The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed

by Lynne Connolly

  LUCILLE STARED AT Jay wide-eyed. It didn’t matter that he was dressed in snug biscuit-colored breeches, or that a diamond flashed disconcertingly from the white linen folds at his neck. Gold glittered from his waistcoat. Despite the black strip mask obscuring the top part of his face, his keen stare ensnared her as it had in the daytime. She couldn’t look away. Dark eyes the color of rich chocolate burned with an inner fire and defied her to take her attention from him. Her resistance melted, her last barrier shattered. Seeing him this way after the surprisingly enjoyable conversation today added to her fascination with him. Their kiss notwithstanding.

  From the moment she’d walked across the floor of this room, head high, heart quailing, she knew she’d made a mistake coming here. She didn’t belong. Not every person wore a mask, and she recognized local politicians—hell, a senator having sex with two women in one room she’d entered. He’d asked her to join them, and she’d beaten a hasty retreat. So that disclaimer meant something. And she sensed other Talents, minds grazing hers, then moving on, satisfied she wasn’t a threat. She’d only come across that kind of community when she visited Houston.

  She wanted to see Jay’s art, to see him again, to change her life. A threefold mantra that had plagued her until she’d given in. She could have said no to Missy if she’d really wanted to. Jay had stirred her, induced a sense of recklessness she couldn’t deny. She’d thought maybe this Regency orgy might be the answer, but no. She didn’t like it after all. The sights and sounds of this place instilled curiosity. It didn’t turn her on. At least, not until she’d seen him crossing the room in powerful strides with her in his sights.

  She shifted, preparing to get to her feet. “I should go,” she said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have come—”

  “I warned you what happened at my parties,” he said, silky tones barely masking hidden threat.

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “My mistake.”

  His lips twitched in what was either a smile or a grimace. She couldn’t tell which in the dim light.

  She fidgeted. How did people wear these dresses for more than an hour at a time? The bones of the bodice dug painfully in to her breasts.

  A scream shattered her calm as the man taking his third or fourth dick of the evening shivered in agony or ecstasy. She scarcely suppressed her start of shock, but although she was almost sure she hadn’t revealed her alarm, the corner of his mouth flicked up. He knew.

  “I don’t belong here,” she said.

  The smile turned into a full-blown one. Lucille caught her breath. The expression transformed him from a stern, scary aristocrat into a man. Confident, but not one-dimensional. The Jay she’d met earlier today.

  She shifted, unable to stop the dress poking her. She must have put on weight since she wore it last. Her breasts bulged uncomfortably over the top of the garment, unlike most of the women here. Their gowns cinched in below their bosoms, pushed up their breasts to spill or swell in a tempting display. Not everyone had corsets on. Not everyone wore anything on their upper half, but their clothes were obviously expensive, made to fit. Now she felt stupid. Out of place.

  “You don’t like it here,” he said abruptly. “What is it?”

  Dropping her gaze to the toes of his glossy dancing pumps, she knew it was futile for her to deny it, pointless too. “I’m okay.”

  A pause before he spoke again, one that stretched an agonizingly long time. “I see.”

  She licked her lips. She couldn’t say more, despite the strange feeling of safety he gave her. An illusion. Always an illusion. Keep safe and quiet.

  Closing her eyes tightly, she forced her attention to remain on his shoes. No looking up though now she wanted the recognition in his eyes.

  “Were you curious, mignonne?”

  The caress in his words shivered through her mind. “I wondered.” She took a sharp breath. “I was wrong. These things interest me, but they don’t…”

  “Turn you on?” The intimacy in his tone told her far more than mere words. “Time you spread your wings, perhaps?” He wasn’t sitting close to her, but she didn’t need to look at him to know how his countenance would warm. Nevertheless, she looked. So much more than warmth waited for her there. Desire. Nothing else would do to describe the stark, open expression on his face. He knew, and she didn’t. They were unequal in experience, probably in temperament and in sexual needs, if this party was anything to go by.

  She spoke to him in the way of their kind.

  “I’ve lived here all my life, and I enjoy it. I don’t want to change until I have to. Momma always called it the back end of Texas, but it’s my home. And there’s nobody around these parts like us.”

  “Don’t talk to me this way. One other is here. Someone I didn’t invite. I don’t know his skills.”

  Shock shivered through her. Talents threatening others? She’d never imagined that happening. The only dangers her parents had alerted her to were the mortals who knew about them and resented their existence.

  He lowered his voice so it sounded under the strings. “Your mental camouflage is excellent.”

  “Our parents ensured that before they moved on.”

  “Why did your parents leave?”

  She shrugged. “Mom left, and my Dad went a few years later. One day he was there, the next he’d gone.” They’d warned their children they wouldn’t always be here. She’d assumed it was the way of Talents.

  “Fucking irresponsible vandals. Don’t they know how precious children are to our kind? What they mean for our survival?” The burning intensity of his words scorched her at a profound level, where she’d never allowed anyone in.

  “It don’t matter if we die out. People, creatures do.”

  “That’s what they said, is it?”

  She sensed anger simmer through him, quickly suppressed. Although they’d stopped communicating telepathically, they’d left the top layer of their minds open for empathetic communication. But this time he risked another mental message, although he pushed it deeper than he had before. Not that she was about to expose any more to him. Not until she knew him better. “I’m going to get up, and you’ll follow me. I’ll take you to another room, we’ll make out, then we’re leaving. Clear?”

  “What?” Bemused, she stared at him. Where had that come from? He desired her, but as far as she knew, he treated every half-decent woman that way.

  “Danger.” He muttered the one word low. “I want to get you out of here, but I need to create a distraction first. If you’re not up for it, tell me now because in this place we’ll have to do a bit more than kiss to get people to watch.” He gave a wry grin. “We’ll do a slave game.”

  “Pardon?”

  He shifted in his chair. Did he feel discomfort? She dared to glance down. Those pantaloons weren’t as smooth as before. His hard cock ridged the fabric, but not facing up as she’d supposed. Down his left leg, the shape easily discerned except at the tip, which was shadowed by the dim lights and the way he sat. “You destroy my self control,” he murmured, adding louder, “Want to play?”

  “Sure.” Relief swept through her. She trusted him, and if he said danger, then she believed him. He wasn’t planning to abandon her to whatever awaited. She was guessing the unknown Talent threatened them.

  A voice broke into what must have appeared a protracted silence. “Do you want to share this morsel?”

  Before she could stop herself, she looked up. Into the golden eyes of a man who watched her with knowing lust. Shaken, gasping, she dropped her gaze again, but too late. The air around them turned to ice.

  “If this is yours, you need to use it,” the newcomer said. “Or lose it.”

  She didn’t have to say anything. She didn’t dare venture into his mind or bring her barrier down with the kind of finality that would alert him further. This was a Talent. She sat still as a mouse, barely holding her shields together for the anger that coursed through her at being spoken about as a morsel. And her annoyance at her aroused response, awareness ti
ngling through her at his words.

  Jay’s power thrummed through her, and he plunged deep when she automatically opened to him. “I have the matter in hand.” “If you don’t want to go along with this, say so now.”

  Her shock accompanied his words. Not from what he said, but from the blast of heat that went with it. Sexual heat, profound and savage, closer to her carefully hidden nature than she’d ever acknowledged before. As if he woke something dormant inside her, she responded, unable to prevent the answering wave.

  Communicating at that level forced their exchange into the unbearably basic. He wanted her.

  He got to his feet and watched her. Obediently she rose too, but remembered something he’d said. She was a Cyprian, and she’d looked that up. A courtesan, someone who could demand top dollar for her services. Or top guinea, she supposed. He spoke to her while they walked, him ahead, her eyes downcast. She followed three paces behind. “The man who talked to you is Blue, obviously a pseudonym. He communicated with me, tried to make me talk back. I had to reveal myself as a Talent in order to get his attention. That’s why I’ve surrounded you with my shield. I had to claim you, but he doesn’t know any more. I don’t recognize him, and I don’t trust him. I need to get you out of here. If you agree to go along with this, I’m going to strip you, at least partially. Can you take it?”

  She was pretty sure she could. From him.

  “Yes.” She’d fake her arousal. He’d let her so deep into his mind that he couldn’t lie to her. Not even a Talent powerful as he could hide everything from another at this level. His senses caressed her, encircled her with seductive pleasure.

  A tingle grew. She embraced the communication of this man she’d only just met, clutching it like a lifeline. Only when her telepathic voice was absent did she realize how solitary ordinary people were. It must be terrifying to be totally alone in the world, the legendary voice crying in the wilderness. How did they stand it? Although Drew was the Talent she usually communicated with, she could enter others’ minds. She never pried when she found resistance, but her nature led her to investigate, to touch, the link natural to her kind.

  If she cut herself off, she’d get scared. “You know, don’t you?”

  “I read it in you. You’re afraid of being alone in your own mind. That’s why your brother’s absence has you edgy, isn’t it?”

  She swallowed. Normally she coped with Drew’s absences. He wasn’t a boy anymore, he was a man, and she had to learn to get used to it.

  Even in her mind, Jay’s tones had an old-fashioned aura, something she found seductively sexy. His party. She had to let him take the lead. Except—”Why is this necessary?”

  He stopped in the center of another graciously furnished room and turned to face her. “Four of the Talents here tonight are fugitives. The PHR have killed two of their number, and we need to get the others to safety. This unknown Talent, Blue, could mean harm.”

  Her eyes widened. She stared at him. “You’re a Thorndyke?”

  An amused smiled played at his lips. “One of them.”

  Shit. The Thorndykes were the Talented equivalent of the underground railroad that spirited slaves to safety during the Civil War. The PHR, Perfect Human Race, hunted down Talents and murdered them. Even Talents had vulnerabilities, and the PHR knew them.

  “There’s a cell nearby?”

  “It’s possible.” He sounded careless, but her mind immediately went to her brother. She needed to get him home, fast. Maybe Jay could help.

  So she was helping get some threatened Talents to safety. The Thorndykes would spirit them to a new life, and thanks to their connections with Homeland Security and the FBI, provide the necessary papers to make their mortal alibis inviolate. Her parents had told her all that, and warned her and Drew that in sixty years or so they’d have to move on, find somewhere new.

  She wasn’t looking forward to that.

  Now she gazed at Jay until she realized he was waiting. She turned her back on him with a flounce, trying to remember the Regency romances she’d read. A shame she preferred crime novels. It’d have to do. A scene. He wanted to create a scene.

  “Don’t turn your back on me. I own you.”

  “Nobody owns me.”

  A shiver walked down her spine when he touched her. A gentle stroke to her nape, exposed from her upswept ’do.

  “You’re mine, bought and paid for.”

  They’d attracted attention. People lay on the sofas or on the floor in various stages of disarray. Men fondled the breasts of the women nearest to them, not even looking at them. One couple was using a chaise longue in a creative way, about the only people who weren’t watching the show.

  His voice stroked over her nerve endings, sending tremors, and she had no idea if he knew he was doing it. She needed to be naked with him. Not here, not with these spectators, but alone where she could have him to herself. She couldn’t see Missy. She was on her own, except for this man.

  With a gleam in his eyes barely visible behind his black strip mask—similar to the one Jay was wearing—Blue watched. Not submissively as she had to. He strode confidently to the edge of the crowd, drawing attention. Goose bumps rose on her arms and the fine hairs on her body stood on end as she anticipated the next move.

  “Does this excite you?” Jay asked her.

  “No. It terrifies me.”

  A pause. “A shame. Let’s see what we can do to change that.” Without warning, he pulled at her bodice, and the rending sound announced the final seconds of her converted bridesmaid’s dress and her bra. Never in a million years would she have guessed the gown would end that way. Only a week ago she’d thought of donating it to the thrift store. Not even they would want it now.

  She still had her underwire bra. She could do this, put on a show. After all, this would be like amateur dramatics, wouldn’t it?

  She glared defiantly at the appreciative audience and put up her chin petulantly. She was about to fold her arms, but he prevented her. He slid his hands around her and covered her breasts.

  Her bare breasts. He’d ripped everything away. So much for her sturdy bra.

  Instantly her nipples peaked into his palm. The heat of his hands superseded her embarrassment and shock. “Did you do that?”

  “All I did was touch you. Fight me.” He bit her neck, a gentle nip. Shit, sensation radiated from his mouth to the rest of her body.

  She couldn’t fight it. “It’s because you’re so deep in my mind, isn’t it?”

  “No. You want this.”

  She gasped when he rotated his palms, and she felt the stroke of his skin against hers. Then he moved closer. At least she wasn’t the only one affected. But his cock still lay against his leg. Strange, she’d have thought it would have risen. “No. It’s simple attraction. Lust. It happens, my lady; be at ease, let me lead you.”

  “Arrogant, much?”

  “I know how long this distraction should last, and what I can do to turn these people on with the least embarrassment to you.” He paused, shifted his hands, and jerked her hard against him, his previous tender urging a thing of the past. When he ground against her ass this time, nobody could have missed it. “You think you can walk away after ten thousand guineas and a diamond necklace? You have a lot to learn.” “Turn to look at me. Appear as if you’re about to spit in my face.”

  She’d rather have her breasts bared than feel the warmth of his palms a minute longer. Realizing the sense of his argument, she did as he asked. She might get some control over herself.

  Spitting might help. Before she could do it, while her lips were pursed, he bent his head and fastened his mouth to hers.

  He took her with the avidity of a ravaging monster, immediately prizing her lips open by shoving his tongue against them, demanding rather than requesting entry. The intensity of their kiss made her weak like one of the Regency maidens in the stories.

  Except she was playing the part of a Cyprian, an experienced woman of pleasure. She would resist, surely.


  With an effort of will, she broke away and tore out of his arms to confront him. Okay, so bare breasts. They did that all the time on some beaches. Just that she didn’t. She’d grown up with an innate sense of modesty, and this display was killing her.

  And turning her on. People were watching. Oh, shit, what was this? How could a situation like this turn her on? She recalled what she was going to say. “A paltry ten thousand and a glass necklace? My lord, I value myself more than that.” She didn’t attempt an English accent, figuring there had to have been some Americans in London in the period.

  His slow smile warmed her from the inside out, and thank the saints she’d ignored the advice in her research and kept her panties on. Apparently in those times women didn’t wear them. Well, she did, and she was glad of it now because her pussy dampened to the point of overflow.

  “You like this.” He made it a statement rather than a question. “Another time, sweeting.” A pause. He left her mind completely. Nobody there, not Drew, not her parents, nobody. Panic rose in her throat, choking her, and then he was back. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She swallowed the unreasoning fear. “I’m not used to this.”

  “So let’s get out of here. We’re done, they’re gone.” He didn’t have to say whom. The fugitives.

  With a sneer, a sexy curl of his lip in total character with the dastardly Lord Trevithick, Jay spun her around, making her breasts bounce. Several men in the audience licked their lips although they were fondling other women or women were fondling them. Jay manacled her wrists in one hand. She thought that was it, he’d march her off somewhere. However, crisp linen rasped against her skin. When she craned her neck to discover what he was doing, she saw he’d ripped off the carefully fastened neckcloth. The long diamond pin glistened on his coat, shoved in with no heed to its arrangement, and he’d revealed his throat and the top of his chest.