The Golden Leopard

by Lynn Kerstan

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “My choices are limited, certainly. In fact, they are two. Shall I take my leave, or shall I have you? Do you want me to have you, Jessica?”

  Her attention went to the sweet throbbing between her legs, where he had been. Where she needed to feel him again. “Y-yes.”

  “Show me how much you want me, then. Persuade me that I want you.”

  As if he could doubt it. When passion seized her, every speck of restraint flew out the window. In his arms she could withhold nothing of herself and feared what she might reveal to him. Or to herself. This masquerade, she now understood, gave them both a safe place to hide. The games he proposed, the masks they wore, allowed them to indulge their desires without restraint, without deceit, without regret. It was his gift to her.

  “I don’t know how,” she said in a deferential tone that made him smile. “What is it you wish me to do?”

  “Well, I should like you a lot better, I believe, if your body was exposed to me. Slowly, a little at a time. And with a bit of style, if you can manage it. I have exotic tastes.”

  She hesitated. Before, he had always insisted on removing her clothes. It was a ceremony between them. A dance.

  “Do you mean to deny me?” He looked arrogant. Surprised at her reluctance.

  “I didn’t think you favored compliant women.”

  “I’ve had the other kind. I had one of them only a few minutes ago. It was satisfactory, yes, but now my palate is for something softer, sweeter, more . . . obedient.”

  He was so damnably self-assured, a tawny-haired sultan who had only to express a wish to have it granted. Perhaps for him it wasn’t a game after all. Or perhaps he simply played it very well. Her mouth felt dry. “I’ll require help,” she said, remembering the tapes and hooks and ties she could not reach.

  “Then you must earn it. Not by talking, though. Not by delaying. Show me what I want to see.”

  The lazy voice with its undercurrent of command sent tingles of nervous anticipation racing over her skin. She had never before been with him in the daytime. Been naked to him in daylight. What if she didn’t please him? Suddenly apprehensive, she reached down, lifted her skirt and petticoats, exposed one silk-stockinged leg.

  Remembered that she was no longer wearing her drawers. She glanced over her shoulder, saw them on the carpet beside the bed. He had stripped them off with one hand, using his other to insert himself.

  She fumbled with the garter, tugged it over her knee, knew she was the least graceful, least enticing female on the planet. But he didn’t complain, so she rolled the stocking down her leg, aware of the moisture pooling between her thighs, wondering if he could see it.

  “Come here,” he said. “Put your foot—no, the other one—on my knee. I wish a close view of what you have to show me. Yes, there. But your thighs are together, Jessica. They should never be together when you are with me.”

  With a gesture, he directed her to widen them, and how far. She felt his gaze like a solid object against her opening. “May I see you as well?”

  “No. You may only feel me, and only when I decide you are ready. The other stocking now.”

  When she’d slipped it off, he took it from her and drew her leg up over his so that she had to hop closer to him, between his legs, to regain her balance.

  “You may put your hands on my shoulders,” he said, “while I untie your laces. If we do this right, I’ll be able to suck your nipples at the same time. Would you like that?”

  Her expression must have answered the question, because he chuckled softly as he reached under her skirts and detached her petticoats. Then he undid the tapes that held skirt to bodice. Her lower body was tangled in swathes of muslin, lace, and sarcenet.

  “What’s this? No corset?”

  “I don’t like them,” she said. “I wear one only when I go out in company.”

  “Good. I don’t like them either. Well, your breasts will have to wait, then. Remove everything else you are wearing, please.”

  He didn’t object when she withdrew her leg, and shortly, she stood bare and flushed with excitement before him.

  “Come onto my lap now, and put your legs over the chair arm. No, no. They’re closed again. Remember what I told you about that. Now settle your back against my arm. Are you comfortable?”

  She was, sideways across him, his erection pulsing against her backside. But his shirt and trousers felt abrasive against her oversensitized skin. She knew better than to object, though, so she nodded and was rewarded with a kiss.

  “Is there any place on your body I cannot touch?” he said, his tongue moving to her ear and dipping inside. “Tell me I can have all of you, any way I wish, for as long as it pleases me.”

  “You . . . you can.” Her breathing was becoming short and shallow. “Everything. But hurry.”

  “Oh, no. Hurry is the very last thing I am going to do. Your nipples are already hard, and I haven’t gone near them. I wager, Jessica, that I could make you come without touching you at all.”

  “Yes. Probably. But don’t do that.”

  “Perhaps not today, then. But one day, we shall play that game. Meantime, your breasts need attention. Ask me to lick them.”

  She did, and fell back against his arm as he caressed them with his tongue, teasing at her nipples, drawing them into his mouth, sucking while she looked down at his head, at his lips and tongue moving on her, feeling the climax building between her legs. She needed pressure there, started to close them, felt him pull away.

  “Where is your obedience, Jessica? You are my plaything. Remember?”

  “I don’t like it that you have so much control over me,” she said. “And so much control over yourself when you are with me.”

  “That astonishes me as well. Do you imagine it is easy? Only a bit of cloth prevents me from sliding up inside you. But when I do, this will be nearly over. And when it is over, I must leave. So relax, Jessie. Close your eyes and feel me. Ten minutes is all I ask. You’re not ready yet for longer play. But each time we are together, I shall teach you how to stretch your pleasure, like a single strand of silk, to the breaking point.”

  She hadn’t thought she could, but for what seemed infinitely longer than a few minutes she felt his hands and lips moving on her body, as if he played her like a lyre. It felt so wonderful, and then more wonderful, that she thought a climax would be, at this time, an intrusion on the purest delight.

  He withheld it from her carefully, touching every place but the one place that would shatter her. When he put the first finger inside her, he did so from behind her thighs so that his hand wouldn’t set off the fire at her nub. The finger moved deliciously, swirling around, withdrawing, returning. Then it was joined by a second finger, and his mouth was at her mouth, and his tongue moved in rhythm with that invading hand. She writhed against him as one of his hands toyed with her breast, as his tongue plunged in and out of her mouth, as his long fingers reached ever deeper.

  Then emptiness for a moment. He sucked on her tongue, adjusting something below. A stretching sensation, not unpleasant, and he wriggled three fingers through her opening. Her head fell back with the excitement of it.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Look down, Jessica. Watch my hand play with you. How many orgasms do you want?”

  His dark fingers, slick with her moisture, mesmerized her. She couldn’t answer. She could only feel.

  “Now, I think,” he said. His other hand moved slowly from her breast, down her stomach to the dark curls, combed through them, and with just the right pressure, with her watching his hands make their music, he brought her slowly and then faster and faster to a searing, throbbing climax.

  It was so overwhelming that in the aftermath, she felt herself falling into unwanted sleep. Distantly she felt him lift her and cross to the bed. She fought the darkness closing over her. It was unfair to deny him. And however great the pleasure she had just experienced, it was nothing compared to being joined with him in the most int
imate embrace of all.

  “Please,” she whispered when he seemed about to let her go.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes.” Raising her hand, she pressed it against the large erection pushing against his trousers. “Give me this. I want this.”

  “I am your slave, my princess,” he said. “I will give you everything I have.”

  Chapter 18

  For Jessica, the next three days passed in a blur. After dispatching Helena to examine records at the offices of the East India Company, she gathered and pawned nearly everything of value she owned, including her jewelry, her small collection of antiquities, and her ermine-lined cloak.

  She took the names provided by Helena to every expert she knew who lived within reach of London and culled the list to thirty-four collectors with an interest in exotic and expensive antiquities. Their residences were scattered from Cornwall to Northumberland.

  She requested and received favors from a sculptor, a painter, a jeweler, the president of the Board of Control for the Affairs of India, the Duke of Devonshire, and the rector of St. Giles in the Fields.

  There had been little opportunity to catch her breath, and none to consider if she was behaving wisely. It no longer seemed to matter. To protect her sister and hamstring her brother-in-law, she had cast her lot with a seductive daemon. There would be ample time for regrets when he was gone.

  Meanwhile, with nearly all their plans worked out and most of the arrangements in place, she was waiting in the parlor for him to arrive, passing the time by addressing letters to the last few collectors on her list. It was nearing midnight, and Duran was more than two hours late.

  When he finally appeared, arm in arm with Gerald, the reprobates were in high spirits. Disgusted, she watched Duran lurch to the sideboard and pour two hefty glassfuls of cognac. Then, settling side by side on a couch like the best of brothers, they launched into a review of the evening’s entertainment at Palazzo Neri. Each had won a decent sum at hazard, but after that, Gerald lost all his winnings to Duran on the single turn of a card. Unaccountably, both men found that hilarious.

  Once, when Gerald wasn’t looking, Duran winked at her, and she began to suspect he was more in control of the situation than it seemed. But from years of experience, she knew that Gerald managed heavy drinking better than most. He bumbled about, often turned mean, but never lost the cunning that had kept him afloat far longer than others of his kind. She ought to have warned Duran about that.

  When the subject eventually staggered around to Jessica’s business proposal, she could tell Duran had already laid the groundwork. Before she’d begun to explain her offer, Gerald leaped directly to his catalog of objections.

  “For one thing,” he said, his drawl less pronounced than it had been, “we haven’t discussed advance money, not to mention expenses. And for another, you can’t expect me to sell something I haven’t even seen.”

  “Well, keep in mind we’re not trying to sell it,” Duran said with exquisite patience, “although we shall do so, of course, if all else fails. What we really want is to find the mate.”

  “So you say. But it sounds havey-cavey to me. And not quite in your line, Jessica,” Gerald added, turning his small-eyed gaze to her. “Do you believe all this business about stolen idols? Especially since he claims to have stolen one of them himself?”

  “Now, now,” said Duran. “I’ll deny that in any court of law. Not that a British court gives a fig what becomes of pagan idols.”

  “That rather depends on who owned it, and more to the point, who might want to own it. But the lady is our expert. What say you, sister-in-law? Ready to stake your reputation on the word of this paltry fellow?”

  “Certainly not. I have had the statue evaluated by several scholars of India antiquities, and they were unable to verify its authenticity. I have demanded provenance of Lord Duran, and he could provide none. What is more, his tale of not one but two stolen idols defies credibility. I should think the provincial ruler could manage to hang on to at least one Golden Leopard.”

  “Y-yes,” said Gerald, sounding disappointed. “Exactly the point I was making.”

  He wanted to believe in this, she thought. A measure of his indebtedness. Of his desperation. “But something about the statue appealed to me,” she said reflectively. “I have a sense of quality, you know. A talent for recognizing what is of value, even when it has been scrounged from an attic all covered with dust. So I brought the leopard to a jeweler, who certified the value of the gold and the gems, and to a sculptor, who declared the carving ancient and magnificent. I cannot stand by Lord Duran’s story of the statue’s origin, or vouch there is another just like it, but without doubt the one we have in hand is worth a tidy sum.”

  “A small fortune, at the very least,” Duran said. “But the pair, returned to Alanabad, would garner a prince’s ransom. I vote we go for the greater prize. Jessica?”

  She hesitated. Felt Gerald’s avid regard concentrated on her. “I don’t know. It would take a long time. And if we find the other leopard, and send you with the both of them to India to claim our reward, what certainty would there be that you’d come back to share it with us? I say a leopard in the hand is worth two elsewhere. Or nowhere.”

  “Save that I love you,” Duran said softly.

  She hadn’t seen him rise, but suddenly he was there, his hands gripping hers and drawing her to her feet.

  “Have you forgot already?” For a moment he gazed directly into her eyes, and in spite of his husky laugh, and the kiss that followed it, there was no mistaking the message in his look. You’ve gone too far. Don’t fight me now.

  When he set her back, squeezing her shoulders as a second reminder, she gave a shaky laugh. “But it was our secret. You said I must tell no one.”

  “Talbot doesn’t count. Among partners, there should be no secrets.”

  “You have persuaded him to join us?” She glanced over at Gerald, who looked wary. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. And you have come to trust him? I’m not sure that I do.”

  “Nor do I,” Duran conceded. “Not altogether. But he owes me a great sum of money, and the only way to settle his debts and ensure future credit among his peers is to throw in his lot with us.” Releasing her, he crossed to Gerald and pumped his hand. “We are to be related,” he said jovially. “Each of us wed to a Sothingdon chit. Mind you, Jessie and I are marrying quietly, and by Special License because her father is unlikely to approve. Her brother, when he learns of it, will be apoplectic.”

  “Aubrey is an ass,” Gerald agreed, eyes narrowed.

  “We didn’t invite you to stand witness,” Duran said, “in case you’d rather stay on good terms with your in-laws. But by all means, come make sure of the marriage if you need to. It is on for tomorrow morning. However, you must choose tonight whether to accept our offer or decline it. To be candid, I hope you will decline. I’m not persuaded you are indispensable, nor do I wish to share the profits. It was Jessica talked me into letting you join us.”

  “Even though she does not trust me?” He cast her a sly grin. “I wonder why she spoke in my favor?”

  Without Duran blocking her way, she’d have launched herself at Gerald’s throat. But with a large hand solidly on her shoulder, she subsided. Remembered the role she had to play. “Why? Because I cannot do all that must be done. If you are to be a part of this scheme, your assignment is simple enough. I have prepared a list of sixteen collectors, all of them residing within a day’s ride of London. You need only call on each one and make the proper inquiries.”

  Edgy because the moment had come, she went to the corner where a draped canvas was propped on a stylus. Without drama, she withdrew the covering. “This is a painting of what we have to sell.”

  From the canvas, brilliantly rendered, lavishly opulent, gazed a golden, bejewelled leopard.

  To her pleasure, even the calculating Gerald was impressed. But not for long. “This won’t do. Who the devil is going to believe a painting?�
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  “The real question,” said Duran, “is whether someone recognizes the image. You’re gamester enough to mark the twitch in the hands, the flicker in the eyes. That’s why you are the one to undertake this search. And of course you should make note of anyone interested in buying the icon, should we resort to selling it.”

  “I have another question,” Gerald said, gesturing at the painting. “If I locate someone in possession of one of these, how do you propose getting it away from him?”

  “That,” Duran responded easily, “would be my concern.”

  “We’ll see. And another thing. You claim to have its twin, but I’ve no proof of that.”

  “You astonish me. There is no obligation on your part, sir. If you dislike this enterprise, by all means take your leave. Or is it that you are concerned about the risks? There are some, I promise you, but—”

  “I don’t object to risks,” Gerald snapped. “I enjoy them. But I’ll not be exploited. If there’s a real icon, I want to see it.”

  “Certainly,” said Duran. “My dear?”

  She had concealed the wooden box in the wall safe behind a painting of a Berkshire pig. When she’d removed it to a table, Duran dealt with the locks, unwrapped the statue, and set it on a table for Gerald to examine.

  But all the while, it was Duran’s eyes she was watching, his reaction she was anticipating. It was all she could have wished.

  Gerald whistled between his teeth. “Satan’s ballocks! Is that solid gold?”

  “Near enough,” Duran said, recovering smoothly. “A core of base metal, possibly, for strength, but I’m not poking holes in it to find out. This leopard, like its littermate, must be in pristine condition if we are to sell the pair back to Alanabad. And that’s the big game, of course, the gamble of a lifetime. If we succeed, we’ll be rich. Second-best is to sell this as a one-of-a-kind artifact. Should all else fail, we render it down for the gems and the gold.”

  Gerald’s eyes, pinpointed on the leopard, were alight with greed. “I begin to like your plot very well. But you can’t think to send me out with only the painting. Let Jessica take it. She has experience and reputation to trade on, while I have neither.”