A brother.
She had never known he had a brother. Certainly Owen had never made mention of the fact, even though they had been friends for years. But then, as she looked back on her lover with the benefit of distance, she was beginning to recognize that he hadn’t really made much attempt to care about any other person, even his friend. He undoubtedly knew about John’s brother, but the separation between the men likely did nothing for Owen.
After all, the fact did not interrupt his own pleasure, so why would it matter to him?
She pursed her lips, angry at herself for having such treacherous thoughts about a man she loved. True or not, they were not kind and Owen could do nothing to defend himself against them.
She shook her head and her mind flitted back to John. This might be an affair only, but she cared for him. She refused to think about how deeply, but even if she didn’t analyze further, the fact remained the same. He was in her heart, even if they could be nothing but lovers and friends.
Since she cared, she wanted to help him. But how?
Behind her, there was a light knock on her door and Mariah turned in surprise as her maid poked her head inside.
“I—I’m sorry, miss,” the girl said, cheeks flaming. “I know it’s late for such an intrusion, but Lymon sent me up to tell you that you have a guest.”
Mariah’s eyes went wide as her gaze slipped to the clock. It was nearly midnight. A very bold person her visitor must be, indeed, if the person intruded upon her so late at night.
“Who is it?” she asked, reaching for her robe.
The girl blushed deeper. “It is…it’s Mr. Rycroft, miss.”
Mariah paused with her robe on only half her body and stared at the girl. “Mr. Rycroft?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “Is here?”
“Yes, miss. In the parlor.”
She nodded and hoped her glee and anxiety weren’t too obvious a mixture on her face.
“Yes, very good. I’ll be down directly.”
“I’ll have Lymon tell him.”
As the girl left, Mariah spun on the mirror to stare at herself. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright with excitement. John was here. Here in her home, where he had not called for over a year. And then it had certainly had nothing to do with her. He had accompanied Owen on a brief visit and teased her mercilessly about a chair in her parlor that was done in an awful pink fabric, which she had changed directly.
Why she recalled so many details of the day, she had no idea. And now he was here, while they were in the midst of a passionate affair. Despite the fact that he had told her he did not wish to see her here. To picture her in her bed with his former best friend.
She shook her head. There was no time to think. No time to do anything but smooth her hair and rush to the door. She clung to the handrail as she scurried down the stairs at twice her normal speed and nearly put herself soundly on her ass. Somehow she made it to the parlor door, though, and skidded to a stop as she stared at the door separating her from John.
“Breathe,” she whispered, then opened the parlor door and stepped inside.
She had every intention of maintaining distance, of allowing him to come to her, to share whatever was on his mind in his own time and fashion. But when she saw him standing by the fire, his eyes hollow and his lips pressed together in an unhappy line, all her intentions fled. She raced across the room to him and slipped her arms around him.
“Oh John,” she whispered as she held him.
She had so much more to say, but he would not allow it. He gripped her shoulders lightly and stepped away from her just a fraction. When he looked down at her, his eyes were wild with emotion and dark with pain. Pain that touched her.
“You asked me what you could do,” he said, his voice rough with desire and emotion bound together.
She nodded.
“This,” he said, then dropped his mouth to hers for a hard, passionate kiss. He drove his tongue between her lips, demanding, crushing, utterly devastating in its power. She went weak, leaning against him, clinging to his shoulders as she tried to maintain some equilibrium.
An impossible task when he had begun rocking against her in a clear indication of what he would do next.
She drew back, panting, and stared up at him. “I—” she stammered, trying to clear her cloudy mind. “You want to do this…here?” When he nodded, she blinked. “But you said…because this was the home I shared with Owen, you didn’t want…”
He turned his face as if slapped, but when he looked back at her there was no diminishment to his desire.
“I know what I said,” he growled, hauling her closer. “But the last thing I am thinking of is Owen. I just want you. I—I need you.”
She would have staggered back at that last admission but John held her too tightly. He stared down at her, holding her gaze with his, sucking her in to his passion and his pain until she could see nothing, feel nothing else.
“Yes,” she whispered and his lips descended again.
She clung to his shoulders, dragging him closer, pouring all the comfort he would not allow her to offer into him. She tasted him, delicately at first and then with increasing passion as she pushed him toward the settee in the middle of the room.
He fell back against the pillows and stared up at her as she stepped into better light and untied her silky robe. As it fell away, he caught his breath and she couldn’t help but smile.
She had always insisted upon pretty night-rails made of satin and lace. This one was no different, made from white silk with only a swatch of lace covering each breast. It clung to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Do you like what you see, Mr. Rycroft?” she teased as she slipped a finger beneath the thin strap of the shift and teased it over her shoulder ever-so-slightly.
“You know I do,” he said, motioning to the swollen outline of his cock against his trouser front. “I think it is more than obvious.”
“Indeed,” she said, wetting her lips as she thought of taking that very cock deep inside her in some way, any way. “Why don’t loosen your trousers and free that very uncomfortable-looking erection while I too unburden myself of the confines of clothes?”
He smiled and did as she asked. His cock popped free and Mariah’s eyes went wide as he immediately took himself in hand and began to stroke. Watching him pleasure himself in that way made her pussy wet and her nipples harden even further against the soft lace.
She swished her hips as she glided the night shift strap away from her shoulder and revealed one breast. He pumped his cock harder as she licked her thumb and swirled it around the tight, perfect peak.
“Fuck, Mariah,” he groaned, hesitating in his self-pleasure as he squeezed his eyes shut.
She smiled and glided the opposite strap from her shoulder. Now her gown hung only from the waist down and her breasts were fully revealed.
“So pretty,” he murmured.
“Thank you,” she whispered and then shook her hips to force her gown into a pool at her feet. She stepped free of it, kicking it away to stand before him naked.
With a groan, he released his cock to reach for her. He caught her hip and drew her forward to rest his cheek against her hip and stroke her thigh with his opposite hand. Strong currents of pleasure shot from his fingertips, through her flesh, into her blood. They heated her body, making her sex clench and her nipples tingle.
“You make me wild,” he murmured against her flesh. “Being with you is unlike any other woman.”
She stared down at him, once again taken aback by his confessions. He who always behaved as if women were interchangeable cogs in his machine of pleasure. But she was special to him, and even if that feeling only lasted a moment, it still made her wild with desire and giddy with pride.
“Then let me comfort you,” she whispered. “Lie back, allow for this pleasure without thought for consequence.”
He jerked his gaze to her. “And what of your pleasure? How do I release any thought for that
?”
“You don’t have to worry about my pleasure,” she said with a smile. “I will experience a great deal of it, I am certain.”
He hesitated and then, to her surprise, he acquiesced, sinking back against the settee and staring up at her in anticipation and even a little anxiety.
Feelings she hoped she would soon put to ease, along with the pain she was certain he did not wish to reveal so clearly. She caught up a pillow from the settee and dropped it on the floor between his legs, then she knelt down between them. He caught his breath as her intentions became clear. But she didn’t allow him time to direct or protest, she simply caught his heated, throbbing member and took him deep into her throat in one gliding stroke.
He gave a garbled shout as he lifted his hips to drive even farther, and she took every inch of him with pleasure. He filled her mouth with silken steel and she reveled in his taste and his reaction as she swirled her tongue around his length. She lifted up higher on her knees, clutching the base of his cock and stroking even as she glided her mouth up and down over him, taking him deeper, tasting him more completely.
John tried to hold back his helpless moans and cries, but it was impossible as Mariah pleasured him with her wicked, experienced mouth. She knew exactly how to test him and taste him, how tightly to hold him and suck him, to make him go wild. And he did, losing his grip on control little by little as he forgot everything except how good her mouth felt.
He lifted his hips, gripping the settee cushions in steel fists as the pleasure mounted, building toward a crescendo he wouldn’t be able to halt or temper. And yet he didn’t have to worry about Mariah. She knew the consequences of her actions. If her tiny, vibrating moans were any indication, she welcomed them. She glanced up at him from time to time with hazel eyes darkened by pleasure, both the given and the received.
But just as his pleasure reached its peak, she popped his cock from her lips, rose up to straddle him and dropped her slick pussy down over him in one smooth stroke.
He jolted from this new pleasure of her hot sheath, but she gave him no time to adjust. She just began to ride, hard and heavy, holding his shoulders as she arched her back and flexed her hips over him.
He loved how she didn’t wait for him to give her release, but rubbed her clitoris over him to find it herself. And how she didn’t blush or pretend she was an innocent, but reveled in her own sensual power.
He gripped her hips and lifted to meet her strokes, leaning forward to suck one hard nipple as she rode him. She gasped out a sound of surprise and pleasure and then her hips went mad as orgasm gripped her. Her sheath flexed against him in out-of-control tremors and it was too much. He exploded inside of her with a grunt that rang in his ears and made the world around him blur quite beautifully.
He didn’t know how long they sat, bodies still intertwined, heads pressed together, breathing matched, but finally she sat up and stared down at him with a tiny smile.
“Amazing,” she whispered. “You and I knew each other for years, and yet we never did this. How much we were missing.”
John stared at her. In those years, she had been bound to his best friend. In love with him, or so she’d always said, and he knew she had been a faithful and true companion to Owen.
But her words sparked images of something amazing. Of the two of them together all this time. Doing this. Sharing their bodies, but also more. And he realized he didn’t want to let her go after a brief affair. He wanted to be her protector. He wanted to know that she would be there in the morning when he woke, that she would be on his arm at his bidding. That he could turn to her for companionship and comfort, and offer the same for her.
The realization shocked him. He had always taken such pride in the fact that he never bound himself to anyone. Deeper bonds never seemed to result in anything good. But now…now he couldn’t escape this desire.
But he was also not ready to voice it. Not until he could practice his words, make sure they did not promise too much…nor too little.
So instead, he cupped the back of her head and drew her down for a kiss. Not a passionate possession, but something else. He tasted her and felt differently, knowing she would be his. He held her and reveled in how perfectly she fit his arms and his body. And she would be there, for as long as he desired.
“Are you well?” she asked as he pulled away.
He cocked his head. “Well? Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “There is just something…different about you now.”
He drew back a fraction to stare at her. Could she truly read his moods so easily? A day ago that would have concerned him, but today…today he rather liked that she could tell his feelings.
He knew she would always protect them.
He cupped her cheeks. “I am perfectly content, I promise you,” he whispered. “Except that I would very much like to take you upstairs and continue this night together. If you would allow me to share your bed.”
She looked at him for a long moment and then she nodded. “Yes. I would very much like that.”
John smiled. Tonight was a beginning. And for the first time in a long while, he looked forward to the beginning of something good.
Chapter Eleven
John staggered into the foyer of his London home and smiled. He hadn’t spent a night away from this place in years. He always made it a point not to join a woman in her bed for more than a few hours. But waking up to Mariah beside him, being able to make love to her in the sparkling light of dawn and then sharing breakfast with her…he realized he had been missing out on something very special.
But perhaps it would not have been so special with any other woman. He certainly couldn’t picture doing the same with anyone but Mariah. Which was why he intended to ask her tonight if she would allow him to be her protector.
A thrill worked through him at the very thought of something more permanent with her.
A thrill that faded as his butler approached. Swanson’s normally calm, unflappable countenance was pale and his lips thin.
John stared. “What is it?” he asked, his voice barely carrying. “I—did someone die? Is someone hurt?”
The butler swallowed and shook his head, sending relief through John, albeit briefly.
“No, sir,” he said. “But…but your father is here, sir. He insisted on being taken to your parlor and presented with brandy while he waited.”
John stepped back until he hit the door. Luckily it was shut, or he might have deposited himself down his stone steps onto his head.
“My father?” he said.
This was the second time in as many days that his estranged family had intruded upon his home. With Adam, it was a welcome intrusion after the first bit of awkwardness. But if Vaughn Rycroft was here…well, there was not going to be anything pleasant about the rest of the day.
The servant nodded. “Yes, sir. I did try to impress upon him that you were not in residence, nor did I have an estimated time for your return, but he refused to depart.”
John shook his head to clear the shock and dismay that gripped him just as it had all throughout his childhood. He couldn’t be emotional when he saw his father. He couldn’t afford that. He had to collect himself or he would be bait for a very dangerous prey.
“You could not have done anything to stop him, short of physically restraining him,” John reassured the servant as he worked to calm his breathing and slow his racing heart. “And even then, it might not have ended well. Do not trouble yourself. I expected his arrival, though perhaps not today. There is no use in trying to put it off.”
Swanson nodded, but there was a flicker of pity in his otherwise unreadable expression. “Is there anything you require? Shall I bring you anything?”
John shook his head. “No. I don’t want the bastard to have anything more than what he’s already taking. But…” He hesitated and locked eyes with the servant. “In half an hour, knock and interrupt us. Remind me of an appointment. I refuse to give the man any more time
than that.”
“Yes, sir.” Swanson straightened his shoulders. “And I shall alert Thomason and a few of the other servants just in case the physical force you mentioned is necessary to remove him.”
John smiled and patted the butler’s arm. “We shall hope for the best, but you are right to prepare for the worst. Vaughn Rycroft almost always delivers it.”
He turned away from the butler and toward the door to the parlor. With a deep breath, he opened it and entered the room.
His father was standing at the window, staring out on the street with his eyes narrowed. John took a moment to stare at him. He had always hated how much he looked like his father, with the same dark hair and eyes. He wanted to look like anyone else in the world, perhaps to be able to convince himself that anyone else in the world was his father.
But there was no denying a connection when Vaughn looked at him. His father was an older version of the same thing he saw in the mirror every day.
“About time you rolled in,” his father hissed as he stepped toward him. It took everything in John not to step backward an equal distance.
“I didn’t know I was under your curfew, Mr. Rycroft,” John said, emphasizing the address he chose to use. “Since I am far above the age of majority and have not spoken to you in too many years to count.”
His father smirked. “You may be above the age of majority, boy, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to be put in line now and then. You don’t think I’ve watched you all these years?”
John folded his arms. “I’m certain you have. It has always been your style to spy and intrude where you were not welcome.”
His father’s lips pursed in displeasure and he glared at John. “Welcome or not, I am here. We have a great deal to talk about, a fact I think you know.”
John shrugged. “And why would I know that? Why would that be true at all?”
His father moved forward, aggression in every line of his body. As a boy, that look had terrified John. It almost always meant emotional or physical punishment for unseen and uncommitted crimes. Often both. His father’s rage had caused him nightmares, cold sweats, terror that shook him all the way to his bones.
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