Bold Seduction (6 page)

“As of late, yes, I have. My family tries to understand. Besides, I am not one for parties. Crowds of people overwhelm me. I find it hard to breathe.” Again, he revealed far more than intended. Change the subject or disclose his private inner thoughts? He decided to soldier on. “At times, I think I was adopted, a foundling from an orphanage or as my family often teased, found abandoned on a pile of cordwood. And although a joke, it genuinely terrified me as I was born in early winter and often wondered what would have become of me if my parents hadn’t come along.”

She chuckled, and he was pleased he managed to make a joke. “I am nothing like my family,” he continued. “Both my parents and two brothers are gregarious and social. The house is usually filled with guests. My brothers are quite the handsome rakes and eagerly sought in society. Alas, I do not fit in.” He sipped his wine and gave her a tepid smile. Truthfully, he was better off, too many painful memories of awkward situations kept him well secluded. He preferred it--but not tonight. “Phil. Can you tell me of your past? How did you--well, how--?”

“Did I become a whore? Is that what you want to bloody well know?” she snapped irritably.

Damn.
“It is none of my business. Forget and forgive my crass question.”

Phil shrugged. “No, I will tell you. There is a seamy underbelly to society that most decent people cannot comprehend. My parents died, and at age thirteen, I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They were not bad as guardians go. A little strict and pious perhaps, but I was not ill treated. One late afternoon when I was around fifteen years of age, my aunt and I were about to catch a train to visit her sister in Brighton.” Phil paused and began to rub her hands nervously, as if uncomfortable revealing her past. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and continued. “While on the platform my aunt realized she had neglected to buy the right class of ticket. We were about to head to the ticket window when a well-dressed, older lady stepped forward and offered to watch over me while my aunt attended her task. My aunt agreed. I was then led behind a pillar where a foul-smelling cloth covered my face. When next I awoke, I found myself in a brothel in Belfast.”

Horrified, Spence’s mouth dropped open. “My God.”

“Yes. Thankfully, the madam in charge of the place was not an absolute reprobate. The next several months, I trained and got brought into the life slowly. What could I do, run? I was in a strange country with no money. The best way to make coin? Be a whore.” Phil let the statement dangle there. She crossed her arms in defiance as if daring him to react. He didn’t. “Therefore, I did become a whore. I made a vow. Never would I be one of those poor unfortunates begging for a quick three-shilling-tup in a smelly alley. I would make damn sure I had a roof over my head and food in my belly. By the time I turned eighteen, I had saved enough money to head home. To say my aunt and uncle were not best pleased to see me is an understatement.”

She frowned, taking a great gulp of wine. Spence could not believe this. Her story had the makings of a dark tale written by Dickens. Did such things happen? Innocents taken into slavery. It boggled his mind. His heart swelled in sympathy and compassion.

He reached for her hand and held it tight, his thumb stroked the top. “You told them what happened. You could hardly be blamed.”

Her lower lip quivered. The first sign of vulnerability from her and it warmed his heart. “To them, I sinned beyond all redemption. I was a fallen woman, a jezebel, a whore. They tossed me out and claimed they never wanted to see me again. Yes, it hurt. But I walked away from their house in Cheapside and immediately found one of the best brothels in the west of London. I had no other skills. No other recourse. No one else to turn to. I took responsibility for my own life, and I haven’t looked back.”

A tear trailed down her flushed cheek. Spence did not give comfort to people, it meant touching and offering “there, there” platitudes he often did not feel. The rush of emotions that flooded him at this moment--stunned him. He gathered her in his embrace, stroking her luxuriant black hair hanging loose about her shoulders. Tucking her head under his chin, he decided for once to be compassionate. She cried quietly into his shirt…And he let her.

* * * *

At first, Spence’s embrace revealed the stiff awkwardness of a man not used to offering comfort. Then he touched her hair, and he softened all around her, encasing her in his tenderness. How Phil longed to be held in a true embrace of warmth, rather than want and lust. She burrowed her nose into his crisp, linen shirt, inhaling the wondrous scent he emanated. Sandalwood, spice, and a musky masculine aroma that soothed as well as aroused her. The tears would not stop. They curled down her cheeks no doubt, drenching his fine shirt. She did not sob hysterically, but cried a cleansing release of everything she had held in for such a long time.

In all these years she had never spoke of her past to anyone. Why to Spencer Hornsby? A man she had known barely two days. The time seemed longer. Perhaps after witnessing his vulnerable reaction to spending in his trousers she allowed the thorns around her heart not to be quite as tight, tangled, and painful.

Phil grabbed a handful of his shirt and moved closer. How she wanted him. An overwhelming need to push him on his back, straddle and ride him until they both cried from blessed carnal relief, clouded her sensibilities. No man stirred such passion in her before. It scared as well as surprised her. No, she would take things slow. Build up to what she now understood would be a soul-shattering experience between them, which gave her a good deal of pause. Things between them moved far too swift. Neither of them should read too much into this. But she couldn’t help it. All these years, she’d never experienced this--whatever “this” was.

Stroking his chest, she marveled at the solidness of him. More muscle there than she would have guessed. Would he welcome a kiss? He did not want it yesterday. With a slow ascent, she curled her hand around his neck and pulled him toward her parted lips. He allowed it. His blue-gem eyes glittered with all manner of emotions such as surprise, desire, and trepidation. With the barest of contact, her mouth brushed against his perfect one. The reaction could only be described as scorching.

Spence froze as if not sure what to do. Phil nibbled on his full lower lip, savoring the supple feel of it. “Cup my face with your hands and stare into my eyes. Make me believe this kiss is all-encompassing and needed for your very existence,” she instructed.

“It is,” his deep, husky voice answered.

Oh.
That caused a few more tears to escape the corner of her eyes. He did as she directed. His hands radiated warmth and strength. Sparks moved through her as he stroked her cheeks and jaw.

“Kiss me, Spence,” she pleaded.

Capturing her lips with his, he tilted his head to the side and delved deeper. He did so by degrees, and when she darted her tongue out to touch his, he started, then moaned and followed her lead.

It went on for some time as they both explored, their tongues dancing together with perfect symmetry. The longer the kiss lasted the bolder Spence became. He all but devoured her, and she gave it all back and more. Phil sensed his confidence grow with each nibble and lick of his glorious lips. Slowly he pulled back, looking down at her with awe. “Is it always like this?”

She shook her head. “I don’t kiss as a rule, but no. I’ve never…ever. No.” She caressed his cheek, her thumb stroking the perfect carve of the bone. “Haven’t you kissed anyone before?”

“Once, at fifteen. I made quite the specimen with my lanky legs and arms. I also hadn’t grown into my nose as yet, though I wonder if I ever have. I kissed an earl’s daughter by the hedgerow. A sloppy disaster, as I acted like an overeager puppy. She laughed and ridiculed me in front of the others. It was a social gathering, you see. I suppose that could be pinpointed as the moment I began to abhor parties, crowds, and young misses. I vowed to avoid them at all costs.”

His poignantly spoken words touched her heart. She could picture what he described. The awkward young man who flushed with embarrassment while everyone pointed and laughed. Children could be cruel. Should they continue kissing? Perhaps not, already her body overheated with desire and it overwhelmed her senses. More wine. A moment to breathe and collect her thoughts. Slow and deliberate would win the game. Only this was neither a game nor an assignment any longer. From the moment she’d heard his glorious cello-sounding voice she’d been lost. Captivated by his innocence and inexperience, stunned at her reaction to his tall, angular frame and enthralling face, how astonishing to find a generous and passionate heart lurked within this man of academic intellect.

If she did not remain vigilant, she would be carried away on a wave of emotion. It could not even be considered. A learned son of a duke would not be the fit companion for a prossie of dubious morals. Sadness covered her as she reached for the wine and poured them both more. She passed him the glass.

“Then we shall do all we can to banish such painful memories.”

She meant every word.

Spencer Hornsby had experienced all conceivable emotions through his thirty years of life. A sensitive boy, other children innately seemed to sense it. They honed in on it as a weakness, which made him an easy target for ridicule. Not as good-looking as his older brothers, Harry and Tremain, at least they did not treat him cruelly through their childhood as the other children had.

Through the spitefulness of others, he’d learned to remove himself from feeling much of anything. At this moment, sipping wine with Phil, the walls tumbled down and feelings long hidden away reemerged into his conscious with all the power of a tidal wave.

Caution would be needed. He was intelligent enough to know it would not be wise to expect more from this brief encounter. From what Phil told him, she had been hurt in her past. How could she not be? Taken from her guardians and her innocence ripped away, she’d adjusted to her life state in order to survive. Brave, courageous woman. He admired her. Hell, he
liked
her. He did not give a damn that she was a prostitute. Instead, he thought her the most fascinating woman he had ever met. Very well, he did not have many females in his acquaintance, but met enough through the years to be able to make a competent judgment.

Phil asked him more about Theodora and Justinian, the historical figures, not the dogs. For the next hour he narrated the facts as a story. She gave him her rapt attention, her eyes shined with interest. They had drained the wine bottle and eaten all the small cakes. His stomach roiled at the sugary sweetness, but he did not care.

“Spence, I must confess. Your voice does things to me. From the first time I heard it. I could listen to you speak on any subject, not to say what you’ve been talking about isn’t interesting. You should be on stage. I adore your voice.”

The praise pleased him. He never gave his tone much thought before as he rarely spoke to anyone beyond a few sentences.

“I am contemplating teaching as an option if Oxford University will accept my research when it is completed.”

“You claim you do not like crowds. Could you stand before a room full of students eager to hang on your every word?” she asked.

“There is a difference between a crowd and an audience. You can become lost in a throng. However, an audience is there for you, a validation of what you have to say. Everyone is focused and interested. There is not much personal interaction, which suits my purposes. Regardless, to know you can make a difference in others lives, I cannot imagine anything finer.”

Phil leaned in close. He caught another waft of lavender. “Would it be a terrible thing if I asked for another kiss?” she whispered.

Those long forgotten emotions snapped to life once again. Spence pulled her across his lap, his cock hardening at the contact. He curled her in close to his chest, leaned down, and kissed her thoroughly. God, the taste of her. Like molten honey. He could not get enough. Closing his eyes, he savored the flavor. Several minutes passed.

“Kiss me here, Spence.”

His eyes opened. She had unbuttoned her gown to her waist, her chemise pulled down to show a vast expanse of creamy, lush cleavage. He could not stop the groan from leaving his throat.

“Explore, touch my breasts. Rub the nipples into hard peaks. Put your mouth on them and suck.”

Again, that precipitous dip rolled through him as his peak moved within reach. He did not want to climax--not yet. He had never touched a woman’s breasts before, nor did they hold any fascination for him. Until tonight. His brothers and friends seemed enamored of them as they spoke of them enough. Now he understood what they meant.

Pulling on her chemise, he ripped it and caused a throaty laugh to escape Phil. Strawberry colored nipples poked forward in invitation.

He halted. What if he made a hash of this seduction, which seemed to be progressing by its own free will? She gave instruction to a professor who knew nothing at all regarding the carnal acts between a man and a woman. Except what his older brothers had shared with him over the years. More than a few of their exploits were blush-inducing, and he often wondered if they exaggerated the salacious content to see to what extent they could shock him.

Glancing down, he caught the gaze of her tea-brown eyes. Did he notice something swimming in their depths? Did he catch of glimpse of what he surmised could be a cheap whore’s seduction? She studied him like a bug under glass as if awaiting his next move. Queasiness moved through him mixed with an uneasiness that stoked his annoyance.

The passion that roared in him dissolved and replaced with his lingering doubt. All this reeked of the distinct odor of mendacity. How easily he had forgotten her profession and why the woman came here in the first place. Spence clutched the torn cloth and covered her exposed breasts.

Phil’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What is it?”

He removed her from his lap, pushing her away until she sat upright. “I am not a man who wishes to be trifled with. You were hired to do a job, and I must say thus far you have performed most ably and shown yourself to be highly skilled. I must commend you.”