Sweetest Scoundrel

by Elizabeth Hoyt

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

  “I’ll not touch,” he said, a male siren. “I’ll stay right here and keep my hands to myself. I just want to see you. Please, Eve. Show me your cunny.”

  She couldn’t. It was wrong, surely? Except she couldn’t think why, and at that moment she wanted to give this to him.

  Wanted to give it to herself after years of living in the dark.

  Of living in fear.

  She didn’t want to live in fear anymore.

  Her hands were moving before she’d made a conscious decision, inching toward her skirts. Inching toward her hem.

  His gaze was fixed on her fingers, as if she were going to show him the wonders of the world.

  Maybe she was.

  Slowly she bent and grasped the hem of her skirts, then drew them upward. She didn’t look down—she was more interested in his face—but she felt the cool air through her stockings. First at her ankles and then at her calves.

  “More,” he whispered, and she saw him begin to unbutton his falls.

  She felt a warmth between her legs at the thought that this was arousing him—she was arousing him—and she pulled her skirts higher. She felt the air on her knees and then her thighs, naked above her garters.

  He groaned, flipping open the remainder of his breeches buttons. “Eve, darling, I’d give my right hand for another couple of inches.”

  “You don’t have to,” she whispered, pulling her skirts above her hips. She closed her eyes then, too shy to see him look, but the silence was too much for her.

  She opened her eyes and saw that he’d unfastened his smallclothes and had taken out his cock. He was stroking himself, his eyes fixed on the juncture of her thighs.

  “Will you spread your legs for me?”

  She caught her breath.

  Slowly she spread her knees, feeling cool air on that most intimate part of her.

  He groaned, fisting himself faster. He was thick and standing tall and something within Eve whispered it was because of her.

  “Can you feel it?” he asked, his voice a rumbling purr. “Have you touched yourself there before, Eve?”

  “I…” She couldn’t say it, she couldn’t. “Only the night before last. After the carriage. Just a little.”

  “Good girl.” He chuckled, low and dark. “Did you think of me?”

  Oh. She closed her eyes, for she couldn’t look at him and tell him. “Yes.”

  “Did you make yourself come, thinking of me, fingering your pretty pussy, darling Eve? Tell me.”

  “I…” She opened her eyes again, looking into his knowing gaze. He was so carnal, so completely the master of this moment, as if he lived to tell her about her deepest, darkest desires. She wanted to meet that command, to somehow become his equal in this. She licked her lips, holding his green eyes. “I don’t know what you mean?”

  “Then you didn’t,” he said decisively, pausing in his stroking to squeeze himself. His voice had roughened, and for a moment he closed his eyes, not moving at all, almost as if he were trying to control himself. “God. You’d know if you had.”

  She panted, watching him helplessly as he stared at her flesh. Waiting… wanting for him to show her what came next.

  “Can you feel that part of yourself, Eve?” His hand was moving again—slower now, as if he wanted to draw this out—and his eyes flicked suddenly up. They were green like emeralds. “Touch yourself.”

  She gasped and skimmed her right hand over the bunched fabric of her skirts. She felt the wiry curls and below… she gasped at the first touch.

  “Oh, yes,” he crooned, his hand stilling suddenly. He closed his eyes, his head falling back, and she could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “I nearly went there, Eve, when you put your fingers on your pretty cunny. Did you know?”

  “No,” she whispered. “Tell me.”

  “Ah, God,” he muttered under his breath. “Just the thought of you touching yourself… and then to see it.” He opened his eyes, tilting his head to look again. “Run your fingers down, will you? Let me see your fingers get wet.”

  This was so shocking. She wasn’t even sure exactly what he meant. But she pushed her fingers between the folds of her sex and he was right—she was wet there. She might’ve been embarrassed, save for the fact that he had apparently expected her to be thus.

  She licked her lips as she felt the soft flesh. “What shall I do now?”

  He glanced up, meeting her gaze. “D’you remember what I told you before? About that bit at the top of your slit? Your clitoris?”

  “Yes.”

  “Find it.”

  She drew her fingers up slowly, feeling the slickness. It was a strangely lovely feeling. She’d explored here once before—tentatively, furtively, and in the dark—but now, in front of him in the light, she was bold. She brushed something that made her jerk.

  “There,” he moaned. “Oh, there, Eve. That’s my girl. That’s my darling. Touch yourself there for me.”

  She closed her eyes and slid her fingers over that spot again, feeling that same jolt. A sort of spark, sudden and unexpected, that seemed to be attached to something deep inside her.

  Her skin felt prickly, the soles of her feet tingled.

  It was so very odd… and so very wonderful.

  She opened her eyes to find that he’d begun stroking himself again, leaning back against her desk, his cock pointed at his navel. The head was shining and red and she wished she could touch it.

  Maybe lick it.

  The thought sent another jolt through her, this one quite frankly attached to the place she was rubbing.

  He caught her shudder, grinning, his eyes happy and green. “That’s it, sweetheart, oh, you’re nearly there, my girl. D’you know how pretty you are down there? So pink and plump, your maiden hair a lovely reddish blond. If I were a painter like you I’d paint that. I’d paint it and hang it over my bed so I might look at it every night, your beautiful cunt.”

  She gasped and lost her breath and the most extraordinary thing happened.

  She burst, plain and simple, heat radiating out from her body, warmth invading her limbs and racing toward her toes. It was so sweet, so wonderful, and for a moment she lost her sight.

  Everything just went white as she trembled with the aftershocks.

  But she hadn’t lost her hearing, for she could hear him, Asa Makepeace, roaring with laughter as his seed splattered her knees.

  ASA FELT JOY race through him, more potent than any wine, as he watched Eve’s face as her orgasm shook her. Her mouth opened, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes closed in bliss as her fingers worked faster and faster.

  This was her first time experiencing this and he felt strangely tender toward her, this strict woman who had let herself go in the most basic of ways for him. He wanted to hold her and kiss her gently. Feel her body tremble and relax as she recovered. He wanted…

  Asa looked away, oddly frustrated. He wanted something from her, something with her, and it simply made no sense. He’d just coached her through her first orgasm, had gone further with her than he suspected any man had. Still held his softening cock in his fist, his come cooling on his fingers. And he wanted more.

  The damnable thing was that he suspected—rather worryingly—that the more he wanted wasn’t physical.

  “Oh,” Eve breathed, opening her eyes.

  She looked dazed. She looked fucked, and Asa’s cock twitched at the thought. He might want more than the physical, but he was a man. He’d certainly not turn away anything physical she might offer.

  Except she wasn’t offering anything. He’d talked her into this, hadn’t he? Even now she was pulling down her skirts, hiding her pretty, pretty cunny, and he almost stayed her hand for just one more glimpse.

  Just one.

  But he’d already persuaded her to do more than she’d probably ever dreamed of, and he really ought to feel guilty for that. Except he didn’t.

  She was looking at her fingers. They gleamed from her
wetness and she wrinkled her nose like a displeased cat.

  He couldn’t help but smile as he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here.”

  “Thank you,” she said primly, as if she weren’t wiping her come from her hand.

  She held the handkerchief between thumb and forefinger, obviously uncertain what to do with it.

  He took it from her without a word and deliberately swiped the cloth over his prick, mingling her come with his.

  She watched him, wide-eyed and silent, and when her gaze met his, he smirked.

  She looked away, clearing her throat as he put himself to rights. “I… that is. I want to thank you.”

  “Thank me?” His grin widened.

  “For showing me…” She waved a vague hand. “That.”

  “Anytime, luv,” he said. The urge to pull her into his arms was stronger than ever.

  He stood before he could do anything he’d regret. “I s’pose I should go find if Hampston is here yet.”

  She made an aborted movement, almost as if she wanted to grab his arm.

  He looked at her. “What?”

  “Don’t see him,” she said in a rush. “Please.”

  He sat back down on the desk. “Why?”

  He thought he knew, but something cruel inside him wanted to make her say it.

  She waved a hand rather helplessly, and shook her head.

  “Is it because he’s offering me money you have no control over?” he drawled.

  Her face snapped around. “You know that isn’t it.”

  Yes, he did.

  “Then what is?” he asked, suddenly frustrated. He’d been extremely patient for a not-very-patient man, but she’d not told him anything. All his information had come from guesses and Jean-Marie. If the man posed a danger to her—if he’d hurt her in the past—she needed to tell him, damn it.

  “I…” She inhaled, sitting a little straighter. “I had a nightmare last night.”

  Oh, the hell with it.

  “Let me hold you.”

  “What?” Her blue eyes were startled and wide.

  He held out his arms, waiting. If she turned him down now, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

  But she didn’t. She eyed his arms a second and then nodded tentatively.

  He didn’t wait for her to complete the gesture. Asa leaned forward, scooped Eve up into his arms, ignoring her squeak, and turned to sit in the chair where she’d been.

  She sat very still and stiff.

  Goddamn it, he wasn’t about to let go of her.

  He ignored the fact that she felt like a wooden doll and curved his arms about her, pulling her close. Her golden hair smelled faintly of flowers and he inhaled, stroking her arms slowly, almost in the same way he might a frightened animal. It was in no way sexual.

  But it was warm, and though it might not give her comfort, it did give him some.

  “Tell me,” he crooned in her ear. “Tell me what happened in your nightmare.”

  She sighed and very slowly her neck bent until her head came to rest on his shoulder, a sweet burden.

  He’d take that as a victory any day.

  “It’s a dream I’ve had ever since I can remember,” she said so softly he had to lower his head to hers to hear. “It always begins the same: with dogs.”

  Asa glanced over to where Henry was snoring in the corner. Now that he was washed he was a fawn color with black markings at muzzle and ears. He was beginning to fill out, and although Asa had never been afraid of the animal, he could see how Eve might be.

  “What do the dogs do?” he asked.

  “They hunt me,” she said flatly, as if she’d long ago come to terms with the fear, the horror, and now simply endured it. “I’m in a large house and they chase me from room to room, through the hallways and up and down the stairs, baying all the while.”

  He swallowed, for he wanted to growl. To shout his outrage. But he knew that would not help Eve. “And then?”

  “They catch me,” she said simply. “They catch me and tear me limb from limb and behind the dogs are men in masks, laughing.”

  Dear God. He blinked, for though he’d seen and heard terrible things in his life, he wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed anything as terrible as Eve recounting her own slaughter.

  He hugged her tighter, feeling the fine bones, the warmth of her skin. She was delicate, his Eve, but so strong underneath that.

  “Why do you dream this?” he asked carefully.

  “I don’t know,” she replied in that same dead voice. He was beginning to hate it, truth be told. And what was more, he was sure somehow that she lied.

  “But…” He hesitated, choosing his words very carefully. “This never happened, did it? You bear no scars from dogfights.” Did she, though? He’d not seen her upper half unclothed.

  So he blew out a silent breath of relief when she said, “No. I’m unscarred.”

  “Thank God,” he said, stroking her downy cheek. “Thank God.”

  She turned her face into his chest, and for the first time her hand crept up to lie against his waistcoat.

  He sighed, wishing she’d tell him more. “Do you know where you are in the dream? What house it is?”

  “Yes,” she whispered into his chest. “I’m in my father’s house.”

  He was silent a moment, waiting for more, but of course it never came. He should be happy, he supposed, that he’d gotten her to admit that much.

  Finally he said, “And what has this to do with Hampston?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I hadn’t dreamed the nightmare for years before I saw him yesterday.”

  “Perhaps—” He winced before he even uttered the words, but they had to be said. “Perhaps one thing has nothing to do with the other. It may be only coincidence that on the same day you encountered a long-ago friend of your father’s you dreamed that particular nightmare.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said, her voice a little stronger. She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “But there’s one other thing. Lord Hampston has a tattoo on his wrist”—she pointed to her inner arm to show the spot—“I saw it yesterday. It’s of a dolphin. In my dream the laughing masked men have dolphin tattoos as well.”

  He stared down at her tender inner wrist and then up at her blue eyes. “Eve.”

  “I don’t want you to see him today—or any day.”

  A knock sounded at the office door, and Asa just had time to rather unceremoniously dump Eve into the chair by herself and scramble around to his side of his table before it opened.

  Lord Hampston stood in the doorway, grinning. “Good morning, Harte.”

  “My lord.” Asa moved so that he stood between Hampston and Eve. She might not want him meeting the man, but if Hampston was a threat to Eve, Asa needed to find out more about him. “Shall we walk the gardens as we talk?”

  But his movement only seemed to draw Hampston’s attention to Eve. “Why, little Eve, I almost didn’t notice you there.” His smile widened. “Tell me, have you remembered me since yesterday?”

  That was quite enough. Asa moved forward, forcing Hampston to take a step back. He pasted a genial smile on his face and gestured to the door. “Shall we? I’d like you to see the maze that Lord Kilbourne is constructing.”

  Either his diversion worked or Lord Hampston hadn’t been much interested in Eve to begin with, for the older man nodded. “There are rumors as to Kilbourne’s innovative designs. I would indeed like to see them for myself.”

  Asa risked a glance over his shoulder to Eve. “I shan’t be long, Miss Dinwoody, for I know you wanted to discuss those books.” She hadn’t said any such thing, of course, but he wanted somehow to signal to her that he wasn’t abandoning her. “If you wish to work undisturbed, perhaps you should lock the door.” He pointed to the bolt.

  Eve cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Harte.”

  He couldn’t tell from her voice or her manner if she’d gotten his message—or even
if she was angry at him for going with Hampston after she’d begged him not to.

  But this was the most expedient way of getting the man away from Eve.

  Asa ushered Hampston into the corridor. “Had you been to Harte’s Folly before it burned, my lord?”

  “Yes indeed,” Hampston chuckled. “I brought both my wife and her daughters here, and she insisted—verily insisted, Mr. Harte!—that I bring her back again, she loved the pleasure gardens so much. Well, I don’t mind telling you that my wife is a little younger than I—for it’s a second marriage for both of us—and I’m apt to indulge her. I meant to bring her once again, but then the tragedy of the fire struck.” He shrugged and sent a cheerful smile Asa’s way. “She’s been in mourning ever since.”

  “I shall send tickets round to your house at once for both you and your wife and also her daughters,” Asa said. “So you can all attend the grand reopening.”

  “Thank you, Harte,” Hampston said as they walked out into the gardens. “You don’t know how pleased that’ll make her. My stepdaughters as well. There are three of them, Flora, Grace, and Marie, and three of the loveliest girls you’ve ever seen.” Hampston winked. “Verily, I married their mother as much for their beauty as hers, for it cheers a man’s heart to have so much feminine beauty about his house.”

  Asa smiled vaguely. They came within sight of the maze and he stopped. “Ah, here we are, you can see the maze and how Lord Kilbourne means for it to grow. Later it will be painted to look like marble.”

  For the next half hour Asa kept his mind on business, showing Lord Hampston the theater and gardens as he would any other potential investor. Hampston was properly impressed, exclaiming enthusiastically over the transplanted trees and the island folly Apollo had constructed. He was everything Asa would normally look for in an investor, actually: keen, intelligent, and, most important of all, rich. One didn’t have to like a man to take his money. Hampston was a little strange, true. He grinned too much, made odd comments now and again, and generally rubbed Asa the wrong way, but there didn’t seem to be anything actively bad about the man. He offered letters from his bankers to show that he was fully capable of giving money to the garden. He seemed, in fact, to be entirely normal for an aristocrat: casually arrogant, assured of both his superior rank and Asa’s need of him, a bit contemptuous of those who made their living with their hands.