listened. What happened downstairs? Ransom’s barking had quieted. Perhaps a friend was visiting Max.
With a string of black curses, Max took the stairs by twos, opening the front door to find Wilson on the stoop, his face badly beaten and left eye closed from raw bruised swelling.
‘What happened to you?’ The question demanded several answers. Since their planned meeting and notices forthwith, the paid informant had disappeared without a word.
‘Pimms.’ Wilson stepped into the hall and further to the parlour, Ransom on their heels as they proceeded into the room.
‘Bloody Pimms.’ Max pushed his hand through his hair, refocusing his attention. He hadn’t yet overcome the soul-searing experience of Vivienne upstairs in his bed and now was wrenched away to confront the derisive cause of most all his misery. The ironic consequence of occurrences reaffirmed every doubt already abound in his mind. Time spent with Vivienne was effervescent and elusive, so unlike his life forced into the evil recesses of his past.
‘He’s a wily one.’ Wilson blew out a frustrated breath, the action causing a grimace. ‘I’m less than a shadow when I follow a chap, but somehow he discovered I trailed him and ambushed me as I passed. He’s adept with a cudgel. Combined with the surprise of being set upon, he managed a few hits before I fended him off.’
The man shook his head with a muttered curse overrun by Ransom’s sharp bark. ‘But I come here with his location, confident you’ll find him at the exact spot and an additional warning that time is sparse. Pimms knows he’s hunted and will soon disappear for good. Word has spread now that he’s out of the gaol and you’re not the only person seeking to escort Pimms to the netherworld. Otherwise I would have sent you a message, but I couldn’t take the chance. Excuse my arrival at your home at this hour. I’m in no shape to take him on and you paid me to find where he hid, not end him. I’ll leave that to you.’
Max glanced to the stairwell where Vivienne waited. Unaware. He snapped his attention to the situation at hand. ‘Exactly. You did well. I want to administer the pain. It’s a privilege long coming.’ Max tucked in his shirt tails and pulled hard on his sleeves. The sooner he found Pimms he’d be able to put all this nasty business in his past and salvage a modicum of peace where he and regret could live compatibly. Revenge was a bastard alliance he would have no trouble abandoning.
‘I’ve scratched down the address and a few notations on the area.’ Wilson offered a folded paper forward. ‘It best be known Pimms has friends and fellow criminals all too anxious to alert him to your appearance or, worse, have a go at you to rob your pockets.’
‘Thank you.’ Max walked to the desk in the corner and opened the top drawer to remove a small pouch. ‘I’ll forward the remaining sum after I finish the task.’ He tossed the leather bag in Wilson’s direction, the catch unerring despite the man having little sight in one eye. He showed Wilson out and bounded upstairs, uneasy with the inevitable and imminent confrontation.
‘What happened?’
Her whispered question sliced through his temper and he gazed at her slim silhouette where she waited beside the bed. She�
��d dressed, the best she could, though buttons and ties lay in wait of his assistance. Her hair, tousled from their intimacy, lay across one shoulder. What had he done? Why must he ruin everything he touched? Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone?
‘I have to go.’ The four stark words sounded cold and careless, not at all as he intended, but his mind spun with Wilson’s warning that time wasted and this might present his only chance to find Pimms.
‘What?’ Her expression revealed more than her question. ‘You’re leaving? No.’ She shook her head as if she refused to accept his departure.
‘I need to do something. It doesn’t involve you and I have to go now.’ He forced the explanation, unwilling to share more though some part of him cracked, opened, exposing the burden if he were brave enough to share. The expression on her face drove another knife into his heart. This was why he avoided relationships. This…and the pain that would come after.
‘Don’t go. You can’t go now.’
How fragile her voice sounded. He cursed an anger-filled mouthful, damning himself for the callous dismissal. ‘I can’t stay. I have to finish something important.’ Not that she wasn’t important, though the unspoken implication hung in the air like the catch in her breath. ‘You should leave as well.’ Had she expected him to ask her to wait? Women were complicated and at the same time mysterious creatures. The very last thing he desired was to hurt Vivienne when she’d shown him beauty and generosity in fathomless ways. Ways he didn’t deserve.
‘You want me to leave? I don’t understand. You and I…’ Her voice trailed off, overcome with emotion, and she glanced at the bed as if to indicate he owed her more.
And he did.
Respect and consideration.
‘Don’t cry.’ He stepped closer. The glisten of tears showed in her eyes though she swiped at them quickly, her expression no longer gentle.
‘I won’t cry. I don’t cry.’ Tears spilled down her cheeks in shimmering contradiction as she struggled for control and failed.
God dammit.
‘I’m nothing to you and I could never be. Don’t cry, Vivi. Forget this.’ Perhaps if he made her angry the tears would stop. He drew his shoulders straight, a formidable opponent, and grabbed his coat. Her watery eyes tracked his movements though she said nothing as he nabbed his boots near the foot of the bed and forced further bitterness from his gut. ‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ He glared across the room. Anything to make her hate him and make her tears stop. He needed to leave and he couldn’t think straight with all the emotion crowding the room.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You don’t need to understand. You need to listen.’ He took a step nearer but when he saw her eyes flare, he withdrew, placing one hand on the doorframe to steady himself before he left.
‘You’re wrong. Take a minute and show me a little courtesy. Surely your mother taught you better.’
Her expression changed with his sharp inhalation and curt dismissal. ‘There’s a hackney stand at the corner. Go home. Leave.’ He raced down the stairs and into the street to escape feeling more than he already did. He’d invited this and by damn, he deserved her loathing despite the truth hardly buffering the pain of it all.
Vivienne wiped away her tears. She would maintain control, in this and all things. Just as her mother’s death did not break her, neither would she allow her heart to shatter with Max’s rejection. She could mourn his loss, but that was all. She gathered her shawl around her, reassembled as best as able, and held her chin high as she walked away from Maxwell’s town house with a vow never to look back.
His behaviour left her confused and hurt. His words and actions seemed unlike the man who leaned over her with a handsome half-smile and kissed her temple, eyelids, cheekbones and neck, who murmured soft encouragement and made sweet love to her, mindful of her innocence yet unable to deny the passion between them. Yes, she saw his anger and temper, his tenuous hold on both, but most frightening and confusing was the way she saw his fear, buried below every other emotion he allowed. What drove him to leave after they shared such passion and forged a new bond?
She directed the hackney driver to the Daventrys’ home and sent a sincere prayer skyward Sophie would be at home and Crispin would not answer the door. She breathed a sigh of relief when her dearest friend greeted her in the drawing room alone.
‘What happened to you? Are you all right?’ Sophie rushed across the carpet, her arms outstretched, and prepared to comfort before she knew the plight of her friend.
‘Thank heavens you’re here. I’m embarrassed and hurt and I have no one to talk to…’ The flood of tears she’d held at bay during the hack ride overflowed in a rush of emotion.
‘Come.’ Sophie wrapped her in a tight embrace. ‘Let’s go up to my bedchamber and fix your gown, tidy your hair.’
‘I feel the biggest fool. Please don’t tell anyone. Most especially Crispin. If he were to discover—’
‘Discover what?’
The words had hardly left her mouth before Crispin appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed in question. ‘I saw a hackney pull to the kerb, but—’ He rushed across the room once his eyes settled on her tearstained face. ‘What happened? Did someone hurt you? Tell me. Tell me who did this and I’ll see them ruined.’
‘Good heavens, give her a little breathing room.’ Sophie intervened, placing herself between her brother and friend. ‘She’s already upset. The last thing she needs is you demanding she speak when she only calmed a moment ago.’
Vivienne sniffled and pressed her eyes closed, willing herself to stop crying, but the tears slid from her eyes nevertheless. Deep down she hurt so much she didn’t know how to stop.
‘Fetch a blanket and ring for tea.’ Crispin’s directive sent Sophie to the bell pull and then into the hallway.
‘I’m sure I know what happened. You needn’t say another word.’ He positioned himself in front of her, his eyes soft with concern, lips held in a tight white line. ‘Would you like to cry? I have a dependable shoulder and will hold you while you weep.’
She stared at Crispin, wishing she could care for him. The very kindest man who had her best welfare in mind, who would love and protect her no matter what life placed in their path. She’d wasted her heart on a scoundrel who threw it away without a care, and the realization brought a fresh onslaught of despair. Somehow knowing all this, realizing her mistakes and misjudgements, became too heavy to bear and she slumped into the chair, her shoulders shaking with a new set of tears while Sophie returned with a blanket, a maid with the tea service two steps behind.
‘Leave please, Crispin. Vivienne and I will talk upstairs in private.’ Sophie neared the two on the divan. ‘Would you like to stay here? After a bath and full night’s rest, you’ll feel better. I can send word to Nettlecombe if that is what you want.’ Sophie sat down and collected Vivienne’s hands in her own, though her next remarks were meant for her brother. ‘Now go, Crispin. She’s been through an ordeal and won’t improve for you prodding her into discussion.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I suspect I know the cause and doubt any story she might tell would change the circumstance…or my anger.’ He paced towards the door, an expression of determined frustration marring his face. He paused, back turned and halfway across the carpet when he heard her voice.
‘Promise me, Crispin.’ Vivienne rose from the sofa, her hands balled into fists at her side. ‘Promise me you’ll not interfere. I’ve made a mess of things and it’s for me to reconcile. Can I trust you?’
The room fell silent in wait.
Crispin turned, eyed his sister in a thoughtful pause before settling his gaze on Vivienne. ‘I’ve always respected your wishes, haven’t I? You’ve had my adoration and trust from the start.’
And with that he left the room.
Chapter Nineteen
Max blended into the shadows of the St Giles dockside lodging house with ease. He’d donned a dark overcoat and l
ow-brimmed cap before he’d stormed into the street and hailed a hackney, running towards the unfinished task of revenge that burned a hole through his heart, running from the one woman who might have healed all his misery. He didn’t consider how he’d trade one regret for a greater one.
Shoving Vivi from his thoughts, he focused solely on his purpose. He’d not allow Pimms the victory of knifing him in the back or striking him across the head because he’d become distracted by unnecessary emotion. St Giles contained violence of every sort. Murderers, thieves, prostitutes and drunkards lived in threatening existence in each crooked alley, stealing from one another as easily as an unsuspecting mark, the area nothing more than a cesspool of palsied houses and deplorable dwellings, rotten from chimney to foundation. Dilapidated single-room accommodations without sanitation or proper ventilation lined the narrow streets, their walls a thin barrier to the human vermin who inhabited the slums.
Unbidden, a vision of his mother’s lovely smile formed in his mind, a prompt reminder of why he found himself here, on the cusp of night sidled against the decayed wood of an abandoned structure. A rush of memories bombarded him, perhaps to further solidify his goal or narrow his vision to the one solitary act of ending Pimms’ worthless life.
His mother represented everything good in his world. Kind and gentle, intelligent and determined, she’d risked her life and happiness in exchange for his betterment, and lost her dream of a future for the compromise of raising her son with all the advantages given were he born on the other side of the blanket. He spit on the ground as a second image, one of his father, clouded his vision. Too proud by half, his father was the true bastard. Fathering a child and barely providing for him, it was a miracle he’d complied with his mother’s insistent requests. Had his mother not been as strong… Sin shook away the completion to that sentence.
The Den of Iniquity Page 17
