by Jo Beverley
He increased the pressure of his hand between her thighs, and a shudder overwhelmed her will. “It’s the same,” he said. “Tell me your secrets.”
Another wave of aching desire rippled through her. She closed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“All of you. Trust me.”
She spread her legs. “I trust you.”
His hand stopped. “Not for that. Trust me with yourself.”
She shook her head. “I have nothing for you, Cyn Malloren.” She broke free and ran, swooping down to catch up her clothing. He brought her down on the mattress, weighing down her body with his own, her wrists in his grasp.
His eyes were dark. “This is not the end.”
“I told you, I have nothing more.”
“Yes, you have. I want all of you. I want your secrets.”
Chastity straggled. “You’re mad!”
“Indeed I am. Can’t you feel it, what’s in this room, damn you? After this, can you go to another man?”
“I won’t go to another man!”
“Trust me!” He kissed her with passion. Chastity kissed him back as she wept. This time the tears leaked out of the mask and he drank them from her cheeks. “Cry, cry for us, Chloe. Whatever else, you’ll never forget this.”
He made love to her again, with mouth and hands, and every nerve in his body. At first she struggled against the passion, fearing the wildness of it, the violence of his intent, but then she surrendered.
He would not let it be easy. Twice he brought her high, then stopped despite her pleas, cooling her with wine and cream until reality returned, a reality full of longing.
She swore at him, hit out at him.
He turned her gently and massaged her back, using the cream for lubrication, until she turned languid and floating, and found a kind of peace. Then he pushed her up on her knees and touched her from behind until she gasped with need once more.
“Devil take you, Cyn Malloren,” she whispered, “if you let me down again.”
He laughed and slid to lie under her, looking up at her. “Fly for yourself then, Chloe. Ride me.”
She straddled him and engulfed him with hungry urgency, sliding up and down him with the sweetest friction in the world. She watched him dissolve, but she’d learned her lessons well. With supreme willpower, she stopped, hovering over him.
His eyes flew open. His fists clenched. “Oh, sweet wanton harpy from hell… Do I have to beg?”
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes were nothing but darkness. “Please,” he whispered.
Chastity settled again and sent them soaring.
They slept. Chastity woke half over Cyn with the quilt dragged roughly on top of them. The fire was dead, and the light through the dusty window suggested the first touches of dawn. She eased up cautiously, shivering in the chill air, but he didn’t stir.
She could hardly see him in the gray light and wanted to desperately. She reached to touch him but pulled her hand back. Tears choked her at the knowledge that this was the end. After this night, she’d have to flee.
Hardly breathing, she slipped into the chemise, petticoat, and gown. She carried the stomacher for it would be too difficult to struggle into here. She doubted she would meet anyone at this dead hour of the night, but if so, in the gloom, the clothes she had on should do.
She retrieved her key from under the mattress and eased open the door, wincing as it creaked. He still didn’t stir. She slipped out, down the narrow stairs, and fled back to Lord Heatherington’s room.
Cyn opened his eyes as soon as she left. This was certainly a cold, bleak aftermath to the most heated night of his life. He closed his eyes and relived it, not proud of all of it, but aware that in the end it had been good.
One thing was certain—he could not now live without her; he could not let her live without him.
The pain had been physical when he’d recognized the perfume worn by Gresham’s whore. He’d felt as if all the pleasures of life had turned to dross because his damsel was a wanton, not a misjudged angel. He’d stolen her from his friend more with a mind to vengeance than pleasure.
He’d been prepared to be disgusted by a whore’s tricks, and had been seduced by gallant ignorance. He’d truly expected to have her confess to being a virgin, and been prepared, at great cost to his sanity, to leave her one. Even as he’d entered her he’d expected to find that she’d lied.
And been disappointed to find her truthful.
But it didn’t take much to steal virginity, after all, and it was clear as day she was no practiced trollop. Perhaps there’d just been Vernham…
He shook his head and smiled. She was doubtless sneaking back to her identity as Charles. It would be hard, but he’d leave her in it until he’d worked out what best to do. The future would not be easy. The world would stare at a Malloren marrying a ruined woman, and Rothgar would do his damnedest to stop him.
But despite the world, despite Rothgar, despite everything, he’d have her, and keep her, and make her sing with delight night and day. There’d be difficulties, but difficulties kept away boredom.
He stood up and stretched, feeling king of the world. He whistled as he dressed and tidied their unlikely lovenest.
Chapter 12
Chastity knew only two routes back to Heatherington’s room. One would take her outside, the other through the front hall. When she opened the door to the outside, a mist as thick as drizzle chilled her. She shivered, closed the door, and headed for the hall. She looked down at her almost-bare chest and wondered if she should try to put on the stomacher, but the house was silent. She just pulled the front edges of her gown close together and hurried along.
She froze when she heard faint voices—she thought from the gaming room—but decided those addicts were no hazard and slipped into the hall.
Only one smoky lamp still burned, and rank odors of sweat and drink hung heavy in the air, but the hall was deserted. A few items of clothing lay straggled about, and a large dark stain on the polished oak spoke of a spill. She assumed it wasn’t blood. If anyone had lost that much blood, there would have been a commotion.
Then again, if wholesale slaughter had taken place this past night, would she and Cyn have noticed?
Despite the bleakness of her situation, she couldn’t help but smile at the memories. She had never imagined lovemaking to be like that; passion had fused them, like iron in a forge. They had no future, but this one night had been worth all the pain it would bring.
But only if Cyn never knew Chloe’s identity. She must be gone before he stirred. She picked up her skirts and ran for the stairs. Her foot knocked against an empty flagon which spun off to clatter against the newel post.
“What have we here?”
Chastity whipped around to see the Marquess of Rothgar standing in a doorway in the halo of light from a branch of fresh candles. He placed them on a table and came over to her.
Chastity turned to run up the stairs, but he moved with surprising speed and caught her arm, not harshly, but with enough strength to prevent escape.
“Please, sir,” she said, putting on a country burr and keeping her face averted, “let me go.”
He turned her face toward him. “Unwise to try to pass as a country girl, my dear. Only the highborn ladies here are masked.”
Chastity clutched her gown together, feeling as halfnaked as she was. “Perhaps I want to be thought a highborn lady, sir.”
“I wonder why? They aren’t being paid.”
Somehow he’d turned them both so that he now stood between her and the stairs, a formidable barrier. Chastity’s heart started to pound with fear.
He considered her with a slight smile on his fine lips, though his eyes were shadowed and she couldn’t be sure the humor reached them. Her legs were trembling. What in heaven’s name did he want?
He looked as opulent and unsullied as he had hours earlier, and in no need of sleep. Was he human? Had he come to Rood House by accident, or tracked Cyn here? It
was impossible that he connected her to his brother, even if he knew Cyn had arrived here with a young man…
He pulled a pouch from his pocket, opened it, and poured a stream of guineas into one hand. “I’ve been passing the time at the tables,” he said. “This pouch for the rest of your night.”
Chastity clutched her gown even tighter. “It’s… it’s almost dawn.”
“True.”
Chastity swallowed and shook her head. “I’m too tired, sir.”
He raised a brow. “Another mistake. A whore is never too tired. What are you then—a lady or a whore?”
Desperate, Chastity tried to push past him, but he simply moved to block her, and stood like a wall in her way.
“I’ll scream.”
“Do you really think that would do any good?”
He had moved to the first step, which made his impressive height even more overwhelming. It hurt Chastity’s neck to look up at him. “What do you want, sir?”
“Milord,” he corrected gently. “I wonder where you spent the night.”
Chastity met his eyes. “With a lover.”
“So I supposed, and one who has left you too tired. Is that an achievement, I wonder?”
Chastity again tried to step around him, and again was blocked. She couldn’t cope with this. At any moment she would burst into tears.
He pulled a pin out of his lacy cravat—a black baroque pearl set in gold—and twirled it before her. “This pin for a kiss.”
Chastity looked at it and the twirling made her dizzy.
“And then you’ll let me go?”
“You’re not very flattering, child. But yes, and then I’ll let you go. If you still wish to escape.”
Chastity knew rather more of kisses than she had the last time Rothgar had kissed her, and the prospect frightened her. But it was, after all, only a kiss, and at any moment Cyn could wake and pursue her. “Very well, milord.”
He put his hands on her waist and lifted her effortlessly to a higher step than his so that she stood only half a head shorter than he. The action dislodged her hands and her gown flew open. She grabbed for it. He was there first. He pulled the two halves together and fastened them with the pin.
Then he looked at her.
Chastity stood calmly, determined to pay her forfeit with dignity.
“You should have defined kiss before you agreed to the bargain,” he said softly.
She felt her eyes widen. “A kiss is a kiss.”
“What then is a kiss?” His hands moved to her shoulders and his thumbs brushed her collarbone. It was not unpleasant, but she was mainly thinking that Cyn could appear at any moment. Apart from the fact that he’d reveal himself to his brother, and probably get into a fight over this embrace, she would have lost her chance to escape.
“Just your mouth and mine,” she said briskly.
He laughed. “What poor measure you give, my dear. Very well, just your mouth and mine.”
He took his hands away and leaned down to let his lips play on hers. They teased and tugged until she found her mouth softening. She had the strangest need to clutch at him before she fell, but clutched her stomacher to her chest instead. She should have put a time limit on the kiss.
His tongue swept out across her inner lips and she softened further. She closed her eyes and recognized his skill, even as she wished he’d get it over with. Her ears stretched for the sound of Cyn’s footsteps. Or would he take the outside route?
He could already be in Heatherington’s room!
Rothgar’s tongue thrust into her relaxed mouth. Instinctively, Chastity spat it out. Her eyes flew open, fearing retribution.
He was smiling, if a little ruefully. “Poor measure indeed.” He stepped back. “Go on your way, little bird.”
Chastity moved to return the pin, but he stayed her hand. “Keep it. I have found our encounter most instructive. You could answer me one question, however, if you feel you haven’t earned the bauble.”
Chastity moved a few wary steps higher. “Yes?”
“Did the kisses you received during the night please you more than mine?”
“Oh, yes,” said Chastity, and only then realized she was smiling, probably blushing.
He gave her an elegant, nourishing bow. “Then may you have more from the same source.”
Bemused, Chastity turned and fled.
She hesitated at the door to Heatherington’s room. Cyn could already be here. Even if he were not, it would hardly be surprising if their host had decided to use his bed, and found a spare key. She turned the lock and opened the door slowly. The room felt empty.
She crept over to the bed. It was definitely empty. She fumbled for the flint-box by the bed and made a flame to put to the candle there. There was no sign that anyone had been here since she had left.
She collapsed onto the bed, shaking and perilously close to being overwhelmed. She wanted a hole to hide in, and a long time to gather the splintered pieces of herself together again, to gain the courage to go on. She had no time. She must change back into Charles and leave.
She began to work the pin out of her gown. It wasn’t easy. Rothgar had woven it deep through the thickest part of the silk. She looked up and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Stars in heaven, but she looked the veriest drab!
Her wig was askew and her lips looked thoroughly kissed. The pink powder had dusted over the black velvet mask and the shoulders of her gown. Her gown was barely decent, and without a stomacher her breasts seemed all too lush.
The fastidious Rothgar had been attracted by this?
Never.
So what had he wanted? As she stripped off her woman’s clothing, Chastity worried at it. Oh, if she’d taken him up on his offer to purchase her body for a few hours, she had no doubt he’d have gone through with it, but the offer had not really been serious. Yet he had not been willing to let her go, and his offer for a kiss had cost him dearly.
It frightened her that she didn’t understand his purpose. When she’d been Lady Chastity Ware in London, Rothgar hadn’t frightened her; he’d just thrilled her. Now, a fugitive entangled with his brother—of which entanglement he would never approve—she quaked. His actions added urgency to her flight.
Cold water stood waiting in the jug and she poured it into the bowl to wash away the sweat, cream, and cosmetics. Blushing, she cleansed the traces of lovemaking from between her legs. Her hands stilled. What if she was pregnant?
Lud, what would she do then? She must have been mad! Her father would surely kill her. She placed her hands over her abdomen, as if there could already be changes, then pulled them away. She’d handle that disaster when she had to. Even so, she could feel a soft core of longing at the thought of bearing Cyn’s child, but it gave her another reason to flee.
He had unwittingly made love to a young, unmarried lady, and even though he didn’t believe she had been a virgin, she knew Cyn Malloren would feel he had to marry her; a child would seal his fate. She couldn’t trap him with that cheap trick, trap him into a marriage that would ruin his career, and alienate him from his family forever.
She hastily cleared away all evidence of her masquerade. She stuffed the wig back in the portmanteau, then realized that would tell Cyn instantly who she had been. She pulled it out and flung it into the back of Heatherington’s armoire. She hoped Cyn would forget its very existence. She tossed the clothes and mask in with it.
She picked up the pearl pin and wondered what to do with it. She was tempted to leave it, and yet she sensed it was a gift honestly given. What had Rothgar meant by that last question, about the kisses she had received during the night? From another man it might have reflected pique that he didn’t please her, but not from Rothgar.
Again she had that frightening lack of understanding. She pushed the pin through the facing of her jacket. If the worse came to the worst, it might buy her a few meals one day.
She put her own tie-wig on her head and her slouch hat on top. Once more Charles looked
out of the mirror. Her face of the night before, soft with passion, blurred over the real image. She could almost imagine Cyn behind her, his hands on her body…
She dragged herself out of this maundering and forced herself to hurry. She hunted through Cyn’s uniform pockets and found his money. She took half.
In a moment of weakness, she clung to his red coat and drank in the aroma there. Sweet heaven, how could she leave him?
Sweet heaven, how could she stay?
It would be impossible to maintain her masquerade after last night, and now more than ever she could not let him know. It would be to trap him by deceit.
Perhaps more than that; perhaps he had come to care for the mysterious woman he had made love to. She remembered the fierce intensity with which he’d demanded her secrets.
Perhaps today he would be looking for Chloe.
Well, both Chloe and Charles were going to disappear…
Chastity froze.
If they both disappeared, would he make the connection? Surely it would not take much to trigger a link in his mind. She covered her face with shaking hands.
Was it more dangerous for him if she stayed, or if she fled?
She paced the room, but suddenly she knew. She had to stay. For Cyn’s sake, she had to preserve the charade.
Chastity replaced the money. She studied herself again in the full-length mirror to be sure she’d removed all trace of Chloe. Her lips looked fuller and redder today, but that was all.
She put her hand to her crotch. The past night had shown her that maleness tended to be visible. She was lucky not to have been caught out before, though of course no one had suspected anything and the double layer of breeches helped. If Cyn developed any suspicions, they must be countered.
She went back to the portmanteau and took out the wool that had formed Cyn’s bosom. She rolled a tube of it, thinking of Cyn both limp and hard as she estimated size. Limp would do fine. She had no desire to have anyone think her aroused.
She found she was standing there, hands still, remembering… It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t there be a chance for them? She remembered the names she had gathered, and the letter. Perhaps there would be a way to use them. Perhaps she could find the woman who’d broken her hymen. Perhaps Henry Vernham would confess.
