The Den of Iniquity

by Anabelle Bryant

  Voices echoed above in what might be a distressing argument, down the hall and farther from the foyer. He bounded for the marble stairs, taking them as if his very life depended on the race to the top. In many ways, it did.

  Sounds of a scuffle or some type of disturbance brought him towards a long corridor, ending in a series of doors, the last on the left closed tight. His heart pounded in his ears, not from exertion, but from urgency. He listened at the door, the muffled noise almost certainly made by Vivienne. He turned the knob with no avail. His boot was against the wood in the next breath. He kicked, his effort rewarded with a shriek from inside, the ideal motivation to shoulder the door and force entrance. It took one attempt only.

  What he discovered inside the bedchamber seemed inconceivable. The aged earl held Vivienne locked against his chest, her beautiful ringlets twisted in his fist. The bizarre turn of events confused him but he spared no time on the why of it, his heart at war with his anger.

  ‘Vivienne.’ His voice boomed across the chamber, causing the earl to react and drag his captive further from the hall. ‘Release her now.’

  ‘Why have you returned, Sinclair?’ Huntley pierced him with a haughty sneer. ‘You may have forced your way into my home, but you shall be removed just as promptly.’ He flicked his eyes to the opened door, noting the access to the foyer below. ‘Henderson. Come at once and bring two footmen.’ His harsh command echoed in the otherwise silent interior.

  ‘Let her go.’ Max took a stride, unworried about overtaking the earl. He matched eyes with Vivienne, her expression a combination of fear and relief. ‘It will all be well in the end.’ He sought to reassure her. Odd, how quiet she remained.

  ‘I wouldn’t make any foolish promises.’ The earl sounded undaunted. ‘You’ve no right to be here. I’m Vivienne’s intended.’

  ‘You’re her stepfather.’ Max stole another pace, busy talking in hope of distraction. ‘You can’t be both.’

  ‘I’m an earl. I can be anyone I choose to be, unlike you. And for what it’s worth, I’m soon to be her lover so you should heed your words. You, the bastard who has come here to play at hero.’ The scuffle of feet upon the stairs followed the earl’s bold announcement.

  Max fought against the repulsive suggestion and the immediate fire of anger in his blood. He stepped to the side should footmen enter and attempt to bring him down. He needed to be prepared. ‘You’ll contend with me before you cause any more harm. Let Vivienne free. Even you realize this plan is foolish and you cannot succeed in this insanity.’

  ‘You command me?’ Huntley barked a vindictive mixture of bitter laughter and condescending righteousness. ‘A low-born by-blow who thinks he rules the world by having found profit amongst the guttersnipes and prostitutes. I’ll see your hell shut down, your doors closed and your pockets penniless. This is a personal affair in which you have no investment. You are worth nothing. Now leave.’

  Two footmen halted on the threshold, unsure how to interrupt the confrontation they witnessed.

  ‘You have that wrong. Once I take Vivienne from you, you will not see her. You will not contact her. She will sever all ties. Your convoluted manipulation will end here.’ Max strode closer. ‘Now release her before I lose my patience with your ignorance.’ He formed fists at his sides, his knuckles swollen and bruised from the confrontations he’d defeated before arriving at Nettlecombe, but he would battle legions if it meant keeping Vivienne safe. Their eyes met again though he remained aware of every subtle action made by her captor.

  ‘Get out of my house.’ He nodded to the servants in wait. ‘Don’t stand there. Remove this man at once.’ He angled away, towards the inner chamber, and took Vivienne with him though he continued to speak. ‘Vivienne and I have future plans to discuss. There’s the little matter of something promised and the debt come due.’

  ‘No.’

  Vivienne’s outburst resounded in his chest with a jolting signal to act. She managed half a revolution though her hair wrapped tighter. Still the position allowed just enough room for her to leverage a kick to the earl’s groin and she couldn’t have aimed any better. The man doubled over with the unexpected attack to his manhood.

  At the same moment, Max leapt the final distance and shoved Vivienne aside to safety. He barrelled into Huntley who posed no contest, now prone on the floor, his face turned away as a look of horror and embarrassment twisted his features to accompany the pain.

  ‘Gather your things.’ Max stepped aside and watched the earl with perspicacious attention.

  ‘There is nothing here I want.’ Her voice trembled.

  She backed away, nearer to the balustrade, and only paused to eye a small painting on the wall, the depiction of a woman. No explanation was necessary. He unhooked the portrait, slid it beneath his arm and clasped her hand as he urged her down the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emotion made breathing difficult. Fear, confusion, loss and anger clogged her throat as if on a quest to strangle away life, but she wouldn’t allow it. So many tears held at bay for too long. Weeks, months…years? How long had she desperately controlled her emotions and now, like a dam giving way to the force of the water against it, great sobs—wracking, ghastly, retching sobs—burst out, their determination wilful and undeniable. She clenched her arms around her middle, overcome with embarrassment that Maxwell would see her this weak. She didn’t cry. She’d told him as much. Yet here she carried on worse than a watering pot.

  For several long moments there was silence within the carriage, during which she dared not look at him. What could he surmise from the earl’s demand she owed her personal favours in payment to a debt? Would he believe she’d curried the arrangement or, worse, allowed his misplaced affection?

  Shame, undeserved and ill-gotten, caused a wild riot within her stomach. Why should Max’s opinion matter? He lived a lifestyle free of conventional rules and had left her after their intimacy without a backward glance, discarded her not once but twice in favour of some random business he would not reveal.

  How dare he? She breathed deeply and listened with keen attention to the noiselessness within the interior. She had no recollection of how she’d come to be in Max’s carriage, her exit from Nettlecombe little more than a blur led by Max’s strong hold. A hackney at the kerb and then the swift transfer to this conveyance combined with abrupt directions to the driver. Piece by piece she reclaimed composure. She quieted, swallowed air, her tears reduced to soft weeping rather than the tumult of minutes before. Then they travelled in that calm stillness, neither occupant willing to pierce the quiet.

  After a time, he placed his hand on her shoulder, his fingers strong and reassuring as he grasped her arm to shift position and haul her atop his lap. She didn’t speak and he didn’t allow her the advantage, pushing her face into his chest where he encircled her with solid warmth. Apparently he wanted nothing to do with her tears, annoyed by her display or, worse, impatient for them to cease; but as she listened to the steady beat of his heart she realized he’d given her exactly what she’d needed: space and time to release her caged frustration and re-establish control. There would be time enough for words when emotion was spent.

  He offered comfort and protection. The security of his hold enough to provide the clarity she needed. He hadn’t treated her well before he’d stormed into Nettlecombe and rescued her from the earl’s deviant pursuit. She remembered that all too clearly and this sudden salvation did not erase the disrespect of only hours before. Now anger became a safe haven. Hurt mixed with rejection and the reprehensible notion he’d taken what he’d wanted in the moment and then walked away without care for her gentler feelings.

  ‘I’m glad I was there when you needed me.’

  His voice rumbled beneath her ear and she lifted her head to eye him, the proximity of their bodies, mouths, causing havoc to her better sense. She pulled away, inhaled, and waited a beat longer. ‘I only needed your assistance to escape.’ Yes, anger was
the better choice, though she heard the fraught note of despair in her reply and worked to remedy it. ‘It would be best if we parted ways as soon as possible.’ She adopted an aloof tone that made certain he knew how very well she despised him.

  He chuckled with what seemed like disbelief. ‘That’s not true.’ He shook his head. ‘You care for me.’ He dared another laugh as if she amused him.

  His reaction proved the tonic to her softening heart. ‘I’ve misjudged you and your inflated opinion of worth.’ She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. Another mistake. Her lips were less than a breath from his.

  ‘Not at all.’ Again he smiled, a broad flash of white teeth and bemusement. ‘I possess no arrogance. I am below you. No one is more aware of that fact than I. Yet no matter my station, lifestyle or means of income, I know my heart. I love you, Vivi. And in kind, you love me.’

  He pulled her closer and her vow to resist the raw magnetism of want and desire stretched tight between them dissolved. In its hollow absence, emotion washed through her, overpowering and heady. This man and his seductive charm had captured her interest during their first meeting and toyed with her ever since, yet something about his admission, his confession that he cared, made her contrived anger unimportant. She looked into his eyes, the long lashes as dark and deep as his secrets, and assessed his face, finely carved classical features, almost mythic and heroic but hardly noble, the angle of his jaw, strength of his presence, and meaning of his words.

  He lowered his mouth and she did not pull away though her mind spun with unanswered questions.

  Still he did not kiss her.

  ‘Let me touch you.’

  He already did.

  The heat of his palm settled on her thigh, directly above the hem of her stocking. How he’d managed to find her bare skin under the layers of gown and underclothes was yet another of his talents.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Her voice was nothing more than a husky whisper.

  ‘I’ve instructed my driver to travel until I signal to stop. We have no destination. Just a circuitous tour of London. Time is ours.’ His eyes became half-lidded, the look of someone intent on sensual satisfaction.

  ‘I should leave.’

  He shook his head in a slow silent negative that expressed he thought her ridiculous. ‘I’ve lived on these streets. You will go nowhere unescorted, unprotected or otherwise.’ His voice sounded gravelly. ‘You are mine to protect. You will never be in harm’s way again.’

  He captured her mouth in a hot searing kiss that caused her to forget every objection ricocheting in her head. He spoke, his words muffled by the pressure of his lips upon her.

  ‘I love you, Vivi. Damn, you know me like no one else. Tell me you love me.’

  His insistence amused her, tempting her to perpetuate her own form of torture and deny him the words he sought. Still the truth lived in her soul; knowledge and realization coalesced into a force to be reckoned with, begging to be granted freedom.

  Emotion shifted in much the same way the carriage swayed with motion as it took a corner.

  She answered his kiss with a breathy exhalation, allowing his tongue into her mouth where they rubbed with increasing intensity. They may fight with words and glares, but their physicality could never be questioned, their bodies in tune to each other as if they shared one soul. She became acutely aware of every place his body touched her, most intensely the weight of his hand on her inner thigh, though he did not further his pursuit.

  Time slowed, as if she’d fallen down the dark hollows of a well, full knowing there would be no rescue from the drenching result, yet smiling in surrender to welcome the rush of thrilling sensation promised at the end.

  And with that awareness, all reason ceased to matter, restraint slipped away like a silk chemise.

  Perhaps it was the fact he’d almost lost her.

  That he’d rescued her from the harsh brutality that haunted his past and saved her from a horrible fate.

  Or that he loved her.

  Completely, with a genuine devotion he knew little about aside from its consuming power.

  Whatever the reason, he could no longer contain the force of emotion living within every nerve of his body. He needed to touch, caress, consume her. To prove Vivienne was safe, real, and equally committed.

  He spared no time to consider the reversal of sentiment or how he’d vowed to remain unattached. He knew just one purpose.

  Sensation. Consciousness. Intimacy.

  He needed to feel Vivienne.

  Everywhere.

  And it didn’t matter that they straddled the narrow benches of his carriage.

  He would make do.

  One hand lay at the edge of her stocking, his fingertips arrested upon satiny flesh, skin so soft his stomach knotted with the fervent desire to touch, taste, devour. He caught her beguiling little tongue as it explored his mouth, captured the demanding stroke between his teeth. He held her still, no longer interested in the love play of their mouths. She shuddered. He released her mouth as his fingers skimmed upward, the silky warmth between her thighs drawing him forward, the damp, sweet heat of her core within reach.

  She surprised him, angling her hips so he had better access and with that unspoken permission, he let loose the pounding desire of sensual want.

  Furling the layers of her skirt, he gathered the cloth and pushed it aside until he arranged her across his lap, her legs astride his hips, their faces nose to nose though neither sought communication beyond his efforts below. He still hadn’t touched her beyond the upper thigh and his body throbbed with need.

  He smoothed his palms upward, across her delicate skin to stop at the apex, his breathing harsh.

  She tightened her knees, prepared for his attention, and the flex of her muscles beneath his hands beckoned with erotic invitation.

  ‘Wait.’

  Her sudden objection almost went unheard. He raised his eyes from where they’d stared at her parted legs, his eyes finding hers in question and confusion. Their noses rubbed and he stole a quick kiss before she spoke.

  ‘Not like this. Not me alone.’

  A half-smile curled the corner of his mouth, immediately aware what she meant though he didn’t reply.

  Pushing his back into the bolster, he separated far enough to work the buttons of his falls, opening the placket of his trousers and lowering his smalls to accommodate his aching erection. He was hot, thick and heavy against the tender skin of her inner thigh and the slight touch caused a tremor of sensitivity so intense he ground his teeth to keep hold of control.

  ‘Oh.’

  Her eyes fell upon him and the admission of surprise brought him inordinate pleasure. He gripped her hips and pulled her forward, positioning her wet core over his cock and down to join their bodies.

  He held still with impossible patience.

  Her breath caught again and then…

  ‘This is—’ she panted a tiny breath ‘—glorious.’

  His heart thudded in his chest.

  She gazed at him, a wide-eyed wondering look that he’d never forget no matter what the future held.

  She shifted slightly and he groaned, the response all he could manage through gritted teeth. He readjusted his hips, slanting upward, and slid his fingers between her velvety folds to find what he sought with unerring accuracy. Her thighs seized, arms locked so tightly around his shoulders she almost threw them from the bench.

  The steady thrum of the carriage aided their purpose. The gentle rocking and occasional vibration created an erotic rhythm to heighten their pleasure. With a note of disappointment, she came too quickly, disallowing him the joy of rubbing her beyond the scantest of touches. Still, her uninhibited reaction, head thrown back in abandon, muscles tight then slack, nearly caused his completion. He’d never known such carnal sensuality. To watch Vivienne reach climax while he remained motionless allowed him to experience her bliss without the soul-shaking force of his own com
pletion… If only she was entirely unclothed. Oh, the naughty delight to be found in her breasts, her neck, the curve of her hip.

  He wrapped his arms and angled on the bench so she lay on her back, their bodies together, mouth upon mouth, lovemaking barely begun.

  ‘Maxwell, this won’t work.’

  Her admonishment was lost in the rustle of fabric as he again gathered handfuls and discarded them to the side, his hands steady, heartbeat in chaos.

  ‘Too many skirts.’ He rose up, hitting his head to the ceiling and causing the carriage to jerk to an abrupt stop. ‘Bloody hell.’ He rapped the wall below the box and worked to put himself together, pausing to smooth her skirts, the frustrating layers earning another black curse before he carefully righted her on the bench.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Home.’ He hoped she realized his gruff reply was not meant for her, and more for the unanswered demand of his body.

  Much later, after they’d made love twice in Max’s decadent bed, Vivienne confronted the difficult reality of her situation.

  ‘Where will I live?’ Her whispered words expressed myriad emotions.

  ‘Here.’ His were matter-of-fact.

  Distressed by his remarkable economy of words in consideration of her devastating situation, she watched as he wound a length of her hair around his pointer finger, only to release it and begin the process again, amused and sated, as two lovers should be in each other’s arms. But how could she feel happiness when the unresolved truth remained?

  ‘That’s impossible and you know it.’ Whose reputation wielded the most power? His infamous status as a roguish gaming hell proprietor or hers: the genteel lady caged by the strict confines of propriety? ‘My name would be left in tatters were I to be known as the disillusioned tart who succumbed to your charms.’

  ‘You think I’m charming?’ He lifted his head from the pillow, one dark brow slashed high above twinkling midnight eyes.