Royal Talisman

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  She looked through the window pane. It looked very bright out there, much brighter than the blustery autumn day had begun. The carriage had, indeed, halted.

  Stuart dropped her skirt back over her knees and she sat back up into the iron-stiff posture of a lady wearing a corset. It was such an automatic thing, that posture. But with it came a return of her senses.

  She could barely look at Stuart as he slipped into his coat and sat upon the bench beside her, just as the driver’s head appeared in the window and he opened the door.

  Stuart helped her on to the footpath and his hand against her ungloved fingers sent a small quiver rippling through her. Her body was still perched close to the apex of pleasure. Only a little more encouragement would be needed to reach the pinnacle. She was mortally aware of every tingling inch of flesh, of the rub of frayed cotton against her breasts beneath the jacket, of the bareness of her body beneath her skirt and the swish of her petticoats against her bare thighs as she moved.

  She blinked quickly, making her eyes adjust to the change in light. She looked around as Stuart took her arm. This was his street. His house. It was quiet. Orderly. Pleasant.

  “Dismiss your driver,” he told her in an undertone.

  Bian could feel her eyes widen as full sense returned to her. She glanced at her driver. He had been a comforting presence almost everywhere she went in London. How could she send him away when she stood with her arm held by a man who had betrayed his country? The man who, once she discovered the proof she had been sent to find, would be executed for all the lives his crimes had destroyed?

  Bian, what do you think you’re doing? She stared at Stuart, dismay circling her. How could she go with him? She knew what awaited her inside the elegant house before them.

  Stuart had seen her alarm, for he instantly swung to face her. With a quick glance up and down the quiet street for nosey observers, he took her face in his hand. The blue eyes would not let her go. “Do you trust me, Bian?” he said quietly. “Speak the truth in your heart, not the requirements of a modest lady.”

  “The truth?” She took a deep breath that shook. “Yes, I trust you.” And it was the truth. “I trust you with my life.” Yet how can that be? She could not reconcile this truth with his real identity and the conflict made her tremble anew.

  “I would sooner carve out my own heart and lay it at your feet, than cause you any harm, Bian. Any harm,” he repeated, with a force behind it that told her he spoke not only of the physical. “I give you my word.”

  She was drowning in the sky blue of his eyes, swimming in their power. So she deliberately pulled her gaze away. It dropped to his lips. They were full, warm…and she remembered what they had been doing to her only minutes before. This time the shudder that rocked her began the throbbing between her legs. And she was back to wanting him with a potency that almost robbed her of coherent thought.

  “Dismiss the driver,” she whispered.

  Chapter Five

  It took many assurances from Bian before the suspicious driver curtly nodded and climbed back up to his seat. Stuart had seen the outline of the blackjack in his pocket and knew the driver was ready to physically protect her. He was impressed with the man’s loyalty.

  So as the carriage pulled away and Stuart led Bian toward the house, he felt absurdly like letting out a whoop of joy, right here on the street. Perhaps even jumping, with it. Bian trusted him. More, perhaps. This wonderful creature of such startling contrasts and mysteries consented to being with him. Had the Queen herself pinned a medal to his chest, he would not have been more euphoric. Certainly, he would not have been aroused like he was now.

  His body with thick with it. The need to possess her completely and thoroughly had been driving him for the last three days, to the point where eating and sleeping had held little interest. Now…in the next few moments, he would achieve the vision that had haunted him.

  He could have taken her in the carriage. He was utterly sure of it. Bian’s surrender had been complete and he could have done anything he wanted with her. But instead he had found himself pleasuring her to the exclusion of anything else. Yet he had stepped out of the carriage in a deeper state of excitement than any he had ever experienced.

  He opened the door with his key and at Bian’s lifted brow, explained, “I sent the servants home for the day. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.” He could not help the smile that formed. “I had no idea it would prove to be such a benefit.”

  But she did not smile in return. Her black eyes held no mirth at all. Instead, she brushed his hand from the door handle, shut the door behind them and threw the latch. Then she grabbed the lapels of his coat and drew him to the middle of the oriental carpet in the front hallway.

  He let himself be drawn, curious to see where she would take this. Then, as she drew his coat from his shoulders, he realized that this was the spot where she intended to lead him. Right here in the hall.

  “There is no sofa here,” he pointed out. His voice was thick with the almost overwhelming need surging through him.

  “But there is a warm rug.” She dropped the coat over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and stopped in front of him again. This time she tackled his shirt buttons with her small, swift fingers and pulled it from him. Instead of draping it over the post, she tossed it in the general direction of his coat. It fluttered to land on the stairs.

  The haste and indifference to which she treated his clothing added to his excitement.

  She was already tackling his trousers, with an effectiveness that told him she was familiar with the workings of a man’s pants.

  “You are not a maiden for true,” he said.

  “You already guessed that truth, days ago,” she chided, working at the last of the buttons on his trousers. “Besides, you are no gentleman, either. Not if we are to judge by what you have done to me these last few days, or by what will happen in the next little while.”

  “I’m glad you are not a maiden,” he said swiftly. “Virgins hold few attractions. Their minds are too narrow and they are too swift to judge.”

  She smiled up at him, as she slid the last button on his trousers free. The smile did not reach her eyes but the little flash of concern it raised in him was wiped clear as she dropped his trousers to his ankles and exposed him to her gaze.

  “Wonderful,” she breathed, staring directly at his stiff and throbbing member.

  He tried to hide his smile. He had not known until now how much female appreciation of his cock would please him so.

  “Remove the rest of your clothes,” she commanded.

  He stripped himself of shoes and stockings and the puddle of trousers and threw them in the same general direction as his shirt. There were no other garments to remove.

  When he stood still once more, she circled him slowly. The velvet of her gown swished over the floorboards, until she came to a standstill in front of him. Then she laid her small hands on his chest. “In one act I was a maiden,” she said. “I have never allowed another man the liberty you enjoyed in the carriage.”

  “I appreciate the honour.”

  Her fingers were stroking his chest and although he had considered that to be one of his least receptive areas, her movements were sending small ripples of pleasure through him. He tried to ignore it so he could finish his thought. “Yet you have surprised me once more,” he accused her. “So often, you seem to me to be as old as God…and as wise. How can any act of man be new to you?”

  She smiled again. “This is another act from which I have held myself aloof,” she told him. And she leaned forward the few inches necessary to plant her lips upon his abdomen. They swiftly trailed downwards and his cock pulsed hard as he realized her intentions, sending a thrill through him. He sucked in his breath as her hot hands cupped his testicles and her breath blew on his cock. She examined it closely, then carefully wrapped one hand around its girth. Watching her do it was more arousing than his imagination had ever painted it.

  Her mouth
slid over the head and he was bombarded with impressions. The heat of her mouth, the thrill as her lips slipped over the ridge of flesh. Moisture. The touch of her teeth on his vulnerable flesh. It melded into such an incredible rush of bliss that he groaned and his knees weakened. He reached for the newel post but it was too far away, so he fisted his hands and squeezed tight.

  Her mouth moved upon him, sending another bolt fizzing through him. Then another. He closed his eyes and heard himself panting and groaning. She was orchestrating the most intense pleasure he had ever experienced. He knew he would never forget this moment. Ever.

  “Stop. Stop, if you care at all, Bian,” he ground out, as the point of no return threatened to spill through him.

  She stopped immediately and he sank to his knees, recovering. Bian simply smiled, her dimples dancing. Her lips were moist and red. “Did I attend the matter correctly?” she asked.

  “I have no basis for comparison,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the strain his excitement was putting upon him.

  She looked startled—perhaps for the first time since he had known her. “Truly?” she whispered.

  “Truly. But if I am to judge by effectiveness alone, then I judge you a master of the art.” He cleared his throat. “Undress for me. This time, you take them off.”

  He rested, feeling his runaway heart begin to beat more evenly, as Bian swiftly removed her jacket and the shredded camisole, baring the small, round, full breasts that had filled him with such delight when he had first seen them. They still moved him and his hands twitched to touch them. But he forced himself to immobility and watched instead. The skirt was next and she removed it over her head, which dislodged her hairclips and combs. When she emerged from the velvet, she swiftly discarded the rest of her hair accessories. Her hair tumbled down to her waist and swung in a heavy black waterfall. She tossed the velvet aside and tugged at the drawstring on her petticoat, pulled the waist open enough to push it down her legs. He already knew she wore no underclothes beyond the petticoat but it still thrilled him to see her nakedness as she stepped out of the petticoat and threw that aside too.

  She bent to reach for the laces of her high-heeled boots and he held out a hand. “No, enough,” he said quickly. “The hose, the shoes—leave them on.”

  She straightened, then and stood with her hands at her side, not at all embarrassed by his study.

  She was petite and utterly feminine, with full breasts and the waist that he had proved he could reach his hands around. Her hips flared out beneath and her abdominal muscles were unusually well defined for a woman. Stuart had only ever seen such muscles on women who spent a great deal of their time doing hard physical work. It was strangely arousing to see such signs of strength in such a womanly shape.

  But then, everything about Bian was arousing. Or provoking.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said simply. Truthfully. He reached for her, bringing his hands around her waist. It was a delightful pleasure to grasp her in such a way.

  Gently, he brought her down so that she was on her knees just as he was, then he tugged on her hands until she was on her hands and knees, facing him.

  “Roman style, hmmm?” she murmured.

  “This time,” he promised her.

  In reaction, her eyes seemed to darken even more and the lids slid lazily half-closed. She swallowed. “You ensured I was more than ready in the carriage. Why do you linger?”

  “To look and appreciate,” he assured her, as he moved behind her. She was spread open to his gaze and glistening with moisture.

  He lowered himself down behind her, his body already starting to thrum in anticipation. He grasped her hips and slipped the tip of his cock into her folds. The heat radiating from her cleft was surprising. As he marvelled over it, she opened up to receive him and his cock slid a little inside her. At once, firm muscles closed around him, rippling with their own pleasure. It was more than he could stand. Quite without planning it, he thrust into her as deeply as he could reach and was enclosed by her. She gave a deep groan in response and thrust back.

  For a moment he grew still, savouring the delight.

  Her muscles tightened around him, with the same rippling stroke. It encouraged him to thrust into her again. He grew aware of the swiftly building explosion in him and knew that the climax was mere heartbeats away.

  Prompted by the pleasure his unselfish service in the carriage had produced, he summoned enough discipline to halt his movements. It left him quivering and Bian glanced at him, puzzled.

  “Trust me,” he assured her, renewing his grip on her hips. He brought her back with him as he tucked his feet under him and sat upon his calves, with Bian’s bottom against him. He was still buried within her but now she was spread across his thighs, her knees against them. She gasped as he nudged even deeper inside her.

  She was such a small thing, that her head was even with his despite her elevated seat. It pleased him and he pushed aside the curtain of her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. It sent a shiver through her and she smiled at him, her eyes sleepy with arousal.

  “And now what, my lord?” she teased. “I am to ride you like a jockey?”

  “It would be the end of me if you did,” he murmured and nibbled at the soft, warm skin that dipped down to her clavicle. As he plundered her flesh, he skimmed his hand over her thigh, to dip between them and cup the heart of her. He was pleased at the deep shudder that went through her in response. She was slick with juices and her womanly nub was rigid and exposed to his fingers. He gently stroked it and was rewarded with her sharp, hard arch back against his chest, as her hips thrust forward.

  “Oooh!” Her gasp had a helpless quality. She was at the mercy of her body, now.

  Her out-thrust chest gave him another idea and he reached with his other hand to cup her breast and tease the nipple, tweaking and stroking it, in time to the rhythm of his right hand.

  Her small hand gripped his wrist, clutching as her excitement built. From her hand, her laboured breathing and the stroking massage of her inner muscles around his cock, Stuart could tell her climax approached.

  Finally, she threw her head back against his shoulder and bucked hard, as the waves of the orgasm washed through her. Her muscles clenched him and he gave a hard groan as, astonishingly, the ripples and clenching drew from him his own long-delayed climax. It thundered through him and for a moment the world seemed to grey out, sound ebbing in his ears, muffled by the pounding of his heart.

  He propped himself up as she fell against him weakly.

  “You…you are accomplished,” she said at last.

  “A virtuoso is only as good as the instrument he plays.” It was utter truth. “You are my inspiration, Bian.”

  * * * * *

  He carried her to the big, silk-covered lounge with the unfashionably high back and laid her upon the cushions. A delicious, sleepy satiation had her in its grip and she was in no hurry to disperse it, for to do so would bring her face-to-face with the ugly dilemma she had made for herself.

  “Very wide,” she judged, measuring with her hands. “But not long enough for you to lie upon with any sort of comfort.” She lifted her brow at him. “Or are you about to tell me you have never seduced a lady upon it before this day?”

  “That would be an easy boast, as I have never allowed a lady inside this house before today.”

  She frowned. “For a hunter, Stuart, you have surprising…”

  “Limitations?” he suggested.

  “Qualms,” she finished. “You abhor your prey impinging upon your real life so much?”

  He sat on the edge of the cushions next to where her ankles lay crossed. “You misunderstand,” he said, gripping his hands together. “My prey are a part of my so-called real life. I refuse to allow them in here, where the life-that-might-have-been still lingers.” He looked at her sharply, the blue eyes raking over her face, looking for judgment. “You’re a part of that life. You gave it breath again.”

/>   Abruptly, he stood to dispel his awkwardness at the confession. The muscles and tendons of his body flexed with the vigour of a healthy, strong man and as her heart and mind staggered under the impact of his announcement, she found herself studying with pure feminine appreciation. He was broad across the shoulders, large in every department.

  He was hers, to do with as she pleased. He had just told her so. She had him exactly where Richard had wanted him to be: vulnerable and completely at her disposal.

  Suddenly she hated her life and all the values and principles that shaped it. She hated Richard. Her duty. She hated it all with a passion that made her bite her lip to prevent a moan from escaping.

  The one straw of comfort she could find, the one truth that gave her life meaning, was the inarguable fact that this man was a traitor to his country. No matter what he said, or how vulnerable he might be to her, he had betrayed everyone else with his actions. She sat up and hugged her knees, suddenly cold. It was becoming more difficult to remember that Stuart was a master dissembler. He had fooled prime ministers and heads of state. He had a knack for…well, for doing exactly what she was doing -- finding the vulnerability in others and exploiting it. While she did it for the sake of duty, he did it for personal gain.

  And she would see his true colors revealed.

  She watched as his shoulders lifted in the way that told her he was drawing a deep breath. Then he turned back to her. “Are you hungry, Bian?”

  “A little.”

  “I have a three day fast to break.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you know how to cook?”

  The servants were all dismissed for the day. Of course. She grimaced. “Do you like your charcoal well done or disintegrated?”

  “Ah. The flambé style. I hear it is popular on the continent. We’ll have to put up with my cooking, then. I have a spare robe you could wear. I remember you like them over-large.”

  She stood up. “I can see you really haven’t shared domestic experiences with a woman.”