The Arrangement

by Sylvia Day

  The sounds she made as he pleasured her were music. Her breathless pleas were aphrodisiacs. The feel of her hands in his hair and on his shoulders made his heart clench with longing. Wrapping his leg around hers, Justin ground his cock into the soft flesh of her outer thigh in a vain effort to relieve the desperate ache.

  Then he gave up and levered over her. Kneeling, he draped her legs over his thighs and pushed her chemise up over her breasts. “My God,” he breathed, undone at the sight of her dishevelment. The wanton pose was the realization of his deepest carnal fantasies. “You are so beautiful.”

  His fingers caressed her from breast to cunt in featherlight adoration.

  “Please,” she cried, wiggling delightfully.

  “Shh,” he soothed, gripping his cock and angling it down to the tiny slitted entrance to her body. “You should watch, love. It will excite you.”

  Sophie pushed up onto her elbows and stared at where they almost joined. Rolling his hips, he eased into her, sinking into hot, slick silk. The sight of his penetration moved them both. He hardened and grew thicker; she began to pant and flooded with moisture so plentiful it bathed his cock. As he had before, he took his time, memorizing every moment. The final surge to the root made him groan and grind against her, shoving himself as deep into her as he could go. She was stuffed full of him, a fit so perfect it made him want to howl with pleasure.

  Her cunt fluttered rhythmically, betraying how close she was to coming. His thumb to her clitoris, he pushed her over, gritting his teeth as she milked his tortured cock with strong pulses.

  “Yes,” he growled, watching the orgasm move through her, watching her fall helpless to the passion that had gripped him alone for so long.

  Only when she settled limply into the pillows did Justin begin to fuck her. Holding her hips, he withdrew to the tip, then thrust hard and deep. Out. In. Powerful, driving strokes straight into the heart of her. Hearing the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, feeling the heavy weight of his balls striking the firm curve of her ass, listening rapturously to Sophie’s sobbing pleas for more. Always more. He made no effort to coddle her sensibilities. She had to know how it would be between them, had to understand that while he loved her with a gentleman’s heart he would fuck her with a man’s primitive desire.

  And she loved it. Loved him.

  Justin’s skin misted with sweat, then dripped with it, and still it went on, his fingertips bruising her flesh as he held her down. Pumping her to orgasm again so he could see the startled pleasure drift across her features and the way her green eyes dazed in the throes. As she convulsed around him, he released his control, tossing his head back with a guttural cry. The climax shook him, making him shudder and jerk violently with every hard, thick spurt of his seed inside her.

  His jaw ached with the force with which he clenched it and he lowered into her open arms with gratitude. Nestled against her breast, he listened to her heart’s desperate beating.

  “I love you,” she whispered, stroking the perspiration-slick length of his back. “Whatever happens, know that I return the depth of your affection.”

  “I will marry you,” he returned, kissing the nipple closest to his mouth. “And I will know how you feel, because you shall tell me every day.”

  She said nothing, but her silence spoke a sad farewell.

  Justin closed his eyes, and began to plan.

  CHAPTER 7

  Freshly bathed with his hair still damp, the marquess paced in his study with his hands clasped at the small of his back. The hour was early; Sophie was still abed in her own chamber, having left his rooms just before dawn. He had hated that parting, temporary though it was. Hated that they could not be lazy and lie abed all day, wrapped up in each other.

  “My lord, you summoned?”

  He paused, turning to face the countess and his mother as they entered. He greeted them, gestured for them to sit on the settee, and then leaned back against the front of his desk.

  With his arms crossed, he asked, “When you both conceived of this matchmaking scheme, did you consider all of the many impediments to marital bliss?”

  The women shot furtive glances at one another.

  “We’ve no notion of what you are talking about,” his mother said finally.

  Narrowing his gaze, the marquess studied his mother’s gown, a near garish mix of flowery profusion that she somehow managed to make attractive. “Lady Sophie has declined my proposal of marriage.”

  Twin smiles spread across the two faces before him. “Bright girl,” the countess said with laughter in her voice. “I would not wish to be sneezed upon for the rest of my life either.”

  His mother grinned. “And this will spare your dogs from certain separation from you.”

  “I’ve no notion,” he said dryly, “how I have retained even a modicum of sanity after spending most of my life around you three troublesome females.”

  “Forgive us, my lord,” Lady Cardington said, blinking in an exaggerated show of innocence. “You must collect that we were under the impression that you and Lady Sophie did not suit.”

  His mouth curved. “If you think I am too proud to admit that you were correct, you shall be disappointed.” Justin knew the effort his mother must be exerting to contain a crow of delight.

  “So you wish to wed her?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And what of the boy?” the countess asked.

  “He is a part of Sophie. His position in my life will equal hers.”

  “Oh, this is wonderful!” his mother said, clapping her hands gleefully.

  “Yes, yes!” agreed the countess.

  Affording the two a moment to relish their near success, Justin’s gaze drifted around the room. Decorated in various shades of gray and blue and filled with stained walnut furnishings, it reminded him of a stormy day. He found himself contemplating what Sophie would think of such a somber setting. He wondered what shades she might have chosen. A lighter palette, he imagined. One more cheerful to suit her carefree personality.

  He was madly in love, obviously. When a man spent his quiet moments reflecting on a woman’s taste in decor, there was no denying it.

  His mother’s spine straightened and her face took on a suitably serious mien. “Does she display a similar interest in you?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his jaw, remembering the feel of Sophie’s mouth moving across it with ardent kisses. “But she refuses to wed me with her tattered reputation. Somehow, we must make her acceptable. I assume you both would have considered this before pairing us.”

  The countess sighed. “She requires a great deal of support and something that would make her irresistible.”

  “You must first begin with Lord Rothschild,” his mother instructed. “Restoring her brother’s favor to her would be of immense help.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, of course.” He had considered that this morning while bathing, and believed he knew how he might convince the earl to bend in this.

  “Then we must find something sensational, something that will make it much more advantageous to accept her than it is to snub her. Truly, if that Princess Caraboo creature can manage the task, our darling Sophie can do the same.”

  “Dear God.” He cringed. “We want her to be acceptable, not a blasted curiosity!”

  “No, no, of course not,” Lady Cardington agreed. “We are simply pointing out that nearly anyone can become a welcome and celebrated personage under the right circumstances.”

  “I will leave those machinations up to you,” he said, shaking his head. “That part of the affair sounds as if it needs a female mind to concoct it. But whatever mischief you conceive of, I want to hear of it before you act. Do I make myself clear?”

  Two heads nodded in unison.

  “I am departing shortly to attend to the matter of Rothschild.” He pointed a chastising finger at both of them. “Keep Sophie out of trouble until I return.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He moved toward the door,
pausing to kiss his mother and the countess on their cheeks. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I owe you both a great deal for your meddling.”

  “We do not meddle!” the dowager protested, affronted.

  Shaking his head, Justin departed.

  * * *

  A sennight later, impatience was riding the marquess hard as he vaulted down from his carriage in front of the impressive three-story columned entrance to Remington’s Gentlemen’s Club in London. Taking the steps two at a time, Justin strode swiftly through the watered glass double doors held open by black and silver liveried footmen. As he handed his hat and gloves to the waiting attendant, he took stock of his surroundings. Lucien Remington was acknowledged as a man of impeccable taste, and he ensured his establishment’s position as the most exclusive in England by continuously updating the decor. Remington did not follow prevailing inclinations in design. He set the standard for them.

  Justin noted the multitude of improvements with a suitably appreciative eye. The lay of the rooms remained the same. Straight ahead was the gaming area, which was the center of all business. From there, one could access the stairs to the fencing studio, courtesans, and private rooms above. The pugilist rings were on the lower floor. To the left, the bar and kitchen. Justin’s destination—Lucien Remington’s office—was to the right and he turned in that direction without further delay.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Fontaine,” the secretary greeted, leaping to his feet from his position behind a desk. He reached for the knob of the nearby door and opened it, ushering Justin in with due haste.

  Remington glanced up at the intrusion and stood upon recognizing his expected visitor. “My lord.” He bowed slightly in welcome.

  “Remington.”

  The marquess’s gaze swept across the room. The first thing one noticed upon entering was the carved mahogany desk that directly faced the door. The second was the massive painting that hung above the fireplace. From there, the lovely Lady Julienne smiled, her dark eyes bright with happiness and love. Two strapping lads with the dark hair of their father stood behind either shoulder, and a young girl with the golden hair of their mother sat at her feet.

  “Your wife grows lovelier by the day.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” The softening of Remington’s features as he glanced at the portrait revealed how deeply he loved his wife, a gently bred earl’s daughter who had rejected Society in favor of a love match with a bastard. Once Remington had been a gazetted rake; his black-as-pitch hair and irises a unique shade of near purple had been irresistible to most women. Now he was known as a man unfashionably devoted to his spouse.

  “You are a fortunate man,” Justin said, feeling no ill will. Julienne had made the best choice for her happiness. Yes, marriage to him would have afforded her the social status due a woman of her breeding, but he knew that he would not have made her as content as Remington did.

  “Yes,” Remington agreed, “fairly impressive for a mongrel, some say.”

  Justin returned his attention to his host, finding Remington’s lauded eyes filled with laughter as he alluded to the time when they had been rivals for Julienne’s affections and Justin had disparaged Remington for his common breeding.

  “You have not yet forgotten?” Justin asked, taking a seat before Remington’s desk. The surface was littered with piles of paperwork, betraying the breadth of Remington’s empire. The product of a long-standing romance between a demimondaine and a duke, his obscene wealth had been hard-won and was a source of great envy.

  “I will never forget it, my lord.” Remington moved to the row of decanters on the nearby console. “The moment those words were spoken, it was an uphill battle for you to win Julienne. I am not usually grateful for aristocratic arrogance, but in this case, I have made an exception.”

  Accepting the proffered libation, Justin smiled. “You will be surprised to learn the reason why I am here today, Remington. I do wish I could preserve the look on your face when I tell you.”

  “Hmm . . .” Remington resumed his seat, held his snifter in both hands, and arched both brows expectantly.

  “Lord Rothschild is a member of your club, is he not?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Excellent. Perhaps you have extended credit to him in the past?”

  Remington’s gaze narrowed. “Where is this leading, my lord?”

  “To a file of information, I hope,” Justin said blithely. “You see, I wish to marry his sister, who is quite ruined. I would wed her regardless, but the obstinate woman refuses out of concern for me. She was disowned by Rothschild when the scandal broke and I am certain that adds to her reticence. Therefore, I must persuade him to accept her back into the fold. Publicly and dramatically.”

  His smile turned into a grin as Remington’s face took on a noticeably shocked cast.

  “For clarification, Fontaine: Are you asking me to disclose private information about a peer so that you may extort his cooperation in order to marry his scandalous, ostracized sibling?”

  “Exactly! Extraordinary, is it not? Who would have guessed that I would one day do something so dastardly? And with such glee?”

  “Not I,” Remington said wryly. “I begin to think I was lucky that you conceded Julienne so easily.”

  Justin considered the man across from him carefully. “Oh?”

  “You said you would fight for her, yet you never truly did. You could have been a grave threat to me, had you chosen to be.”

  “She was in love with you and you made it clear that you reciprocated her feelings. You both had my reluctant sympathy. I did think she was daft to choose you, however. Gads, to think of the social heights she could have achieved as my wife!”

  “Ah, now I recognize you, my lord,” Remington said, laughing. Setting down his snifter he pushed to his feet and moved to the shelves on the wall to the left of the grate. Some action on his part exposed a hidden doorway, which in turn led to a hidden gallery. Remington disappeared into the opening, and a moment or two later he emerged with a thick file. He whistled low. “For your first effort at extortion, you selected a fat bird.”

  “Truly?” Justin stood, startled to realize how relieved he was. “Is there information I would find useful?”

  Remington’s mouth curled slightly at the corners. “Plenty.”

  The marquess crossed the room, set his glass down on the small table near the settee, and accepted the file. As he skimmed the contents, his mouth fell open. He shot a glance at Remington. “Damnation, how do you acquire such knowledge?”

  “I have my ways,” Remington said evasively.

  “Have you such detailed observations about others?”

  “When necessary.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “The information I hold is quite safe, I assure you. Aside from my man-of-affairs, you are the only person I have ever allowed to see a personal file.”

  Justin nodded gravely. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  Remington waved the comment away with a careless gesture. “Consider it my debt paid for doing your least to win Julienne.”

  “I should like to take some notes, if I could.”

  “Certainly.”

  A few moments later, after an attendant was summoned with fresh parchment and quill, Justin sat on the settee before the grate. A brief flash of light caught his eye, and he bent to investigate. When he straightened, he held aloft a lone tin soldier. The mental image of Remington’s children here with Lady Julienne made him smile.

  “Remington?”

  “Yes, my lord?” Remington glanced up from his paperwork.

  “Would you be so kind as to compile a small list of merchants I might visit to purchase amusements for a small boy?”

  Remington’s gaze moved to the toy and he grinned. “Certainly.”

  Justin nodded his gratitude, then returned his attention to his most pressing task and began to write.

  First, to his mother:

  . . . plan a dinner party. Make cert
ain Lady Cardington and Lady Sophie are in attendance. Also invite the following . . .

  Then, to Lord Rothschild:

  . . . requires a discussion regarding a matter of grave importance to both of us . . .

  And finally, he began to transcribe the most grievous, valuable, and intriguing information of that held in the file. All the while he thought of Sophie, wondering what she would think of the man he had become—one willing to go to any length for love.

  CHAPTER 8

  Fontaine pulled his mount to a halt before the Earl of Rothschild’s London townhouse. He imagined he should feel out of sorts or ill-at-ease at the very least. Instead he was determined and sure of his intent. In an hour or so, his life would be firmly set upon the path of his choosing. There was no way to avoid feeling triumphant about that.

  Passing the reins to the waiting groomsman, the marquess climbed the short stairs with a decided spring to his step. Within moments, he was announced and shown into a large sitting room that boasted walls of pale gray woodwork inset with panels of grayish-green damask and a ceiling that was the canvas for an impressive mural featuring fat cherubs frolicking amongst fatter clouds. The overall impression was one of affluence, but Justin was well aware that, in this instance, appearances were deceiving.

  “Lord Fontaine.”

  Turning his attention to the man who approached him, Justin noted the assured stride and uplifted chin of Sophie’s brother. They were very much alike, the two Milton-Riley siblings. Physically similar in coloring and bearing, both tall and slender, yet there was a gulf between the two so wide they were nearly strangers to one another. Justin suspected it was due to the fact that they had been raised apart. Rothschild had been sent away to school, while Sophie resided with her grand-mère.