"Er, yes, that's an apt description, darling."
"Oh, er, sorry."
"No need to apologise," she said, snuggling against him more tightly.
"I just don't want to be accused of coercion."
She looked outraged. "I'm in bed with you because I want to be. I came in myself. There was no force involved."
"I meant me not cajoling you into marrying me with my romantic attentions. So yes, I’ll give you more time to think about it." He gave a little resigned sigh.
"You don’t have to ask me just because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do now that we’ve—" She paused, not sure what words to use.
"I’ve deflowered you, is the phrase you might be looking for."
"Now that we’ve cherished each other," she said firmly. "I made a choice. You didn’t force me. And I loved every minute of it. I love you.
"Or at least I think I do. I mean, I loved my family. This feels completely different. Like a wildfire searing through my brains and loins. Like I can’t breathe without you beside me sharing the same breath."
Alistair smiled in relief. "I know. It incredible. And so very thrilling. Just talking or thinking about it makes me so ha—"
She kissed him ardently and moved her body to join with his once more in the ultimate union of flesh with flesh, hearts beating in time as he pressed deeply into the clenching hot core of her.
Alistair was almost immediately overwhelmed. "Oh Lord, Viola, I’m trying to hold back, prolong this for you. Give you more. Men can’t —"
"I need you now. Just let it happen."
He did then. For the first time in his life, Alistair let go of all rational thought and plunged into the sea of sensuality.
Anyone who walked in the corridor downstairs in the next two hours smiled, shook their heads, and envied the couple from the bottoms of their hearts.
For Alistair and Viola’s joining delved down into the depths of their souls as they trusted and loved as they had never dared before.
It was every bit as good as his dream, if not better, for she was more passionate and daring than he could have imagined. He wondered if he was still dreaming as her hands travelled down over his aching flesh, then she bent her head and let her lips and tongue follow….
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In a quieter moment many hours later when they had slowly awakened in each other’s arms Alistair thought he knew why he was able to make love to Viola with such complete passionate abandon.
"It’s because I have nothing left to lose. Everything I clung on to so tightly is gone now. Chambers, home, clients, even some of my friends. I can see now that my possessions and status really meant nothing without true friends and family to share it with. A loved one. And my friends sacrificed and died because of who I am and what I've done."
"No, darling, what those evil men did. Never forget that. You were only trying to help Gribbens. You're a good man, and only good can ever combat evil.
Viola sat up, taking his breath away. Her unbound hair billowed out in flaxen waves, cascading down over her perfect breasts.
"Oh, darling," he breathed, "I never want you to wear clothes again."
She laughed merrily. "That might be a bit impractical unless I want to call attention to myself. Besides, I wouldn’t want to share myself with anyone but you. Not to mention the fact that the novelty of me naked would soon wear off and—"
He shook his head. "Not in this lifetime. And something so mundane as fabric should never touch the skin of a goddess."
"Goddess, eh? My, you really are eloquent, aren’t you?"
Alistair gave her a wolfish grin, his silvery grey eyes sparkling. "I fancy showing you just how nimble my tongue really is," he purred, his smile sliding between her thighs.
"Oh, darling, really you don’t have to— Oh, that’s so wonderful. But aren’t you hungry?"
"Famished," he mumbled against her moist flesh. "Can’t you tell?"
She giggled but made another token protest. "I meant for food."
"It’s all here. Nectar and ambrosia of the gods."
"Hungry for dinner," she gasped as she wriggled.
"Aye, a veritable feast of the senses."
Viola gave up and fell back upon the pillows with a sigh of surrender.
"What a banquet," he murmured, licking, stroking, nibbling and nuzzling her with a finesse she had never imagined could exist. It was as if he could sense every single one of her innermost desires in and fulfilled them all one by one. And even discovered a few she’d never known existed.
Boneless with need, she begged, "Please, Alistair, I need all of you now. Quickly!"
He gave a slow easy smile and with the most exquisite slowness, gradually moved up her body. The glide of his hot skin and steely muscles was a caress all of its own. His eyes drew level with hers and burned with an intensity which was almost frightening.
"Are you really ready for this? Because I’m so excited, once I start, I may not be able to stop."
She licked her suddenly dry lips and rasped, "I’m ready. Please."
He began to enter her then, each tiny gradual movement inward notching her excitement to an even more fevered pitch. Viola felt the huge swollen head right up inside her, and still he kept pressing further and further in. The pressure was enormous, and she was sure he couldn’t get any larger or harder.
But as her climaxes exploded one after the other in churning waves of excitement, still he pressed on. His fierce width made the slightest movement a rippling source of yet more delight.
When at last she thought she could peak no more, he moved in and out rhythmically once. She cried out wildly as the most powerful pinnacle yet blazed through her. "Alistair, oh, Alistair!"
He was relentless, just as he had warned. His slow thrusts gradually became faster, harder, deeper.
He clutched her buttocks and pulled her tightly to his hips, the better for her to receive each massive compelling stroke.
She shuddered against him again, poised at the edge of the swirling vortex, then plunged. Yet still Alistair hung on, wrapping her legs around his waist to fill her even further.
Viola was sure he would continue on all night if she didn’t stop him, and no amount of conversation would help without making him feel rejected.
So summoning up a few words of advice from her worldly-wise friend Emma, she reached down between their undulating bodies, and gently fondled his tightly gathered pouch.
With one final roar of passion which was wrenched from his lungs and loins, and an answering gasp from her, they trembled and collapsed onto the mattress, and at last let sleep claim them.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The bright sunlight filtering in through the warped shutters awakened Viola early. She immediately scurried from the bed to attend to her most basic toilette.
Then she pulled on a wrapper and headed down to the kitchen to fetch some hot water. George came in a short time later and flashed her what passed on him as a cheeky grin.
"Best night’s takings in months. You and your toff have fairly put this place on the map. Damn if we ain’t going to have to replaster the ceilings on the lower two floors though. And I could swear the lintel over the back door is in danger of collapse. If you or the gent ever looking for a new career, just let me know. You’ll be minting it in no time."
"Oh, please, enough," Viola said, coloring to the roots of her hair. "Surely we didn’t shock a salty old dog like you."
"Didn’t think ye had it in ye is all," he said, putting on his fake London accent he reserved for people who didn’t know him very well, and those he wanted to intimidate.
"I certainly did. Cor blimey, but he was never out of me," she said with a happy laugh and wink.
Now it was George’s turn to blush.
"But seriously, he’s a good man. He’s just in a whole world of trouble," she said as she reached for the coffee pot. "We're thinking of alternate careers, actually."
A new wariness crept into George’s express
ion which Viola had never seen before. "Oh?" he said quietly. "I think we’re going to need some acting lessons from you, oh great theatre manager. And some money, decent clothes, and the services of a very good forger."
His brows rose in surprise, but he simply said, "Tell me what you have in mind."
George listened stolidly, and she could tell from the look on his face he was going to do everything he could to talk her out of it.
To forestall him, she concluded by saying, "I know you think this is probably the most crackbrained idea you’ve ever heard, but I can’t see any other way to get at the truth than to hide in plain sight and beat the buggers at their own game of cloak and dagger."
"This is no game! You know how dangerous these men are."
"Aye, which is all the more reason why they have to be stopped. We need to avenge the dead, and Alistair deserves to get his life back. I don’t care for myself. I doubt we have a future together despite all we’ve shared—"
George’s brows knitted furiously. "If he’s said aught to show he’s nobbut triflin’ with ye I’ll-"
"Accent, old friend. It’s slipping. No, actually he asked me to marry him —"
George smiled now, in happiness not unmixed with relief, showing even white teeth.
Viola stared at the transformation. She was sure she had never seen him smile before. Now she also wondered why she had never noticed how good-looking he really was. In fact, there was something about his posture and...
She blinked and stared, then shook her head.
Nonsense, she was seeing threats where none existed. Getting scared of shadows.
"He’s a kind chap and probably feels obligated to ask me to marry him because he's grateful for my help."
"Is that what you call it these days?" George sneered.
"Just stop it. You know what I mean!" She shoved over to him the second cup of coffee she had poured.
"Aye," he said, nodding, and taking the cup. "But that's no good reason to marry."
"I know, which is why we've both agreed to wait, and give it time. But time may be the one thing we don't have."
"True," George admitted, his jaw clenching.
"In any event he’s got nothing but what he’s standing up in, so we need to call in a few favours from some old friends if this charade is ever going to succeed."
George said quietly, "Have you got any idea how dangerous this could be?"
"I need to do this. You tell me Sebastian is safe. I want to trust you. So if it is true, then let me do this. Help me get at the truth so Alistair and I can get our old lives back. Sebastian may be safe, but Alistair’s friends are dead because of these people. Little children, for Heaven’s sake.
"It all started when that man Gribbens was murdered. If you don’t want to get involved, fine. But I think you know a lot more than you’re letting on. Whatever it is, it has to stop. Whoever these people are, they need to pay for their crimes."
"But Alistair is not the kind of man who can deal with this sort of world—"
"I know that. But you can help. We have no chance of pulling it off if you don’t give us what we need."
George clinked down his coffee cup impatiently. "This is madness. He’ll never be able to convince—"
"We need to try, George," she insisted. "Whatever you think you know, pool together your resources with us, and let’s get the buggers who nearly killed Sebastian."
There was a curious light in George’s eyes that she had never seen before, though he remained silent.
At length, he picked up his cup, drained it, and nodded. "All right."
"Thank you!"
"Not so fast, missy. I mean all right, I'll think about what you'be said. I need to some time. And you both need to eat and bathe. So I’ll make sure you get the best tub for two for an hour. Get yourselves sorted as best you can to move this plan forward, and then we'll see."
"Great, but can you make it two hours?"
He nodded, and was once more his usual impassive self. "I'll see to it now, and talk to you both later."
She gave him a grateful smile but he was already gone, leaving her alone in the kitchen looking after him pensively.
She had somehow managed to convince George. She only hoped she would be up to the same challenge where Alistair was concerned.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A short time later, Viola took a breakfast tray of milk, bread, cheese and ham, and coffee up to her room.
Viola nearly dropped it when she went upstairs and found Alistair thrashing in bed, caught in the throes of what she could only guess was his hideous nightmare.
Her first instinct was to wake him. In the end she simply clamped her hand down over his mouth to stifle his groans and let him look for the answers he sought. He was saying the same words as before, and his friend Philip’s name several times.
And Philip’s wife Jasmine, Randall, Thomas, Henry, John, then castle, ray, fields, again, followed by the words massacre, and Peter. She stifled his mouth whenever he got too loud, and wondered how long this was going to go on.
Finally he was groaning in such agony she started to shake him awake. Amatory noises in a brothel were one thing, personal details and shrieking like a madman quite another when there was a bounty on his head.
"Alistair, you need to wake up. It’s me, Viola. You need to calm down. This will do you no good."
"Philip! God, I tried to save him, I tried," he wept, clinging to her and shivering, though he was soaked with sweat.
"I know. I was there. George stopped you from killing yourself in the blaze. I’m so sorry. But it’s not your fault. If you had never met Gribbens, or my brother, none of this..."
"You can’t blame yourself, Viola," he said through chattering teeth.
She stroked the hair back from his perspiring brow and said, "I also can’t get away from the fact that all of this started to go wrong once you met Sebastian."
"The man they killed was my client. Your brother just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. A bad piece of luck, that's all."
"Again, I’m not so sure," she admitted, though she was risking revealing more about her family and friends than she ought to.
He sighed. "Besides, if I hadn’t met Sebastian, I would never have met you. And that would have been a huge loss in my life. So on the whole I have no cause to repine."
Viola smiled timidly. "Thank you for saying so. Now here, sit up. I’ve brought some food. Sit up and try to eat."
Alistair looked almost queasy. "I don’t think I can, pet. I still smell the burning."
He rose out of bed and went behind the screen to use the chamber pot, and she heard him retching weakly into it.
When he came out he sighed and rinsed his mouth.
"I’m surprised at you mentioning the smell. That night on the roof you said the only thing you could smell was my fragrance and compared it to meadows."
"I meant the smell from the dream. It was so vivid this time. Scorched flesh."
"I got a few more words as you were calling out," she said quietly as she poured the coffee.
"Really?" Far from seeming embarrassed, he looked quite hopeful.
She nodded. "Philip’s name several times. And his wife Jasmine, Randall, Thomas, Henry, John, then castle, which you said twice, ray, fields, again, followed by the words massacre, and Peter."
He shook his head. "There are a million Johns. Peter, well there is Peter Davison, whom I went to school with. He’s my friend Blake’s brother-in-law. Lives in the same house with Martin Jerome. He’s his brother-in-law as well. Peter married Martin’s wife’s sister, if you follow. They’re near the field. But no John I can think of."
"What about the castles?" she asked as she handed him his cup.
"Thomas Eltham lives in one, the other is empty. I told you, there was some strange man who pretended to be the Earl of Ferncliffe. Rumour has it he was a French spy. He was killed in Ireland, apparently."
She stiffened at that piece of news, but
distracted him by asking, "What about the word massacre?"
"Nothing springs to mind except the war against Napoleon, or some of the excesses of the revolution, perhaps?"
"Hmm, perhaps. But you look exhausted. Let’s think about this later. You need to eat and bathe. And we need to see if we can, well—" She blushed, but she was going to have to confide her plan to him sooner or later, just as she had done to George.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5 Page 82
