by Suzi Love
“The Earl told me nothing of his business affairs.”
His laugh was that mad sound again and shivers ran down her spine. “That’s the irony, isn’t it? Your husband wasn’t incapable of having affairs. The man was impotent.”
She didn’t flinch and held herself rigidly, so not even the flicker of an eyelash would give her away. Peter thrived on weakness, but he’d not find any in her these days.
“Was he? I was unaware of any problems.”
Peter frowned. Good, play the ignorant wife and leave him scrambling.
“Are you saying that he wasn’t impotent with you, when he couldn’t raise a cockstand at all with other women?”
Her turn to shrug. “You had the Earl investigated. What did your spies tell you?”
“They said he couldn’t sire children. That’s why he paid so much money for you. Why I arranged––”
“Arranged what?”
The ghastly suspicion lurking in her mind for several months solidified. No, please, not even Peter could be so depraved. But she knew better. Gambling held him in its grip, and no deed was too sordid if it put money back in his pockets and allowed him to return to the hells and lose even more money.
He tugged at his coat cuffs and refused to meet her eyes. “Arrangements such as those are between men. Women have no say in what we decide.”
Nausea roiled in her stomach and bile rose to her throat. “Men such as the Earl?”
He looked her over from head to toe, more ogling than appreciating, and her skin crawled. She desperately wanted to question him further, but she dared not give Peter a hint of her own increasing conviction that he’d taken part in, or organized, the dealings at the inn. By remaining close-lipped, he’d assume she was another fearful female who’d obeyed her husband without question. Though her growing horror at being near him would soon disrupt her composure, and she’d leap up, grab his neck and squeeze until there was no breath left in him. The urge to do him harm was becoming so insistent that she sat on her hands. If she surrendered to violence now, she’d never get the last piece of the puzzle.
Slowly and carefully, she reminded herself. Don’t reveal your hand and frighten away the main players in this drama. Soon the curtain would fall on this chapter and, if luck was on her side, she and her sisters would be free to start new lives. She rose to her feet, hoping Peter would leave. But the bastard stayed seated and ignored Gertie’s knock.
“Carina, we’re expected at midday for luncheon and it’s now a quarter of the hour.”
She nodded, thanking Gertie silently for rescuing her before she murdered Peter and ruined their chances of uncovering everything he’d done. Her investigators were shadowing Peter, learning how much he owed and who he expected to save him from debt. Until this morning, however, no one had realized that he’d go so far as to toss Lucy to a pox-ridden baron, like feeding fresh meat to a crippled lion.
“Thank you, Gertie. Lord Lindsay is leaving.”
Peter scowled but only said, “Two weeks. No more.”
While Gertie ensured that Peter left, Carina slumped onto the settee and gave in to the trembling she’d hidden from Peter. Gertie poured wine, and Carina clasped the glass tightly and took three large gulps.
“Is he doing what we predicted?” Gertie asked.
“Yes, everything. My informants believe he’s picked his next gulls and is desperate to get hold of their money. Despite being prepared, I was shocked that he’d attempt it again.”
Gertie hugged her. “This time we’ll stop him.”
“Deep down, part of me hoped I was wrong. That he wouldn’t destroy his family.”
“When we hand over the proof for the magistrates, Peter will have to leave England. You’ll be free of his sick machinations.”
Carina gave her a weak smile. “I’m not convinced I can pull it off. So until he’s on a ship I’ll not rest easy.”
“You could ask Max for help. He’d be happy to dispatch Peter to the other side of the world, so you could sleep through an entire night.”
“Nothing sends me to sleep anymore.”
Gertie grinned. “You slept well after your recent bout of exercise with Max.” She chuckled. “I prescribe a large dose of willing and able male before bed every night.”
Carina choked on her drink. “You’re incorrigible. Though Max does meet the requirements: male, large, and judging by last night’s performance, extremely willing, though he’s only available at bedtime for a month.”
“Wait and see,” Gertie said sagely. “Not that I’ve heard all the delicious details yet.”
Carina laughed. “And you’re not going to hear.”
“Too cruel. I miss having a man in my bed, so I need to live libidinously through your adventures.”
Carina hugged her friend. She prayed for a miracle because they’d need one to catch a viper like Peter. And she must hold her cards close to her chest, trusting no one, and pray she could stay one step ahead of him, until they could all wave a far from fond farewell.
Chapter Twelve
Max lay slumped back on the bed, totally spent. Carina had joined him at the cottage every afternoon, or evening, for ten days. Yet he still couldn’t reconcile himself to these feelings. After each time he enjoyed her lush body, he immediately craved her again.
He forced himself to stand and not glance back. He plucked up her chemise, fine white linen embroidered with dozens of lavender flowers, meaning to toss it back to where she sprawled across the tangled mess of sheets. Unable to help himself, he pressed it to his face. He closed his eyes and moaned. Lavender-scented today, and his favorite. He flicked the garment over his shoulder, and then watched it flutter and float until it settled on her bare legs.
There were more than sixty tiny purple flowers, lovingly embroidered by Georgie, around the hem. While she’d dozed, he counted them. He also knew her perfume was sometimes rose and that her underwear on those days was decorated with sweet pink buds, once again sewed with care by Georgie. Others times she wore jasmine, or gardenia, or some other fragrance designed to send his senses spinning and his mind reeling.
Hours after he left Brent Street each day, he’d be swamped by floral aromas and pass anxious minutes trying to work which garments the scent clung to, and if anyone else noticed that his normal pungent pine cologne had been replaced with something more sweet and cloying. He scolded himself that he was Stirkton and not a besotted swain who couldn’t take his eyes, or his hands, off a woman.
Today, he’d decided to leave as soon as he’d withdrawn from that snug feminine passage, so he could avoid the temptation to linger, to gaze, to sniff.
“You should get dressed.” He sounded harsh.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” He swung to face her.
Propped on one elbow and with the sheet at her waist, her breasts were bared to him and he watched, fascinated, when she wiggled and set the twin globes swinging gently. To add to his torment, she pushed back her swathe of tumbling red curls and moved her magnificent bosom until his mouth dried and his breath was ragged.
Her deliberate teasing drove him insane and he was helpless to resist. As a man of power, he controlled situations and people. They didn’t control him. But every time she teased him with her body, or perused his body with her tongue caught between her teeth, his heart beat faster and his blood heated.
Nothing had any significance beyond the wet welcome of her body when he thrust into it long and deep. Nothing mattered beyond the sight and smell of this temptress. The Countess had bewitched him. The witch gave him an amused smile.
“Has no one ever denied you, Your Grace? Though I know you’re desperate to keep to your usual schedule, I’ve decided that I’m ...”
She languidly stretched and spread her limbs across the four poster bed, and then lifted her breasts. Beneath the curls at her apex, he could see her center glistening, begging him to put his tongue there and lick and taste until she screamed his name and flooded his ton
gue with her essence. She was pink and perfect and he yearned for one more taste, and then perhaps another.
“...not yet satisfied.”
He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. She’d cast a spell and enthralled him.
“Not... not satisfied,” he stuttered. “I don’t... know… what you mean.”
“Don’t play the fool. You know exactly what I mean. For two weeks, we’ve followed your ingrained timetable. And I imagine, the same guidelines you’ve used every month and with every nameless, faceless woman. Am I correct?”
“I said from the start that nothing would be different between us.”
“Rubbish. I’m more than your next whore.”
“Not once have I called you a whore.”
“Whore, prostitute, courtesan, wife. There’s no difference.”
“Of course there is. Though I don’t understand what you want.”
“You, Max. I want you.”
“You’ve had more of me than any woman. Ever.”
“You’ve given me more time, but no more of yourself. Because you’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“Scared of repeating your mistakes from our first night together. Afraid of not measuring up to your heritage standards. Did your grandfather find out?”
“Not about that first night. He and the Earl hadn’t thought to cut the holes in the walls. That came later.”
“So we’re the only ones who know what we shared. Tenderness, acceptance and even fun. And that’s what you can’t admit. No matter what you were taught, you treat women with care. And at least one woman—me—relishes every moment we spend together. I’ve never known such happiness, such pleasure.”
He shook his head, despite knowing that she was correct and he’d ignored the rules. “Having sex is a man’s way of easing his body’s urges, and nothing more.”
“Poppycock! Women also enjoy sex. And you’ve given me much more than physical pleasure. ”
“What about our first time? Virgins usually feel pain rather than pleasure.”
“You took care of me that night too. Made sure I was ready. I had little pain the first time, and none the second or third times. Do you remember?”
Of course he remembered. Hell, he’d never been able to get her out of his mind. After that night, he’d been watched and every performance with a virgin had been evaluated, then humiliated by having to account for every action the next day.
“My grandfather was furious about that night, with me and with the Earl. From then on, I wasn’t allowed stay with a girl for longer than an hour in case I formed an emotional connection with one of them.”
Carina stroked a hand down his bare back and though he remembered little about his mother, he knew she’d touched him with those same feminine comforting gestures.
“Are you worried about getting emotionally attached?”
Max pulled away from her roving hand. “We’re drawn to each other, yes, but trust me when I say that what you’re feeling is lust, and lust fades and desire shrivels. Sex is good but after that men and women have little in common.”
Carina surprised him by laughing. Her full-throated merriment stirred his sense of the ridiculous and, despite being the brunt of her joke, he wanted to join in.
“Stop being such a prude. Us, together, isn’t to satisfy an urge. We’re sharing much, much more.”
He sighed. “Fine. I admit that when I’m inside you I feel things, and I wonder if it might last. If it’s possible to enjoy being with one person long-term.” He stretched out beside her on the bed. “Which is why I want to keep meeting here for longer.”
“What? No, no. We might pass each other in the street or meet at a ball, but by Christmas, you and Alice will be man and wife.”
“My intention has always been to keep a mistress. Girls like Alice can’t be expected to welcome their husband more nights than necessary, so a true gentleman takes his lust elsewhere.”
“Rubbish! Why would any lady want to share her husband with another woman?”
Max felt his face heat. “You’re twisting my words. Ladies are entitled to be left alone after they become enceinte, as I’ve no doubt Alice’s mother will explain. I shall do my best to ensure that Alice enjoys my visits to her bed. But with an experienced courtesan I can relax my guard.”
“Your plan for bedding Alice sounds like animals being mated. Personally, I enjoy your baser urges. A lot. Isn’t that why women, especially widows, have affairs? Because they miss having a virile man between their legs.”
“If you enjoy what I do, keep coming here until our liaison runs its natural course and we tire of each other.”
“I couldn’t do that to Alice. Guilt would eat me alive. But out of curiosity, why do you think we’ll grow tired of each other?”
“Because nothing lasts forever, especially not anything good.”
“Oh, Max.” She stroked his bare arm and he shivered. “But there are both good and bad marriages. My mother and father were very happy.”
“But her second union wasn’t good, was it?”
“She wanted security for us, but she’d turn in her grave if she knew how dearly her mistake has cost us.”
“You dealt with a stepfather whom I gather you disliked and a stepbrother you loathe, yet you stay optimistic and you shower others with warmth and goodness”
“Believe me, I’m no saint. I committed adultery with you, and supposedly with other men. I’ve grappled with that guilt for years. In the eyes of God, I’m a sinner.”
He touched her cheek. Warm, alive and wonderful, and he wanted more. He kissed her and lingered at her mouth, unwilling to leave her sweet and tempting lips.
“Sweetheart, your heart’s too pure for you to be a sinner. God would never condemn you for something you couldn’t control and berating yourself is senseless. Remember your achievements and don’t dwell on your imagined failings.”
Carina smiled. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. That anyone has said in a long time.”
“The ladies adore you and appreciate the sacrifices you make for them.”
“It’s not a sacrifice when it’s people I love.” She ran her hand down his bare chest. “It’s a privilege.”
Max groaned, before kissing her with hunger, need and desperation. Her inner goodness warmed him like a fire and he yearned to keep her close. “I need you. Stay with me. If we’re discreet, no one will know.”
“I’ve barely been able to keep our secret from my sisters.” She frowned. “And when we dined with Alice’s family, Lord Johnston watched me like a hawk. As if he knew what we were doing and was condemning my black soul to hell.”
“Nonsense. Besides which, Johnston is a man of the world and will assume I’ll keep a mistress. He’ll probably applaud my good sense for not bothering Alice.”
“I think you’re wrong. His wife wants their daughter to be the most revered woman in England and, mark my words, she’ll not tolerate her son-in-law dallying with courtesans. And he obeys his wife, so you’ll not be let out of their sight.”
Max glared at her. He did as he pleased and nothing would change because of a few church vows. “I’ll speak to Johnston. Neither he or his wife will dictate to me.”
Carina laughed. “If you think to cower Lady Johnston through her husband, you sadly underestimate the power females wield in households.”
Her assumption that his wife and her parents would have any say in what he did was irritating. “I swear I’ll take care of everything.”
“Your past liaisons were common gossip and your future affairs will also be discussed in every house and at every ball. I can’t be involved with you, because of the damage it would do to my sisters’ reputations. Perhaps Johnston will turn a blind eye to your normal habit of setting up a courtesan, but anything more will bring Lady Johnston’s wrath down on your head. I can’t risk that, not when my sisters’ wellbeing is at stake.”
“For God’s sake! Why can’t you trust me?”
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br /> “Because I learned long ago to make my own decisions and not depend on a man. Not you, and not my stepbrother.”
“How dare you lump me with that villain! My investigators are following Peter’s trail of debt through a string of clubs and I’ll soon hold proof of his perfidy. I want to see him prosecuted for gambling away money that rightfully belongs to you and your sisters.”
He pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand. “Trust me on that at least. He’ll never harm any of you again.”
Carina sighed. “You’re the only man I’ll trust. But when so much is at stake, I must be careful.” She linked her hands behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, and he forgot the problems she spoke of and thought of the warmth and the pleasure.
Lust, he reminded himself, and nothing more. But then he looked into her clear green eyes and fell under her witch’s spell. Somehow, he’d convince her to extend their time together, at least for the few weeks needed to satiate himself with her lush body. Or, until he convinced himself that he could give up her passion and zest for life and accept Alice’s cool reserve as the correct path. After all, he’d accepted Alice’s nervousness before, so why was he now filled with doubts?
“Getting back to what I said before,” she said with a cheeky grin, “I need another reminder of how not to feel pleasure.” Her tongue flicked along the seam of his pursed lips, but he resisted her unspoken request the way she’d refused to agree to a longer liaison. No woman with a strength of will to match his own had ever been at this cottage until now, and it was hard to know if she was the best decision he’d ever made, or the most catastrophic.
While he waged a fierce internal debate, she took the decision out of his hands by lifting and spreading herself full length on top of him, skin to skin, and with her soft curves filling his hollow spaces. She entwined their fingers and lifted their hands high, so they strained together from head to toe with each hot place pressed against its opposite. Her tongue speared his ear, before she licked a path down his cheek to his open mouth and dived inside, swirling wet circles over his teeth and tangling with his tongue.
