Wicked Captive (Regency Sinners 5)

by Carole Mortimer

  Jericho placed his hands upon her thighs as he lowered his head, giving a low groan as the delicious taste of her lubricating juices burst upon his tongue, both sweet and addictive. He lapped them up greedily as Jocelyn’s legs relaxed beneath the grip of his hands and she slid farther to the edge of the seat to allow him greater access.

  A glance up revealed her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, neck arched, her breasts quickly rising and falling as she breathed unevenly.

  His groan turned to a possessive growl as his tongue rasped along the seam of her channel and then higher, to where her clit now throbbed and pulsed for his attention.

  Jocey was once again swept along in a maelstrom of emotions. Arousal. Excitement at the forbidden. But most of all, the pleasure and intimacy of having Jericho’s mouth upon her once again.

  He had said this was not a punishment, and surely if he was pleasuring her, he could not still be angry with her.

  If he was, Jocey did not care. Did not care about anything other than the ecstasy of having Jericho’s mouth on her once again.

  It was impossible to stem her cry of release as his rasping and marauding tongue lashed against her erect nubbin, sending her into a now-familiar paroxysm of pleasure that caused her body to tremble and quake.

  “The grooms and driver—”

  “Will be envious of my good fortune,” Jericho dismissed gruffly, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh before he returned to lapping up the flow of her release. The soft pad of his thumb stroked her nubbin to prolong her climax.

  Jocey was boneless and mindless by the time Jericho sat back on his booted heels.

  He licked her juices from his lips before speaking. “Do you intend to disobey me again?”

  It took tremendous effort to rouse herself enough to be able to answer him. “Are you going to continue to hold me captive at Pomeroy House?”

  “It is for your own good—”

  “It is for your good!” Jocey straightened her skirts so that she was no longer exposed like a bawd, an angry flush warming her cheeks as she glared at him. “Until you are sure I am not guilty of treason and murder.”

  Jericho knew, as he rose silently to his feet and resumed his seat across from Jocelyn, the accusation was well-founded. He did not want to believe Jocelyn guilty of those things, but he still had no proof she was not.

  Now that he was firmly in the midst of the devastation Worthington’s and Lady Priscilla’s deaths had on their families and friends alike, he could not, in all conscience, simply take Jocelyn’s word on the matter. He knew that a couple of The Sinners had done that with the lady they were to investigate, but one of their number had not been murdered at the time. Worthington’s and Lady Prudence’s deaths shed a whole different light on the subject.

  One which Jericho knew required he should not give in to the aching desire he felt to make love to Jocelyn at every opportunity.

  Whether Jocelyn believed him or not, there was the possibility she was now in danger.

  That they all were.

  “I do not wish to go, and there is nothing you can do or say which will make me.”

  Jericho scowled his displeasure at Jocelyn’s absolute refusal to accede to his request. “It is only dinner at Stonewell’s.”

  “Who is another of The Sinners and so already believes me to be as guilty of treason and murder as you do.” She gave a firm shake of her head. “You must go if you wish, but I shall not.”

  Jericho bit back his impatience with difficulty. They had been back in London for three days now, and Jocelyn had made it clear to him for every one of those days how much she chafed at being kept a virtual prisoner at Pomeroy House. Stonewell’s dinner invitation, arrived by messenger this morning, had seemed to Jericho the ideal way in which Jocelyn might be allowed to socialize whilst remaining under his watchful eye. He had visited her in her parlor to inform her of the invitation, under the illusion of that surety.

  Her reaction now told him how wrong he had been to assume anything where Jocelyn was concerned.

  He scowled darkly. “Stonewell is far too well mannered to allude to the subject in front of his other guests.”

  “What you mean is that his other guests are not even aware of The Sinners’ investigations,” she scorned, giving another shake of her head. “But he knows I am one of the ladies under suspicion of having committed that crime. As do I. And I am not prepared to put myself through such scrutiny as the duke will no doubt give me the whole evening. It is bad enough that I have you looking at me with suspicion every day, I am not about to subject myself to more of the same this evening from the haughty and imposing Duke of Stonewell.”

  “You are behaving childishly.”

  Her eyes flashed. “On the contrary, I am behaving as the indignant innocent I am.”

  Jericho sighed his frustration with Jocelyn’s stubbornness. He had no idea who the other guests would be at Stonewell’s this evening, but he did know he would be happier if Jocelyn were with him. He had told himself that was because if she was with him, he would at least know she was not trying to leave the house without his knowledge, and so possibly put herself in danger. But her refusal now told him the real reason was that he would much prefer to have Jocelyn’s company this evening than anyone else’s.

  Her refusal to comply infuriated him. “I thought you would enjoy being out of the house for several hours.”

  “Then you thought wrong!”

  He quirked one dark brow. “And if I should make it an order that you accompany me this evening?”

  Jocey felt the warmth enter her cheeks at how effectively Jericho had last “punished” her for having disobeyed him. He said it was not a punishment, nor had it felt such at the time, but thinking of his behavior three days ago had brought Jocey to a different conclusion. One in which she now considered his having pleasured her so thoroughly as a way of asserting his control over her. A conclusion that had been added to by the fact Jericho had more or less ignored her presence since.

  She knew she felt a deeper resentment toward him because her body tingled and ached every time she so much as thought of Jericho’s last “punishment.”

  She raised her chin. “Perhaps I should simply go without drawers in future so as to allow you easy access to my bare bottom.”

  “Did I ask you to bare your bottom?”

  “Not yet, but I have no doubt that will be your next command.”

  His nostrils flared, and his jaw tightened. “You are being an unreasonable chit.”

  “And you are a manipulative bastard,” she returned, her shoulders back in challenge.

  To her utmost surprise, after the briefest of pauses, Jericho first smile and then laughed. Not with that bitter irony or skepticism she had become used to from him, but a purely spontaneous laugh of appreciation.

  He looked years younger, almost boyish, and so handsome, Jocey’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at him.

  “What?” He tilted his head in query, a smile still curving his lips.

  It took every effort of Jocey’s will to harden her heart against his boyish appeal. “I was considering what you might have looked and been like as a boy.”

  Jericho’s humor faded. “Thanks to my mother, I was as cynical in my teen years as I am now, in regard to a woman’s machinations and manipulations.”

  “I have used neither toward you,” Jocelyn defended indignantly.

  No, Jericho could not say she ever had.

  Not to his knowledge anyway, he allowed with a dark scowl.

  When he had taken up Jocelyn’s guardianship three years ago, she had been a very young and impressionable young lady, eager to explore Society. Those same three years had seen her grow in confidence and beauty, but it was not a beauty he had ever seen her use to manipulate her own ends.

  The more time that passed, the more Jericho became convinced she was not the spy. Fueled, perhaps, by the knowledge Jocelyn was a generous and giving lover, and her pleasure was equally as honest
and unreserved.

  Did that same honesty apply when she categorically denied having committed treason against the Crown?

  Jericho was now inclined to believe it did.

  And if that was so, then his own treatment of Jocelyn this past week was despicable. “What would you like to do this evening?” he prompted.

  Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “I was not aware that what I like or dislike was of any interest to you.”

  Jericho bit back his irritation. “Forget your annoyance with me for one moment and answer my question. Please,” he added tersely.

  Her brows rose. “What I would like to do?”

  “Yes.”

  Jocey had become so accustomed this past week to not being allowed to consider her own freedom of movement—the one time she had, Jericho had made his displeasure felt—that to now be asked what she would prefer to do this evening was almost beyond her comprehension.

  “Anything I should like?” she ventured cautiously.

  He nodded. “Anything.”

  “Then I would like to go out somewhere there are other people.” Being kept a virtual prisoner in Pomeroy House these past three days, with Jericho spending most of his time in his study and Lady Gwendoline still in Devon, had given Jocey an appreciation for the company of others.

  “The theater, perhaps?”

  She eyed him curiously. “Are you seriously considering refusing the duke’s invitation in favor of taking me out to the theater?”

  Was Jericho considering that?

  It would appear that he was. “Yes.”

  “That is…unexpected.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I am sure it is. Do you have a preference for Drury Lane or Covent Garden?”

  She gave a shake of her head, obviously clearly still surprised by his offer. “I am happy to leave that for you to decide.”

  Jericho sincerely hoped he did not have reason to regret that decision.

  Chapter 14

  “I am afraid I am wearing drawers this evening, if you should once again feel the need to administer chastisement.” Jocey eyed the marquis derisively as he glanced across the carriage at her.

  She was determined to enjoy this unexpected treat of going out to the theater with Jericho, and in order to do that, the awkwardness between the two of them must be dispelled. For this evening, at least. No doubt they would be back to Jericho ignoring her tomorrow and her own boredom of being confined.

  “I shall do my best to curb any urge I might feel to bare your ass and administer a spanking,” Jericho returned the banter.

  Her cheeks warmed as she smiled. “Which theater did you decide upon?”

  “There is one of Shakespeare’s lighter plays currently showing at Drury Lane.”

  Her smile widened. “I cannot tell you how excited I am to be going out.”

  Jericho needed no telling, could see Jocelyn’s pleasure in the flush to her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.

  He may have decided to take her out this evening, but that did not mean he had any intention of relaxing his vigil in regard to Jocelyn’s movements. His presence would ensure no one approached or spoke to her tonight without his knowledge. Nor, to his knowledge, had she contacted or been contacted by anyone during the past three days.

  Adding to her claim of innocence?

  Jericho sincerely hoped that was the case.

  He had earlier sent a polite note of refusal in answer to Stonewell’s dinner invitation. He had not received a reply, but he fully expected there to be one, knowing the duke would not be pleased by Jericho’s non-appearance. He had no doubt Jocelyn had been correct in her accusation that Stonewell, for reasons very personal to himself, wished to add his own weight behind proving Jocelyn’s guilt.

  For this one evening, at least, Jericho wished to enjoy Jocelyn’s company without any thoughts of treason and traitors.

  Tomorrow might be different, but for tonight, Jericho needed that relief from the emotional stress and tension he had been under since learning of Worthington’s murder.

  The way his cock strained against the front of his evening breeches since the first moment he saw how beautiful Jocelyn looked tonight in a gown of cream silk and lace was a reminder of how much he still wanted her.

  He was still caught up in thoughts of that unrelenting desire as he stepped down from the carriage outside the theater. “I do not believe I have already told you so,” he spoke gruffly as he assisted Jocelyn down onto the cobbled street beside him. “But you are looking particularly beautiful this evening.”

  Jocey felt her cheeks warm with pleasure at the compliment. Perhaps there was the possibility the two of them might salvage something, a friendship, at least, once her innocence had been proven beyond a doubt. She did not—

  The sound of a shot rang out, and Jocey immediately felt a hot, piercing pain in her chest, robbing her of breath. She heard a second shot as she began to crumple beneath the onslaught of that ever-expanding and deepening pain, losing her ability to see as darkness overwhelmed her.

  “We came as soon as we received word—”

  “Do not either of you say one single word more,” Jericho bit out between clenched teeth, glaring his displeasure across the room at the Duke of Stonewell and Viscount Romney as they strode into the bedchamber. “I gave instruction to Soames not to admit you,” he added harshly.

  “I…persuaded him otherwise,” Stonewell drawled.

  Jericho scowled. “I sent you word of this second shooting only so that you were aware of what had happened and could take the necessary measures for your own safety,” he said coldly. “Not so that the two of you could come bursting uninvited into my home.”

  “Jericho—”

  “Get out,” Jericho bit out. “Both of you,” he added as neither man moved.

  “You are covered in blood—”

  “It is not my blood,” he snapped, his gaze returning to Jocelyn lying so still and white beneath the bedclothes. He sat beside her, one of her hands clasped tightly in both of his. He had been doing so since the moment he placed her upon the bed just a few hours ago. As if he might keep her with him, anchor her to this life rather than the next, by maintaining that firm grasp of her hand.

  It was a ridiculous sentiment, and totally unlike him.

  But Jericho knew he would never forget, never be able to forget, the sound of a shot being fired, followed by the bloom of red on the front of Jocelyn’s cream gown. A bloom that grew bigger as each second passed before her lids fluttered closed over her shocked eyes, her knees buckled, and she fell to the cobbled road.

  The second shot had narrowly missed hitting Jericho as he leaned forward to catch Jocelyn before she hit the cobbles. It was lifting her up into his arms that had resulted in her blood staining his waistcoat and jacket. He had continued to hold her as the carriage hurried back to Pomeroy House, after he had given instructions for one of the grooms to go for the doctor. Yet more blood had flowed over Jericho’s hands and clothing as he tried to stanch the red flow on what had seemed the longest journey of his life.

  “It is not my blood,” he repeated woodenly.

  “Your note said only that there had been another shooting.” Romney spoke softly, having moved to stand at Jericho’s side.

  He glowered at the other man. “No doubt you would not have come here so quickly if you had known it was Jocelyn who had been shot and not me.”

  Stonewell, now standing behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jericho—”

  “Do not touch me!” He rose fiercely to his feet to confront the two men. “Two shots were fired. One hit Jocelyn in the chest, the other would have struck me if I had not leaned forward at the exact moment it was fired.”

  “Thank God for small mercies,” Romney muttered.

  He gave a pained frown. “I should not have taken Jocelyn to the theater this evening, but kept her safely at home where she would come to no harm. Our assailant has obviously decided to do away with accidents altogether.”

  “It
is not your fault, old chap—”

  “I am well aware of whose fault it was.” Jericho carefully released Jocelyn’s hand and placed it gently on top of the bedcovers before stepping away from the bed. “I have done the Crown’s bidding for the last time,” he told the two men coldly. “Prinny can go to hell for all I care, and his government along with him.”

  “You are upset—”

  “I am more than upset!” he bit out harshly. “If Jocelyn dies, then God help the lot of you.” His hands were now clenched into fists at his sides.

  A maid had helped Jericho remove Jocelyn’s gown so that the doctor could examine her. After removing the bullet from her chest and applying the necessary bandage, the doctor had announced the bullet appeared to have missed Jocelyn’s heart and lungs, but possibly cracked a rib or two. Jocelyn had not regained consciousness during the removal of the bullet, as the stitches were applied afterwards, or while the maid helped Jericho to clothe Jocelyn in one of her nightrails.

  The doctor had left but a few minutes ago, with the promise he would be back in the morning and the advice Jocelyn would need careful watching for the next twenty-four hours at least, to ensure her condition did not worsen. He had explained she would be in considerable pain when she did revive, and left a tonic for Jericho to give her to help relieve that pain. Jericho had no intention of leaving Jocelyn alone until she woke and he was assured she would recover.

  To say that he was ashamed of himself and his cruel treatment of Jocelyn this past week would be an understatement of the greatest magnitude. It sickened him even to think of the suspicion he had harbored toward her and the disrespectful manner in which he had treated her because of it.

  She could have been killed tonight if the bullet had been a couple of inches lower and had entered her heart rather than just above it. The doctor had warned she could still die if her condition worsened or the wound became infected.