Lavinia gasped as Robert moved her closer, sitting beneath her, his fingers still softly curling inside her as she sank down atop his thighs. His other hand moved quickly to her dress, pulling it roughly downward, tugging at her petticoat and chemise with the same frantic, ardent want that Lavinia felt building in her chest. When her breasts were finally free he moved his head to them, pulling one dark, stiff nipple in his mouth as Lavinia stifled a moan.
This was no tease; no game, as it had been the night of the dance. Every lap and lick, every deliberate graze of his teeth timed with the pulse of his fingers, was a mute expression of something only the heart could sing aloud. Lavinia dimly realised that she was moving with him, grinding against his fingers, her back arching as their shared rhythm deepened.
She reached for his body, needing to hold him as he held her; his cock was stiff and potent beneath his clothes, straining at the fabric, springing free as she unbuttoned his trousers with clumsy fingers. His harsh moan as she gripped his cock, running her palm along his silken shaft, made her tense with a quiet gasp around his exploring hand.
She couldn’t wait. She didn’t want to wait; any space between them seemed unspeakably wrong. She raised her thighs, softly murmuring her frustration as his fingers slid free, pulling his cock to rest against her hot, needy centre.
‘Don’t tell me no.’ She said it quickly as Robert’s lips parted, his eyes burning. ‘Please.’
‘I won’t. I can’t.’ He brought his head upwards, kissing her neck with a gentleness that made her shiver. ‘But it will hurt.’
‘Not as much as not doing it.’ Lavinia whispered the words, half-ashamed of the truth in them. She still felt desperately unused to sharing her unguarded thoughts—her unvarnished self—to the man who had already seen more of her than anyone else in the world.
But shame vanished, when she looked at Robert Prince. He saw all of her, just as she saw all of him, and all he did was hold her tighter.
‘I…’ Robert stared into her eyes, unblinking, as if on the point of saying something. Such tenderness in his gaze, such searching, vivid wonder mixed so intimately with lust, as well as what looked like fear… he was scared, just as she was, Lavinia realised with a thrill of kinship. Scared of the power of what he felt.
‘Sssh.’ She slowly, soothingly made the sound, kissing him as she slid the head of his cock past her outer lips. ‘Ssh… ah.’
Oh, but it did hurt as she sank down onto him, inch by inch. It hurt as only a new thing could; a thing she’d craved so deeply, without even knowing what she’d been craving. Pain, a tight knot of pain as she sank down deeper and deeper… but Robert’s arms were around her, his kisses soft and endless, his body hot against hers beneath his clothes. With each moment of new pain came new pleasure; dark, blooming pleasure that spread through every part of her, making her body sing with fulfilled longing.
As Robert finally stilled inside her, his hips shifting as he filled her completely, Lavinia took his hands in hers. She clutched his fingers, steadying herself, the feeling of completion so strong she could barely stand it.
‘I…’ She slowly tensed around him, feeling him shudder beneath her. ‘I… yes. Like this. Oh, yes.’
Yes. Robert felt the word settle inside him, shining, as he looked into Lavinia’s eyes. There was pain there, and he hated himself for it—but there was pleasure, too, the same uncontrollable sensation that burned in him like wildfire, and he let it grow. He forced himself to stay still, fighting the urge to thrust as Lavinia shifted atop him, each small exquisite movement causing another pulse of pure feeling to race through his core.
Yes, he’d had many women, but they were all so very far away now, fading away to nothingness with each passing second. He was adrift in hot, base sensation, Lavinia’s blue eyes anchoring him to the moment with their clear, shining depth.
Had there ever been any other women? Not like her. Not holding his hands, her skin soft and smooth and achingly lovely. Not half-dressed and harried and beautifully serious, even in this, the most delicious form of play.
Yes. Yes was permission, and welcome, and acceptance. Yes was all he every wanted to hear from her—apart from three other words, whispered his conscience, but he ruthlessly pushed the thought away.
He sighed harshly as she moved, slowly rolling her hips. The pain had ebbed away to nothing in her eyes, replaced with a slowly growing awareness of her own passion; a passion Robert didn’t know how long he could control.
‘Yes.’ He whispered her word, repeating it, biting back a moan as she shifted her hips again. ‘Yes.’
All he wanted to do was thrust upward, taking her, claiming her. But that was what he would have done before—and it was better, infinitely better, to feel her finding her own rhythm as she tentatively began to move. To stroke her gently, oh-so-gently over her uncovered arms, her collarbones, her nipples dark and flushed from his mouth… to kiss her lightly at the corners of her mouth, feeling each small, animal sound of pleasure she made humming through his lips.
In no time at all, and all the time in the world, she was moving faster—her movements so divinely attuned to his that he no longer felt like just one person. They were meant to be together, like this; meant to discover one another, lovingly mapping one another’s pleasure. Robert felt her hands clutching tightly at his shirt, pulling him closer, and fought a sudden, blinding jolt of sensation as she squeezed tightly around him.
‘Yes.’ He didn’t know how many times he murmured it over the next minutes, or how long the next minutes lasted outside the private world they had built. Nothing had existed before Lavinia, and nothing could exist after her. Lavinia’s body against his, flushed and smooth and moving sinuously astride him. Lavinia’s face, full of awe at her own pleasure.
He reached up a hand to cup her face, and gasped as Lavinia drew his thumb into her mouth. Her tongue, hot and wet against his skin, inflamed him; she whimpered as she moved faster still, sinking down onto him again and again. Robert moaned, something unstoppable building in him, his other hand gripping Lavinia’s hip tightly as he began to thrust harder.
Pulling away his thumb, he ran his hand down her body. Reaching the point where they met, he parted her damp curls to find the tight, sweet bud of pleasure he knew was waiting for him. As he ran his fingers over it, her shuddering cry of pleasure spurred him on.
There was no stopping him now. No stopping both of them. He could no more still his body than he could the tide; he thrust harder, stroking her most intimate place with all the skill he knew, feeling her peak begin to build in time with his own. He’d needed this, he realised, ever since he’d met her—ever since he’d seen her face. That shadow, that divine spark, that made her face more dear to him than anyone’s—
‘Ah!’ Lavinia’s cry of bliss shot through him. The sweetest sound that he had ever heard; a sound he mirrored, panting, as his climax overcame him.
He didn’t know how much time passed, after that. It didn’t seem important. He let the roar of the theatre slowly fade to silence; the noise of the audience replaced with the small, comforting sounds of the staff making everything clean and new again.
At one point, there was a muffled thump outside the door. Harry leaving refreshments, no doubt—tea and toast, or oysters and champagne, or a live peacock… oh, it didn’t matter.
Only Lavinia mattered. Lavinia, curled in his bed, stretched out on the pillows he’d laid her on. Lavinia talking, laughing, sighing as he kissed her again and again, her face delightfully animated away from prying eyes.
‘You were lucky, sir. My favourite play, as childish as it is, has left me unaccountably kind.’ She smiled, and Robert felt his heart flood with feeling. ‘Your good fortune amazes me.’
‘Oh, now. Why couldn’t it be a cool, rational discovery? You know I made my own investigations, after the Mimsmere ball.’ Robert held her tighter, a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘Miss Lavinia Dent. The coldest woman in London society, or so she’d have you believe. A life
consumed with silent study, private reflection, wordless pleasantries and bloodless pursuits… but oh, what a devious mind behind that graceful form! What powerful wheels are turning.’
He paused to kiss her neck, finding the soft patch of skin at the nape that sent shivers through her body. Pulling her closer, wrapping the blanket more tightly around them both, he let the distant sounds of street sweepers lull him into a half-dreaming state.
‘Powerful, and dangerous.’ He was so warm, and so comfortable, that his own voice barely made an impression in his mind. ‘So dangerous… she can ruin a man with a stroke of her pen, and make the streets dance to her tune, and make a racket-runner from Whitechapel fall madly in love without even knowing her name…’
Lavinia shifted in his arms. Robert only realised that he’d been loose-tongued when he saw her eyes, wide and full of shock. ‘What did you say?’
Robert took a deep breath. He couldn’t take it back—not with her heart racing against his chest, her body tensing as if ready to run. ‘You heard what I said. In love, and madly. Which feels foolish, like a bird falling into love with a star—you are so far away from me, and you burn so brightly… but still I love. Still I burn.’
He waited, sick at heart, as Lavinia looked at him. She slowly moved away, inch by inch, staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head.
‘If… if you don’t love me, please tell me.’ He tried to smile, but failed. ‘Free me, or break my neck. Don’t leave me to hang.’
‘I… you are, as we know, fleeing for your life.’ Lavinia’s voice shook a little. ‘Hardly the best time to fall in love.’
‘Which is not the same as not falling in love. So I have hope there, at least.’ Robert took her hand, reassured when she didn’t pull away. ‘And if I go to Swift, and try to make amends? If I turn my back on the swindler’s life, and start anew? Would you accept me then?’
‘Oh, yes. Fine words.’ Lavinia’s eyes were full of fear. ‘Words are easy to come by, in your line of work.’
‘It is not my line of work. It is what I do to survive.’ Robert felt his anger rising. ‘You know very little about survival.’
‘You have no idea what I know, or don’t know.’ Lavinia pulled her hand away. ‘I know that how one survives is often not the same as how one should live. Even I, loving you, know that.’
‘Really? You live in a house with a man you despise because you’re frightened of being poor. You prefer the security of being treated as inferior to the danger of showing how glorious you really are.’ Robert saw the shock in Lavinia’s face, but kept going. ‘I love you. I will become who I am meant to be, for you. I will happily face every look, every comment, every sling and arrow of the world, for you. But I am beginning to believe you are too frightened to do the same for me.’
He wasn’t expecting the slap. He rocked backward, astonished, as Lavinia began to dress with furious speed. She turned to him, spectacles slightly askew, smoothing out the creases in her gown as she spoke.
‘I am frightened of nothing. Nothing.’
‘Then prove it.’ Robert turned away, blinking back a tear as he heard the door of the room open, then shut. ‘Prove it.’
Lavinia walked through the front door of her house as if in a dream. She barely registered the clink of her father’s brandy glass in the study, or the slightly frightened look on her maid’s face as she made way for her on the stairs.
How you survive is not how you should live. She’d said those words so confidently, never thinking that she should apply them to her own life.
She survived, in this house, financially chained to her father. It wasn’t the same as living… and Robert had seen it before she had.
How hollow her heart felt. As if she had thrown away the one thing of value that she had, not knowing it was priceless.
Grappling with the size of the revelation, she opened the door to her bedroom. Concentrated on her own thoughts, she didn’t register the man standing by her desk for at least two seconds.
‘Quiet, ma’am.’ The main raised a finger to his lips as Lavinia opened her mouth to scream. ‘You have an appointment with Jack Swift.’
She had expected to meet the mysterious Jack Swift somewhere disreputable—a gaming hell, or a rookery. A pub, at best. Lavinia tried her utmost to appear unsurprised as the grim, silent man led her, with the courtesy of a well-trained butler, to one of the most fashionable addresses in London.
Did the Laughtons really allow Swift to conduct his various murky dealings in their own residence? They couldn’t possibly know about it. Lavinia searched in vain for any scrap of memory relating to Lady Sophia Laughton, or Lord Henry Laughton, drawing a frustrating blank.
A complete blank. That was unusual in itself. Lavinia mentally filed away the discrepancy, following the man through the cramped, unlit servants’ entrance of the Laughton house.
Two flights of stairs, innumerable doors and a banged shin later, she watched as the man opened what appeared to be the final door. Lavinia walked into the room, noting the crackling fire and rows of well-ordered books.
‘Miss Dent.’ The dark-haired, dark-eyed man standing by the fireplace gave a short, insolent nod. ‘Sit down.’
The aura of power surrounding the man was so complete, Lavinia almost sat—but she marshalled her strength at the last moment. ‘Try again, Mr. Swift. This time with a little more politeness.’
A gleam of what looked like humour shone in Jack Swift’s eyes. ‘Forgive me. Sit down, please.’
Lavinia sat in a high-backed armchair of green leather, watching as Swift sat opposite. They regarded one another for some minutes, like chess players looking at a board—each one searching for the perfect opening move.
Lavinia finally spoke. ‘I am here to negotiate.’
Swift took a cigar out of his pocket, holding it to the fire. ‘For what?’
Don’t fail me now, composure. Don’t do it. Lavinia’s voice remained smooth and steady. ‘Originally, I wanted information. Now, I want a guarantee of Robert Prince’s safety.’
Swift was silent for some moments. Then, to Lavinia’s extreme disquiet, he laughed.
‘Do you really think I’ve wasted more than five minutes thinking about Robert Prince since that idiotic display at your residence?’ He puffed thickly on his cigar, one eyebrow raised. ‘He’s clearly on your mind, ma’am, but he hasn’t been on mine. People who cross me come to a bad end, one way or another—my way, or the street’s way. Either way’s effective.’ His grin reminded Lavinia of light on a knife blade. ‘But then, you’d know about the street’s way of doing things, wouldn’t you? You let the street take care of poor Lord Carstairs, after that nasty little article you wrote.’
Lavinia’s throat tightened. She sat still, silent, waiting for Swift to speak again.
He knew she was the Viper. Someone had talked, or been forced into talking. A scullery maid, an underpaid valet… no matter. Jack Swift knew everything he needed to know.
‘Your request for a meeting is my good fortune. I’ve had my suspicions about you for a while. About your family, at any rate—the Viper had to be placed highly, but not too highly. And it had to be someone quiet, who could pass through rooms unnoticed.’ Swift looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I’m astonished I didn’t suspect you from the start.’
Lavinia tried to smile disdainfully. ‘Perhaps you don’t think very highly of women.’
‘Oh, no.’ Swift’s dark, glittering eyes were deeply unnerving. ‘You are simply very good at what you do, Miss Dent. Which is why you need to think very carefully about whether you like doing it, and want to keep doing it… or whether you’d prefer to do something different. Because I wasn’t going to do anything to Robert Prince—but now that I know you hold him in such… high esteem… that can change.’
An open threat. Lavinia kept silent, willing her fear not to show on her face.
Why would Swift want to hurt Robert—and hurt her by association? What had the Viper ever done to him… what leverage did
she have?
Information. Lots, and lots, of very scandalous information. But none of it involved him.
Or did it?
She almost smiled as it fell into place. Swift showed no reaction—but Lavinia noticed he was gripping his cigar a little tighter.
‘I knew I’d heard your name before.’ Lavinia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. ‘Not in connection to certain… matters, but in parallel. For every scandalous entanglement I’ve written about over the past year, your name has been on the staff list for the house in question.’
‘A good memory.’ Swift’s voice was more guarded now.
Not good enough. I should have noticed it before. But you were never in that important a position, frankly—and no-one ever mentioned you. I simply assumed you weren’t important.’
‘Women of your breeding rarely think the staff are important, Miss Dent.’ Swift blew a reflective cloud of smoke into the air. ‘It’s one of the few mistakes you’ve made. That, and developing an attachment to Robert Prince.’
‘No. My attachment is not my weakness.’ Lavinia’s mind raced. ‘If anything, it is my strength.’
Swift’s voice had lost any trace of humour. ‘Explain.’
This was her chance. A way to escape all of it; a way to reach out and take what she wanted. The last thing she had to do to survive, in order to start living.
‘We are no longer negotiating, Mr. Swift. I am dictating.’ She drew herself up to her full height, pushing the armchair backwards. ‘Here are my terms. Robert Prince is not to be harmed. I am not to be harmed. No-one in our respective families is to be harmed… and I ignore you completely.’
‘Swift folded his arms. ‘That changes nothing.’
‘Oh, but it does. Because I was getting close to you, wasn’t I? All the scandals I’ve written about, the pleasure clubs, the illicit liaisons, the blackmailing… it’s all a spider-web, with you at its heart.’ Lavinia spoke faster, revelling in her new-found power. ‘And I was beginning to shake the web. Sooner or later, your name would have been revealed—and you wouldn’t want that. Goodbye, money. Goodbye, power over your betters.’
Private Passions Page 6
