by Lavinia Kent
“Ahhh.” It was hard to tell if it was an answer or only the response to her actions. Tensing all the muscles of her mouth and throat, she sucked hard, stroking along the underside of his cock with her tongue, her every sense attuned to his smallest movement. Pulling back, she breathed deep, filling her lungs with much-needed air. Musk and man, was there a better scent anywhere?
His fingers tangled in her hair, urging her forward again. She nipped with utmost care. In this moment she was master and it was best that he knew that. Slipping her tongue out, she laved the spot she had just nipped and then, sliding her lips about him again, caressed her way down his long length.
Her mind filled with the image of him as he’d been when she first came upon him in the shower: lean, heavy muscles and damp, velvet skin. Picturing the expression on his face, she increased the tempo of her movements, replicating the long easy strokes she remembered. And then faster, faster, faster.
She could hear him gasp. The fingers clasping her hair gripped and loosened and then gripped again. His whole body pulsed with need and she fed into it. Faster. Faster. Deeper. Harder.
It was hard to breathe and she did not care.
All that mattered was him, the taste, the smell, the feel. This was all about him and she relished it.
When he’d been in her earlier she’d been too overcome by her own feelings to luxuriate in his. Now she could observe every detail of his response. He loved to go deep, to feel the caress of her throat along his whole length, but he also loved when she pulled back, playing about the head. Her tongue licked long strokes against the pulsing vein.
“I can’t hold it any longer.” It was a gasp, a cry. His whole body locked tight and shuddered with effort, but she could feel it coming, feel the surge that worked its way from his base. She pressed farther, pushing herself and him to the extreme.
His fingers dug into her hair, his hips lifted from the bed, his thighs rock hard about her—and then he let go. The cry ripped through the room, his body buckled and the stream of his seed spurted into her throat, filling her.
She swallowed quickly, working her lips about him, bringing him higher.
He cried again and then sank back upon the bed. His flesh still quivered beneath her touch as the extreme sensation left him.
“God, that was incredible. You are incredible,” he said as he fell back, his fingers slipping from her hair.
Settling back on her knees, Ruby filled her lungs, wiping sweat from her brow.
That had been a powerful experience.
Derek was so strong, so forceful, and for that moment he’d been hers, completely hers—and she had wanted nothing more than to bring him pleasure, satisfaction.
She rose to standing, letting his shirt fall open about her.
He was beautiful, reclined upon the bed, his eyes half-closed, his whole body relaxed, the white linen sheets tangled about his limbs, hiding nothing. Locking the image in her mind with the surety of paint upon canvas, she climbed up on the high bed and cuddled beside him.
She never slept with men. Her own room beckoned, and yet the thought of lying down beside him for a few moments was irresistible. It didn’t have to be for the whole night. She could enjoy his warmth for a few moments and then when slumber took him she could creep away to her own room. Plenty of time remained before there would be any danger of morning and maids.
Pulling the coverlet over them both, she wiggled up to the pillows as he moved beside her, spooning her into his body until she was surrounded by warm, protective male.
Chapter Nine
Derek opened his eyes slowly as the first rays of morning light crept through the slight parting of the drapes. Dawn came early in these summer months, but still it was time to be going. He had many tasks that must be finished before he could depart for Manchester, and the things both pleasant and unpleasant that awaited there. God, did his family really expect him to marry some slip of a girl he’d never even met?
His guts coiled at the thought. His father wished to sell him into marriage in return for the promise of several new weaving machines and the secrets that went with them. He’d agreed to it months before when it had all seemed so far away, so improbable—and a man had to marry. From all he’d heard he would not find the girl unpleasant. It was the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do.
Weaving secrets. The idea was laughable, but Derek knew all too well that they could make the difference for his family. He hadn’t wanted to agree to the bargain, but when he’d returned from the Orient, and they’d welcomed him back warmly, he’d sworn to do his duty to repay them in whatever way he could.
And marriage was the price, a price he must willingly pay.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the image of the angel before him. Last night might have been one of the best of his life, but he could not allow that to influence what must be done, what he must do. There was no connection between Ruby and his thoughts of marriage.
He would not think of that now, not think of promises that must be kept. He’d avoided letting marriage enter his mind these past months and he would continue to do so until the last possible moment.
Blast.
The time had come to slip away and greet the day.
Only he didn’t want to move. Lying in this great bed with Ruby’s soft body cradled against him, it was hard to even think of moving. Well, at least to think of rising from the bed.
His morning cockstand was quite happy cradled in the cleft of Ruby’s ass, but it had its own very definite ideas about movement and they definitely did not involve leaving the bed. It didn’t seem to care how many times he’d given in to it last night, one more time was definitely the order of the day.
Only it wasn’t. One would lead to two, and two to…
With a suppressed sigh, he slipped from the bed, looking about the room for his clothing. His boots were there by the door, stockings draped over the top. Breeches and jacket were hung over the back of a chair. Shirt. Shirt. Where was his shirt? Ah, there it was, hiding among the sheets. He should have remembered sliding it down Ruby’s arms sometime in the dark of the night, taking her nipple between his lips and…
No. Thinking like that would lead to nothing but trouble and he’d had more than enough of trouble.
Hopping from one foot to the other, he pulled on his clothing, heading to the door without another look at the huge bed and the woman within it.
His purse jingled in his pocket and he paused, stopping by the dresser.
Did he leave payment?
He pulled the leather pouch from his pocket and hesitated.
It seemed ungentlemanly. She certainly hadn’t asked for money the night before and at no point had indicated that it was expected.
But he was in a brothel.
Fuck. He hadn’t even considered this moment. He certainly could not wake her and ask if she expected payment. His face had endured damage enough over the years without seeing what Ruby’s delicate claws could do.
He tossed the pouch, considered.
If he didn’t pay her and she expected payment then he could never come again. On the other hand, if he left payment and she hadn’t wanted it…
So how did he consider the evening? He had asked her how much and she’d said no, said that she didn’t fuck patrons. Well, that wasn’t quite what she’d said, but it was clearly what she’d meant.
Only, then she had come to him.
What was a man to think?
He opened the pouch and stared down at the tumble of coins and few folded notes.
And how much? If he were to pay her how much did what they had done cost?
He should have clarified all of this when she’d first come down to him.
Only if he had asked he had a feeling that none of the rest would have happened.
Perhaps that was his answer.
Turning to stare at the sleeping woman, he met her steady blue gaze.
—
He was blushing. Derek was redder than the cherr
ies on her tarts. If someone had told her that the stern sea captain could blush like a schoolgirl she would never have believed them, but there was no mistaking the flush of crimson rising up his sun-darkened cheeks.
Shifting from foot to foot, he looked at her, his gaze shifting from eyes to sheet-covered chest to feet and then back.
What was the man thinking and why the blush? After what they’d done to each other the night before she couldn’t imagine what the man would have to blush about.
And then she saw the pouch. For a moment she paused and examined her own feelings. Was she upset? Most women would have been, but she was not most women. Pushing up on her elbows, she let the sheet fall away, once more sitting naked before him. “Well, have you decided?”
“What?” He shook his head as if trying to clear it.
“Are you planning to pay me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Now that would be entirely too easy,” she said, quirking her mouth to the side. “The question is what you have decided.”
“No, you don’t like to make things easy, do you, Ruby? Or is it Emma?” He took a step back toward the bed.
“Trying to decide if which name I use will give you any clues? It is Ruby. I decided last night that I simply am Ruby. There are brief moments when Emma may flash through, but the woman I am now is Ruby. Emma remained behind when I left my mother’s house and I don’t think that I’d want to be her again. She could not survive the life that I have chosen, and I rather like who I am.”
“And I rather like you too, Ruby.”
She would have expected a leer as he said it, for his eyes to drop to breast and crotch, but he held her gaze steady, his tone suggesting nothing beyond that he actually liked her. And wasn’t that a novel concept? A man liked her because he liked her, not because her breasts were large and he assumed a few sweet words and glances would earn him a place in her bed. He’d been in her bed and he still liked her.
That was a rarity. Most men could not leave quickly enough after they’d had their pleasure—unless they were after more of the same. They certainly didn’t pause on their way out the door to express fondness.
She took pity on him. “I am expecting no payment. I would have been disappointed, but not distraught if you’d left it. Last night was simply about pleasure and the desire to share the dark with another person. If by chance you feel that your purse is too full the church three streets down runs a children’s home that is always in need of funds and you can leave your coin there.”
“I will do that. Not because I feel the need to pay you or to unburden my sins, but simply because on occasion a man should do what he can.” He stood in the doorway, not leaving, but not staying.
“When will you be back?” She had not meant to ask the question, but somehow it found its way between her lips.
“I am leaving for Manchester today. I am not sure how long I will be gone.” He turned his head to stare at the door as if imagining himself already on the way. There was a tenseness about his shoulders that had not been there these past hours. Clearly whatever he was thinking—she could only pray it was not about her—was not pleasant.
“Will I see you when you return, before you sail away?” She could only hope she did not sound pathetic, needy. She was only curious. Lives needed to be planned and knowing if he would return would help her plan, that was all.
He hesitated, and then his voice sounded with a strange hope. “I could delay my departure one more day. It would give me time to deal with Thompson.”
Tonight. She could see him tonight. “I imagine that if you were to need to stay in London one more night you might wish to sleep again in such a fine bed. There is not another one like it to be found.”
She could see him consider, but then his face grew stern and he spoke as if to convince himself. “No, I really must not delay the tasks before me—and I can make no decisions about my return until my obligations are fulfilled.” He did not look happy, but he did look decided. There would be no changing his mind.
Reclining back upon the pillows, Ruby stretched, easing the knots out of her muscles. She refused to show her disappointment. “I will not expect you then. Do you have any idea when you will return?”
“No.” His voice was brusque. “My obligations could take some time—and even after they are finished I do not know if I will be free to return.” He looked down at his boots instead of at her.
“I will simply say goodbye then,” she answered, keeping her voice flat.
With a curt nod, Derek walked through the door and away from her.
He did not look back.
—
Ruby did not smile as she lifted the heavy wig. Placing it on her head, she arranged it with care, tucking each blond curl out of sight. Kohl already lined her eyes and her cheeks and lips were stained with vermillion. Madame Rouge had returned.
The gown this evening was black satin with a high sheen. White lace and red piping edged the neckline, framing her well-powdered bosom. There was no mistaking who she was tonight—at least not for the next few hours.
Twirling before the mirror, she spun like a young girl in a field of butterflies. She refused to allow her disappointment to mar her day. She had taken a night for herself and she would not regret it. No man would ever make her cry, not again.
Jerking to a halt, she stopped and stared into the mirror. The woman before her was almost proper, but would never actually cross that line, never be mistaken for a true lady, not even a wealthy widow in search of a little fun.
No, there was no mistaking who she was, what she was.
Madame Rouge, owner of the best and most discreet house in London.
And she was happy. She liked her life. She enjoyed the freedom that it offered her.
Was it everything she had dreamed of as a girl?
No, but what was?
Picking up her sapphire ear bobs, she threaded them though her ears, remembering how her mother had looked in them, remembering her mother’s happiness when she put them on.
She was Madame Rouge and she had a business to run, a life to lead.
If her stern captain returned she would welcome him, but if he did not, she would still go on, would still be Madame Rouge, be Ruby, be Emma. She refused to be unhappy. Yes, she did.
She was who she had made herself and that was more than enough.
If only Emma did not look out of the mirror through shadowed eyes, wanting more, hoping for more. Emma still dreamed of a home of her own, a man of her own, a man who she feared would look remarkably like Derek in all her futures dreams.
She closed her eyes one more time. Emma could have her hopes and dreams, but Ruby could not, and it was Ruby she needed to be to survive.
Without the slightest quiver of lips, Madame Rouge straightened her shoulders and walked out to greet her guests.
—
Derek slowed his horse to a walk, his thoughts on the woman he was leaving behind. It had only been one night. He could not miss her after only one night.
And yet he did.
What would happen if he turned the horse about and galloped back to London, abandoning the accompanying carriage and all his goods? What would happen if he abandoned his promises in return for the pleasure of a woman’s body and the secrets of her eyes?
The temptation was great, so great. He’d made his decision this morning but now doubt and hope returned.
When he’d been that foolish lad running from home and responsibility he would have turned in an instant and grabbed what he wanted, but now he was a man.
Still…
Would it matter if he put off the trip a week, or two?
Surely if he spent a week with Ruby, a week with Emma, he’d be ready to move on, to take up the responsibilities that awaited him, be ready to do the right thing.
He pulled his horse to a stop and considered.
There really was only one choice. There had always been only one choice.
A long sigh. And then
he spurred his horse forward toward his future, his destiny.
BY LAVINIA KENT
Bound by Bliss
Revealing Ruby
Mastering the Marquess
About the Author
LAVINIA KENT is a former two-term president of the Washington Romance Writers and a four-time Romance Writers of America Golden Heart nominee. She lives in Washington, D.C., with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets.
www.laviniakent.com
Facebook.com/LaviniaKent
@LaviniaKent
The Editor’s Corner
Happy New Year, everyone! Have you made your resolution yet? I have—to read more Loveswept romance—and maybe we can make it your New Year’s resolution too? Take a look at some of our fabulous January new releases….
New York Times bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor kicks off the month with a bad boy Loveswept debut, Dangerous, the story of a driven female cop who teams up with an irresistible ex-con to bring a killer to justice—and discovers that breaking the rules is hotter on the wrong side of the law; followed by a Rolling Stones–inspired romance, Can’t Always Get What You Want, a deeply romantic and uplifting debut novel from Chelsey Krause about losing everything you thought you wanted—and getting exactly what you need. Claudia Connor follows up her heartfelt debut, Worth the Fall, with a novel about Matt’s brother, Stephen—and when a McKinney brother falls in love, powerful emotion and overwhelming desire are never far behind. Don’t miss Worth the Risk. Then Cecy Robson’s Once Loved continues the Shattered Past series: He’s the campus golden boy. She’s picking up the pieces of her broken past. But in this scorching novel of second chances, their differences only make their connection more explosive. Katie Rose’s Boys of Summer series returns for a delicious doubleheader, with the story of total opposites who are drawn to each other like moths to a flame in Too Hot to Handle. And welcome to the Devil’s Den series, written by a Loveswept debut author, Violetta Rand, who invites us to a Texas strip club where the air is heavy with desire—and sometimes dreams come true: Surrender.
