Goodness gracious! She stood before a man bare-breasted for the first time in her life. She didn’t know whether to be outraged…or delighted.
Having her hands behind her back lifted her bosom even farther out of her corset, and as her breath grew ragged, her breasts rose and fell in a motion that seemed to tantalize him.
“You’d be a fine prize for any Barbary pirate,” he said hoarsely.
His frankly admiring tone tantalized her, and his rampantly carnal expression made it clear that right now he wanted her for one thing only. And it wasn’t her money or even the information he sought about Dolly.
Men looked at Venetia this way, but never her. As the object of a man’s desire, she’d always been the second choice.
Lucas made her feel like the first choice.
The remnants of her resistance vanished, and she lost herself in his fantasy…her fantasy. She even thrust her breasts up for his gaze, and was rewarded by the covetous hunger shining in his eyes.
“But a pirate would do more than one kind of examination.” he said huskily.
“Oh?” she breathed, then blushed to hear the eagerness in her voice.
He apparently heard it, too, for his gaze shot to hers, thrilling her with its fiery intensity. “He’d have to assess by touch.” Then he covered her breast—her bare breast!—with his hands.
And it was wonderful.
He slid his other hand about her waist to pull her close so he could scatter feverish kisses over her neck and throat, kneading her breast with his bare palm and sending wild sensations along every nerve. She was such a brazen hussy. But it felt so glorious, so…exquisite.
When he thumbed her nipple into a fine, aching point, she practically shoved her breast into his hand, she was that eager for more. Yes, she was shameless…shameless! And she didn’t even care. She rose to his caresses, sweetly, eagerly, refusing to deny herself this luscious moment.
“Is this enough adventure for you, darlin’?” he rasped against her throat. “Or do you want more?”
He pressed a searing, openmouthed kiss to the upper swell of one breast, and she caught her breath. More?More?
“Let me show you…taste you…” Then he lowered his head to seize her breast in his mouth.
Lord help her. This was certainly more…more delicious, more enticing, more everything! Mouths could do so much…suck and tease and oh, Lord,that . He was laving her nipple with sensuous rasps of his tongue that sent a wild rush of sensation coursing through her, tightening her belly, rousing her blood.
When he scraped her nipple with his teeth, she nearly went insane, squirming against the fichu pinioning her hands, sure that she would die of pleasure before he was done.
How did female spies manage it? How did they use the sensual arts to elicit information, when the sensual arts were so very…distracting?
He transformed her into a strange carnal creature beyond her control. Everything above her navel tingled; everything below it burned.
As if he’d guessed what she felt, he reached behind her to unfasten her gown until it hung loosely on her, then slipped his hand inside the front, down past her corseted belly to the juncture between her legs. To her utter shock, he boldly rubbed her soft flesh through her chemise.
She squirmed beneath the intimate caress. “Are you…sure a corsair would feel the need to examine his captive…there?”
He lifted his head, his breath coming in rough, staccato gasps. “Hell, yes. Especially when his captive has been so naughty.”
“What?” she gasped. “How have I been naughty?”
“You’ve teased me for two days now. Only a few hours ago, you amused yourself by priming my ‘sword’ for an encounter you planned to deny me.” He brought his lips to her mouth, but stopped a breath away to add in a ragged whisper, “Well, darlin’, I’m going to give you a taste of what that’s like.”
Then he took her mouth again, thrusting his tongue deep even as his devilish fingers stroked her hard below. The fierce thrill of it made her arch up on her toes and strain against him, craving more. Oh, Lord…goodness gracious…what on earth was he doing to her?
His brazen fingers mimicked his brazen kisses until she felt a shameful dampness seeping into her chemise. Surely he could feel it, too.
If he did, it only made him caress her more blatantly, until a curious sensation built between her thighs, swelling in her most private place, making her undulate against his hand in mad, heedless thrusts.
Abruptly, he brought his hand up to fondle her breast. Moments ago, she would have welcomed it, but now it wasn’t enough.
She ripped her mouth from his to beg, “Lucas, please…,” not sure what she wanted, but knowing unerringly he could provide it. “Please…I…I want—”
“What?” he murmured against her cheek. “What do you want?”
“I-I don’t know,” she breathed, mortified.
“I’ll tell you what you want.” He nipped her earlobe. “You want release. Or as we coarse Americans put it, you want ‘to come.’”
“Whatever it’s called,” she said, turning a pleading gaze to him, “I want it.”
He gave a husky chuckle. “So do I. I’ll give it to you if you give it to me.”
She stared at him, dumbstruck.
He slipped her wrists free of the fichu binding them, then drew back to unbutton his breeches. That’s when she noticed the bulge in them. The very large bulge in them.
She swallowed hard as he unbuttoned his drawers. With his eyes brooding over her like a corsair over his captive, he rasped, “It’s time for that ‘rubbing’ you wanted to do of my sword, darlin’.” He stripped off her gloves, then slid her hand inside his drawers to close it around his “sword.” “You give me a rubbing, and I’ll give you one.”
As she stood there, her hand inside his breeches, fascinated but appalled by her own curiosity, he reached inside her gown and dragged the hem of her chemise up to her corset, then cupped her again between her thighs.
Except this time she was bare to his fingers.
He rubbed the aching flesh hotly, silkily. With his free hand he showed her how to caress him, how to tug the flesh in long, firm strokes.
“Oh, God, yes,” he moaned as she took control, though it was hard to concentrate on pleasing him when he made her insane with his own strokes.
He strained against her as their hands moved in tandem between them. “You’re so damned wet and sweet…” he whispered into her ear.
“And you’re so…big,” she whispered back, half in wonder. “And hard.”
He managed a choked laugh. “Now do you…understand why you…drove me crazy earlier? With all your…talk of rubbing my…sword?”
“I understood it then, too,” she teased him.
“You’re a virgin Delilah, learning how to torture a man from naughty books.”
Her face flamed, and she opened her mouth to retort, but another sound shattered the near stillness of waves lapping against the ship. “Amelia!” called a sharp voice across the water. “Amelia, where are you? What’s going on?”
“Damnation,” he growled, as they both recognized Mrs. Harris’s voice.
Amelia tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “We’re not finished,” he protested.
“I have to answer her, or she’ll convince some oarsman to come out here after us.” Wriggling free, she sidled around the curved wall to the porthole that faced toward land, being sure to let her head fill it as she worked frantically to restore her clothing. “We’re touring beneath the quarterdeck!” she called out.
Mrs. Harris caught sight of her bare head and frowned. “Where’s your bonnet?”
Lucas came up behind her and muttered, “Tell her the wind blew it under here.”
As she repeated his brilliant excuse in a carrying voice, he slid his hand around to fondle her breast. She nearly choked. Though she knew Mrs. Harris could see only her face, there was something terribly unnerving about having her chaperone staring at her whil
e he was touching her so wickedly.
Unnerving…and strangely titillating. She pressed her breast into his hand.
“Get rid of her, damn it,” he commanded. “Tell her we’re looking for your bonnet.” His other hand dragged up her skirts in front so he could resume his more scandalous caresses. “Tell her we’ll be out as soon as we find it.”
She caught his hand, but that only prompted him to move hers back inside his drawers to stroke his “sword.” His boldly rampant “sword.”
She tugged hard on him, thinking it might make him behave, but instead he choked out, “Yes, like that…please, darlin’…”
It was the “please” that decided her. She knew he’d rather eat nails than say it to an Englishwoman. As her blood roared in her ears, she called out his excuse to her chaperone, praying her flushed cheeks wouldn’t give her away.
Mrs. Harris cried, “Are you all right, dear?”
“Fine!” she called back, desperate to get away from the porthole. Lucas was doing the wickedest things to her, and the excitement building in her down below was too exquisite to ignore. “It’s just a bit warm…in here.”
Warm wasn’t the word for it. Blazing. Searing. Engulfed in flames. She thought she’d die if she didn’t get relief soon.
She didn’t wait to see if Mrs. Harris accepted her tale. Sliding away from the porthole, she released Lucas’s “sword” and pivoted to face him. He was on her at once, devouring her mouth as he dragged her hand back inside his drawers.
Then he returned to caressing her, but this time he was even more outrageous. He actually had the audacity to thrust his finger inside her. Inside her!
She tore her mouth free to murmur, “Lucas…you shouldn’t…”
“Hush, darlin’,” he whispered as he branded her neck with fiery, openmouthed kisses. “It’s just my finger, nothing more. But you have to let me…drive you as crazy…as you’re driving me.”
She exulted in those words. “Am I?” she whispered, though speech grew more difficult by the second.
“You know you are,” he groaned. “Faster…stroke me…faster…I beg you, my sweet Delilah…”
She liked the begging, oh yes. And the way his kisses grew wilder and more frantic when she did as he begged. Gone was the calculated, controlling major. In its place was a man who needed a woman, who needed her.
This would be the perfect time to ask him what she wanted to know. But she couldn’t. Not with this amazing pressure building inside her down below…swelling…arching…tearing a scream from deep inside her throat—
Thank goodness he caught it with his mouth. Because she could no more have stopped it than she could have stopped the tempest of pleasure rocking her limbs, gushing hotly and sweetly through her veins, sending her to a glorious place where nothing existed but the man bringing her to ecstasy…
And finding his own, for moments later, she felt rather than saw him yank something from his pocket and jam it inside his breeches. She felt the something—a handkerchief perhaps?—wrap around her hand right before he groaned against her lips, and a sticky wetness seeped into the cloth engulfing her hand.
She’d learned enough about relations between men and women to know that it was his seed. A fierce delight seized her. He’d found pleasure in her arms, too.
But as they both quaked in the aftermath of their shared enjoyment, as their fervent kisses settled into a rapidly cooling embrace, the reality of what she’d just done sank in. They had…she had…
Lord help her. This had gone too far. She’d be banished to hell for such debauchery, no matter what her purpose.
Her purpose—hah! She’d forgotten about her purpose the moment the man began his cursed seductions.
She drew her hand from his breeches and slipped out of his arms, struggling to calm her raging pulse. What was she to do now? He would expect more “adventures,” now that they’d indulged themselves to this dangerous degree. And if he were really courting her, she might even be eager to supply them.
But he wasn’t, drat it all. Like any man, he was merely seeking his own pleasure. She stole a glance at him to find him watching her with that brooding gaze of his. He probably thought her a wanton and considered that enough excuse to indulge himself while pretending to court her.
She tamped down her anger at the thought. She’d brought this on herself, with her cursed fascination for the forbidden. But she wasn’t a fool: any more adventures like this and she’d find herself ruined. She wouldn’t risk shaming her family.
Turning her back to him, she carefully restored her clothing, trying not to remember the myriad thrills of having him kiss her neck, gaze at her bare breasts…fondle her into ecstasy.
She choked down a sigh. Oh, she was truly wicked. There was nothing else for it—their private encounters must end. She was useless at balancing her new reckless urge for passion with her duty to find out about Dolly’s secret past, and that was dangerous. Not only for herself, but for Dolly. For some reason, he hadn’t used their sensual encounter to question her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t in the future.
So from now on, she must keep their “courtship” public. She must never let him guess how much his “adventures” affected her, or he wouldn’t rest until he got another chance to take advantage of her weakness.
And that could only lead to disaster.
Chapter Ten
Dear Charlotte,
I had indeed read the newspaper’s account. I dare say, however, that you need not worry about Lady Amelia. I’m sure she can handle Major Winter if he proves troublesome. You have well inoculated her—indeed, all of your young ladies—against scoundrels.
Sincerely,
Michael
Damnation. What the hell have I done?
As reason seeped back into his fevered brain, Lucas groaned. He’d really lost his mind this time. He’d ruined everything.
And nothing proved it more than the way Amelia had slid away from him. No tender final kisses, no clinging, no lingering in his embrace. Here he stood, struggling for breath, her honeysuckle scent around him and the taste of her still on his tongue, and she was withdrawing.
Not that he blamed her. He’d bound her hands. Pleasured her. Made her pleasure him. Christ, he’d nearly done the unthinkable.
But damn it, when she’d plagued him about going belowdecks, having her witness his weakness had goaded him into blotting it from her mind. And once he’d realized that she’d deliberately performed that bit of sensual torture with the mameluke this morning, he’d been seized by the urge to conquer her, to show her she couldn’t tease and taunt him like she undoubtedly did those Prissy Pantaloon lords.
He’d conquered her all right. And now she’d make him suffer for it.
After tossing his soiled handkerchief aside, he buttoned his drawers and breeches with the quick efficiency born of years hurrying to meet the call of duty. He glanced furtively at Amelia, but she wouldn’t even look at him as she straightened her own clothing. Damn, damn, damn.
Amelia was young and inexperienced, not to mention a very eligible heiress with a titled father. She wasn’t some merry widow he could play at pirates and maidens with, binding and stripping her for their mutual pleasure. Or a dockside whore he could shove up against a wall and fondle after paying her a few coins.
Amelia would punish him for this. Even though she’d agreed to everything he’d done, even though she’d willingly participated, had even made him forget for a short while—
He gritted his teeth. When he should have been interrogating her, he’d been enjoying her instead. And he’d probably angered Amelia, ruining his future chances.
The worst part was that he’d do it again in a second if she’d let him. Because being intimate with her had been the closest he’d come to heaven in three years.
God have mercy.
She faced him, her clothing back in place and her fichu covering her pretty breasts. If not for the trembling of her hands as she drew on the gloves he’d stripped
off her, he would’ve thought nothing had happened between them.
“That was certainly an interesting adventure,” she said evenly.
An interesting adventure ? That’s all she could say? He eyed her warily. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be after your…rousing efforts?”
He struggled to take in her reaction. The English were reserved, but this —“I should apologize.”
“For what? You promised me an adventure, and that’s what you gave me. Now it’s done.”
Done?Done, damn her?
Smiling coolly, she tucked a few stray hairs into place. She’d never looked more English.
She’d also never looked more desirable. He wanted to thrust her back against the wall and make love to her until she’d lost her cool smile and aloofness, until he’d reduced her hair and clothes to a shambles, and had her panting and sighing beneath him—
Careful, man. By some miracle he’d been handed a reprieve, and he’d better grab it while he could.
“We should return to shore,” he said, determined to match her calm.
“Yes.” She bent to pick up her bonnet with such nonchalance, it made him grit his teeth. “And Mrs. Harris must never guess what we were doing.”
“Why not?”
Her horrified gaze shot to him. “You can’t possibly think she should know!”
“Not about all of it. But surely even you English kiss when you’re courting.”
Was that anger in her face? It was gone too quickly for him to be sure. Besides, why would she be angry over that, when she hadn’t been over the other?
“We aren’t formally courting.” She tied her bonnet with stiff motions. “So until things are more settled between us, I’d prefer you not say anything to Mrs. Harris about it.”
His eyes narrowed. The longer this went on, the more chance for Dorothy to find out who he really was. She and Frier could be two countries away by the time Lady Delilah deigned to let Lucas into the inner family circle.
“Then let’s settle matters now.” He tried to sound as unmoved as she looked. “I don’t have much time in England. I haven’t even met your parents yet.” Inspiration struck. “And we can’t keep our hands off each other. Truthfully, we might find ourselves forced to marry anyway if we keep meeting like this.”
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