Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords)

by Mary Gillgannon

  “Fate tends to do exactly that sort of thing.” Devon released her, then turned her around so she faced him. “Which means we will have to keep trying for a boy.” He kissed her lightly.

  “Or a dozen boys. I want a large family, Devon. God willing.”

  “You’re still sad that Annie and Billy decided not to come live with us, aren’t you?”

  “No, I understand that they’re happier in the city. That’s all they’ve known. And it’s certainly been good for Walters to have them around.” She smiled. “The old curmudgeon has accepted them to a degree I’d have never thought possible. Why, when we were there last week, he was insisting that they take time off from their duties for some proper schooling. Quite a change from when he threatened to throw them into the gutter as soon as we left the house.”

  “Oh, Billy will love school.” Devon rolled his eyes.

  “But it will give them more opportunities in life.” She leaned near and kissed him.

  “Mmmm,” he murmured. The kiss deepened. He pulled her tight against him so their lower bodies were pressed together.

  The familiar heat washed through Caroline. “The servants, my lord,” she gasped.

  “Know better than to intrude.”

  “Rafe...”

  “Is busy with confections and Christmas trees.”

  He finally released her and they walked languidly to the master suite, discussing their guests, who would begin arriving within the week. Once inside the bedchamber, all thoughts of decorations and entertainments vanished from Caroline’s head. She sighed deeply as Devon’s gaze dipped to her bodice. He reached for her, and his thumbs stroked upward in a rhythmic motion that caressed the lower curve of her breasts and made her nipples tighten.

  “Would you like me to help you undress?” he asked.

  “If you would be so kind as to unfasten the back.”

  Devon moved his hands to brush against her nipples with a light, teasing motion, then reached around to the back of the dress. He bent over her, as if concentrating on the fastenings, but Caroline felt his mouth brush her hair and then his tongue against her ear. She shuddered and pressed herself against him. While his hands deftly undid her clothing, he licked and sucked on her neck and ear until she felt so weak in the knees, she had to turn around and grasp the front of his jacket for support.

  He drew away slowly, his eyes surveying the loose neckline of her dress. He pulled it down further, and then cupped the mounds of her breasts. She looked down, entranced by the vision of his dusky fingers on her pale skin, and watched him prime her nipples until they thrust out in aching points. Then he leaned down and encircled one nipple with his mouth.

  She sighed, feeling almost dizzy with desire. But Devon was not done playing yet. He continued his subtle tonguing and licking until the restlessness inside her made her writhe. When he released her, his expression was wild—nostrils flared, eyes dark and mysterious, his mouth hard with need. “You’re shivering,” he said. “There’s a spare robe hung in the dressing room. Perhaps you should put it on.” Caroline looked at him and slowly realized what he intended.

  Inside the dressing room, she removed the rest of her garments and donned the robe. The feel of the cool silk jacquard against her skin aroused her almost unbearably. The garment was a deep crimson, and it shone like blood against her fair hair and skin as she stared at herself in the beveled glass.

  She pulled the robe open a bit then scrutinized herself again. Her coiffure of decorous curls seemed to clash with the easy fluidity of the silk. She quickly removed the pins from her hair and fluffed it out. Her pearl earbobs also went by the wayside, and then she bit her lips and pinched her cheeks until the woman gazing back at her looked more like a lush, painted Cyprian than a lady.

  Finally satisfied with her appearance, she returned to the bedchamber of the suite. Devon sat in an armchair by the fire. He had removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt and was now wrestling with his boots.

  “Let me help you.” Caroline moved to kneel at his feet and began to tug at the offending footwear. The boot finally came off, but not before the loose robe she wore came completely untied, exposing her breasts and lower abdomen. Without retying the robe, she pulled off his other boot. She put it aside then remained sitting on the carpeted floor, well aware of the wanton picture she made.

  Looking pointedly at Devon’s crotch, she said, “Let me help you with your trousers.”

  A euphoric feeling of power came over her as she began to unbutton his pants. She felt seductive and uninhibited as she reveled in the warm heat of his body beneath her hands. The hard ridge of his arousal made her fingers tingle with eagerness. She freed him, and at last knew the delicious pleasure of holding his firm, smooth flesh in her hand. The urge to stroke him was irresistible. She delighted in the feel of his body, the size and heat and incipient power of his member, the silky texture of the tip, the coarse, musky-scented hair of his groin.

  She glanced up at her husband and admired his sculpted features, his exotic virile beauty. His eyes were half-closed beneath the sooty sweep of his lashes, his mouth contorted with the pleasure of what she did to him. She stood up, still holding his shaft, and leaned over to kiss him. After tasting his lips, she brushed her mouth over the faint stubble of his jaw.

  He made a sound like a half-growl deep in his throat and lunged toward her. Caroline shrieked as she fell, landing in a swirl of crimson silk and bare skin.

  “Tease me, will you?” Devon rasped. “We will see who knows the most exquisite means of torture.”

  He lay with his hard body pressed against hers, his hips between her thighs. He nuzzled her neck then moved his face lower. As his hands shaped her breasts to upthrust peaks, he nibbled first one nipple, then the other. The slight friction of his teeth against her ultra-sensitive skin nearly drove Caroline to madness. She moaned and squirmed, but succeeded only in pressing her pelvis against his body.

  “Patience,” he whispered. “I’ll give you what you want—soon enough.”

  He left her breasts and branded her with hot, wet kisses from her collarbone to her navel. She squealed as he kissed the inside of her arm and down to her wrist, then giggled as his mouth blazed a pathway underneath her arm and down her ribcage. His assault continued downward. She felt his hair against her stomach, then groaned as he slid his body lower and grasped her thighs. He spread her wide and Caroline closed her eyes, both embarrassed and thrilled by what he meant to do to hen

  She was very wet, and the feel of his breath against her exposed center made her grow even wetter. He kissed her—rough, sucking kisses that explored every inch of her.

  Caroline’s mind seemed to cease to function. She could feel her thighs straining against his hands, and spirals of fire erupting inside her. She cried out again and again. Sometimes he would thrust his tongue inside her, soothing her excitement. Then, as she relaxed her muscles, he would move his bedeviling mouth to suck hard against the spot at the top of her cleft, and the violent crescendos would wash over her once more.

  “Devon... please... please... oh, please... I...” She tried to pull him up, begging for some nameless relief.

  “What is it, Caroline?” he asked, his mouth wet and his eyes full of devilish golden light. “What do you want from me?”

  “I... want... you... inside me,” she gasped.

  He gave her one last, long, thorough tonguing before raising himself over her. She caught a glimpse of his triumphant expression before he plunged into her and her vision shattered into formless sensation.

  The tension built and built, leading to glorious release. Then, even as the echoing waves died away, she felt his slow, deep rhythm inside her and the indescribable pleasure started again. Twice, three times she reached the heights; each time he drew her back, reminding her of his strength and size, his formidable power over her.

  When the final release came, she could only moan her awe in a hoarse, breathless voice. Devon gave a deep sigh and collapsed upon her. He reste
d a second then rolled away, his chest heaving.

  Caroline lay stunned, spent, overwhelmed. Fierce emotions churned inside her as she turned and pressed her face against her lover’s sweaty shoulder. She felt too awestruck to speak, too vulnerable and fragile to risk breaking the spell that lingered between them.

  Devon broke the silence by sitting up and saying, “Damn! Once again, we forgot to use the bed!” He grinned at her. “Madam, you certainly bring out the beast in me.”

  Caroline sat up beside him and gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “I hardly see how I can be the one at fault. You upended me in most ungentlemanly fashion,” she pointed out in a severe voice. “There was no mention of the bed at all.”

  “That’s because you seduced me. I had no opportunity to seek out the bed. I was too busy fending off your advances.”

  Caroline gave a gasp of outrage and pounced on him. “You knave! How dare you insinuate... aaeeeiah!” Her last word ended in a shriek as Devon grabbed her bottom.

  “Ah, Lady Northrup, the very paragon of decorum,” Devon whispered in a wicked voice, wiggling his fingers dangerously close to the wetness between her legs. “She parades her charms in skimpy attire then fondles me most intimately. Is it any wonder that I lost my head and succumbed to her wanton invitation without regard to good manners?”

  Caroline raised her hand to pretend to slap him... and found her wrist firmly imprisoned.

  “Don’t forget, mon ami, the forms of torture I excel in.” He lowered his head and nibbled one of her breasts. “While I am spent, you—being a woman, and a shamelessly passionate one at that—are still vulnerable to my methods. Would you like me to begin again?”

  “No!” she cried. “I am spent as well!”

  “But are you satisfied?” he asked in a low, velvety voice.

  “I am,” she answered.

  Their eyes met. The teasing look vanished from his face, and a soft, tender expression came over his countenance.

  She experienced an intense rush of feeling toward her husband. “I love you,” she whispered. “My wild, dangerous, darling lord.”

  “And I love you, my dear, beautiful, little cit.”

  She pushed his chest playfully again. “That’s heiress, you wretch. Remember why you married me.”

  “I was coerced,” he said, then grinned. “And I don’t regret it a bit.”

  Caroline rolled over and covered him with kisses.

  ~~~~~~~~~

  Thank you for reading Devil’s Own Bargain, please read on for an excerpt from Earl of Scandal, another exciting Regency romance in the London Lords series.

  Dear Reader,

  In 1997, after writing four books with Celtic, medieval and Viking settings, I started to get ideas for a story set in Regency England. Part of the appeal of this time and place was all the contrasts. There was the sophisticated elegant world of the upper classes and the gritty reality of the slums. The emphasis was on social status and proper behavior contrasting with the sensuality and debauchery of gambling hells, scandalous parties, and the affairs and sexual liaisons common among the ton.

  It’s a world where not everything is what is seems, and I played off that with my story and characters, having my titled but impoverished hero be forced to wed a lower class heiress. In the second book in the London Lords series, my hero and heroine are even more a study in contrasts. Merissa Cassell is a no-nonsense, take charge country miss, who despises the depravity and shallowness of the London social world. When she crosses paths with Christian Faraday, the earl of Bedlington, a bored, jaded nobleman used to having his way in everything, sparks immediately fly. They are from two very different worlds with very different outlooks. It seems impossible they could ever find common ground. But that discounts the power and magic of love...

  An excerpt of their story (Earl of Scandal) follows, and two other books in the London Lords series await in the wings.

  Happy reading,

  Earl of Scandal

  As he drove north, Christian decided that Devon was right. His brain had rotted. Only a madman would race an open curricle in such abysmal weather. The roads were slick with ice, the air so damned raw, Christian’s face ached, and his hands had gone numb in his calves’ leather driving gloves.

  He swore as another gust of wind caught his beaver hat and threatened to jerk it off. Grabbing the hat with one hand, he kept control of the reins with the other as the carriage bounced over the frozen ruts.

  His stop at the town house to pick up the curricle and grays had delayed his departure until well after noon. Now it grew dark and he still had an estimated ten miles to travel. Gone was all hope of winning his bet with Wyngate. At this point, simply arriving in one piece at the posting station in Derlingham was his fondest wish.

  The road wound into a forested area, which blocked the wind but did nothing to aid the fading light. Christian squinted into the gloom. All at once, a dark shape appeared in the road. He jerked hard on the reins, trying to avoid the oncoming carriage. His curricle hit a rut and went airborne, then landed with a jarring thud. The grays whinnied frantically as the careening vehicle crashed into the ditch and fell sideways.

  Christian threw himself clear and landed in a pile of leaves. His first thought upon regaining his wits was for the horses. He picked himself up and hurried to them. Speaking soothing words, he examined their quivering, sweaty flesh inch-by-inch. Delilah seemed unharmed, but Jezebel gave a low nicker when he touched her right hock. “Damn!” he muttered.

  Whirling, he stomped toward the other vehicle. It had halted a short distance down the road. As the driver approached him, Christian let loose with a violent tongue-lashing. “Are you blind? Didn’t you see me coming? Or, are you too hen-witted to think that quickly?”

  “Hen-witted! You nearly run me off the road. Then you have the audacity to blame me!”

  Christian halted in his tracks at the sound of a distinctly feminine voice.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am. I didn’t know you were a woman. That is, I...”

  “Oh, really,” she interrupted tartly. “Meaning that if I were a man, you would find no impediment to blaming me for an incident that was clearly your fault.”

  “Of course not, it’s only that—”

  “Indeed, sir,” she continued. “Your behavior is unspeakably arrogant. No matter who I am, you owe me an apology.”

  Christian felt his face grow tight with exasperation. He wasn’t used to a female using that tone of voice with him, especially a little chit like this.

  She had drawn near enough that he could finally make out his antagonist. A mass of unruly curls framed her delicate oval face, and silver spectacles glinted above an up-tilted freckle-sprinkled nose. She looked no more than sixteen.

  “What are you doing out on this road alone?” he demanded.

  “I’m going home,” she answered, still in that insufferable tone. “If you hadn’t nearly run me down, I’d be there by now.”

  “You shouldn’t be out alone this late. Think of your reputation.”

  “My reputation? Fiddlesticks! Everyone around here knows me. If people want to gossip, why should I care?”

  “There may be brigands who travel these roads. You could have met one of them instead of a gentleman like me.

  “Gentleman?” Her voice was scathing. “I didn’t know ‘gentlemen’ nearly ran people off the road.”

  “I didn’t nearly run you off the road! I simply didn’t see your vehicle until it was too late. I swerved to miss you and ran my own rig into the ditch!”

  “Hmmph!” she sniffed. “You were clearly traveling too fast. And not paying attention either. Otherwise you would have seen me.”

  He wanted to throttle her! It was unthinkable she persisted in the delusion he was in the wrong!

  “One of my horses is lame,” he said, trying to impress upon her the extent of his injuries. “And I think the axle on my curricle is broken.”

  “I’m sorry,” she answered. “Truly I am. But I re
fuse to take responsibility for that which is clearly not my fault. Besides I must get home. Elizabeth will worry.” She turned and began to walk away.

  Christian watched her in disbelief. Then he started after her. “You can’t mean to leave me here. I’ve no way to get to the next posting station, and it’s damn... dashed cold out.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “The least you can do is give me a ride.”

  He heard her sigh across the twenty feet that separated them. “I suppose you’re right. In the interests of Christian charity, I have no choice.”

  He followed her to her vehicle, which turned out to be an open farm wagon. When he put his hand on her arm to lift her up, she pulled away.

  “Really, sir! You mentioned my reputation.”

  Christian gritted his teeth. What an utterly provoking wench!

  He forced his voice to a soothing tone. “I only meant to assist you.”

  “No need.” She sprang nimbly into the seat. He followed and attempted to take the reins. She pulled them out of his hands. “You’re certainly not driving. I saw what you did to your own carriage.”

  “I’m a crackwhip,” he protested. “I’ve won dozens of races!”

  “Hmmph!” was all she said as she coaxed the docile cob into a trot.

  Christian sat stiffly on the hard seat, struggling to regain his temper. It was not like him to get so provoked, especially with a woman. He had to admit there was some merit to her scolding words, although she didn’t have to be so shrill about it. In truth, he had been traveling too fast. He was probably lucky to have escaped with no more than a lamed mare and banged up carriage.

  The thought softened his mood. That and the sight of her pert profile when he glanced her way. She was rather cunning baggage.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Merissa Cassell.”

  “I’m Christian Faraday.” He almost added, “earl of Bedlington,” then decided against it. If he truly meant to change his life, he didn’t need the burden of his title complicating things.