Cheryl Holt (14 page)

As she floated down, as consciousness reasserted itself, she was cradled in his arms. He was preening and smug, as if he’d explained the world’s mysteries, and in a way, he had.

“What was that?” She struggled to regain her usual aplomb, which was impossible. She was mostly naked,
the bodice and hem of her dress bunched at her waist, her bosom and loins exposed to the cool evening air.

He leaned in, his warm breath tickling her ear. “The French call it the
petit mort.”

She grappled with the foreign phrase, and when she deciphered it, she shuddered at how apt it sounded. “The little death?”

“Yes.”

“Can you make it happen more than once?”

“My beauty, I can make it
happen
as often as you like.”

She collapsed onto the pillow to stare up at the ceiling, and she rippled with unease. Her anatomy was so keen to recommence that she felt as if she’d ingested a dangerous drug, as if she was addicted from a single application.

What had she set in motion? How fast could it whirl out of her control?

She glared at him. “This is the
secret
of the marital bed, isn’t it?”

“One of them.”

“There are more?”

“Many.”

She was aghast. Before they were through, she’d have no scruples left, would have no self-respect. In order to repeat the experience, she’d merrily attempt any shameful conduct he suggested.

No wonder females were so carefully sheltered and chaperoned. They had to be kept from learning the truth! If she’d had any notion that such riotous behaviors could be enjoyed with a man, there was no telling what paths she might have chosen!

Without intending to, she yawned. “I’m so tired.”

“Pleasure can be rather draining.”

“I might take a nap. Just for a minute.”

“By all means,” he wisely concurred. “You should rest up for the second round.”

Rapidly she drifted away, the strenuous activity leaving her exhausted. “Don’t go anywhere,” she mumbled.

“I won’t. When you awaken, I’ll be right here.”

He was arranging her clothes, lowering her skirt and straightening her chemise. There was a knitted throw at the foot of the bed, and he drew it up and nestled them in a cozy cocoon, with her spooned against him.

She’d never felt so protected, so cherished. She smiled and slept, too weary to ponder how she’d ever face him the next day.

  9  

Suzette DuBois loosened her corset as she listened for Nicholas Marshall in the hall outside her dressing room. He stopped by before and after each performance, so she was expecting him and eager to put on a good show.

The oaf was thick as a brick—all men were, which was a fact she’d deduced early on in her nineteen years of living—but he was wealthier than most, a heartbeat away from being an earl, and he wanted her so desperately. Meeting him was the best thing that had happened to her since she’d moved to London at age ten.

As opposed to other females who traveled to the city, seeking fame and fortune, Fate had been kind to her. With her red hair and green eyes, her curvaceous figure and fascinating face, she looked exotic and foreign, and she captivated every man with whom she spoke. Her ability to fake a French accent didn’t hurt, either.

She was extremely popular with the masses who laid down their hard-earned coins to watch her sing and dance, but she didn’t intend to work forever. Actually,
she didn’t intend to work for even the next few days, if she could get her finances arranged.

For an eternity she’d been trolling for a rich patron, and she was so near to achieving her goal. Nick was about to make her every dream come true.

He pretended penury, but he was a member of a disgustingly affluent family, and he’d ultimately cough up the money she was demanding. By allying herself with him she saw years of profit. She’d have a grand residence, a huge allowance, fabulous clothes to wear, and delicious foods to eat. She’d be a powerhouse in the demimonde. People would flock to her parties, would vie to be her friend, all in the hopes that a relationship would bring them closer to Nick and the rewards that could be gleaned through an acquaintance with him.

She grinned with avarice. She would have it all. And soon.

Her older sister, Peg, stomped in and nagged, “Nell, where are my stockings you borrowed?”

“Hush!” she scolded. “Nick will be here any second. You must call me Suzette.”

“Suzette!” Peg grumbled. “You’ve been
Nell
to me for twenty bloomin’ years. I’m not about to change at this late date.”

“Do you want the money I promised you or not?”

“Yes, I want it.”

“Then call me Suzette—or bugger off!”

Their father—a handsome con artist—had been French. He’d hung around long enough for his children to learn a bit of his language and habits; then he’d vanished.

After he’d abandoned them, their mum had died in
childbirth. Nell’s siblings had been scattered to the four winds, with her and Peg heading out to find employment. While Peg cursed their father at every turn, Nell quietly thanked him for the flair and charm she’d inherited. Her flamboyance had gotten her far in the world and would take her even farther.

Footsteps sounded, and they both paused, Peg’s brow raised in question as to who was approaching, and Nell nodded. It was definitely Nick.

“Stand behind my chair,” she hissed, and she sat and scooted around to give him a better view as she jerked off her corset and tossed it on the floor.

From the waist down, she was clad in a pair of the frilly drawers and the spiky heels that drove him wild. Her upper torso was bare.

They waited until they were sure he was peeking through the crack in the door. Then Nell reached over her shoulders and guided Peg’s hands to her breasts. Peg massaged them as Nell writhed with false ecstasy.

She and her sister were no strangers to sexual dalliance, weren’t adverse to philandering together—if the price was right. They’d do anything for cash, and they often catered to the odd carnal whims of various gentlemen of the Quality.

They both grasped how excited a man could become by observing two women, how quickly desire could override common sense. Nick was such an easy mark. Once Nell was through, he’d be willing to commit any deed to purchase her favors.

“Oh,
chéri
, oh, Peg,” she breathed, “I love what you do to me.”

“I can’t resist you, Suzette,” Peg claimed, and she could scarcely keep from giggling at the ludicrous
charade. “Even though it’s wrong, even though it’s shameful, I can’t stay away.”

“Touch me, Peg. You know how I like it.”

Peg rounded the chair and knelt between Nell’s thighs. They enjoyed a passionate kiss, complete with tongues engaged. After a lengthy embrace, Peg slipped a hand inside Nell’s drawers, and she stroked Nell’s privates. Nell flexed her hips, exaggerating her thrusting, sighing and moaning with great relish.

“You feel wonderful,” Peg murmured, slithering a wicked finger inside Nell’s sheath.

“For you, Peg. Only for you.”

Delighted by Peg’s amorous talents, she urged Peg to her nipple. Peg was an exceptional lover, and as they carried on, Nell wished they had a few minutes alone where they could finish what they’d started.

“You’ll always be mine, won’t you, Suzette?” Peg frantically queried. “I can’t let any man have you! Not after you’ve shown me how it can be between us!”

“I’m yours, Peg. Yours forever.”

They’d pushed Nick to his limit, and he burst in. She and Peg whipped around in surprise, and Peg put on a magnificent display. Acting terrified, she stumbled to her feet, as Nell rushed to tug on her costume, hiding every lush detail that he wasn’t permitted to see until he paid through the nose.

“Beg pardon, milord,” Peg stammered, pretending she thought him to be a titled nobleman, which she knew would puff him up. “I didn’t realize anyone was there.”

“You bloody well didn’t, you sick pervert,” he admonished. “Be off, before I summon the law and have you arrested for your depravities.”

“Please, sir, no,” she entreated. “I’m a good girl, I am. Suzette has just. . . just. . .”

She covered her face, gave a theatrical wail of despair, then fled. Nell and Nicholas watched her go, his anger and arousal billowing off him in waves. He was titillated by the exhibition, and more keen than ever to set Suzette up as his mistress.

Oh, it was like taking candy from a baby!

“Why are you here?” she protested. “I asked you not to return.”

“And I told you that you can’t keep me away.” He grabbed her and shook her. “I won’t have you debasing yourself with that hussy, do you hear me?”

“I love Peg,” she declared. “I can’t live without her!”

“If you feel the need for a swivving, you’ll have my fat prick between your legs, and not some whore’s puny fingers.”

“You have no right to order me about.”

“I will have the right,” he vowed. “Very soon.”

She yanked away so that he wouldn’t see her smile of satisfaction. “Does this mean you’ve found the money?”

“I. . . I. . . yes.”

“What did you do? Rob a bank?”

“I’m planning to marry.”

“Really?” she taunted. “There’s been no gossip about your eminent self being betrothed.”

“It’s not. . . official yet.”

“Hah! Then it’s naught but a lie—as you’ve spewed before.”

“I’m serious this time.”

“Of course you are.” She rolled her eyes, then feigned sympathy. “Give it up,
mon ami\
You can’t afford me. You’ll never be able to afford me. Stop torturing yourself.”

“It will be arranged by tomorrow,” he contended.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

The stage manager was calling to the actors, the curtain about to rise.

“I have to go,” she advised. “This argument is over.”

She shoved past him, when he stunned her by reaching into his purse and pulling out a gaudy bracelet. He seized her arm and clasped it around her wrist, and she did a hasty evaluation.

It seemed genuine, with a dangly gold band and huge red stones that she suspected were rubies. It was likely worth a fortune, and she conjectured as to how he’d come by it. Had he stolen it? Was he that obsessed? How marvelous if he was!

Well, she hoped he—or whoever had parted with it—wasn’t too attached to the pretty bauble. If it was authentic, she’d sell the gems for cash; then she’d have an exact replica created to wear when he was around.

“What’s this?” She snickered, studying the bracelet as if it were the ugliest thing she’d ever seen.

“Consider it a down payment—for future services I’ll demand you perform. Perhaps I’ll require you and your degenerate friend to join me in my bed. Together!” As if she should be frightened or disgusted, he leered, appearing much like a pervert, himself.

“It will take more than these paltry jewels to make me consent.”

“You’ll have more. By tomorrow. You’re about to have more than you could ever spend.”

“So you say.”

“So I know,” he retorted.

His conviction had her thinking that maybe he was
about to wed, and she couldn’t imagine what sensible female would have him. He was attractive enough, and connected to a prominent family, but his annoying qualities were so blatant. Who could tolerate him?

Had he forced himself on somebody? Had he ruined some girl against her will? If so, Nell was suitably impressed. She’d never envisioned him having the courage to perpetrate such a dastardly deed.

The stage manager hollered again, and she strolled out, her new bracelet shimmering under the lamps.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Me?” Ellen chuckled and shuffled her cards, unable to look Rebecca in the eye and needing the distraction for her hands.

In light of the sordid meetings she’d been having with Alex, it was impossible to tarry in Rebecca’s company, and at all costs, she avoided socializing. If Rebecca ever learned how Ellen had betrayed her, she’d be crushed, yet Ellen couldn’t desist with her torrid affair.

Humiliating as it was to acknowledge, she was a fallen woman, so weak of character and moral constitution that she’d succumbed to the advances of the first man to evince the slightest interest.

Granted, he was more striking and dynamic than any fellow ought to be, so she wouldn’t chastise herself too harshly. What woman would have been immune to such charisma and charm? Under the circumstances, who could have behaved any better? Ellen would have had to be forged of stone to resist him—at least that’s how she was justifying her despicable conduct.