by Alice Gaines
All the rubies and emeralds and diamonds the Orchid Thief had stolen—Wesley must keep them somewhere near his person, and where could he do that better than his suite of rooms? Unfortunately, Eve had already spent too much time searching his sitting room with all its hiding places, and now she faced a much more daunting task. The man’s bedroom. She’d best make quick work of that before someone found her.
She crossed the threshold quietly—almost on tiptoe. She needn’t take such precautions, of course, having checked from the very first that the rooms stood empty. Still, she’d stepped over a boundary by entering the room where he slept, and the back of her neck tingled, as though some recess of her mind sensed danger. She wasn’t normally given to such flights of fancy, but then, neither did she normally make it a habit of visiting men’s bedrooms. And considering the fact that she’d shared a bed with this man—the only man she’d allowed to touch her in that way—she might forgive herself a little trepidation.
Despite the considerable size of the room, the bed still managed to dominate it. She could hardly take her eyes away from the massive four-poster. Where her own bed was feminine and covered with lace and pillows, Philip’s bed just seemed male. A place to rest broad shoulders and stretch out long legs. A place for a man to sleep rather than repose. A place to take his pleasure with a woman on his own terms.
Oh hell, she really had gone too far with that last. Wesley wouldn’t bring women here into the bosom of his blue-blooded family. He’d more likely tomcat around London, skulking into women’s bedrooms and stealing their innocence as easily as he stole their jewels. He’d stolen her innocence well enough, and now she’d repay him by taking the proceeds of his other thievery. She’d walked to the chest of drawers to begin there. She’d have to start with the lower drawers as that particular piece of furniture towered over her. If need be, she’d find a stool to get into the top drawers, but they appeared too small to hold anything substantial, anyway. The first drawer she opened revealed shirts, maybe dozens of them, each blindingly white and of the finest linen. As thoroughly as the shirts had been laundered and as heavily as they’d been starched, they still gave off a memory of his scent. A foolish woman who imagined herself in love with the man might hold one close to savor his cologne, but Eve had better things to do. She carefully moved one pile at a time to look for treasures underneath, but found nothing.
More drawers held cravats and collars, nightshirts and caps, drawers and vests—all in the very best fabrics and suited to the latest fashions. Such a wealth of underthings. No one human being could use them all before they went out of fashion again. At least the male servants would find themselves well dressed in castoffs.
So much for the chest of drawers. Eve put her hands on her hips and looked around the room. The wardrobe was every bit as large as the rest of the furniture in the room. No doubt it held suit upon suit upon suit of fashionable clothes and shoes and boots of every description. She’d search it in a moment, but for now she had to wonder if he might not have a more secret place for keeping things he wasn’t supposed to have. After all, he searched bedrooms for his own thefts, and he wasn’t likely to leave stolen jewels lying around where his valet might happen on them while brushing out his suits.
A large trunk sat at the foot of his bed. The wood appeared exotic, and for the first time, Eve noticed the carvings along the bottom. Ornate geometrical designs cut into the wood ran the length of the trunk and then disappeared around the corners. They looked like no art produced in England and most likely marked the trunk as a piece Wesley would have brought back from his travels. Might he keep his ill-gotten riches in there?
The trunk had no lock, and Eve lifted the top to discover orderly piles of very ordinary, very English-looking blankets. Still, something might lie underneath. She lifted some blankets out and set them on the floor. On her second foray, her hand hit something smooth. She took less care this time, tossing the coverlets to the floor to reveal a box at the bottom of the trunk. A large box, at least two feet square and several inches deep. It made a very satisfying weight in her hands as she lifted it out. She shook it, and something moved inside.
The box was locked—a sure sign that it contained something Wesley didn’t want anyone else to see. The lock didn’t appear too complicated, though. Just about right to yield to a deftly applied hairpin. Eve set it on the floor and sat down cross-legged next to it. She removed a pin from her hair, bent it into the desired shape and inserted it into the lock.
After a few moments, the lock gave way, and Eve was able to lift the top of the box. Inside she found a few books. For the love of heaven, books. She removed the books, searching for something underneath them, for a hidden latch or compartment, for anything to indicate that the idiotic man had put something inside a locked box at the bottom of a trunk besides books.
What kind of fool went to so much trouble to hide some books? Was he afraid that his family would think less of him if they found him reading? But then, he might have hollowed the books out to hide something more interesting inside.
She opened one of the volumes to the middle and nearly dropped it out of shock. This was no ordinary book, no travelogue or collection of poetry. No pleasant watercolors, no discourse on philosophy. She flipped through a few pages, ascertaining beyond a doubt that this book was full of pictures of naked men and women engaged in the most intimate of embraces imaginable. In fact, some of the positions didn’t seem anatomically possible.
One of the men—an East Indian, as they all appeared to be—sported a perfectly enormous male appendage, which he’d aimed at the nether regions of a woman who to all appearances was delighted at the prospect of coupling with such a huge male member. Another painting depicted a group of people so tangled up with each other that Eve couldn’t tell for sure which limbs went with which torsos. She couldn’t miss the sexual parts, however. Yet another picture showed a couple engaged in a tête-à-tête with the woman bent backward and nearly doubled over. Eve reached an arm behind her head and stretched out one leg to approximate the position, and almost pulled a muscle doing so. Dear Lord, who could imagine such things?
Philip knew immediately on entering his sitting room that someone else had been here. Judging from the pleasant floral scent in the room, the interloper had been Eve. Judging from the quiet noises issuing from his bedroom, she was still here. Good.
He pushed the door to the hallway closed and silently turned the key in the lock. Whatever mischief Eve had come to perpetrate, the mischief would now become his, and he wouldn’t brook any interruptions until he’d taught her a few lessons about men’s bedrooms in the best way he knew.
He set the key on the secretary and slipped out of his shoes—the better to come up on her unannounced. Softly and slowly he padded across the carpet until he could peek into his bedroom. The sight he found almost made him laugh out loud.
Eve sat on the carpet at the foot of his bed, one of his erotic books spread open across her lap. The little vixen had somehow managed to get into the box he kept locked at the bottom of his trunk, and now she was getting a lesson in the Kama Sutra. A lesson he’d gladly expound upon in a moment. For now, he didn’t wish to interrupt her delightful attempts at recreating the female position on the page before her.
As he watched, she stretched her arm over her head and behind her shoulder. Then one dainty foot came out from under the hem of her dress, followed by an ankle and most of her calf. She leaned backward in one direction and stretched out forward in the other. If she kept up the attempt at untutored yoga, she’d hurt herself, so he leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Chapter Sixteen
Eve gave out the most delightful little squeak as she toppled over onto the floor in a flutter of skirts and petticoats. She rolled onto her stomach and stared up at him. “When did you come in?”
“A moment ago,” Philip said.
She scrambled to her feet. “You might hav
e said something.”
“I just did.”
“You might have said something before I twisted myself into a chignon.”
“And miss the view of your ankle?” he said. “I must say I’ve never seen yoga practiced so temptingly.”
“Yoga?” she said.
“The ancient Indian philosophy and practice that separates the mind from the material world so that it’s free to embrace the spiritual.”
“Hmm,” she said, pursing her lips into a perfect scowl of disapproval. “And I suppose the people in those pictures were practicing philosophy. Or had they gone quite past practice?”
“You astonish me, Miss Stanhope.”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I do?”
“Yes, you see I had thought that this was my bedroom.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied him with even more skepticism. “It is.”
“And then, I had thought that those were my books and that I’d had them in a locked box in a trunk that contains my possessions.”
She didn’t answer that but glanced guiltily around the room.
“I had thought that someone who went into another’s bedroom and went through the other’s things—picking a lock to do so, I might add—I had thought that that person ought to feel ashamed of herself, not outraged at something she wasn’t supposed to see in the first place.”
He paused for a moment to allow her to fidget and turn a very appealing shade of pink.
“But I discover,” he continued, “that somehow I’m at fault here, not you. What a remarkable turnabout of affairs.”
She cleared her throat and smiled at him half-heartedly. “Well, now that you’ve apologized, I’ll leave.”
She made to walk around him, but he caught her by the arm. “Not yet, Miss Stanhope. I haven’t even begun to apologize.”
She looked up at him. “Let me go.”
“Oh, no. Not until I’ve had an explanation.” In truth, he had no plans to release her after she’d attempted to explain the unexplainable. He had greater sport in mind than listening to her lie, no matter how sweetly she did it. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“I didn’t come looking for you, if that’s what you’re thinking?”
“You didn’t come seeking solace from your loneliness in my arms?”
“No,” she said.
“You didn’t hope to ease the ache caused by the absence of my touch on your flesh? You didn’t aspire to lose yourself in my kisses? You didn’t come here looking for the only lover who can make you feel truly alive?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why did you come here?”
She didn’t answer that, but she didn’t have to, and they both knew it. She just looked pointedly at his hand against her arm and then into his face. “Let me go.”
“You came looking for the jewels, didn’t you?” He shook her gently. “Didn’t you?”
“Oh, all right. I did.”
“And you didn’t find them, did you?”
“Would I still be here if I had?”
“Yes, Miss Stanhope. You would,” he said. “Because as much as you like to pretend that my affections don’t move you, you can’t quite convince your body to go along with the lie.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered.
“You’re excited now. I can tell by the flush on your neck, by the way you’re breathing.”
And indeed, her skin had colored beautifully since he’d pulled her against him. Her chest rose and fell raggedly. She looked for all the world like a woman in dire need of some loving, but of course the little fool would deny it.
“I’m angry,” she said.
“There’s more than anger in your eyes.”
“And embarrassed to be caught in your room,” she added.
“Nonsense, no amount of misbehavior embarrasses you.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of me?” He had to laugh at that. “You’re not afraid of me, because you know I’d never hurt you.”
“You’re hurting my arm,” she whined.
“No, I’m not.” He knew as well as she did that he wasn’t. He held her only firmly enough to keep her right where she belonged—next to him, snuggled up against his body. The light in her eye had nothing to do with fear or embarrassment and everything to do with their closeness. Closeness that would soon work itself into something far more intimate and something they both needed.
“Let me go,” she said, but her words held no conviction. In fact, the breathiness to her voice and the way she moistened her slightly parted lips said quite the opposite. She wanted him, and the knowledge sent a shock of pleasure through him so intense that within just that moment, his sex grew to full length and thickness in anticipation.
“I’ll let you go eventually,” he said. “But first, I think we should continue your education in Eastern love philosophy.”
“Those pictures?” she asked.
“The pictures and more. Sexual congress isn’t about body parts, Eve. It’s about giving to one another. It’s about surrendering to the finest passions nature has given us.”
She lowered her eyes until he couldn’t see any of their emerald fire through her lashes. “I don’t like surrender.”
“I know that.” With his free hand, he raised her chin, forcing her to look into his face. “But you can’t take pleasure until you’ve learned to give in to it, and without pleasure, life isn’t worth living.”
“Philip…”
“I won’t hurt you, Eve. I’d never hurt you.” He lowered his face toward hers, and her eyes closed in anticipation of his kiss. When he pressed his lips to hers, she trembled and leaned in to him. He slid his arms around her and held her gently while he brushed her mouth with his own. Slowly, thoroughly, he went, tasting her and inviting her to respond. As much as he wanted her, he forced himself to hold back. She rewarded him, finally, by raising her arms and twining them around his neck. Her fingers stroked the sensitive flesh just above his collar, teasing and sending erotic signals to other parts of his body. She’d already made him hot and overeager, but he could manage restraint because he had to.
Her lips parted under his, and the tip of her tongue came out to explore. Just its gentle invasion could prove his undoing if he let her continue, so he straightened and held her to his chest while he took several breaths and fought for control.
“I don’t know how you do this to me,” she whispered, resting against him, her arms still around his neck. “I feel so weak when you touch me.”
“It isn’t weakness. You’ll find that you have more than enough strength for what you really want.”
“Then why do I feel as if my knees won’t hold me?”
He chuckled. “Because your body wants you prone, and so do I.”
She pushed away from his chest but didn’t step outside the circle of his arms. “This isn’t funny.”
“I know. It’s glorious.” He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “Come, let’s seek the wisdom of the East together.”
She smiled and blushed. Assuming that meant agreement, he took her hand in his and led her to the bed, stopping only briefly to retrieve the open book from the floor. She sat sideways on the mattress with one knee bent and resting on the coverlet and the other foot hanging toward the floor. He sat behind her and reached over to place the book into her lap. Positioned that way, he could lean over her and rest his chin on her shoulder as he turned pages, searching for just the right passage to begin her lesson.
“Here,” he said, pointing at a picture. “The lingam, the male organ.”
“I thought you said that sexual union wasn’t about body parts.” She turned her head toward him, almost bringing her lips to his. He could kiss her again and arouse her and then have his way with her. But he’d done that once before—at the inn—and it hadn’t settled things between them. He needed her eager cooperation in their amorous pursuits to truly win her over.
“It isn�
��t, but one uses one’s body parts to give one’s lover pleasure. I pleasured you well enough that night we made love, didn’t I?”
She smiled and turned back to the book.
“The man may be one of three types, depending on the size of his lingam. He may be the hare, the bull or the horse.”
“And which are you?”
He cleared his throat. “A wise woman doesn’t discuss her lover’s size except to act suitably impressed.”
“Oh, but I was impressed that night,” she said with mock awe. “Quite overwhelmed, in fact. I may swoon right now just from the memory of your lingam.”
“Minx,” he said and nipped at her neck.
She giggled at that—a clear and happy sound with no fear or trepidation in it.
“And what of the woman?” she asked. “Does her size count for nothing?”
“A very astute question.” He reached to her back and started undoing the fastenings of her dress. “The fit between man and woman is very important, and as I recall we fit together quite well.”
So well that he’d burst some buttons on his trousers if he didn’t get his thoughts under some control. He didn’t dare to rush her, and besides, he had all her clothes to get off her still. He continued unfastening her dress, letting the backs of his fingers caress her shoulders and down her back to the lace trim of her low-cut underbodice.
“Here it mentions the sixty-four,” she said. “What’s that?”
“A description of various embraces.” He slipped the fabric of her bodice down. She wiggled free of the sleeves and stretched her arms, offering him her naked neck and shoulders and the sight of the curve of her breasts pushed up by her corset.
“The ‘twining of a creeper’ is one embrace,” he said as he lowered his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He nibbled there until her breath caught. “In which a woman wraps her arms around her love to ask to be kissed.”
