by Claudy Conn
“Much as I love Ben, not having Henshaw problems thrown at the feet of Ben Clay. Lord, girl … I’m a man full grown for all you treat me like a moonling. ’Tis my problem to deal with, and so I shall.” He chucked her shoulder roughly. “Besides, those emeralds are for your dowry. Need to marry you off—you aren’t getting any younger, you know!”
She laughed in spite of herself and gave him a rap. “One and twenty is not quite past my dotage, dear.” Hands on hips, she told him, “You may not be a moonling, but you are still somewhat green, and greener still if you won’t admit it!”
He smiled ruefully. “You are out there, you know. Maybe I’m not as downy as you, Jewels, but I know a thing or two. And you, after all, are just …” He stopped for dramatic affect. “… a woman …” He ducked her hand. “And some things should be left to a man.” He moved away from her then, saying over his shoulder, “I’ve a host of things to do …”
“Jimmy—Jimmy … this discussion is not over …”
He turned and walked backwards away from her, a big boyish grin on his face. “Don’t fly into the boughs, m’girl. What, did you think I had no more pluck than dunghill cock? Did you? Well, it won’t serve. I am every bit a Henshaw and mean to have at this problem. We need the entrance fee, and by God, I am going to see that we get it!”
“Yes, but how …” she begged.
He stopped and took a moment’s pity on her. “Arthur knows someone—if you must know. It is … something in the nature of a loan …”
“No! No loans … no …”
“Buck up, old girl …” He then moved away. “I’m off, so let’s have no more talk of it. I leave in the morning, and that is final.”
She watched him stalk off and wrung her hands. He was right—he was a Henshaw with his father’s stubborn streak—but what they didn’t need was another loan with outrageous interest rates.
She needed to run, and for a time she did, towards the west and the sea, but a call at her back stalled her.
Ryker stood at the peak of the hill—the lengths of his black cloak flapping in the wind, his dark blond hair blowing—with the blue sky and tall grass all around, he looked like a mythical god. He called her name, and she suddenly realized that it made no sense: she knew so little about him, and yet she wanted him with every fiber of her being.
He had invaded and conquered her thoughts and heart, and—oh no … how much of the heated conversation between her brother and herself had he heard? But he was already taking long, hard strides toward her, taking both her hands to his lips, saying her name with a voice that caressed. She needed him … oh, but this was the man, the hero she had been dreaming of all her young adult life. His voice was low, husky, demanding, “Jewels, I want you to trust me—trust me now …”
The next thing she knew she was in his arms. She wanted to be there, but trust? What she was feeling had nothing to do with trust. How could she trust him? That was another matter. He was a stranger. She knew absolutely nothing about him, and how could she give herself to anyone when she was so desperately embroiled in such scandalous behavior herself? She was untrustworthy. It dawned on her that if he ever found out she was Babette …
She pushed against him, but he had her hand and said, “You want to run, so then, let’s run together …”
And he led her to the sea …
*
The smell of salt filled the air, and seagulls hovered and called as they glided and dove into the shallows. Small waves of foam crashed and rolled and crashed again on their way in to the beach, and Jewels suddenly wanted to just collapse.
All of it was becoming too much, too much to shoulder, and here was this big man with a promise in his eyes, deep in his eyes, that seemed to offer protection. Protection? But how could she believe in him? How—when so much pointed a finger and said he was nothing more than a London beau out on the prowl. Yet, her heart wanted him and her heart created emotions that clouded all other considerations.
Her heart had whispered his name in the quiet darkness of her room when she tried to sleep. Her secret dreams said Ryker was the one. Her mind squealed the word no at her, but her heart gently said yes; oddly enough the gentle whisper won out over the shout.
He laid down his big black cloak on the sand on a cozy spot nestled behind the tall grassy dunes, he offered her his hand, and she gave it …
He helped her down to her knees and went down to join her, easing her into a sitting position. She sat, put her hands into her lap, hung her head, and began softly trying to tell him something of what was troubling her mind, but instead she started to cry.
He took her into his arms and petted her. “Shh … there, there, love …” he said as he held her tightly in his embrace.
And then for a very long time, he cooed to her, whispered soft nothings that meant only, I am here for you. He did exactly what she needed. She didn’t know how long they stayed there like that before she felt his kiss on her forehead, before he took her long hair and spread it away from her face and bent to kiss her nose.
His voice was a caress when he said, “Jewelene—I am not going anywhere. You can reach out for me—just reach for me when you need me.”
“I cannot. My … my problems … are my own …” She sniffed.
He sighed. “You are so lovely, and I shouldn’t have you here alone with me like this, not now—this isn’t what you need …”
“Oh, but it is, Rye. It is exactly what I need. I don’t want to think anymore … I don’t want to problem solve … I—”
His lips were on hers and parting her own as she leaned back and took in his scent, his masculinity, and his overpowering strength. She wanted that strength. She wanted to rely on him. He was what she needed, hungered for, and desperately hoped was as right as it felt. She wanted to be in his strong arms. She wanted him to satisfy the yearning she had to be with him, to feel his touch, and oh—his touch was magic! It awoke an erotic thirst in her she hadn’t been aware was there under the surface, dormant and ready.
She didn’t know how he had worked off her spencer, but it was off, and he had her breasts free from the bodice of her day gown. He hiked up the A-line of her gown, and she helped him pull away the soft cotton undergarments.
How could she? What was wrong with her? She had never let a man do more than kiss her before him—society dictated that she was supposed to save herself for her husband, for the man she loved … and then it hit her hard.
He was the man she loved, and she did so with all her heart and soul. She wasn’t sure she saw him clearly. She wasn’t sure she knew him yet, or what he really stood for—how could she? But, oh, she wanted him.
She had never felt this way before, and a sudden and total desperation to surrender to him took over her mind and banished any logic that tried to intrude.
She surrendered to his invasion and giggled nervously as he fumbled to get her gown out of his way and undo the buttons of his breeches, and she was filled with the joy of her passion.
He had her breasts in his large hand and whispered husky words of praise she scarcely heard as her body was flooded with primal desire. When he bent his head to lick at her nipples she understood why friends at school had gone off into the night to meet with town boys. This was what they were looking for—this was pleasure beyond thought.
And then he opened her nerve-endings for more as he began nibbling and suckling at the pert hard buds, and she arched to him with a groan she couldn’t believe came from her.
She wanted more of him, more of his touch, more of his kisses, his licking and nibbling and …
“You beauty, you—I have never felt …” he whispered as he licked and kissed a path down her bare midriff to her belly.
It was still cool outside for spring, but she didn’t feel it—didn’t think about being exposed and only partially hidden by the dunes. In truth, she had thrown caution (as was her style) to the winds.
Hunger vibrated through her body. Wanting beat a drum so loudly all she could hea
r was the need it spelled. She felt only him as she experienced raw passion while his tongue moved between her thighs, sending her into a convulsion of pleasure she had never dreamt possible. Instinctively she lifted herself off her butt, giving him full exposure as his fingers found and worked her with a quick vibration that sent her over the edge, and she exploded with a shout of ecstasy she had never imagined she could feel. She had closed her eyes during her pleasurable aftershocks, and when she opened them she saw that he had released his huge cock …
They raised horses at Henshaw, and she knew just what a cock looked like and what it was for. She stared at it a long moment, marveling at its size and girth.
“Stroke this, love …” he said in a throaty, fever-pitched tone.
And she did, and the feel of it made her shudder once again. She felt alive and powerful with the new need to please him and bring him to a heightened and unrestrained desire for her. She saw his face as she touched him and realized what she could do. She scrambled towards him to kiss its length and lick its rim, and then as a groan escaped him, he lowered her back down onto his cloak and positioned himself. “Easy now, love, you are tight, so tight, and this may hurt a bit …”
Did he know she had never done this? Should she tell him? “I … I have never …”
“Hush, sweetheart, don’t you think I know …?”
In response to that, she decided to show him that she meant to please him and shoved up against him, grinding her hips instinctively to a silent tune, to the dance that would make him hers, and he took her butt in his strong hands and slowed her. “Sweet love … easy … I am going to make you mine but gently … easy …”
“I don’t want gently or easy … I want now and all …”
He moaned and started to push himself inside. She felt his dick making its way through her with delicious sensation, and she met his thrust with vigor.
His voice was almost rough as he said, “My love is so wet and ready …”
And as he pushed further, she stiffened suddenly because he had reached her maidenhead. She thought for one panicked moment that he was too large and that he would tear her apart. Her voice was worried as she told him, “Rye … it won’t fit … it won’t …”
And even as the words were out, he was in and pumping her full of pleasure. “You hot beauty, you—you perfect girl …” He rotated her butt with his hands, working them both into a frenzy. She pounded up against him, and this time when she climaxed, he allowed himself the sweet release …
He held her tightly afterwards and kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips and said, “Hurry, love—I want you to get dressed … we can’t be found like this …”
Jewels heard something in his tone and took it to mean he was protecting himself as well as her.
“No, of course, not … you wouldn’t want anyone to know …” she said in a hurt tone. She thought she understood him and his motive all too well—and a crack found its way to her heart.
“What are you talking about, goose …?”
“Not such a goose that I know you don’t want to worry about a scandal … or anything like it. You must not feel guilty about this. I don’t expect anything of you. No one shall know, and no one shall force you into anything. This was my fault as much as yours …”
He took her shoulders. “Don’t be a fool!”
She was pulling on her undergarments, slipping into her spencer, adjusting her bodice, and not looking at him. She was dressed haphazardly but dressed, and as the hurt blasted away the pleasure, she turned her tear-filled eyes and controlled herself as she tried to hold up her chin. “I expect nothing from you. This …” Her hands waved about helplessly. “Was what I needed at this moment. You were here to fulfill that need—nothing more!”
“Jewelene—” he started.
She hurriedly interrupted him with her hand up as she tried to save her pride. “I was blue-deviled, and you took me away for a time … but I am just fine now … and, Ryker, because I don’t want to be one of your many conquests, I will forget that this ever happened, and please you do the same.”
He made a grab for her shoulders, but she jumped out of his reach. So he put a hand through his dark blond locks and said, “You are being absurd—my sweet, sweet Jewels … don’t you …”
She was already running, throwing over her shoulder, “Leave me be now. You needn’t play the gentleman, because I am no lady fit for you.”
He put himself together, threw on his cloak, and took a moment to stand and think. He had called after her, but she wouldn’t stop to listen to him as she ran towards home. He needed to understand what had he said, what had he done to make it all go so horribly wrong, for, bloody hell … he hadn’t a clue.
He grumbled to himself as he stared after her and thought that he couldn’t have botched things more if he had tried. How was he going to set things to rights? And he had to. He simply had to get this little hellcat of his under control. If anyone could do it, he could, he told himself, but, damn, it was going to be deuced difficult.
Eleven
BABETTE SPARKLED IN a simple gown of blue velvet, but that sparkle did not carry to her eyes, or her heart. She sat at the faro table and made a good attempt to keep her mind on the game. She couldn’t think about Ryker and what had happened between them.
She had been shameless. She had … given herself freely, and it wasn’t fair. Men did it all the time without repercussions—and how could she ever look at him again? What must he think of her? She had now broken every social rule there ever was.
A long silver feather tickled her ear as a voice she knew all too well thrilled her in spite of her resolves. His voice, deep and sensuous, said, “You surprise me. I did not expect you tonight … Babette.”
Ryker’s voice was low and seemed to caress her, and she had to remind herself that he wasn’t speaking to her, he was speaking to Babette, and that helped to anger her out of her blues. “Non? And why iz zhat?” she responded as though not really interested in receiving his reply.
“Many reasons, but, ah you are exquisite, pretty Babette—only look at the puppies all making eyes at you.”
“I care nothing for zhat.”
“Then why are you here?” he pursued
“I am here—because … I have not the choice,” she answered honestly.
Filey and Hill were vying for her attention at that moment, and she smiled at them and told them in French to behave themselves and place their bets, and then repeated the command in English.
“You do it all so well …” Ryker whispered as he bent in to her ear.
“I do it well?”
“The French—the style … the handling of the puppies flocking around you …” Ryker said softly. “One might assume you are used to managing a younger brother?”
She turned a sharp eye up to his handsome face and saw his twinkling gray eyes. She took an involuntary breath. “La, m’sieur, it is a thing of nonsense you speak …”
His words seemed calculated. He appeared as though he wanted something, but she wasn’t sure what. “Nonsense, is it? You know better, don’t you, Babette?”
There was something in the way he said the name. There was something in his eyes that challenged her. Had he guessed? Did he know … faith … could he know, she asked herself. She looked long into his wonderful, speaking eyes, and her heart reached out for him, but just past him she saw the devil himself looking her way, and all thought was stalled save one: she had crossed over the line!
Why had she not realized that this was so much more than a ‘lark’ to make money? Why had she not seen that so many besides herself would be hurt if someone like Omsbury were to become curious about Babette?
Lord Omsbury had walked towards her faro table, and she found she couldn’t breathe. Being with Ryker that day had very thoroughly launched a desire to win his heart. She wanted him, and she wanted him to love her. However, to do so, she would have to confess all to him.
Now she was in the path of a cannon, a
nd that cannon was Omsbury! What should she do? What could she do?
This was a danger … had always been a danger—why had she not seen it? Why hadn’t she realized she couldn’t maintain this charade without putting her family in the direct line of social ruin?
When he stopped and chatted with a few gentlemen, the light from the wall sconces gave him an eerie glow—and for a moment, she thought she might faint. How could she pull this off? Would he know her?
If he discovered her disguise this evening, he would threaten to destroy her family if she didn’t do what he wanted—and what he wanted would totally ruin her life.
Panic made her ill, for he seemed once again to look her way with intent. She was suddenly struck with the enormity of her crime. She was a gently bred daughter of the aristocracy playing at being a dealing house wench!
However, as it turned out, the cannon wasn’t aimed at her. She was wrong—he wasn’t looking at her but at someone past her. She turned and saw Ben. He was walking towards Ben, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Ben would know how to deal with Omsbury!
*
As it happened Omsbury was too self-absorbed to notice anything other than that when he approached Ben Clay the man appeared a bit nervous; however, he thought nothing of that. He smiled smugly, certain it was due to the notes he held over the fellow’s head. He meant him no ill, but he wanted Jewelene and was ruthless enough to stop at nothing to get what he wanted. At Ben’s table, he placed his bet, stacking his rouleaux neatly on the board and saying, without meeting Ben’s eyes, “A new faro dealer, I see.”
Ben called in all bets before glancing sideways at him. “Babette?” he responded casually. “Yes, and quite an addition to my modest establishment.”
“Well, I have no notion of playing at her table … too crowded …” Omsbury’s his smile was full with meaning. “At my stage of life, I intend to take on a new role in life, with a beauty of a far different stamp from that raven-haired creature flaunting herself about.”
