She moaned against his lips, a sweet, compelling sound, and he wondered again how he’d ever endure such torment. Already his head buzzed with yearning and his cock strained at his braies.
But Nicholas was a man of control. If he could command the subtle nuances of pain, he could certainly master the exquisite shades of pleasure.
Swallowing down a groan, he nipped softly at her lips. “Ah, Desirée,” he murmured hoarsely, “to whom did you sell it?”
“Hmm?”
“The gaming box,” he said patiently. “Who purchased it?”
She frowned in mild irritation. She obviously didn’t want to answer his questions. She had more pressing interests.
So did he. But this was a matter of grave consequence.
“Desirée.”
“Mm.”
“Desirée.” He withdrew his hands from her, finally garnering her attention.
“What?”
“Who bought the gaming box?”
She shrugged, but an evasive glint marred her innocent gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
He brushed a stray tendril from her brow, and then delved his fingers into her hair. He cupped her cheek, staring at her lush, inviting lips. Apparently, she needed more convincing. “Perhaps I can stir your memory.”
He lowered his head to breathe softly upon her cheek, running the tip of his nose alongside hers, drawing out the sultry suspense until her mouth parted hungrily and her nostrils flared with anticipation.
Only then did he consummate the kiss, deeply and completely. He massaged her lips with his own until her jaw fell open in surrender and she moaned with pleasure. Her arms crept up to wrap around his neck, and she arched toward him in invitation. He swirled his tongue within, tasting her need, savoring her passion, and it was an intoxicating brew indeed.
For a dangerous moment, he almost lost himself in his own desires.
Then his fingers traced over the mysterious slash on her throat, and he remembered the marks on her body. Someone had hurt Desirée. And he needed to know who. Now.
Never breaking the kiss, he reached behind his neck to clasp both her hands in one of his own. She made no resistance when he raised them up and over his head, nor did she fight him when he pressed them onto the pillow above her.
Holding her thus pinned, he moved his free hand down over her skirts and began easing up the fabric. She moaned once in halfhearted protest. But once she lay exposed and he began to caress the soft inner flesh of her thigh with the back of his hand, slipping higher and higher, closer and closer to the center of her need, her protest became at first beckoning and then insistent.
Now, he thought. Now he had her at his mercy.
He combed his fingers through the silky curls bordering her sweet feminine flower, breaking from the kiss long enough to whisper against her lips. “Now, my sweet, you’re going to tell me everything.”
He felt her stiffen beneath him. But just as quickly, she calmed, gazing up at him in coy innocence. “But Nicholas, I don’t know what you—“
His fingers delved swiftly and expertly between her nether lips to alight like a butterfly upon the swollen bud nestled there, effectively silencing her lie.
Desirée sucked a sharp breath through her teeth. His fingertip seared her like lightning between her thighs, instantly incinerating her thoughts, her wits, and her control.
“Oh, I think you do, my love,” he murmured against her hair.
He withdrew his fingers slightly, and in that moment of respite, the truth rushed in on Desirée with startling clarity.
She’d been gulled. Nicholas had tricked her. No better than one of her foolish targets, she’d let herself be blinded by her own desires. Now she was as helpless as a fly caught in a spider’s web. Worse, she was at the mercy of a lawman who was an expert at eliciting confessions.
She struggled to free her hands from his grip, but he held them fast. Her legs, too, were anchored by his heavy thigh. The bloody brute knew exactly what he was doing.
“Now why don’t you tell me,” he purred, “who bought the gaming box?”
Desirée resisted giving him any response. Vexed at him and furious with herself for falling prey to his deception, she clenched her teeth and refused to answer.
But when he slid his finger down to caress her intimately again, she couldn’t help herself. Though she managed to limit her verbal reply to stifled groans, her body acted of its own will, tensing in answer to his seductive caress.
“Tell me, Desirée.” He stroked her again, and she arched up, welcoming the sweet pressure.
“No one!” she gasped. “No one bought it.”
“Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He nuzzled her ear, making her shiver. “Are you certain?”
His fingers tormented her again, caressing and stretching and tickling her delicate flesh until it seemed she would burst with yearning.
Then his movements slowed and stopped, and she experienced a new agony as her hips thrust upward, straining for more.
“Are you certain?” he repeated. “You have no idea where ‘tis?”
Frustration made her voice rough and demanding. “Bloody hell! Nay!”
At long last he resumed pleasuring her, but it was as welcome a relief as a double-edged sword. She languished in a perverse sea of ecstasy and self-loathing as her traitorous body succumbed to his seduction.
Then he murmured another question in her ear. “The key you dropped, where did you get it?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Normally, Desirée could concoct a lie as deftly as tucking a pea under a shell. But her brain was muddled by desire, and she only stared at him blankly.
At her stunned silence, Nicholas removed his hand from her, which left her squirming in discomfort, if slightly more clear-headed.
“Where did you get the key?” he repeated.
She could tell him the truth, that Hubert had given her the key. But now that she could think straight, another possibility occurred to her, a more convenient explanation, one that might hasten Nicholas’s lovemaking, get him to stop asking her probing questions, and provide an excuse for her to venture out.
“It goes to a room,” she lied, “a room at the inn.”
“What inn?”
“The one I stayed in the other night.” She slid her gaze sideways. “The gaming box is there. I didn’t want anyone to steal it, so I locked the door. I mean to go there this morn, to collect—“
He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Such a rotten lie, and from such sweet lips.”
She frowned. “A lie? But I’m not—“
He captured her fiction in his mouth this time, punishing her lying lips with a kiss of plunder while ravaging her nether lips with merciless caresses.
Lost in a raging torrent of conflicting emotions—anger and lust, shame and rapture, love and hate—Desirée felt reason slip away, and soon all that remained was pure sensation. Her skin grew hot, every inch tingling with current, until she felt as if she were about to be struck by lightning.
Nicholas abruptly tore his lips from hers, and she felt his gasps against her cheek. “Where...did you get...the key?”
He drew his hand away just as suddenly, in the middle of her rising passion, and she arched up in protest, crying out with need.
“Answer me,” he commanded.
She moaned, thrashing her head back and forth, aching for his touch.
“Answer me,” he wheezed, “and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Hubert!” she cried in desperation. “Hubert gave it to me. He found it at Torteval.”
“What does it unlock?”
She shook her head and sobbed, “I don’t know.”
She met his eyes, and for one awful moment, she thought he’d break his word. But he finally nodded, accepting her answer. His fingers resumed their amazing dance upon her, and when he surged suddenly forward, sheathing his cock deep within her womb, her passions rose with such ha
ste, she could hardly catch her breath.
With a lunge of ecstasy and a shrill cry, she strove against him, and his release followed soon after. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her as he finally gave her the ambrosia that would slake her thirst.
When her shudders ceased, he loosed her hands to cradle her in his arms. As she lay panting against his shoulder, her eyes half closed, her body slick with sweat, her limbs as limp as custard, she tried to summon up fury. What Nicholas had done was unforgivable. He’d used her own desires against her, interrogating her under the most insidious form of persuasion.
But the most she could manage was a punch at his shoulder and a halfhearted scolding. “You’re a wicked man for torturing me,” she muttered.
“You’re a wicked lass for lying to me.”
She sighed, unable to feel more than blissful relief and a subtle humiliation, the kind her targets probably felt when she outwitted them. “Then I suppose we deserve each other.”
After a long moment of catching his breath, Nicholas lifted up on one elbow to look at her. With a casual sniff, he said, “You make it sound as if you intend to stay.” But his gaze was anything but casual. Behind the forced cynicism in his eyes, Desirée saw a flicker of hope.
Her throat thickened. Lord, he did want her to stay.
Pursing her lips, she gave his chest a chiding punch. “Varlet. Do you think I’d surrender my maidenhood to just any shire-reeve who came along?”
The pure adoration in his gaze was almost too much for her to bear, especially knowing she had to deceive him yet again. She looked away and attempted to restore her gown to some semblance of order.
“By the way,” she asked, “how did you know?”
“Know?”
“How did you know I was lying about the key?” She frowned. “Did I blink? Twitch? Bite my lip?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Are you afraid you’ve lost your touch?”
She shrugged. “I just wondered.”
And then he said something that stopped her world.
“I knew you were lying because I know what that key goes to.”
CHAPTER 26
For an instant, Desirée couldn’t breathe. She stared at him, speechless. How could Nicholas possibly know what the key went to?
“I know it doesn’t go to any room at an inn,” he said.
Desirée’s heart was beating like a tabor. This changed everything. If Nicholas knew what the key went to, what was to stop her from using it to relieve Lady Philomena of her treasure, after all?
God help her, she knew she shouldn’t pursue vengeance. She should be content to return the key and get Snowflake back unharmed. But damn it all, there was still enough of the thief in her that she couldn’t resist such easy profit. Besides, she dearly longed to kick Philomena’s arse.
Her brain sizzled with possibilities, but she carefully concealed her excitement. Instead, she traced a lazy pattern on Nicholas’s stomach and asked nonchalantly, “What does the key go to?”
He caught her straying finger and shook his head. “That I’m not going to tell you.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“I know you too well.” He reached out his fingertip and swiped at the end of her nose. “I know what you’ll do.”
She thrust out her chin in challenge. “What? What will I do?”
He arched a brow. “Have you ever heard of Pandora?”
She narrowed her eyes in irritation. “I’m not Pandora.”
He laughed.
She shoved him. “I’m not.”
“Let me see.” He counted on his fingers. “You rifled through my clothing, my chest of documents, my box of coins...”
She opened her mouth to deliver a stinging retort but, unable to think of a single thing to say in her defense, closed it again with a disgruntled sigh.
He clucked his tongue. “Pandora.” Sliding her aside, he climbed out of bed, stretched, then began to rummage through his chest of clothing.
She sat up. “What if I promise I won’t use the key?”
He peered at her over the lid of the chest. “Is this anything like you promising not to cheat at draughts?”
She bit her lip. Damn it! That was the problem with using the same target over and over again. Nicholas had learned not to trust her. How was she going to get the information from him?
“I know.” She slipped from the bed and passed by him to retrieve the key from the next room. “I’ll give the key to you,” she said, offering it to him. “That way I won’t be able to use it.”
He cocked a brow at her. “Why do you so badly want to know?”
She cocked a brow back at him. “Why do you so badly not want to tell me?”
He chuckled and held his hand out for the key. She pressed it into his palm.
He closed the key in his hand. “It goes to a gaol cell.”
A chill shiver went up her spine. “A gaol cell?”
“Aye.” He chose a linen shirt from the chest.
“What gaol cell?”
“The old Canterbury gaol. ‘Tis in ruins now.” He pulled the shirt over his head and let it shiver down over his shoulders. “So you see, if I’d given you the key, you’d have gone on some wild treasure hunt and wound up locked in a crumbling cell all day.”
As Nicholas set out for Chilham, he was glad there were no executions planned today, for he was hardly in the mood to oversee a hanging. Frankly, he didn’t even feel up to throwing a good punch. The morning’s lovemaking and Desirée’s farewell kiss had leached the will out of him.
He grinned weakly, wishing he could climb back into bed and while away the afternoon with his hot-blooded mistress instead of plodding through the chill fog.
But Chilham needed the shire-reeve. So, closing the garden gate reluctantly behind him, he shifted his satchel of tools to the other shoulder and trudged away from his cottage, away from the mischievous temptress who’d drained the strength from his body and tied his heart in knots with the promise of an evening of continued pleasure.
Fortunately, he was seldom called upon to do anything dire in Chilham. When the local constable knew Nicholas was in residence at Canterbury, he paid him a handsome fee to administer whatever minor punishments the villagers had accrued since his last visit, which usually amounted to putting a wayward lad in the stocks for the day, parading a dishonest merchant through the streets, and perhaps stripping a shrewish wench to her shift in the square. He always performed these punishments of shame with exceptional drama. Indeed, the mere presence of the menacing Nicholas Grimshaw in Chilham was enough to allay most crime there for several months.
Nicholas secretly hoped, of course, there was no one to chastise today. The sooner he could leave Chilham, the sooner he could get home to his Desirée.
His Desirée. He liked the sound of that. He’d never imagined it was possible a woman could learn to love him. He was, after all, Nicholas Grimshaw, fearsome shire-reeve of Kent, lord of shackles, right hand of the devil.
But Desirée had somehow seen past his menacing mask to the merciful man beneath. She’d stripped away his brutality and uncovered his soft heart. God help him, Nicholas couldn’t imagine life without her.
He liked the idea of coming home every night to her smiling face and warm supper, a round of draughts and a tryst between the linens. And now, confident that she was safe for the moment, he could look forward to that homecoming this very eve.
He smugly patted his satchel as he walked along the well-worn road. Desirée might have wheedled information about that iron key out of him, but he’d tucked it safely in with his tools, so there was no worry that she’d get herself into mischief today, dreaming about some hidden riches Hubert might have left for her.
There were still too many things the lass had neglected to tell him—where exactly she’d been the last two days, what she’d done with his gaming box, how she’d gotten those scratches and bruises. But he knew her well enough by now that he’d figured out what had likely
happened.
She must have made the mistake of agreeing to meet the buyer of the gaming box in secret. He’d roughed her up and stolen the box, then left her tied up. She’d managed to free herself, but now, too proud to admit she’d been outwitted, she wouldn’t tell Nicholas what had happened.
Which was probably wise. If Nicholas ever discovered who’d laid hands on Desirée, he’d make minced meat of the brute, without the courtesy of a trial.
Aye, Desirée had betrayed Nicholas in one way, stealing his gaming box and trying to sell it. But he supposed a lifelong habit of crime was difficult to break. It would take more than a fortnight to mend an outlaw’s ways. He’d see she paid for the box eventually, one way or another. And if it were up to him, he thought with a grin, it would take her a very long time.
At least she’d come back to him. She might have betrayed his trust, but she hadn’t betrayed his heart.
Desirée tucked the iron key into the bodice of her gown and glanced through the crack of the shutters, watching Nicholas leave. She shook her head. The poor man wasn’t half as devious as she was. But then, he hadn’t been practicing deceit for half his life.
He thought he’d been clever, caching the key in his satchel. But she was cleverer. She’d retrieved it again when she’d given him that lingering kiss of farewell.
It was probably for nothing. The key might not even go to the old gaol, as Nicholas had said. Still, it was worth a try. Perhaps Lady Philomena did keep treasure hidden in one of the cells. If the key didn’t fit the lock, she’d simply continue on her journey, give the lady what she wanted, rescue poor Snowflake, and return to the cottage with Nicholas none the wiser.
After a reasonable wait, Desirée donned her cloak and ventured out into the fog, directly to the main square of Canterbury to find the constable. After the exchange of a few friendly words, she inquired casually about several prominent buildings in the town, among them the old Canterbury gaol.
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