He backed to the wall taking her with him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, heedless of her hair arrangement, heedless of her gown, and she didn’t care a whit. In this moment, she had all she’d ever wanted.
Chapter Fourteen
He couldn’t wait to kiss her. He couldn’t wait to taste and feel her and he didn’t. Back to the wall, he held her against his body and lowered his mouth for what he’d waited for and wanted every mile of the ride home, every minute they’d remained apart. Last night he’d recalled her kiss in an endless loop of futility, wanting to taste her mouth again, a hundred times, a thousand, until his body ached from the wanting.
He had no label for this insistent longing. He didn’t spare it a thought. He just knew he needed to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her again until he had his fill, which he now believed would be never. She could never belong to him, but by this, he could remember each moment.
Sweet Gemma. Sweet, sweet Gemma. She smelled like honeysuckle and looked like heaven.
He wouldn’t frighten her with his craving. He pulled back, exhaled against her lips and gathered his patience to tighten the tether on his control. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth, tender and careful, all the while hungry for yet another taste.
Capturing her mouth, he groaned into her, running his tongue across the plump flesh, sweeping inside where she was wet and hot. Hell, it was only her mouth. His cock grew harder with the knowledge so much else remained to be discovered. His body thrummed with need.
Desire, rampant and insistent, raged in his blood. He skimmed his hands across her ribs, silken ridges wrapped tight in a gown that had no business being there. He wanted to touch her skin, feel her softness. Higher, he slid his palms below her breasts. The delicate scoop neckline displayed her creamy flesh, tempted him to touch, taste, squeeze, so very hard to resist. He told himself to go slow. He traced kisses along her jaw to her lobe, the shell of her ear, and sent a shiver through her with his words.
‘How absolutely divine of the Herberts to host a function down the street from my home.’
Her hands held fast to his shoulders but she soon grew bolder and smoothed her palms to his chest, the pressure of her touch through his linen shirt exquisite torture. How he longed to feel her fingers explore his body. He wanted to see her passion, teach her wicked things, hear her moan of pleasure as he buried himself deep. Every stroke of her fingertips across his chest reverberated in his groin. He’d never manage if he kept only to kisses.
He moved to her neck, nipping the delicate skin, knowing she’d have to return to the ballroom with the pinkened tattoo of his attention and not caring, too deep in his fervent desire. He licked a path to her collarbone and she dropped her head back to grant him permission, ask him for more. She trembled beneath his mouth, her skin the finest silk, and his body reacted, every nerve stretched taut, the hot pleasure found in kissing heightened by the aching throb in his smalls.
She smelled sweet and fresh and so very delicious. He whispered kisses between her breasts, as far as her neckline would allow, cursing the confines of her gown, wanting more, needing more. Still, like the lifetime of problems he faced, he found another way and, with a swift reversal of position, held her flat against the wall, his hands no longer at her waist but busy gathering her skirts, layer upon layer, until the quivering flesh of her thighs was bared to his touch.
Her hands tangled tight in his hair, her heated breath a steady pant against his ear, and he revelled in the sound of it, the heat of Gemma’s desire for him. He flattened the material, shoving it gracelessly to one hand while the other found what he truly wanted, the delicate lace at the slit in her drawers.
He wouldn’t dare assume, unwilling to break their fragile trust, so he waited, a most difficult task, and like other times she knew.
‘Yes.’ Her wide, wild gaze found his and offered complete permission.
When he pressed his hand there, she didn’t object. Still, he waited for what ached like forever but was likely two breaths. She didn’t stop him. He caught her mouth with his, kissing her deep and stroking her tongue like he needed to stroke her sex, feel her silky wet heat, give her pleasure as she never dreamed. The idea had his cock throbbing with need, the hot promise of her climax too much to ask for.
She made a little sound in the back of her throat and it proved his undoing. Her hips writhed with impatience and he pressed closer, wanting to sink into her, their bodies joined with no beginning, no end. She trembled, from the cool air caressing her legs or the anticipation of his caress he could not know. He skimmed his fingertips along the top of her silk stockings, so soft it was impossible to know where one ended and her skin began, then slowly, carefully, he trailed his touch further, to the damp lace, and poised his fingers to part her sex, in want more than his next breath. He stroked over her core with gentle pressure, no matter his blood drummed in his veins, primal and untamed. Need and want and madness all combined into one driving desire.
She was wet, so very wet, and as he dipped his finger between her folds a ripple of hot pleasure racked through him, so intense his cock pulsed, demanding release. He withdrew and she gasped; it was only one touch yet it affected her remarkably. She looked at him with wide glassy eyes, her lips red and swollen, a wild summons to touch her again, and he obeyed, sliding his finger between her wet flesh, wanting to do the same with his hard length, wanting to fill her until they lay exhausted and replete, sated in each other’s arms, two lovers entwined.
He stroked with more purpose this time, each pass against her sweet warmth, until he found the tiny bud of pleasure hidden deep. She parted her legs for him, an invitation to touch, and he could not stop, would not stop; nothing mattered now except this offering of pleasure. She rocked against him, whether her knees grew weak or she sought relief, and he held her tight, kissed her hard, and rubbed with persistence, stroke after delicious stroke. Her thigh trembled against the back of his hand, her soft slow moans, primitive and beautiful, and he kept on until he knew she balanced on the edge, her climax imminent.
‘Gemma.’ He couldn’t help it. He needed to see her. Needed to remember. ‘Gemma, open your eyes. Look at me.’
Her eyes slitted, drowsy with passion, and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, though nothing was said.
His slid his finger against her wetness, one sweeping stroke before he buried inside, tight and scorching, deep into her sex where he wanted to put his tongue and his cock, where he wanted to taste her and love her, and she gripped his shoulders hard as another moan escaped.
Time ceased.
She shuddered as she called out his name and he was shaken to the core.
Gemma struggled to draw breath. What had happened? What had he done to bring her intense pleasure when all the while she never knew such wickedness existed? And why was she plagued with all these questions when every cell of her body tingled with the aftermath of his touch? She’d sagged against him, her temple pressed to his, that wild lock of hair trapped between them. She wanted to stay this way for ever, wrapped in his heat. She drew another breath and searched his face, his mouth curled the slightest, eyes heavy-lidded as if he needed sleep. She, too, would like nothing better. They remained that way several minutes, their breathing warmed as they exchanged inhales and exhales, waiting while the world settled into place.
Slowly, as if any sudden movement would break the spell, he released her skirts and pulled away, disentangling the fabric and their limbs, smoothing over the layers as if he could repair the damage; but it was too late. She stole a look to the hopeless wrinkles and didn’t care. The mirror across the room revealed her mussed reflection. She looked in total disarray.
‘You look beautiful.’ His gruff ingress brought her eyes to his. ‘I regret having to return you to the Herberts’ affair when I’d much rather carry you upstairs.’
Her heart thudded in her chest. She watched him straighten his shirt, adjust his trousers. ‘My brother has forbidden m
e to speak to you.’ Why would she invade their intimate moment with this? Destroy the bond they shared? Because she needed him to reassure her it wouldn’t happen. To dispel her fear.
‘Winton?’ He was smarter than she. Twice as smart to deduce the meaning within her declaration.
She nodded.
‘He’s a coward, but your brother is correct. You deserve a man of honour.’
It wasn’t what she’d expected and the words sliced through her. Unwilling to reveal how they’d hurt, she returned her gaze to the mirror and brought a hand to her hair. It would be easily fixed, but her gown… that was another matter entirely.
‘We should get you back.’ His attention moved to her skirts. ‘I’ll think of something.’
He locked the door and led her through the hedgerow, the cool air a sobering tonic to assist in restoring her sensibilities, though logical thought arrived too soon. Thankfully, no one inhabited the garden and as she slipped through the gate, Cole a shadow behind, she wondered what Nan would say, the maid intuitive and far too observant for her own good.
They approached the back doors and Gemma glanced over her shoulder where Cole followed, his posture straight, without the slightest sign he didn’t belong or interrupted a private party. She admired his wherewithal, his confidence, and wished to remember the same when she faced her brother’s or, worse, Winton’s disapproving scowl.
Music played in the front rooms. The salon remained empty for the most part though a few guests lingered in the hall. Unsure what to do, she deferred to Cole in hope he had a plan to explain away her gown’s distress. There was no disguising her swollen lips or flushed complexion. As they entered the house, he made a beeline across the parquetry floor towards a trio of guests who stood clustered in the shadowy hallway alcove near the door. If he didn’t defer, he would collide with them, his steps too fast-paced. What was he about? He couldn’t possibly wish to draw attention to their re-entry. Would he have her rudely intrude on their gathering? But the panicked notion she would lose him once he entered the main part of the house forced her to follow closely despite her misgivings.
‘You there, have a care and watch what you’re doing,’ one of the gentlemen hollered after Cole as he pushed through the guests, but it was too late to stop the chain reaction. The two dowagers in the group swivelled their attention, glasses toppled, red wine spilled and the skirt of Gemma’s gown was stained well and thoroughly.
‘Good heavens, my dear, we didn’t see you there.’ The ladies fussed and apologised, but the damage was done.
Gemma stopped, inhaled sharply and assessed how neatly her disarray was camouflaged. With the ladies dabbing at her skirt and her blush misinterpreted as embarrassment, no one would question she’d just returned from being kissed senseless. The man was a genius.
She shot her eyes down the hall but it proved too late. Cole was already gone.
Kent sat in his carriage, reluctant to signal the driver to extend the steps. He had no desire to walk the streets of Charing Cross and experience the squalor as his comrades and peers had suggested during their last Parliamentary session. It wasn’t the poverty and hardship that affected him, for there were many levels of society and he, being on the top of that pile, viewed those below with varying opinion. No, it was the personal implication of the area. This, the last location his father visited alive. The guilt Kent harboured at having sent him to Charing Cross that night and the subsequent events persisted as an open wound.
Aren’t all people worth our consideration? Isn’t it our duty to provide for those in need?
Gemma’s words were a pernicious echo that would not diminish. His sister was kind of heart and generous with her affection, but something had changed these last weeks. Was it his obsession with the legislative responsibilities of Parliament? His attitude that, in turn, caused her to dig in her heels and fight his every decision? Or was it residual emotion from Father’s death and the aftermath of Kent assuming the title?
He had no way to know if he served Gemma and Rosalind well. Poor Rosalind had retreated into herself while Gemma pushed him away, reaching out and beyond his approval. Still, he provided. He maintained decorum. Someday he would arrange marriages for them both. But now, at this time, were they happy?
Too many considerations crowded in, pressed together and cried for attention. Not unlike the ramshackle topple of Cheapside and St Giles, Clerkenwell and Gittspur, widespread poverty swamped the area. It wasn’t only Charing Cross, but an epidemic of the worst kind.
Unable to avoid the task any longer, he rapped on the roof and exited his carriage. He’d walk the narrow streets and observe the wooden galleries where houses upon houses leaned against each other in a dilapidated state, their dirt-besmeared walls an allegory for the conditions within. He’d take it all in so, when he fought on the floor in chambers and presented his case for fewer Poor Laws and more workhouses, he could accurately detail why his proposals held merit.
A small child, a girl with matted hair and a bruise across her cheekbone, approached while he fumbled through the path of his thoughts. She looked upwards, eyes wide with wonder at his carriage and team of greys. He should allow her to pet their noses or perhaps have his driver put her on the box for a once in a lifetime thrill. He doubted she’d ever have the opportunity, her future already dictated by her birth. Still, the thought was fleeting and, with the same disdain he wore as a cloak of protection, he shooed her away and continued down the broken cobbles.
Cole sat in his office at the Underworld, his mind useless for numbers, the memory of Gemma in his arms too much distraction for the chore. He had no way to explain his reaction to her gentle innocence. Only that he was taken with her, ruined by her kiss; he, a man who preferred brothels because the lack of intimacy served him well. No kissing, barely touching. That was the medication he’d prescribed for years now, but with Gemma, he wanted all he’d disallowed.
The situation was complicated, near impossible by its very invention, the sister of a duke and the proprietor of a gaming hell. Sin had pushed the limits and overcome obstacles to marry Vivienne, but she was distantly connected to the aristocracy. Gemma embodied the nobility in its finest form.
He smiled, unable to contain the joy she evoked by way of remembrance, and breathed deep as if he might conjure her fragrance. Nabbing a chip from the pile on his desk, he rolled it between his fingers, anxious to keep them busy, wondering how Gemma would spend her day and how he could instigate another meeting, most especially now Winton had entangled matters and alerted Kent to their association. He couldn’t fault Kent for his brotherly duties, but Winton presented another matter altogether.
A knock at the door interrupted his silent contemplation and Sin entered.
‘Glad you’re back. Luke stayed on?’
‘Yes. There was no one at the property in Ipswich, but he decided to remain and ask questions of the locals. With any luck, he’ll gain information to aid in his search.’ Cole flipped the chip to the desktop and waited for Sin to broach the heart of the concern. When one ran a business for years with the same people, one learned their habits and idiosyncrasies as if they were one’s own.
‘I’m thinking of getting out.’ He stood before the desk with a serious expression Cole hadn’t expected.
‘No, you’re not. We’ve gone through these periods before. This, whatever it is…’ He gestured with his hand. ‘It will pass and life will resume normalcy. You’ll see.’
‘Not this time.’ Sin paced a line from one wall to the other. ‘I’m married now. Life holds different responsibilities, opportunities, and I’ve no need for additional wealth. So why am I here and not at home with Vivienne?’
Cole sat forward. Perhaps this time Sin was serious. ‘I imagine as a content bachelor that marriage is a huge adjustment.’ He chose his words carefully, not exactly sure what he wished to express. ‘But whatever misgivings you’re experiencing will resolve. I don’t think it wise to make impactful decisions no
w.’
‘I’ve thought about this for a while. Vivienne is alone. She has no family and I suspect she may be with child.’
‘Really?’ Cole popped from his chair and rounded the desk to slap Sin on the shoulders. ‘You devil. Hardly married a few months. Congratulations.’
Sin smiled, unable to uphold the serious mood. ‘That’s just it. I’m not positive, of course, and she hasn’t said a word, but I’m more knowledgeable of these things than she and what she passes off as a disagreeable stomach or unexplainable dizzy spell describes pregnancy to me.’ His grin widened. ‘I fancy she’ll be a wonderful mother.’
Cole noted his friend’s prideful boast. Would he ever possess a connection so strong, so precious, that he’d consider giving up his life’s work? Either of them? He rather doubted it. Relationships like that composed storybooks and on the rare occasion, like Sin and Vivienne, became real life. Though deep down he wished for someone to cherish with all his heart, the likely disappointment of never obtaining that goal posed too much of a threat and he shoved the yearning aside. ‘And you’ll be an excellent father.’
‘It is my vow.’ The gravity of their discussion returned, fathers not a popular subject between the men. ‘And my primary reason to consider leaving the Underworld.’
‘You can have it all, Sin.’ Cole walked with him to view the downstairs floor, vacant for the daylight hours. ‘Family at home, with servants to help as needed, and a business with two dependable partners who are there whenever you wish to come and go.’
‘I’m sceptical at how easily managed you describe it. I suppose it deserves more thought and, too, I’m not sure about Vivienne.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine why she hasn’t said something to me. If she doesn’t soon, I will enquire. Could she possibly not know?’
Into the Hall of Vice Page 15
