All Men Are Rogues (9 page)

He kissed and lathed her nipples, kneading them gently, tracing his bewitching fingers all over her stomach and chest. She arched her back and moaned with the sheer pleasure of it, but she wanted him down
there
, where he had been before. She spread her legs as demanding heat thrilled between her thighs, needing him. Wanting to know him as a woman knows a man.

As if heeding her wishes, he rained kisses down the curve of her belly. He sat on his haunches and lifted her petticoat. He traced his palms up her calves and undid her garters, slowly peeling off her stockings. Watching him undress her was so erotically tantalizing that it made her knees turn to jelly. Thank heavens she was already lying down.

He licked his lips and dove on her, trailing playfully ticklish kisses up her legs and settling himself quite comfortably between her thighs. Her face heated as she realized his focus. Well, it was what she wanted, but why did it suddenly feel so personal? He parted the rough hair between her thighs, and she tried to slam her legs closed. She was an enlightened woman and all, but having his face so close to
there
, well, that was just too much.

He shook his head, smiling. “I want to look at you.”

“Wh…what’s there to see?”

“You. You have no idea how beautiful you are to me.” He settled between her legs once more and spread the lips of her most private place. He stared down at her a moment, his eyes ablaze with burning passion. How fascinating; his desire apparently was heightened by what he saw. She tried to relax while adjusting to the odd sensation of cool air gracing across her hot flesh. He leaned forward and blew delicately.

Hot and cold shivers raced up her body from between her legs. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. And it was not unpleasant at all. She let out a long breath, savoring the pleasure.

He pressed his lips to the hard nub between her legs and kissed her reverently. Her jaw dropped open; she was shocked to her toes. He set his open mouth against her hot, wet place and slowly began licking her in small, tight circles. She threw her head back and clutched at the edge of the sofa, hanging on for dear life.

“Sweet God in heaven,” she gasped.

She shoved her pelvis deep into his mouth and closed her eyes. It did not get any better than this. He flicked his tongue in and out of her, and suddenly she felt gentle fingers lower, exploring her sensitive places. He slipped his finger inside her, and her muscles welcomed him with a wild embrace. Her insides clung to him as he torturously slid in and out. Still, he licked her and lathed his mouth on her hot, tight nub, driving her mad with wanting. Fire coursed through her veins. Her hips pumped to some unknown rhythm as she was driving toward madness.

He plunged his finger deep inside of her again, and she threw her head back, trying to scream, but no sound came. The breath froze in her throat. It was too much, the rapture, the exquisite spasm inside her, the hammering of her heart. Everything went black with stars shining brightly behind her closed lids. Violent tremors raged from between her legs, spreading outward, making her feel as if she were in the center of a driving storm. She was tossed and thrown with the waves of exploding passion, and suddenly he was on top of her. He pushed into her and she whelped. He was so big. He pushed deeper, plunging inside of her. She sucked in a long, haggard breath and every muscle tightened, especially the one encircling his member.

He groaned, “So tight, so wet…”

His words made her feel hotter still. Yes, she was stretched and opened beyond what she thought possible, but she felt immense satisfaction as his manhood filled her. This was good. This was right. This was what she wanted. Pulling his head down, she kissed him. She reveled in the connection of their bodies, the throbbing between her legs, and his rocking in and out of her.

Her muscles gripped him and squeezed. He cried out. She held onto him for dear life, not knowing what to do. She felt as if she were riding an untamed stallion and clinging tightly as they raced toward their destination. Their bodies grew slick with sweat, and she relished the erotic play of skin rubbing velvety skin. Then the tremors rippled between her legs again, more quietly this time, but with delicious effect. He cried out and pulsed into her, thrusting once, then twice, and going still.

She was panting, as if having run the race of her life. But a smile graced her swollen lips; it was a magnificent rush. She tilted her head back, enjoying the feel of his seed inside of her, the intimacy. He dropped onto her with a great sigh of satisfaction.

She ran her hands down his smooth back, lost in the closeness of their bodies. She wondered if every woman felt this way when loved by a man. She supposed there had to be some feeling, some sense of caring to the physical union. More than just mating.

Mating. She had not considered the possibility of becoming with child. She tossed her worry to the wind. She knew people who tried for years to have children. It was unlikely anything could happen with just one coupling. But she hoped that they would get to do it again and again. And soon. It was too delicious for words. Perhaps she would give up eating and just live off the breathtaking diet of kisses and those crashing sensations. She giggled into his shoulder.

“What do you find so amusing, Evelyn?” he whispered hoarsely into her neck.

“I was just wondering when we could do this again.”

He chuckled softly, his breath tickling the hairs on her neck. “You will be the death of me.”

He pulled out of her, and she felt bereft by the loss. But he curled up next to her on the couch and cuddled close, wrapping his arm about her waist. It was dead weight, but she was not about to complain.

“So you enjoyed that?” he teased.

“Immensely.” She wrinkled her nose. The heavy scent of musk, lavender, and their lovemaking filled the small room. It was an erotic combination.

He snuggled closer and pressed his nose into her shoulder. His breathing deepened, and she realized that he dozed. She smiled into his short, soft hair. He was a dear. Like a little boy after a feast. She snuck a peek down. A pink stain smeared across her lily-white thigh. She resisted the urge to clean it off. She was going to enjoy this haven for as long as possible. She laid her head back and sent a little prayer to heaven—that she remember this glorious feeling of being held in her lover’s arms, sated, well loved—because she knew it would not last. She sighed. Good things never did.

J
ustin threw his cards down, disgusted. “She is not involved, I tell you.”

“Lower your voice, man,” the colonel chided angrily. “My sources indicate otherwise.”

Justin scanned the dark, paneled game room of his favorite club and noted the turned heads. He whispered harshly, “Well, your sources are wrong.”

The older man snorted irritably. “Unlikely.”

“Well, if they are so bloody accurate, why can they not tell us what we need to know about Napoleon’s plot?”

“Have a care to remember who you are talking to, Justin. We do not want to make a delicate situation worse.”

Justin straightened. “What do you mean by that?”

“I am just saying that if you have gotten too soft to be able to handle the matter with objectivity, then I can hand the Amherst girl off to Helderby. I’m sure he could get her to talk.”

Justin’s stomach lurched just thinking of the brawny, coarse fellow that Colonel Wheaton called in for some of his more bloody questioning sessions.

He bit his inner cheek and forced his racing heart to slow. “And if she knows nothing, you imperil her and our branch. The powers that be will not be pleased to have one of their citizens cruelly used.”

Wheaton shrugged and scratched a snowy white sideburn. “War has its casualties. We will recover. We are too valuable.” He flipped his cards and frowned. “She has new legal representation, making all sorts of noises.”

“Who?”

“A Mr. Tuttle.”

“Marlboro’s clerk?”

“The same. He seems to have little respect for the intricacies of governmental affairs.”

“You mean he is not so easily bullied.” Justin scratched his chin. He felt guilty about tying up Evelyn’s inheritance. But if he helped her access her funds, then she would likely leave England. He was not about to let that happen. He would not examine his motives too closely, however, and would just assume, for the moment, that he was doing it simply to serve his government.

“Any sign of Sullivan?” Wheaton asked casually.

“I think he may have tried to contact her, but I have no proof,” Justin answered uneasily. He was beginning to question his paranoia.

The colonel’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Time is wasting. Draw him out.”

“How? I have taken Miss Amherst about, given her a remote location for possible meetings. We have tied up her resources and threatened her future. The man is not biting.”

“Place her in jeopardy.”

Icicles crawled down Justin’s spine. “What are you suggesting?”

“Runaway carriage, kidnapped by rogues, have a madman attack her, you surely know something about that.”

Justin’s body stilled. “What are you insinuating?” The man could not know about George. It was too much to be so deeply in the wily man’s power.

Wheaton peeked from under bushy brows. “That you are good at manipulating a situation. Why? What did you suppose I meant?”

Justin forced his muscles to relax. This was going too far. Withholding Evelyn’s inheritance was one thing, but putting her in real danger on the slim hope that her friend might jump to the rescue was too far-fetched. Too risky. He could not stomach such hazards, not with Evelyn’s life. He shook his head. “There must be another source for ascertaining the information we need.”

The colonel stated quietly, “Helderby.”

Justin leaned back and crossed his arms. There was an undercurrent here he did not understand. Why was the colonel so adamant about this particular course? The man had always been a grand proponent of multiple strategies.

“I dislike the thought as much as you, believe me.” The old man shifted in his seat. “Time is the problem. I will not have Napoleon undermine everything Wellington is trying to accomplish. It’s our watch, Justin. Our duty to guard the realm. I’m not long for this station. I don’t want to be remembered as the man who allowed our financial system to fall.”

So the old man was planning his retirement. He was trying to preserve his legacy. Well, everyone wanted to be remembered well. Justin rubbed his chin, thinking about his great-grandmother’s ring. What had made him give it to Evelyn? He was feeling mortal and a bit unworthy. He was growing more and more afraid of her finding out the truth—that he had set her up for a fall. That he had quite deliberately undermined her claim to her fortune—for what? The vague whispers of a conspiracy designed to devastate the economy seemed insubstantial compared to what he was doing to Evelyn. He was not willing to examine too closely his motives in seducing her. His feelings were too raw as far as she was concerned.

The colonel’s words brought him back to harsh reality. “She is the key to Napoleon’s strategy, I tell you. Do whatever you need to. Draw Sullivan out. But make it happen, or I will do whatever it takes.” Wheaton sniffed. “You know how I hate having my back up against the wall, Barclay, and I am feeling a bit pressed lately.”

Justin was feeling a “bit pressed” as well. But it was not his mother or his duties or his superior that troubled him, but his own disgust with himself about Evelyn. She was, by far, the most amazing woman he’d ever had the good fortune to know; and it was all based on lies. Well, not all of it. Unmindful of his mission, his heart was growing fonder of the lovely lady every day. He tried to tell himself he had no claim to her, had no right to her affection, but his feelings were having other ideas entirely.

He shook his head. He’d be damned if he was going to endanger her life, or worse yet, allow Helderby to lay his vicious hands on her. Just the thought enraged him. “I do not see the benefit to imperiling someone’s life for uncertain gain.”

“If you have a better idea, I am open to hearing your suggestions.”

Justin scowled. “I will think on it.”

“You have two days, Justin. I will not settle for anything less than success. And if you are unequal to the task, I will find someone who has not lost their sense of duty to the Crown.” Wheaton flipped his cards. “My game.”

J
ustin tugged at a knot in Cheshire’s tail, intent on untangling the snarled hair. He was attacking the knot with his fingertips, taking care not to take out his anger with himself on Cheshire. How on earth could the stallion’s tail have become such a knotty mess in such a short time? Entangled, ensnared. He rubbed his aching temples. He was not such a complete fool as to miss that he was thinking of himself.

He could not allow Helderby anywhere near Evelyn, yet he wondered how in heaven he was going to continue on with the nasty charade. It tore at his gut that he was using her so disparagingly, even if she was somehow caught up in this mess. He could not seem to accept the pretense that she might be a threat to his nation. More likely, she was just an innocent bystander to her father’s intrigues. She should not have to pay for her father’s betrayal or her association with her friend Sullivan. And if the piper came for pay…he did not know what he would do.

He rubbed his eyes. He would have to find a way to prove to the colonel that she was not involved. Yet he could not pretend that he was acting honorably. He was so confoundedly disgusted with himself for his conduct thus far. Tying up her inheritance, using his aunt and uncle to pressure her, playing to Evelyn’s goodness, her sympathy about his brother to try to trick her into disclosing information, using his brother’s cherished place to try to get Evelyn to lower her defenses or, better yet, to ambush Sullivan. Worst of all, using her own incredibly sensual passion to ensnare her. And to top it all, taking her innocence. Despite her protestations about marriage or her decision to give herself freely, Justin felt an overwhelming sense of duty to the woman who trusted him so implicitly with her virtue.

He blew out a frustrated breath of air. He was the one feeling captured, almost enchanted, by Evelyn. He could not seem to get the scent of her out of his nostrils. That light lavender mixed with the heady aroma of her desire. She was so confoundedly sensible and intelligent and ridiculously beautiful. And completely uninhibited in her passion. He knew of no other woman like her and realized that he never would. She did not use wiles or trickery or games. She simply was. And that straightforward recipe was proving irresistible to him. He dreaded the possibility that she could discover his treachery. That she would despise him. Moreover, it chilled him to the bone that the colonel considered her so easily disposable.

A ripple of coldness ran through him, distracting him from his troubling thoughts. The hairs on his neck lifted, as if something was very wrong. He dropped Cheshire’s smooth tail, suddenly wary in this place that had always been his haven. A knife whizzed by and slammed into the wood of the stall where his head had just been. Thinking quickly, he crouched low, swiftly searching the darkened stables for his assailant. He listened, trying to hear any indication of the scoundrel over the beating of his racing heart. Cheshire nickered and shifted uneasily.

Justin slipped into the next stall and then out through the gate. His boots crunched on the matted straw. He hunkered down behind bales of hay, trying to quiet his breath so as not to betray his new location, and scanned the shadowed space. Carefully reaching for the pitchfork leaning against the wall, he’d barely grazed the wooden handle with his fingertips when a heavy body crashed into him from behind. Only the soft straw gave some relief to the jarring crash that shook his senses. Meaty hands gripped his shirt, but he tore free and rolled away, lunging for the pitchfork. He grabbed the wood in his hand and whirled to face his attacker.

The man had covered his face with black paint, but his beady eyes gleamed from beneath a low hat like dark diamonds with evil intent. He was beefy and broad, with a square jaw and large hands, and he had at least two stones’ mass on Justin.

Justin balanced the tool, gripping the wooden handle tightly. He quickly assessed the distance and then pounced, putting his full weight behind the strike. The burly man twisted around, but the metal spikes ripped into his back and shoulder.

“Goddam!” he roared. He wrenched the fork from his back so forcefully that it threw Justin off balance and he crashed into the wall. Justin spun and stood just as his opponent barreled down on him, pounding him. Justin’s head slammed into the wooden gate, and stars swam before his eyes. He slumped to the floor, tasting hay and manure.

The door to the stable slammed open into the wooden slats. Suddenly his attacker was gone. Justin lay on the matted floor and listened, trying to catch his shaky breath. All he could hear were the snorts and neighs of disturbed animals and the innocuous sounds of the night. He slowly lifted his head. The stable door swung freely in the wind.

He spit out a stick of straw, flattened his palms on the floor, and pushed himself up. He stood and dusted off his clothes. Every muscle of his body hurt. Walking over to Cheshire’s stall, he stopped and stared at the knife protruding from the wood, then grabbed the handle and yanked. The blade ripped free. He turned it over. It was a classic Japanese tanto shape, the point exactly in line with the spine of the blade and the belly curved. This was a serious weapon, and it left Justin no doubt the threat to him had been real. But not lethal, apparently. If his assailant had been intent on killing him, he had lost his chance when Justin had lain dazed on the floor. The first knife shot had been close, but a master would have had no problem with such a throw.

That meant that this was probably an exercise in intimidation—something Justin knew quite a bit about. He flipped the well-balanced blade in his hand. Was his burly attacker the infamous Sullivan, warning him away from Evelyn? Or had his other inquiries raised some hackles? Regardless, for the moment it meant that he was aiming in the right direction and needed to intensify his efforts. He lifted his coat off the back of the stall door and slipped it on. Carrying the knife in his hand, he strode out the door. He had entered the stables a man in doubt, and he was leaving it with a renewed sense of purpose. He would find the collaborators and end their machinations once and for all. Napoleon’s plot would be halted. By so doing, he also hoped to exonerate Evelyn. And if he could not prove her innocent, well, he prayed that she was not an enemy of the state, for he would leave no traitor standing.