A Notorious Love

by Sabrina Jeffries

She’d thought that her memories of last night’s pleasures had been heightened by the drink, but now she knew better. If anything, tonight it was more vivid, more pleasurable. More irresistible.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he murmured, “I could hold you like this for hours. I love to touch you. You have a body made for touching.”

  A thrill shot through her that she fought to temper. “You’re such a flatterer. And as Mrs. N says, ‘The Well-bred Young Lady must ignore flatterers.’”

  “It’s not flattery, it’s the truth.” He nipped her ear. “Isn’t it time you replaced the old harridan’s rules with ones better suited to your new status?”

  “My new status?” she echoed, then gasped as one of his hands slipped down to stroke her belly, then lower to the juncture between her legs.

  “Yes.” He cupped her there through the thin linen of her chemise. “As a Naughty Lady. And the first rule is that a Naughty Lady enjoys a man’s compliments.”

  “Does she?” She could hardly think while he touched her so intimately, one hand rubbing between her legs and the other thumbing her nipple deliciously. “She sounds very…naive.”

  “Second rule,” he said thickly, “is that a Naughty Lady doesn’t question the rules.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “That sounds like Mrs. N.”

  “Ah, but the rules of pleasure are very different.” He dragged up her chemise just enough so he could slide his fingers into the slit between her drawers.

  Merciful heavens, it was sweet feeling him flesh to flesh—his callused and hard, hers soft, wet, and yielding. He rubbed a sensitive nub, and she nearly jumped. Instinctively, she undulated against that magical finger, only half conscious of what she was doing.

  “You like that, do you, lass?” When she said nothing, hardly capable of speech, he added, “Rule three: A Naughty Lady tells her lover how to pleasure her.”

  Her lover. Yes, he was going to be her lover. And she wanted to let him.

  “So tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured devilishly, “is this what you want? Does this make you feel more kindly toward me?” His finger delved inside her, centering all her rampant urges at that one aching spot. “Does it please you to have me touch you here? Shall I go on?”

  He paused his motion as if waiting for her answer, and she cried, “Yes, go on!” Only when his finger plunged deep did she realize she was gripping his forearm to urge him on. But heavens, it felt so very good!

  “I’ll have more than my finger there in a bit, y’know,” he vowed. “You won’t escape me tonight, lass. I plan to lay you down and fill you with my flesh. I plan to make you mine.”

  A shiver of excitement rippled over her, the fierceness of her sudden yearning for him overwhelming. “And will you be…mine, too?” she couldn’t resist asking. “Only mine?”

  Abruptly, his caresses stopped. He turned her to face him, his gaze locking with hers. “Rule four: The Naughty Lady trusts her lover not to hurt her. As her lover trusts her to do the same.” His voice softened. “I swear to be only yours.” He unknotted the ties of her chemise. “Do you believe me? Do you trust me, love?”

  “I don’t know.” She wanted to. How badly she wanted to. But what did “only yours” mean to a man like him? Did it mean marriage?

  Even if it didn’t, she still wanted him. She’d become that shameless, that eager to know what other women knew—the lovemaking of a man who found them desirable. And if she brought up the subject of marriage and found out that Daniel’s idea of marriage was one where he kept his tarts and she waited for him to show her a drop of affection, it would ruin everything.

  She didn’t want to know. For once in her life, she wanted to do something reckless, without thought for the future. Something enjoyable and yes, naughty.

  “At least trust me with this,” he urged, dragging her chemise off her shoulders. “I’ll never hurt you, love. I swear it.”

  The chilly air hit her bare skin as he dispensed with her chemise and then her drawers, but it barely cooled the furnace building inside her. His eyes were like silvery flames licking over her, scorching and needy.

  “Christ, you’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands whispered over her body as if marking her breasts and belly and hips for future caresses. “Your skin’s as sleek and fine as Chinese silk. I knew it would be.” He caught a lock of her hair and twined it about his fingers. “And this hair…do you know how many times I wanted to take it down? How many times I imagined it flowing over your naked breasts?”

  The adoration in his voice made her tremble with need. “I wish you had.”

  His gaze shot to her, intent, earnest. “Helena, I said I’d have none of you unless you were sober and willing. The sober part I’m sure of, but the willing part you must confirm while I can still bear to let you go. I want to make love to you. Will you let me?”

  The uncertainty in his eyes reassured her. It was not the look of a man jaded with women and lovemaking. It was the look of an anxious lover. And that she understood. She was feeling rather anxious herself.

  She swallowed, her gaze dropping shyly to his waistcoat as she reached for the buttons. “A Naughty Man never leaves his lover standing naked while he’s dressed. It is rude, you know.”

  He made some choked sound, and her gaze shot up to find stark need flaring in his face. “God forbid I should ever be rude to you,” he rasped, brushing her fumbling hands aside to undo his waistcoat hastily.

  Anticipation swirled through her, pooling in the hot, eager place between her legs, curling around her heart. This was probably sheer madness, but she didn’t care. She wanted him for her own, if only for tonight.

  Her mouth went dry as she watched him unveil his flagrantly male body. The last time she’d seen him nearly naked she’d been too embarrassed to look her fill, but since this might be her only chance at it, she intended to memorize every inch. The well-wrought chest with its sprinkling of dark blond hair, the taut waist, the thickly muscled thighs, and between them…

  Oh, dear Lord in heaven. So that was a man’s “thing.” It was not at all what she’d expected. Even the sketches of Greek sculpture in the art books she pored over in secret had not prepared her for such a magnificently impudent appendage.

  Curiosity momentarily overcame maidenly shyness. “Danny?”

  “Yes, love” he said tensely.

  “You said that your…that it got firm. You didn’t say it stuck out.” The ones in the books were tame and lay nicely between a man’s thighs. This was anything but tame. It sprang wildly from a bed of golden, springy hair that made him seem more earthy than any hairless Greek statue.

  She looked up to find him struggling vainly against laughter. With a wicked gleam in his eye, he stepped closer and caught her hand. “Haven’t you ever noticed how a hound’s nose lifts and sniffs the air whenever his ladylove prances by? This randy beast of mine sniffs the air whenever you’re near. It’s aching for you, sweetheart.” Taking her by surprise, he laid her hand on his “beast,” closing her fingers around his hard flesh. “But first, it needs a bit of petting.”

  When her gaze shot to his in alarm, he lifted his other hand to stroke her breast. “You pet me. I pet you. That’s how we learn what pleases each other.”

  Daniel could tell he’d shocked her. Her eyes were round as saucers, and when he released her hand, she held him like he was made of glass. Though it felt bloody good having her hand on him, she was too gentle, too timid. It was like tossing a dram of water onto a blistering stone—all you got for your efforts was steam.

  And Christ, was he steaming.

  Hesitantly, she swept her fingers along him, and he thought he’d erupt right there. His pego moved in her hand, and she dropped it like it was a brand. “It’s rather…large, isn’t it?” she said uncertainly.

  “Not too large to fit inside you, love, if that’s what worries you,” he growled, torn between amusement at her maidenly hesitation and the urge to force her fingers back around his John Thomas and make her wr
ing him with her hot little hand. But that would send him off for sure. As it was, even her gaze on it was rousing him to a stiffness sure to frighten her.

  It seemed to him that someone as sheltered as Helena would enjoy lovemaking more if she knew what to expect. So he strove to stand motionless while she looked him over, curiosity warring with virginal fear in her face.

  When he could endure the wait no more, he caught her to him and kissed her hard. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the stall. “We’ve got hours for you to learn me. Now it’s my turn to learn you.”

  The straw crunched beneath the layers of coat and linens as he laid her down on the makeshift bed. He removed his boots and hose in record haste without taking his ravenous gaze from her. Even the scent of hay and horses and leather couldn’t dampen his pleasure at seeing her long-limbed body stretched out on the sheet, wearing only stockings and demi-boots, and swathed in golden lamplight.

  When he knelt beside her, a shaky smile quivered on her lips. “Aren’t you going to snuff the lantern?”

  He stripped off her boots. “Not yet. A man would be daft to make love to you the first time in the dark, my beauty.”

  He reached for her garter, but she caught his hand, a look of sudden panic on her face. “No, leave them on.”

  “Come now, lass.” He tucked one finger inside the bow of her lacy garter. “No lace allowed, remember?” he teased. When she didn’t respond to his little joke, he added, “I want to see all of you.”

  She ducked her head. “I…I…my leg is not…pretty.”

  Tipping up her chin, he forced her to look at him. “It’ll be pretty to me. Every bit of you is pretty to me.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh,” he said, laying his finger over her mouth. “I know what I want. And that’s you—all of you—lying naked and open beneath me. If I can have that, naught else matters.”

  Keeping his gaze locked on her face, he untied her lacy garters and whisked them away. But when it came to removing her stockings, he couldn’t stand not to look at her legs. First he bared her good one, sucking in a harsh breath at the sight of her lovely thigh and lovelier calf. She was a work of art, too good for the likes of him, though that wouldn’t stop him from relishing every inch.

  When he dragged the stocking down her left leg, he felt her stiffen. To be sure, this leg wasn’t as plump as the right, and the muscles lay withered beneath the skin, but it wasn’t so awful as she seemed to think, either.

  “I’m sure it’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen,” she whispered.

  He glanced up to find her wearing an expression of pitiful vulnerability, as if she half-expected, half-feared he would share her opinion. It nearly broke his heart. “No.” He pointed to his John Thomas. “This, sweetheart, is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Yet I wouldn’t trade it for a prettier one, if such a thing was to be had.”

  She fixed her gaze on his pego and a hesitant smile touched her lips. “I suppose it is rather…unusual-looking.”

  “So is your leg—unusual but pretty in its own way, just as a man’s pego can be attractive to the right person.” He bent to kiss her poor maligned limb, feeling her flesh tremble beneath his lips. “Besides, both your leg and my pego have their uses, don’t you think?”

  She buried her fingers in his hair. “I don’t know about your ‘pego,’” she whispered wistfully, “but my leg is good for nothing except making me limp.”

  “I like your limp,” he said as he kissed his way up her thigh.

  “Don’t be silly.” Hurt glimmered in her eyes. “Now you’re lying again.”

  “Not at all.” He grinned up at her. “I like it because it makes it easier to catch you. And because it made you refuse all your suitors, leaving you to me.” He positioned himself over her, nudging her legs apart, planting his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Best of all, I like it because it’ll keep you from dancing with all those fine lords at balls and making me mad with jealousy.” He bent his head to suck her breast, tonguing her nipple until she gasped and arched up into his mouth.

  “B-but it keeps me from dancing with you as well,” she stammered.

  “I’ve never been much for dancing. This is the dance I prefer.” He rubbed his John Thomas against her cleft, watching her expression grow heated and her lips part in surprise. “So tell me, love, would you like to dance the mattress jig with me?”

  A shy smile spread over her delicate features. “Yes.” She dug her fingernails into his muscles. “Oh, yes, Danny. I’m yours tonight.”

  Not just tonight, not if he had anything to say about it.

  So he set about making her need him as much as he needed her. He found all her tender spots, kissing the hollow of her throat, the sweet little dip in her collarbone, her nipples…all the parts of her that deserved kissing and had never got it. Every murmur she made fired his need, every gasp of discovery heightened his pleasure. Only when he had her trembling and begging and pressing her darling cunny instinctively against him did he enter her.

  He tried to do it gently, but Jesus Christ, she felt good—warm and tight and so wet. And his, all his. The fierce possessiveness he felt when he gazed down at her astonished him. And when he came to the barrier of her innocence, it humbled him to think that she would give herself to him, the highwayman’s bastard, when she could have other, better men if she wanted.

  That thought gave him pause. If he took her now, he’d ruin her for any of them.

  “Helena,” he whispered, “listen to me.”

  She gazed up at him, her face flushed, angelic and wanton all in one. “What is it, Danny?”

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, without a moment’s hesitation. Sliding her fingers down his chest to his waist, she latched on to him, trying to pull him into her, even though her inner muscles tensed with her fear. “I want to be a Naughty Lady. I want to be your Naughty Lady.”

  He swelled uncontrollably within her. To hell with those other, better men. None of them could possibly want her in their lives as badly as he did. “Then you damned well will be.”

  He could make her happy—he was sure of it. Once this nightmare with her sister was over, he would make her happy, no matter what it required. He’d make this a foretaste of what they could have together. He’d take precautions this first time, but he’d have her all the same.

  Seizing her mouth, he kissed her hot and long, until he could feel her muscles relax around his St. Peter. Then he plunged in deep, shattering her innocence with one controlled thrust. She cried out against his mouth, and he swallowed her cries, soothed her with kisses as he tried to ease his guilt at having hurt her, however necessary it might have been.

  “That’s the worst of it,” he murmured, trying to hold still, clenching his muscles against the urge to drive into her again. “It’ll be better now, love, I promise. Just let me show you. Relax.”

  “It’s not so bad,” she whispered. When he drew back to stare at her, she managed a tremulous smile. “I’ve had much worse pain, you know. So go on, Danny, I can take it.”

  His heart lurched in his chest. His darling lass had indeed had a great deal of pain in her lifetime, physical and otherwise. From her expression, she clearly expected the rest of this to be at best uncomfortable.

  “There’ll be no more pain for you,” he vowed. “Not ever. I won’t ever let you hurt again.”

  Then he began to move, clamping down on his ravening lust so he could keep his strokes slow and shallow. But she threw herself wildly into every kiss, her tips seeking his, her fingers digging into his arms. And before he knew it, he was driving into her lush heat with deeper, harder thrusts, trying to immerse himself in her secrets, in the soft mystery that was Helena. She was wet and warm and giving…He lost himself in her so completely it frightened him. He’d never lost himself in a woman before, never been so overwhelmed by need that he feared reaching his release before he could pull out. His craving for
Helena had grown from the day he’d met her, and now it was so wild and urgent he’d perish if he couldn’t satisfy at least some of it.

  First, however, he’d satisfy hers.

  He reached down between their straining bodies, searching out the place they were joined, finding her pleasure spot and fondling it. Tearing her mouth from his, she moaned, “Oh…Danny…yes, dear Lord, yes…like that…yes…”

  Her litany poured over him, flooded him with power. They were one force, straining together, moving toward a fulfillment he sensed he’d never known. And when she convulsed around him, it drove him over the edge into the insanity that was the “little death.” With a hoarse cry that echoed her own, he jerked out and spent himself, his own need exploding.

  As he drifted back to consciousness, the purest contentment he’d ever known stole over him. This was where he belonged, with her, beside her, around her. Right now she might only want him when he coaxed her like this, when he tempted her with pleasures beyond her ken. But he’d make her want him for more. He’d make her want to keep him.

  Because this was a woman he fully intended to keep.

  Chapter 16

  ’Tis of a brave young highwayman this story I will tell

  His name was Willie Brennan and in Ireland he did dwell

  It was on the Kilwood Mountain he commenced his wild career

  And many a wealthy nobleman before him shook with fear.

  “Brennan on the Moor,”

  anonymous Irish ballad about a real-life Irish highwayman

  Helena lay in Daniel’s arms spoon fashion, filled with a sweet lassitude. His breath riffled her hair, and his hand gently stroked her belly. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so safe, so protected…so wanted.

  Glancing idly down at his hand, she caught sight of the scarlet smear on her thighs. Her virgin blood, a stark reminder of the enormity of what she’d just done.

  She waited for shame to assault her, but there was nothing but the warm aftermath of pleasure and the exultation of having known him intimately. Apparently Rosalind wasn’t the only one in the family with a wicked streak.