Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors Read online

  A knowing expression entered his eyes, warming and softening their expression. “Perhaps I should show you where I used to sleep in the house. Would you use the same room? Sleep in the same bed? We left it behind when we moved. It should still be there.” Snaking a hand around her waist, he drew her closer.

  She didn’t pull away.

  “Madam, I find you utterly bewitching. I am about to test a theory.”

  His breath heated her skin as he brought his mouth down on hers.

  His lips caressed hers, his tongue stroking her lips until she parted them and let him in. His hold on her tightened. Annie flung out her hands for balance, finding purchase on the silk of his waistcoat, roughened by gold threads that snagged against her gloves.

  Her comfortable world exploded in heat and desire.

  He delved deep, and she responded, her head going back until he dug one hand into her hair, holding her in place. His caresses thrilled her, took her to a place she’d never visited before, never dreamed existed.

  Firmly and deeply, he explored her until she moaned into his mouth. A soft thud indicated her hat falling off, and landing—somewhere, she didn’t care where. His fingers rounded her skull, his other hand spread over her back, spanning the distance between her shoulder-blades. He took his time, caressing her with his tongue, building her arousal to a height she couldn’t define.

  When he moved away, she pressed closer, urging him on because otherwise she’d have to stop and think.

  Thinking was the last thing she wanted to do. Every tenet she had grown up with, every moral impulse her parents had instilled in her, every Sunday sermon she’d endured—all of it told her she shouldn’t do this. But inside, her body awoke, as if from a long sleep.

  Why had nobody told her this lay in wait for her?

  With a sound suspiciously like a chuckle, he moved away, only to return. He came at her from a different angle, drawing her closer to lay her head on his shoulder, while he kissed her and kissed her.

  The initial overwhelming surge of passion settled and receded enough for her to think. The world surged in on her with a rush. When she pulled away he made a sound of protest and drew her back, but she insisted, pushing harder.

  He released her quickly, so she had to grab the edge of his desk to retain her balance. She swallowed, staring at him. He spun around, then turned back to her. “I’m not apologizing.”

  “No.” He was too arrogant for that. The aristocracy were all the same, demanding without paying the price. But even as she told herself that, the words rang hollow in her head. She was as much at fault as he. “Neither am I. But you should know everything I told you was true. I am a widow, searching for a way to expand my business. I want that house, but I don’t want a lover and I will not pay for the place with my body.”

  He closed his eyes in a slow blink. “Are you sure?”

  No, she wasn’t. She was far from sure. She couldn’t fit a lover into her life. She’d never had one before, so why should she not continue as she’d begun?

  Her mind reeled, until she forced it back under control. “Perfectly sure.” Straightening, she located her hat, which had tumbled on to the desk, and plonked it back on her head. A curl tumbled down and with a most unladylike curse, she removed the hat and dropped it back on to the desk. The surface was covered with papers and cards, which scattered in all directions. “I’m afraid I made rather a mess—”

  With a harsh laugh, he scrubbed a hand around the back of his neck, where she’d so recently touched. “It was worse before you started.”

  Looking around, she found a mirror, a small, gilt-framed one on the wall by the largest bookshelf. Tilting her chin up she strode to it. Unfastening the strings of her cap, she dropped it on a nearby table. Then she plucked out a pin from her hair, using it to secure the curl. “Not perfect, but with my hat on nobody will notice.”

  Silence from behind her. Turning around, she faced him, meeting his gaze. His eyes met hers, stark and honest. “How long is your hair?”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “Too long. I should have it cut.”

  “No, don’t do that.”

  His response was so swift and vehemently expressed that it made her blink. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Th-thank you. I think.” Her hair was somewhat—red. She’d tried to control it, and wore larger caps to cover most of it, but it sometimes shone through nevertheless.

  “You should never powder.”

  Had they gone this far? To exchange remarks so personal? They had missed out some important elements of acquaintanceship. “I can assure you sir, I rarely powder my hair.”

  She shook his head, an expression of rueful sorrow curling his lips. “Madam, I’m sorry. You should not be so indescribably attractive.”

  “Nobody has called me that before.” Her heartbeat quickened, then stilled back into its regular, steady rhythm. “I hate to call a lord a liar, though. Perhaps I should settle for outrageous flattery.” This time she kept her distance, at least two feet from him. Her heart was still throbbing double-time.

  “You are lovely, you must know that,” he said bluntly.

  She wanted to drag her hair back until it was completely hidden. “No.”

  “Then the people around you are blind.” He leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Madam, I have a proposition for you.”

  She busied herself tying her cap strings. “Sir, if this is of an immoral nature, I cannot listen to you.”

  “Are you about to pretend our kiss was one-sided? That I took and you gave? Because from where I was standing, you took an active part. As I said, I will not apologize for something I took great pleasure in. You did not scream, or object. So let us not have any nonsense about morality, if you please.”

  Nobody had spoken to her in that way before. How dared he?

  How dared he what? Tell the truth?

  Because he was right. However ungenerous or impolite, he was right. For that moment she’d accepted him and rejected everything else. She had no doubt she could never agree to his proposal, and she would not be surprised if he suggested something completely outrageous.

  She would do him the courtesy of listening. Then she would leave, but she did not wish to slam this door completely. If she could not secure at least a hint of his willingness to lease her the property, then she would conclude this unsettling incident. Although she feared she would think of it when lying in her lonely bed tonight. His hands on her, his mouth on hers...

  She shocked herself back to reality by digging her nails into her palm. How could she think of that? Perhaps later, when she was in a safe place. But not here, not now.

  Lifting her chin, she invited him to speak.

  He straightened up, took his hands out of his pockets, and faced her. “I’ll lease you the house at half the price you suggest. There is one condition.”

  She gasped. That price was her starting point for negotiation. She’d fully expected to spend at least twenty percent more than that. She was willing to go up to forty percent more. “What is your condition?”

  “You and me sharing a bed, naked, for a night.”

  She couldn’t be hearing this. “What?”

  “A kiss is not enough. It just made me hungry for more. One night,” he said bluntly. “I fear I will not stop thinking about you until that happens, ma’am. You have me, shall we say, by the balls, and they will be turning blue before much longer.”

  She should walk out, she should be shaking with rage. But she was not, and she was too honest to feign it.

  Instead, she carefully kept her face clear of expression and linked her hands, tilting her head to one side as if he had said something witty and she was considering it. “I can only imagine that you are jesting, sir. Will you consider my fair offer?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  GERALD WISHED HE WAS JESTING. He was only telling the truth. That kiss had shaken him to the core, reminded him of everythin
g he had sworn to leave behind. He was abandoning his carefree life, allying himself in marriage to a woman who showed not the slightest interest in him as a man, and everything in him as an earl.

  If he had one night, just one night to forget everything, to indulge himself with this lovely woman, he could go forward with a clear conscience. He’d sworn to be as good a husband to Elizabeth as he could. He would not stray, and he would not cheat. Society expected husbands and wives to seek solace elsewhere, but he would not do it. He would make the best of what he had.

  He spread his hands. “If you refuse my offer, then I fear I must put the matter in the hands of my men of business. I doubt I will lease the house—to anybody.”

  He watched her carefully, the way her face fell, the corners of her full lips quirking down. She was very good at hiding her emotions, but he’d touched those lips, and he knew them and their ways. Soft with a firm structure, inviting, and altogether seductive.

  He wanted her badly. His groin ached, and his cock was rigid. She would not have felt it under the layers of gown and petticoats she wore. He had not been so ungentlemanly as to push hard enough against her, but he would not be so circumspect next time. He would not admit the possibility of there never being a next time.

  “Why would you do this? To humiliate me?”

  She sounded hurt. He didn’t like that. “Because I want you, ma’am, it’s that simple.” She deserved to know more. Hell, if she consulted the newspapers she could probably discover more. Speculation was already rising about the new earl and his potential bride. “I am shortly to be married.” He took a step toward the window. He didn’t want to look at her while he was explaining. “No formal arrangement is yet in place, but it’s understood. The lady will help my sisters gain a foothold in society.”

  “But you’re an earl.”

  “I’m a new earl.” Spinning on one heel, he turned to glare at her. He was mildly surprised she was still here. Surely that mean something? “I was not expected to inherit. My sisters and I led a comfortable life, but not one where we met the right kind of people. Or the ones I’m assured are the right kind.”

  “You’re rich. That should be enough.”

  Oh, but he liked this woman. “Nowhere near enough. I do not want my sisters sinking into unfulfilled spinsterhood. They cannot take your path; they need to marry and marry well.” He glanced at her. She was still standing, hands folded neatly before her, as if she hadn’t responded to his kiss with a fervor he had rarely experienced before.

  “Do you love her?”

  He cast a hand up impatiently. “What has love to do with anything? Did you love your late husband?”

  Her silence told him that she had not. “But I respected him.”

  “I respect Elizabeth. She is beautiful, accomplished and—” he searched for another attribute, and gave up. Elizabeth was the wife he should want, and the one he would have. “I will show her the honor she deserves.” He stared out the window into the garden. It was raining again. Good for the plants, no doubt. “But I am not yet married, nor am I betrothed.”

  “And you want a little more freedom before you are.”

  “Precisely.” He turned to face her, but saw more than he wanted to in her face.

  Sympathy softened her features. “And you don’t want to do it. You don’t want to accept what the future is bringing to you. Are you afraid?”

  He forced a laugh. She must not know how close she’d come to piercing the veil he kept around him. Nobody should know that. It was his only defense. “Not at all. What would I be afraid of? I am the recipient of great good fortune.”

  “So they tell you,” she said calmly. “You are told that you are a great man with a great position to live up to. Your life before was most probably comfortable but obscure. Now you’re in the public eye, expected to behave in the correct manner. To be a lord, in fact. Not everyone would count that as good fortune.”

  “Would you consider it such?”

  The corner of her mouth turned up. “I believe I would. But I am not everyone. I am not you.”

  She moved toward the door. “I will bid you good day sir.”

  “And my proposal?”

  “Is one that no respectable woman should take seriously,” she said.

  Desperation seized him. “Then I will ask you to consider one more thing. You wanted this as much as I do. You are a respectable woman, expected to behave as such. I am offering you one night of freedom, one night when we may be merely a man and a woman indulging ourselves. Would you deny that to yourself?”

  Her mouth primed into a hard line. “I’ll let myself out, shall I?”

  As the door closed behind her, Gerald gave a low laugh.

  She had not said no.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AS SHE SKIPPED A STEAMING PILE OF HORSE DUNG on the way across the street leading to Mr. Stephenson’s office, Annie put the past behind her and looked forward to the future. Today she had Matilda respectably by her side, and although her companion outshone her with her gown of cherry red and white striped silk, Annie thought she put up a good show. She wore her maroon wool gown with the ivory silk embroidered petticoat.

  Lord Carbrooke had put the chance of her obtaining the Bunhill Row house out of question. Although his face had swum before her eyes as she’d sunk into sleep last night, she refused to let him take any more of her time. She could not dwell on his offer, tempting though it was. It was completely out of the question.

  Mr. Stephenson worked from a well appointed office in a sought-after part of the City close to the Guildhall. His shop took up the ground floor of the establishment, where he sold the products of his large gold and silver workshop. He made centerpieces, fine cutlery and other items at the top of the market, which was how Annie had become acquainted with him. He’d been one of her husband’s best customers, and continued to take half her output today.

  The shopkeeper was waiting for them. In the midst of glass-fronted cases holding a breathtaking array of silver and gold items, he indicated a small door at the rear of the premises. “It is a pleasure to see you, ladies. You are expected. Pray go straight up.”

  Upstairs they found his clerk standing behind his desk. “The maid will bring you refreshments. Mr. Stephenson requests the honor of a personal interview without the benefit of your companion.”

  Annie stared at him in surprise. That was an unusual request, and not one she was used to. Mr. Stephenson was fond of ceremony, and preferred to act the part of gracious host. His adherence to the proprieties was famous, and he knew to a nicety how low he should bow to each rank in society.

  Annie would go along with his request. She’d known him for years. He was almost a family friend.

  Matilda chose a seat in the office, folding her hands over her lap and nodding to the clerk. “I will be here if you need me, my dear.”

  Annie went through, allowing the clerk to open the door for her.

  The room smelled very masculine, of pipe tobacco and leather. The tang of fire coals suffused the atmosphere as it did almost every room this early in the year, especially when the weather was chilly.

  Mr. Stephenson came around the massive mahogany desk to bow and hold a chair for her to take. She gave him her hand, mildly surprised when he grazed the back of her glove with his lips instead. “It is a pleasure to see you this fine morning,” he murmured.

  The morning was actually rather overcast, but Annie would not gainsay him. “I am pleased to see you too.”

  A maid came through the door with a tray of tea and coffee things. She laid the silver teapot, the water jug, cream jug and silver container on a side table, well within Annie’s sight, so she could admire them. Even the china was fine German porcelain, rare and expensive. She was flattered that he had brought out the best for her.

  Mr. Stephenson dismissed the maid and poured the tea himself. After a delicate pause, he added milk and sugar, and put the dish and saucer where she could easily reach it. The gold-rimmed dish was a forge
t-me-not blue shade, heavily adorned with flowers and bees, in the finest mode. Annie was almost afraid to pick it up. She had not seen anything so fine even on Lord Carbrooke’s breakfast table when she’d stormed in two days ago. They had been using white china with gold rims.

  He picked up a letter from his desk but did not retreat back behind it. His small, sharply observant eyes took in her appearance. He smiled, although those thin lips were rarely caught in anything of that nature. Mr. Stephenson was a serious-minded businessman. His clothes, although sober bottle-green were fashioned from the best cloth and edged with fine gold braid. His gold buttons were probably real. He had certainly dressed finely for a day in the office. Perhaps he had a meeting at the Guildhall later. It was said the City was wealthier than Mayfair. Since many residents of Mayfair owed more money than they owned, it would not surprise Annie to discover that was the truth.

  He read the letter through. “I take it you have enough funds to pay for a lease on the house?”

  “I would not have insulted you by making my request otherwise.” Annoyed to find her hands were shaking, Annie gripped them together. “Indeed I believe my husband had only the greatest respect for you, otherwise I would not have ventured to ask. The house is ideal for my purposes. Since we already live there snugly, it is my first preference.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Have you investigated other properties?”

  Had he been talking to the Earl of Carbrooke? Had his lordship been too busy with his tongue in the clubs and coffee houses? She shrugged. “I would be foolish not to look at comparative rents.”

  He grunted. “And you discovered that you have the house you presently occupy at a very good rate.”

  “Indeed, sir.” He had not raised the rent since before her husband died.

  “Do drink your tea while it is still hot.” He picked up his own but waited until she’d untangled her fingers and followed suit. The dish rattled against the saucer as she lifted it, and he smiled slightly.