Lord of Devil Isle

by Connie Mason

  He gave her other hand the same leisurely attention. When he was finished, he brought it to his lips, uncurled her fingers and placed a soft kiss in her palm. Then he took two fingers in his mouth and sucked them.

  Her belly clenched. If Nick started a riot in her insides just by making love to her hands, Lord help her when he moved on to more sensitive spots.

  Once her left hand was firmly placed on his other shoulder, he met her eyes squarely once more. His hands found the drawstring at the neck of her chemise and untied it. He parted the thin cotton, shoving it out of the way. Her breasts were bared.

  Then his gaze drifted lower. She held her breath as he stared intently.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  Her heart leaped.

  He grazed a nipple with his knuckle and it drew up into an even tighter knot. A white-hot message streaked from her breast to her womb. She closed her eyes and felt his heat as he ran his fingertips along the crease beneath each breast. Then he hefted their weight in his palms and dragged his thumbs across her taut nipples. She bit her lip to keep from arching into him.

  When she opened her eyes, he was still looking at her breasts. The hunger in his face made her ache. She drew a shuddering breath.

  “Raise your arms,” he ordered.

  She lifted them in the time-honored gesture of surrender. He bunched her chemise in his fists and drew the garment over her head.

  Nicholas dropped to one knee and brushed his lips over her ribs. He circled her belly button a couple times before inserting a fingertip in the indentation. He smoothed his palms over her hips. His warm breath feathered her abdomen and made the small hairs over her crotch sway with each exhalation.

  “Spread your legs.” His voice was ragged.

  Grinding her teeth, she complied and he invaded her softly, teasing a finger into her most intimate crevice. He explored her gently, discovering each little fold and circling her most sensitive spot with maddening slowness. Her body answered him with fresh dew and a deep throb. She almost cried out when he pulled back and moved his hand on down her thighs.

  This is madness, she told herself. She should not be flirting with ruin just because the moonlight wouldn’t let her sleep. Still, he was keeping his promise only to touch her. As he ran his palms down her shins and ankles, she scented a whiff of her own arousal, musky and sweet.

  The wanting grew keener. Nicholas was touching her in a far deeper place than just her skin, that place where her soul hunkered, where her closely guarded heart sheltered behind rules and propriety and “oughtness.” He cut through her defenses and made her rouse to him with a deep, throbbing ache.

  And if she could smell her arousal, he surely could, too. She pressed her lips together in embarrassment.

  “Don’t fret, Eve,” he said softly. “I think you smell wonderful.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “I can’t hear your thoughts,” he said as he rose to his feet and looked down at her. “But you have my complete attention. I sense how you’re feeling with each breath and shiver of muscle. I have to know how you feel in order to know how I should touch you. I can make a good guess at your thoughts.”

  In that case, she was truly at his mercy.

  He leaned toward her slightly. The tip of his cock grazed her belly and she thought he was about to kiss her, but he caught himself and straightened.

  “Turn around,” he ordered, his tone gruffer than it had been. She realized that he was bridling himself and it was proving a struggle.

  Perhaps she could guess at his thoughts as well, and just as accurately.

  She flinched when he first touched her back. Then his hands smoothed across her shoulder blades and traced her spine. She began to relax. With a featherlight touch, he visited every stripe, setting the undamaged skin between the ravaged bits dancing.

  “Can you feel that?”

  She shook her head. He must be skimming the tops of the scars themselves, she reasoned. Part of her back was dead. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder.

  That part of her was joyously alive.

  He began kissing his way down her back. For every stripe her tormentors had laid, he laid on his mouth a dozen times. By the time he reached her waist, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  Her shoulders quivered and he must have heard the catch in her breathing as she tried to stifle her sobs.

  He rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his hard chest, snugging her bottom against his harder groin.

  “There are to be no tears between us. Only pleasure. Only bliss is allowed.” His voice was a rumble by her ear while one of his hands reached around to toy with her nipple. “There is no place for the past. No thought for the future. There is only now.”

  He was so warm, feverish almost, against her skin. She narrowly resisted melting into him.

  “I want you only to feel.” His hands slid down and cupped her buttocks. He massaged her flesh, lifting and spreading, teasing the sensitive crease.

  She wondered if she might burst into flames.

  “Do you know how fine you are?” he whispered as he knelt to run his palms down the backs of her thighs and dally at the ticklish spot behind her knees.

  She only knew how fine he made her feel.

  He moved his hand, drifting up to her buttocks and back down. His touch sent pleasure rippling over her.

  “So smooth,” he said. “So cool.”

  She could almost feel her own skin through his fingertips.

  And his delight in what he felt.

  Eve shivered. She was giving herself over to him completely. Was there some drug in the fragrance of that flower blooming by her door? She shouldn’t be surrendering so utterly that she was losing sense of where she ended and he began.

  He slid his hand between her legs to tease her little point of pleasure again. Heat pooled in her groin. If he turned her around and put his mouth on her again as he had in her chamber, she’d be lost this time.

  “Stop,” she pleaded.

  He removed his hand and stood behind her. “The hourglass isn’t spent yet.”

  She glanced over at it. The bottom half of the glass was two-thirds full. She’d lost all sense of time passing as he kissed away her hurts and lavished tender care on her skin with his hands and mouth. If she could only last a bit longer, she’d be able to leave with her self-respect intact. She’d have proved that she was still in full possession of herself.

  “Are you afraid of me, Eve?” He picked up her plait and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. He inhaled deeply, then used his teeth to tug at the ribbon that bound her hair. The knot slid free.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  I’m afraid of me. If he’d tried to take her like the louts in Newgate, grabbing and thrusting, she’d have fought him, tooth and claw. None dared try it more than once, especially once she sharpened her spoon into a deadly weapon and nearly emasculated one of them.

  But against Nick’s unexpected and unrelenting gentleness, she had no defense.

  “You’re trembling.” He began to massage her scalp, then he separated her plait and spread her hair over her shoulders. “I’m treating you like the lady you are, Eve. You’ve no cause for complaint, have you?”

  “No.” Then bald curiosity made her ask, “If I weren’t a lady, what would you do?”

  He made a noise, a sort of low groan and lowered his lips to her ear. “If you were no lady, I’d do something like this.”

  Nicholas wrapped an arm around her waist and bent her suddenly over. Her slim fingers splayed on the pine floor to catch herself. He covered her sex with his whole hand, sliding a finger into her, stopping at the thin shield of her purity. Her hair brushed the floor. Only his hand covering her kept him from ramming his big cock into her.

  “This is what a lady misses out on,” he said raggedly. “A good hard swive.”

  “You swore…only to touch me.”

  �
��Aye, and I’m only touching you,” he snarled. “And my cock will touch the places my fingers cannot reach.”

  “Please, no.”

  “Don’t deceive yourself. You want this. You can’t lie to a man who’s holding your wet little puss in his hand. I’ve a quarter hour left. Plenty of time to rut you blind, wench.”

  His grip around her waist tightened and she felt him tremble. Her body still screamed out its need in aching pulses.

  “Not like this,” she whimpered.

  He emitted a low growl and released her.

  Eve’s knees buckled and she dropped to all fours. Then she plopped her bottom on the floor and twisted around to face him.

  Nicholas was still standing there, nostrils flared, dragging in deep, ragged breaths. When he looked at her, it was with the wild-eyed gaze of a stallion, rutting-mad and ready to mount anything that came near.

  Fear raked her spine.

  “Nicholas?”

  “Get out of here,” he said, his lips barely moving. “For Christ’s sake, if you don’t intend to stay, get out now.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed up her chemise and wrapper and ran to his door. Heedless of her nakedness, she threw it open and bolted down the hall to her own chamber.

  She didn’t stop until her door was shut and locked behind her. She moved a chair over and propped it under the knob for good measure. Then she collapsed onto the cool heart-of-pine floor and covered her face with her hands.

  There was no way to lie to herself. She had not a shred of dignity left. She’d teased Nicholas Scott. Had pushed him to within an inch of his endurance and only escaped through his good graces, not her moral rectitude or ability to remain cool and aloof.

  She might try to fool the world, but she was no lady.

  And now they both knew it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The moment Eve slammed his door behind her, Nicholas strode to his water closet. He was powerless to stop what was about to happen. His mind went blank and his body took over.

  He stood over the chamber pot, his cock angry and aching. He took it in his hand and stroked himself hard. Once. Twice.

  His release surged in hot pulses into the small china receptacle. His whole body trembled with the force of his climax. Nick leaned a hand against the wall to hold himself upright as the last of his spunk splatted into the pot.

  Playing with a goddamn cock-tease after weeks of abstinence. What did you expect?

  He drew a shuddering breath. It wasn’t nearly enough, but at least the madness faded to an empty ache. He poured water from the pitcher into the ewer and dashed a handful on his face. Blood surged hotly through his veins, pounding in his temples. He upended the pitcher over his head and let the water sluice over his form.

  It wasn’t cold enough.

  He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Eve Upshall. He wanted her tender. He wanted her hard. He wanted her begging and helpless with need. His mind tumbled with a dozen inventive ways to join his body to hers. She’d been right here. He’d held her in his hand.

  And he’d let her go.

  He was done with women who didn’t want to stay.

  Nick had never felt so lonely in all his life. Not even when Hannah died.

  Back then he’d simply gone numb. To lose a woman to death in the same breath he’d learned he’d already lost her to another man—it was too much to deal with in one heartbeat. Nick tucked it away into a quiet eddy in the back of his mind.

  Sometimes he’d drag out the old hurt and worry it, like a dog unburies an old bone. But it was no use. He’d never know why Hannah had betrayed him.

  Love was a wicked fickle beastie. Just when a man thought he might have it safe in his net, the damn thing slipped through a tear or leaped out over the top. Perhaps the whole idea of love was nothing but a bunch of smoke and oakum.

  Maybe keeping a mistress was the best a man could hope for. At least there was no confusion. He’d get what his body needed and the wench would get hers. All neat and tidy and businesslike.

  But he hadn’t reckoned on the aching tenderness he felt when he pressed his lips to Eve’s ruined back. Or the red-eyed haze when he sensed her pulling away from him. Or the pure lust that made him double her over and come nearer to ravishing an unwilling woman than he’d ever been in his life. He had no name for what he felt. He simply knew he had these feelings for her.

  All of her.

  He didn’t know what he wanted from the woman, but whatever it was, he knew he couldn’t force it from her.

  His cock resurrected itself merrily at the slightest thought of Eve. His chin sank to his chest as he turned back to the chamber pot.

  Looks like I’ll be there awhile.

  The sun refused to show its face the next morning. The whole island was shrouded in low-hanging clouds, which spit rain and threatened to birth a squall on the eastern horizon.

  Nick noticed that Eve likewise didn’t emerge from her chamber for breakfast.

  But the Misses Munroe and Smythe were at his table, fresh as daisies and as damnably cheerful.

  “I declare, I do believe I danced with every available bachelor on this entire island,” Miss Munroe said. “Leastwise, my feet still seem to think so. I daresay, my slippers were too small to begin with, but I simply couldn’t resist the cunning little things. Thank you again, Captain.”

  He grunted noncommittally into his parritch.

  “Did you fancy any one of the men in particular?” Miss Smythe asked. She stirred her bowl several times without lifting the spoon to her lips once.

  “How can I choose one star in the sky? One pebble on the shore?” Miss Munroe gestured as she spoke, then leaned forward. “But there are quite a number I wouldn’t mind dancing with again, I’ll tell you that.”

  Higgs pushed back from the table. Peregrine hadn’t managed to wangle a dance with Miss Munroe even once, Nick knew.

  “W-we are scheduled to sail for the Turks,” Higgs said. “Are we going ahead, s-sir?”

  “Let us see what the day brings. I don’t much like the look of the horizon, but see to the Susan Bell’s provisions, in any case,” Nick said. He was loath to leave without setting matters to rights with Eve. And how to accomplish that he had no clue, as yet. Still, he was due to make a run. “That salt won’t take itself to the Colonies, will it?”

  “Th-then if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll see to my duties.”

  “Carry on, Mr. Higgs.”

  Nick turned a weather-eye toward the eastern window. Clouds boiled on the horizon. The glass was falling precipitously last time he checked his barometer.

  The women chattered on about the events of the ball for several more minutes while Nick scraped out his bowl. Finally he laid aside his spoon and said, “Has either of you spoken with Miss Upshall this morning?”

  “I did,” Miss Smythe said. “Eve asked for a tray to be brought to her chamber. She’s still feeling poorly. It must be the change in the weather.”

  “And yet you said she’s not the sickly type.” Nick gulped down a mouthful of tea, even though it was hot enough to scald his tongue. Sipping was for fops. “I gather you’ve known each other long. Do you all hail from the same region?”

  “Yes,” Miss Munroe said.

  “No,” Miss Smythe said.

  At the same time.

  “Which is it?”

  The pair exchanged a guilty glance.

  “Oh, I thought you said religion,” Miss Munroe amended quickly. “Of course, we’re all Christians. We’re English ladies, aren’t we? But we’re not from the same region, no. I’m from Surry and Penelope was reared in Suffolk.”

  “And Miss Upshall?”

  “London,” Miss Smythe said. “I think.”

  “But you aren’t sure. Where did the three of you meet?”

  “At…Mrs. Torrington’s School for Young Ladies…of Good Family,” Miss Munroe said, casting her gaze up and to the right.

  “Sally, you know that’s not tru
e.”

  “Penny!”

  “I ask your pardon, dear, but I can’t lie to the captain any longer,” Miss Smythe said. “Not after he’s been so kind.” She turned to face him, then lowered her eyes. “Though I would not blame him if he decides to change his disposition toward us.”

  “There’s not much danger of that,” the captain said.

  “Hear me out before you commit yourself,” Miss Smythe said. “You see, we’re not ladies in the strictest sense of the word.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m harboring three well-spoken strumpets?” he said with a laugh.

  Miss Smythe’s eyes went round and he almost regretted teasing her. She was his best hope of learning the truth about Eve.

  “Of course not,” Miss Munroe chimed in. “We weren’t convicted of anything like that.”

  “But you were convicted of something?” He’d always suspected there was something odd in Eve’s story about why the three of them were headed for the Carolinas. People generally stayed put unless something drove them from a safe haven. “All of you?”

  “Truth to tell, yes.” Miss Smythe nodded sorrowfully. “And rightfully so, but please don’t think we are women of loose character. I only stole a loaf of bread because my little brother was hungry and my parents sick.”

  “Ain’t you a saint?” Miss Munroe rolled her eyes at Miss Smythe, then looked at Nick squarely. “And I stole a bit of ribbon because I wanted it, but hadn’t the coin to pay for it. The frippery weren’t worth more than a few pence hardly, but it was enough to land me on a ship bound for Australia, all the same.”

  “And what of Eve?” he asked, forgetting he should call her Miss Upshall.

  “You’d have to ask her,” Miss Smythe said. “I promised not to tell. But of the three of us, she’s the only one who truly was wellborn. That much is certain.”

  “You’ve told everything else, haven’t you? And now you’ve ruined everything. May as well kiss any more new gowns good-bye.” Miss Munroe’s face had turned the shade of poached salmon. “For your information, Captain Scott, Eve was convicted of public lewdness. So there.”