All Men Are Rogues (8 page)

He lifted his head up and, using his teeth, tore his glove from his hand. He yanked the other hand free from the leather and hovered above her on his hands and his knees, staring down at her. His smoldering eyes roved over her face, chest, then waist, then below.

“What?” she asked self-consciously.

He lowered his head and kissed her breast.

“Oh.”

He moved his mouth over the soft mound and bit her nipple through the fabric.

She arched her back and moaned.

He nibbled and teased her hard nub through the cloth, and the muscles between her thighs contracted wildly.

He rained kisses down her belly, to her thighs, and she wondered where he was going. Her chest felt cold and empty without his pressure. She wanted him back up at her breasts—that was, until he slipped his hand under her skirt. She almost jerked at the smooth touch of his agile fingers on her stocking.

She froze, waiting, wondering, wanting.

He traced his fingertips up her calf, dancing around her knee, and he tickled her thigh. She held her breath. Her heart was racing like a thoroughbred. She licked her lips, knowing that she should stop him, should run back to the safety of her staid bluestocking existence. But she was feeling reckless, free from the burdens of suspicion and worry. His hand lightly caressed her inner thigh. It was barely a touch, raising the fine hairs around her most private place.

He pressed his hand over her
there
and stilled. He was breathing in harsh gasps, and she realized that he was affected as well. That touching her brought him pleasure—or, looking at his face, was it pain? She noted the large bulge pressing against his britches, and her stomach lurched with desire. She wanted to touch him. To know the feel of a man. She reached out, but he cried harshly, “No. Only you.”

Before she could challenge him, his deft fingers opened the folds of hot flesh between her thighs. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. He rubbed his fingers up and down in her wetness. He watched her with parted lips, his breath coming in short puffs.

Her eyes closed of their own accord. “Oh my dear Lord in heaven.”

He groaned.

He found her nub, and electrifying thrills rocked her. With his nimble hand still performing its magic, he leaned forward and pressed his open mouth to hers. His tongue felt thicker, hotter, more insistent as he dove into her mouth. She rolled her hips and moaned, wallowing in the wildness of his touch. She pulled his tongue into her mouth and sucked passionately. Pressure was building inside her, pushing her, pressing her. His slipped his finger inside her wetness and her muscles jumped and contracted, closing around him and gripping him tightly.

Her breath came in short gasps and her head was on fire. Tremors rippled from between her legs outward, bursting with intense contractions of joyous rapture. She threw her head back and screamed.

The crashing heat slowly simmered. The pounding in her chest slowed, as if she had just ended a long race—definitely a winner. She opened her eyes and blinked, sucking for air. She puffed in little breaths, trying to get more air to her tortured lungs. She could not move, her muscles felt like dead weight. Justin pulled his hand from under her skirts and sat up.

A window near the ceiling showed clouds gliding by in the small space between the tall buildings. How long had passed? Had she stepped into another time? She looked over at the man who had just altered her perception of the world. Justin.

He stared into the fire and cleared his throat. “I did not intend…I went too far.”

She pursed her lips, considering. Too far or not far enough? She had undeniably wanted him inside her. She had never before understood the need to have a man between her thighs, the passion, the heat, the wanting of that one particular man.

“I apologize for taking advantage.” He shook his head. “It’s just, well, you do not want anything from me…”

“What do you mean?”

“You are new to Town, to this country, and excuse my interference, but you are somewhat out of your element and yet you ask nothing of me. Most people of my acquaintance want something, whether it be social, financial, or,” he frowned, “otherwise.”

She could not quite imagine what the “otherwise” might be.

“But you,” he continued, “are so self-reliant. You offer your friendship and ask for nothing in return. I must confess, I am a bit awed by you.”

She blinked. Dear heavens, she had just been lamenting her situation and he was praising her for it.

“I have no choice, Justin,” she confessed quietly.

“Do not give me that tripe, Evelyn. You are alluring enough to sweep any man off his feet. You could have dukes and princes if you wanted. And here I am ruining your chances,” he finished remorsefully.

She would have laughed if it were not so sad. She did not want to manipulate a man into matrimony; she could not do to another what she feared the most. She shuddered just to consider being so vulnerable, so exposed as to give another power over her. That was her greatest fear: exploitation, manipulation, and abandonment. Especially within the bounds of marriage, where the man held all the power under the law. She would not wither away in despair, as her mother had seemed to.

He slowly turned to her. “Do you hate me?” His eyes looked grayer in the darkened room. Perusing his swollen, sweet lips and his broad back, she knew that she could be with him and be safe. That if she had the opportunity to taste forbidden pleasures, then she would grasp it with all her might.

“We agreed, nothing taken that is not freely given,” she stated promptly as she sat up and adjusted her skirts.

His brow furrowed. “You are an innocent—”

“Although I’ve never experienced anything remotely like what I just felt moments ago, have no doubt, I wanted it very much to happen.” She shook her head, amazed. “It was astoundingly instinctual. It was as if my body was an instrument and you knew the exact keys to play. Extraordinary.”

He stared at her a moment, and then a small chuckle rumbled from deep in his belly. “You are the one who is extraordinary, Evelyn. Every time that I think I might begin to understand you, you surprise me again.”

She shrugged. “It must be my unorthodox upbringing. Too many countries, nannies, and the like. Makes me a misfit in our culture. Sometimes even I do not know what I will do.”

“If our culture only fit you.” He shook his head, smiling. “You seem able to dance with princes and dine with…”

“…devils?”

He frowned. “Why do you speak like that? You are a beautiful woman with good connections—”

“Ugh. You sound like your uncle. ‘A bit old and not much money, but with Leonore’s guidance…”

“He said that?”

She looked through the window and noted the darkening sky, wanting desperately to lie back on the couch and sleep or, if not, do whatever Justin did, again. She sighed. All good things come to an end.

“We had better head back.” She stood and lifted her glove off the floor. “I would not want your family concluding that you should be at the top of my list of potential husbands.”

What had made her say that? Once the words were out, she wished she could pull them back into her mouth and swallow them. Her cheeks heated. “I hope you do not think that I want…or expect…”

He waved his hand. “You have made your position on marriage perfectly clear.”

Was that relief or disappointment itching at her shoulders? She shook off the feeling.

“Please use this place as your own. I have only one request…” He held out the key.

Accepting it, she squeezed the thick metal in her palm.

“…that no handsome young men are allowed to meet you here.”

She laughed. “Only hideous old ones?”

“You may not wish to marry me or any other, but while in London you are only allowed to dally with me. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she replied, smiling. “I cannot imagine ‘dallying,’ as you so tactfully put it, with anyone else.”

As they left the little refuge, Evelyn felt, despite the darkening sky, as if the world was a sunnier place. Her worries did not weigh as heavily on her mind, and there was a lightness in her step that had not been there before. For the first time in four months she felt as if there was promise in the world, that things could not be all bad. There was some small benefit to her situation. What an odd notion, given the fact that her own government had apparently murdered her father and her legacy was in doubt.

She smiled up at the handsome gentleman walking beside her. It was clear that there were men nobly conducting everyday lives, men who did not need to face mortal danger at every corner to be valiant, to be heroes. It made her yearn even more than ever for a quiet life, without secrets, without doubts, without the constant fear of her loved ones being caught or killed. If she were the sort to marry, Justin would have been just the kind of man she would choose. But since she would not, she could at least have her chance to experience the passions of woman and man. Lord only knew there were few enough advantages to her situation, and she would use them to full effect. If only Sully would show his face and actually provide more than vague portents of doom.

Her childhood hero watched her out of the corner of his eye as he swept the muck from a stall in the nearby stables. With his cap pulled low over his face and the hunch he assumed, she did not even notice him. How could she, when her eyes were glued to the handsome marquis? Sully pushed down the temptation to pull his darling away from the rogue and throttle the man in the manure.

“Hey, you, boy,” called the stable master. “Bring out the lady’s mare.”

He slapped the foot of a lad sitting nearby. “Ya ’eard da master. Get on it.”

The boy jumped from his perch atop a stack of hay and scurried to obey.

Sully slipped into the shadows of the stable. It was too dangerous to be seen near Evelyn. Too dangerous for them both. But it was becoming more and more difficult to stay away from her when she was behaving so perilously. He had warned her, but she had not heeded him. Perhaps she did not understand that the marquis who seemed to have swept her off her feet was somehow involved in her father’s murder. But all of the pieces were not yet in place, and to move now, although tempting, might prove catastrophic.

The scoundrel smiled down into Evelyn’s upturned face and brushed a hair off her rosy cheek. Sully’s stewing blood began to boil. That his little girl would fall for such a treacherous rascal…he had taught her better than that. Perhaps it was time for some paternal interference. And silencing the marquis seemed the best way to safeguard his Evelyn. Forever.

E
velyn tossed another log onto the fire and inhaled the smoky scent of cloves. Justin had had the most pleasant mix of aromas added to the hearth. She pulled off her black shawl, for the vigorous fire warmed her face and hands in the small house that had become her sanctuary. It had been Justin’s brother’s haven, and now it was hers; she just prayed that she would meet a better end.

She dragged the wastebasket close and threw each ball of crumpled paper into the flames, one by one, and watched them burn. She sighed. The blaze crackled as if laughing at her ineptitude. She could find nothing in her father’s writings, no indication of some unknown treacherous mission he had worked on near his death. Still, it was a joy to read his poetic prose. She had not truly appreciated what a gifted writer he had been. Always a great orator, he’d had a knack for gathering crowds around him and working them as a master craftsman builds his tour de force. He could bring them to laughter with an anecdote or have them charging off to glory with his rousing rhetoric. But his writing, it was like a gentle song. Reflective, haunting in its imagery. He had worried over her. He had consoled himself about the day he would be gone, would be a father to her no more, by making a legacy for her that was “fashioned from the teardrops of the gods.” An odd description for English coin, but who was she to question his poetic license?

If only he had known that her fortune was to be incarcerated by the ever-inefficient and apparently unjust legal system. He would likely have placed it in a more secure location. Like under a mattress or beneath a rock.

She tossed another ball of paper into the flames. It ignited and shriveled into ashes in mere seconds. But she had to remember he had left her with so much more than mere money. He had always known what to say to encourage her, to make her work harder, to be the best person she could be. It was he who had taught her never to settle. Not to accept the limited role that society had carved out for women. “This is the nineteenth century, for heaven’s sake,” he would proclaim. “We no longer live in caves, and woman need not cater to man as if he created fire for her to cook and serve.”

He’d had such fervor, such energy, but it had always been based in sound principles. God, country, and family. In that order. And yes, it had hurt that she had come last. That his duty to his king and his nation had held precedence. That was why it was ludicrous for anyone to consider that the man might have been a traitor. Which meant that someone else was. Someone who had been threatened enough by Father to have murdered him or have had him killed.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes. Her head ached from all of the twisted reasoning. Thank heavens or, she smiled, Justin, that she had a place for her distrustful musings. A place where she need not worry over being disturbed. The Fontaines thought her at the library, and she let them think this. How could it be a haven if everyone knew of it?

She scanned the small parlor, feeling an overwhelming sense of appreciation for Justin and his thoughtfulness. The glorious man was turning out to be the one saving grace to this horrid mess. And it did not hurt that the devastatingly attractive marquis had magical fingers. Her face heated and she giggled, just recalling his searing touch. But she could not dwell on that or she would not get anything accomplished.

As a diversion, she looked around the chamber. The wooden door of the storage room stared at her enticingly. She stood, curious to see what Justin’s brother George had kept inside. She shook off the temptation, acknowledging that she had no right to trespass. She would not repay hospitality with nosiness. Still, a little peek couldn’t hurt anything, could it?

Two knocks banged on the door.

Her heart jumped. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm the pounding against her rib cage. She let out a long breath, pushing away the feelings of guilt. She had done nothing wrong.

It was likely a friend, to have been able to get past Ismet. Justin. A small thrill raced up her middle. She pat her hair and brushed her skirts. She hastily squatted down and tossed the final pages into the fire. Remembering her father’s journal lying open on the desk, she quickly slammed it closed. Instead of putting it back into her reticule in the corner, however, she shoved it into one of the tall bookshelves as she strode to the door. She would easily retrieve it after Justin’s visit. She just had to remember that she had promised to return to Belfont House in time for tea.

“Who calls?”

“Justin.”

She smiled and opened the door wide. He was so handsome that it nearly took her breath away. From the top of his dark blue hat to the tips of his shiny black Hessians he was the epitome of the elegant English gentleman.

He hesitated in the threshold. “I do not wish to intrude…”

“Don’t be foolish. This is your place, Justin, not mine.” She stepped aside and waved him in. “I am merely a guest. You are the landlord and I had best be nice to you or you might just kick me out.”

He stepped inside, and that musky, woodsy scent wafted around him. She nodded to Ismet, who was standing sulkily across the alley, and closed the door. Lord only knew what Ismet thought of her burgeoning friendship with the marquis. She brushed aside the worry. She was her own woman now, in charge of her own destiny.

He removed his hat, and this time Evelyn reached up and did ruffle his hair. He brushed his gloved hand across his forehead self-consciously. “That bad, eh?”

“No, I just couldn’t resist.”

They stepped into the parlor and he looked around the room.

“Are you burning something?”

She shrugged. “Was nothing. I just love the spices you added to the fire. What are they?”

“I don’t know,” he stated distantly. “They were a gift from a friend.”

“The portly, old kind of friend?” she asked only half-jokingly.

“I would not say either of those things to his face, but yes.”

She released the little tension in her shoulders. “Let me take your cape.”

“Thank you.” He turned. “Are you enjoying your solitude?”

She hung the soft black woolen cloak on the rack and smiled. “Immensely, Justin. It is such a pleasure not to have anyone underfoot or interrupting me.”

“But I am interrupting you.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I welcome the distraction, if it is you.”

A small smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I brought you something.”

“Really? You have given me so much already.”

“It’s nothing extravagant. Please sit.”

Evelyn sat down on the couch with her hands folded in her lap to keep them from clapping with excitement. She’d always loved presents. Even the smallest things were a cherished surprise. Every time her father had had to journey abroad, he had brought back some memento of his travels for his little girl, and, although seeing her father had been an unmatchable treat, the little gifts had been an anticipated boon.

Justin grabbed the poker and stirred it in the grate distractedly.

Evelyn bit her cheek not to ask about the gift as she waited with feigned patience.

He put the poker back with the other fireplace tools and sat down.

At the look on her face, he stated quickly, “It really is nothing particularly remarkable. My grandmother gave it to me and I never understood why.” He adjusted the tails of his coat. “Although it may be somewhat inappropriate for me to give you such a token—”

“What about our relationship has been proper, Justin?” she interrupted.

“Rightly stated. I, well, you said that you intend to leave England.” It was a question, awaiting a rebuttal.

She opened her mouth but then closed it. She was beginning to have reservations about departing, but she knew that she had to follow her father’s instructions. England was not safe for her, and she had no future here. She slowly nodded.

“I, well, I am duty bound to stay. So it seems that our acquaintance is destined to be short-lived.” He clasped her hand in his. “But I hope that when you think back on our time together you will not hate me terribly.”

She frowned. “What an odd thing to say. I cannot imagine hating you at all, Justin. I think you are one of the most wonderful people I have had the pleasure of meeting. You are honest, and considerate, and valiant, and—”

“Stop, Evelyn.” He squeezed her hand, hard. “I told you, I am no hero, and it makes me uncomfortable when you set me up as such.”

She searched his grayish-green gaze, seeing his discomfort. “As you wish.”

He blew out a long breath of air. “Some would argue, and I cannot help but agree, that I am taking advantage of you….”

“My time with you is freely spent, and anything I give is freely given, Justin. It is the nineteenth century, for heaven’s sake. I can take care of myself and make decisions on my own.”

“Whatever the future holds for us,” he urged quietly, “well, I do want you to think well of me.” He sounded so dire and uncertain. He was feeling guilty about yesterday. Well, she would not. Her future was unsure, her legacy in jeopardy, she’d be truly damned if she did not enjoy some small pleasures in her inordinately chaotic life. Moreover, her friendship with Justin was turning out to be a blessing in her life; one she was going to relish now and cherish forever.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded cloth. He unwound the fabric and exposed a shiny gold ring with two clasped hands carved around the band.

“It was my great-grandmother’s. As my grandmother tells it, she loved a man deeply, but her parents disapproved of her choice. He was a poor merchant and deemed unsuited to her station. He left England to seek his fortune and to prove himself to my great-great-grandparents.” He lifted up the band and held it lightly between his fingers. The fire’s radiance danced across the gleaming gold. “The man gave this to my great-grandmother before he left, a token of his love and esteem. He wanted her to think fondly of him while they were apart.”

“Please tell me he returned as wealthy as Croesus and they married and he was your great-grandfather.”

“He was killed when his ship sank in a fierce hurricane in the Indies.”

She sighed. “It was too much to hope.”

He handed the ring to her. The hard metal was tiny in her hand, and she wondered if it would fit. “Your great-grandmother must have been petite.”

He nodded. “Like you.”

She hid her smile. She was not nearly as tiny as he assumed, but she was not about to correct his misimpression. She tried her middle finger first but could not get it past the knuckle. The pointer finger was just a smidgen too tight. It slid over her ring finger, and although it was a bit snug over the knuckle, it fit perfectly once on.

“Vein amoris,” she stated quietly.

“What?”

“The ancient Egyptians believed that the ring finger has the ‘vein amoris,’ the vein of love, which runs straight to the heart.” She looked up and smiled. “Are you certain you wish to part with this?”

“Most ladies of my acquaintance would not necessarily appreciate the significance of the thing. I thought, well, maybe you would.”

She traced her fingertip across the carving of the two clasped hands. “This pattern is what the ancient Romans used for wedding rings. For them the gold band symbolized everlasting love and commitment.” She covered it with her other hand and held it to her breast. “It means a lot to me, and I will cherish it always.”

He leaned forward and kissed her with such tenderness that her heart melted. He wrapped his arms around her as if she were a delicate flower. He loved her mouth with his tongue, sensually drawing out the pleasure of hundreds of kisses until they blended in one glorious asylum of pleasure.

For a fleeting moment she thought she ought to pull away, she ought not to be engaging in such wanton pleasure, but it quickly passed from her mind as he ran his hands down her chest and teased her breasts, raising the buds of her nipples until they were hard with wanting. All thoughts fled under the insistent devilment of his beguiling fingers.

She rocked her hips, pressing herself against the hard bulge of his manhood, telling him with her body what she was not quite ready to put into words. His kisses became less tender, more demanding. Suddenly he stood and wrenched off his coat and waistcoat. He leaned forward and kissed her hard, leaving her wanting more as he tugged off his cravat and shirt. She watched him with wide, hungry eyes. She had never seen a naked man before. Just like everything else about him, his body was beautiful. She reached up and skimmed her fingertips across his smooth abdomen. He sucked in his breath.

Reaching down, he slowly unfastened the many buttons of her dress. She had worn the front-clasping gown in the hopes that this very circumstance might happen here today. She was ready. Two and twenty, more than ready.

He parted the soft muslin and sat on his haunches. His eyes roved over her body hungrily, as her sheer shift left nothing to the imagination. He ran his hands over the soft silk and unclasped the stays. She sat up and pulled her arms free from the gown, and the shift fell in folds around her waist.

“You are so blessedly beautiful,” he breathed.

She smiled, feeling magnificent in his eyes. “You are like the statues in Italy, but not cold to the touch.” She ran her hands down his broad, muscled chest, and fine hairs tickled under her palms.

“Hotter than Hades, at the moment,” he breathed through his smile.

The hairs on his chest were sparse and brown and crept down his middle, ending abruptly at his breeches. Her curiosity overcame her trepidation, and this time she reached down and did touch the bulge that she understood was his swollen manhood. He groaned and closed his eyes as her fingertips traced his smooth, hot member.

It was fascinating. It was exciting.

It jumped under her touch.

She ripped her hand away. “It moved!”

He chuckled. “I would hope so.”

He lay down on top of her, and she sucked in her breath. The touch of his smooth, warm chest on her bare nipples made her tingle all over. His open lips pressed against hers, his tongue plunging in and out of her mouth playfully, enticingly. Her stomach fluttered with excitement as their skin rubbed erotically with every light movement. She was panting, her heart was racing, and she felt as if she were on fire. As he flicked hot, wet kisses on her neck she looked over at the hearth and noted that the wood had burned down to embers. It was not the fire creating this wondrous heat. It was Justin.