Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors Page 23

  He grazed her forehead with his lips, content to wait until she awoke. If that took her until morning, he would lie here and hold her. She smelled of ivory soap, oranges and their coupling. He would have to wash her before she left, although a basic, masculine urge longed to leave her smelling of him. To leave his scent on her.

  Tonight something in him had changed. He no longer wanted the same things he had when he entered.

  It was only right the earth-shattering event happened here, where he’d spent years learning who he was and what he wanted to do with his life.

  Fitting because he had only just discovered the truth. But he would not reveal the word lurking at the back of his mind. He felt at one with her as he had with nobody else before, not even his sisters.

  Her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. He ensured her first sight was of him, curved his hand over her cheek to keep her in place.

  “I want more,” he said.

  She glanced over his shoulder at the candles, which were burned down just over half way. “We have time.”

  He shook his head. “More than tonight.”

  She sighed and stretched like a cat. “How can we? We agreed—”

  He stopped her sensible words by kissing her. One kiss turned to another, and he couldn’t bear to be apart from her any more.

  Rolling over her, he slid between her thighs and pushed inside her. Although she was a little tight, she lifted her knees and opened her legs wider, smiling up at him.

  Only when he’d joined them did he feel complete. “Why does this have to end? We can meet here. I haven’t had enough of you, Annie, and I suspect you feel the same.” He withdrew for the exquisite pleasure of thrusting back in.

  She licked her lips and gasped. Conversation ended.

  This time their lovemaking was fast and frantic, thrusting hard until they both came in a burst of fireworks.

  He lay over her, panting, as his senses returned. “Annie.”

  “Gerald.”

  He couldn’t envisage a time when he didn’t want her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANNIE WOKE AS A CHURCH CLOCK STRUCK SEVEN. She remained still, blinking the sleep away. Not that she’d had much rest. She’d resented every moment of sleep. Although he’d asked her once more, he hadn’t persisted, otherwise he might have broken her heart.

  Gerald lay next to her, his arm slung around her waist in a possessive gesture she could get used to far too easily. She knew every inch of his body now, more than any other man she had ever known, or would be likely to know. Her head spun, and her body ached from his thorough and enthusiastic lovemaking.

  She lay with her back to him, snuggled into his big body in a way she vowed she would never forget. The last thing he’d done, about two hours ago by her reckoning, was to collect hot water from the kitchen, and washed her tenderly. She’d teased him, saying he was quite useful, for an earl, and he’d laughed at her, claiming not all earls were so handy.

  This was the furthest away from each other they’d been all night, but now it was time to separate. For good.

  She slid out of bed and reached for her shift.

  Although she didn’t look at him, she felt his awareness. “You’re going,” he said.

  “I have to. By the time I’m dressed and presentable it will be eight o’clock.”

  The sheets rustled as he got out of bed. “I’ll make tea.”

  She couldn’t deny she loved his previously unsuspected domesticity.

  By the time he returned, she was in her stays and petticoats, busy shaking out her gown ready to put it on. He put the tea-tray on a table and came to help her. “You did your stays on your own?”

  He touched her bare back. She shivered, unable to quell the response. “I’ve been doing them on my own for years. It’s a trick of the lacing.” She’d had to re-lace them because he’d pulled the tapes out of the last few holes when he’d undressed her last night. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d sliced through them with a knife, so little heed had she taken at the time.

  He ran his fingers down the neatly tightened row. “That’s clever.”

  “If you lace them like that, you can pull the tapes tight without looking.” At least they weren’t talking about them. At least he wasn’t asking her to stay. She had to be grateful for that.

  He tugged the gown from her lax hands. When she turned her head, she saw he was holding it out for her. Without argument, she shoved her arms through the sleeves and he settled it on her shoulders.

  He wore only his breeches and the shoes he’d shoved his feet into in order to go downstairs. She, on the other hand, was almost ready to face the world.

  Leading her to the chair before the dressing table, he sat her down, and dragged another across so he could sit, too. When he reached for her hands, she placed them in his automatically. As if it was his right.

  His warmth soothed her, but the guarded expression in his eyes roused her again. “I want more,” he said. “We deserve more.”

  “You’ve had me every way I can imagine.” That was only the truth. “We did it all.”

  “Not nearly all.” His lips curved. “There are so many more ways. But I don’t ask you so I can prove my prowess as a lover. I just want you, that’s all.”

  “We’re to be married,” she reminded him. “To other people.”

  He sighed. “I know. I have to, to give my sisters what they deserve. I’ve shirked my duties for far too long, and you, my dear one, forced me to see that. But separating from you is too much. Don’t ask it.”

  ”I don’t ask it; I demand it.” She could not. “You said you meant to be faithful to your wife.”

  His lips flattened. “I will amend that. I will be honest with her. If she is amenable, and I believe she will be, I can continue to see you.”

  “And you think Joseph will agree to let me see you?” She huffed a dry, humorless laugh. “What Joseph Stephenson has, he keeps. And I will not dishonor him by deceiving him. He’s a powerful man with a long reach. He could easily reach to Mayfair if he exerted himself.”

  “So you would allow him his own way? Let him dictate how you live your life?”

  Her laugh bore more humor this time. “I would be married to him. My husband is my owner.”

  “No.” His hands tightened on hers. “A husband is his wife’s protector, her partner.” He swallowed. “Have you taken steps to protect your children?”

  Why should he care about her boys? It touched him that he did, despite having nothing to do with them. “Yes. They will inherit what their father left, if not more. Joseph is a brilliant businessman.”

  “Who gets by on bullying tactics. I have been researching him.”

  Fear clutched her. “He will know.”

  “What does that matter?”

  “He saw you at my house, and now you are asking about him?” She was astounded he did not realize his vulnerability. Joseph could destroy him. He had the ear of many wealthy, influential people.

  “Hush, sweetheart. I would dare for you. I am still making inquiries, as any potential investor might do. As it happens, my predecessor had some dealings with him, so my inquiries are only to be expected.”

  “Not after he saw you with me.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “Be content.” Releasing her, he fetched her tea and put it into her hands. “Drink and listen. You must be gone soon, or so you say. I would have you stay here forever. I’d lock you up, pamper and cosset you, except that would not make you happy, would it? If you became my mistress I would ensure you lost nothing. You would remain in control of your sons and your own life, and I would ensure you never lacked for anything again.”

  When she would have spoken, he tapped her knee. “I said listen. I am not offering you that role, although I considered doing so. But you would not take it, would you? I’m only asking you to meet me here sometimes as equals.”

  She felt herself weakening. He knew her so well. “What would you tell your wife? And what
happens if he finds out?”

  “That’s two questions.” He kept her gaze, far too intimate. Although she wanted to pull away, she couldn’t. This would be the last intimacy they had together. “I will discuss the matter with Elizabeth and ask her if she objects to my seeking comfort elsewhere. I think that’s how men usually put it. And if your—if Stephenson finds out then I will stand with you and support you. I mean it, you will never want for anything again.”

  “And if I walk away?”

  “Then we will be two people who have nothing to do with each other.”

  At least she knew where she stood. She appreciated that in him. She rose, keeping her movements smoothly controlled. He looked up at her, not following suit. “Then you have an answer?”

  “I will be no man’s mistress.” She kept her voice firm.

  “If you throw your lot in with Stephenson, expect nothing from me.”

  “You are going back on your promise, then? I am not to have this house?”

  “Do you wish last night to be your payment? Then I shall insist on more payments. If you are accepting that bargain, then as I see it, we are merely negotiating the price for your future services.”

  “There will be none.”

  He kept her gaze. “But you have accepted my offer.”

  “I have not, and I will not.” What choice did she have? He wanted to use their night to mean something commercially. Until he pointed that out, she hadn’t realized that point. She wanted to keep last night sacred in her mind, to have every part of it in her remembrance. It was the one night she had lived, the one time she had been herself.

  Glancing around, she picked up her fichu and arranged it neatly, covering her bosom and tucking it in the way she usually did. Her skirts were sadly creased, but she would change when she arrived home, so that mattered little.

  He watched her. The silence between them became unbearable and by the time she’d finished her task, her hands were shaking. She put her cap back on and tucked her hair under it, then perched her hat over the mess she’d made. She did not trust herself to do any more. She had pulled her stockings and shoes on when she dressed, although one of her garters was missing.

  “I must thank you for your hospitality.” Even as she said it she knew she was being foolish. “I enjoyed seeing the house. For the rest, I will not mention it, except to say—” What could she say, other than the truth? But if she said that, she would be letting out far more than she wanted. “Except to say that I have never known anything like it, nor do I expect to do so again.”

  He sat completely still, watching her.

  She left.

  ***

  When Annie closed the front door, she slammed closed a part of his life.

  Gerald sprang to his feet, grabbing up his shirt and the rest of his clothes with a suppressed fury the garments did not in the least deserve. If he wasn’t careful he’d tear something. Not that he cared much, he’d walk through London naked if he could change her mind.

  Worst of all, he knew she was right. She’d done the right thing. They had to break away, to snap the bond before it grew too strong to be broken. Except he feared that might have happened already.

  Something inside him was close to tipping over, to breaking all his good resolves, his promises to lead a virtuous life.

  While he wouldn’t call himself a hedonist, Gerald had always enjoyed pleasure. Cutting it out of his life would make him a martyr, and most martyrs were impossible to live with.

  He would never forget Annie, because whether she knew it or not, she had taken part of him with her. If he never saw her again, she would always be here.

  As he bent to pick up his neckcloth, he stumbled. Although he told himself he had overbalanced, he knew it was a lie.

  The thought of never seeing her again, that had done it. A chasm opened up inside him and he wanted to weep.

  What had he done? He’d created a yearning that would not be fulfilled, except by one person.

  Gerald could not bear any more. Making haste, he dressed and left the house, abandoning the place to its own devices.

  He arrived in his grand house in Grosvenor Square to discover his sisters at breakfast. After a quick trip to his suite to restore his appearance, he went downstairs and joined them. He did his best to behave as if this was a normal day in their new life.

  “Ha, here he is,” Damaris said. “Does giving your mistress her congé include spending the night in her bed?”

  Delphi looked up from her book sharply and waved at the footman. Without a shift in his expression, the man left. “The beauty of well-trained servants,” she said.

  “They’re probably listening at the door,” Dorcas put in, reaching for the toast.

  Gerald went to the sideboard and helped himself to a modest helping of food. When he sat, Delphi leveled her reading glasses at it. “What made you lose your appetite?”

  “I haven’t.” Picking up his knife and fork he cut into a chop. “And in case you were wondering, I don’t have a mistress.”

  Delphi sniggered. “Not any more. Gerald, we cut our eye-teeth years ago. You dismissed her, did you?” She glanced at her sisters. “Do either of you know who it is? Or was, I should say.”

  Damaris and Dorcas shook their heads and turned their attention expectantly to their brother.

  Gerald sighed and put down his knife and fork. Ignoring the edict about elbows on the table, he clasped his hands and peered over the top of them at his siblings. While his sisters were triplets, they were not identical, and three pairs of differently-shaded blue eyes gazed at him now. “No mistress,” he repeated.

  “Then who were you with? Have you gambled the earldom away?”

  “If I could have done, I would. But no.” That wasn’t entirely true, though. He’d had six months to become accustomed to being addressed as “my lord.” He suspected he’d miss it now. He’d been treading water, learning his new role, reading family papers, and he would have to move on. “We’ll go into the country in the summer, and survey the houses.”

  “Oh!” Delphi shook her head. “I have salons planned, meetings, and I want to write—” She broke off abruptly, and her cheeks reddened.

  Before Gerald could question her response, Damaris broke in. “Don’t change the subject, Gerald. You have definitely come from a woman’s bed.”

  “Have you ever wondered how reprehensible you sound, Damaris? I’m sure such prurience isn’t accepted in society.” His defense was weak, but he needed to do something.

  Nobody had to know about Annie, even his sisters. The memory of touching Annie’s sweet body, the joy of being inside her and watching her joyful culmination broke in like a sunny day. He looked away hastily before he betrayed himself. After munching a mouthful of food that tasted like ashes, he sipped the tea Damaris had poured for him. “We should make a list of what you need for your come-out. The duchess will sponsor you.”

  “We had a visit from Lady Comyn,” Dorcas said. “She is apparently some kind of cousin, although I’ve never been aware of the fact before, and she offered to sponsor our appearance at court. I naturally told her about the duchess, and it appears they have a feud.”

  “Dear God,” he murmured. “So Lady Comyn wants to poke the duchess in the eye, does she?”

  “I’d like to see that,” Damaris said. “Perhaps we can provoke them to do it.”

  He brushed through the rest of the meal, until he could breathe freely again. That was until the butler came in to tell him Lady Elizabeth was waiting in the morning parlor.

  “Alone?”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  Glancing at his sisters, he got to his feet. “Don’t let me remain alone with her for more than twenty minutes.”

  “What do we get if we do that? Will you tell us the truth about last night?” Damaris twirled her knife and winked at him.

  ”No.” He would deal with her by himself. After all, they were all but betrothed, so spending time alone with her could hardly do any more dam
age.

  Guilt hit him when he entered the parlor. Elizabeth was lovely. She deserved better than him, a man whose mind was set on someone else. She was standing by the window, gazing at the garden. She’d removed her outer clothing, appearing like a woman already belonging in the house.

  Her blue eyes gleamed with propriety as she came forward, hands outstretched. As if acting under command, he took her hands and lifted one to his lips. Her skin was cool and perfectly smooth, the nails immaculately manicured. “My dear,” she said softly. “Mama is returning shortly, but I begged her to leave me here to see you.”

  Short of shaking her hands free, he could not release her. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No.” She bit her lip. Despite his efforts to the contrary, he could not help comparing Elizabeth to Annie. Annie’s hands were work worn, the nails clipped practically short. They weren’t perfectly soft, but the slight abrasion did wonders to his body. Her hair, longer than Elizabeth’s, dark where Elizabeth was fair, gleamed red when the sun hit it. Or candlelight, at it had last night, when it had streamed around her like a living river of fire.

  Dear God, did everything have to remind him of Annie? Would he spend his married life thinking of the woman, comparing her to others and finding them coming short?

  Elizabeth was elegantly tall, reaching his shoulder. Annie was shorter, but packed with life. Every inch of her mattered. Elizabeth was languid.

  “There is nothing wrong. Except that—that I cannot bear the thought of going through the whole season without you. Can we not be married soon?”

  Gerald stilled, shocked into awareness. “Why, whatever is the cause of your distress, Elizabeth?”

  Snatching her hands from his, she covered her mouth, as if to stop herself saying something reprehensible. “I-I beg your pardon.” He studied her warily. It was not unknown for women to trap men by being “caught” in a compromising position. Perhaps he should take a step back.