Earls Just Want to Have Fun (25 page)

As she'd hoped, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. She might have felt vulnerable and a little frightened if he hadn't kept his kisses light and teasing. There was nothing hurried in him. He acted as though they had all the time in the world. It did seem as though time had stopped somehow. Hours or days might have passed, and she didn't care, because she was in his arms. His lips skimmed her neck and down to her shoulder, and she felt more spirals of warmth spin through her. “Dane.” She sighed his name, and he lifted his head.

“My name is Maxwell.”

She blinked at him, her head altogether too fuzzy to make sense of his words immediately. “I can hardly call you
Maxwell
.” She said his name in an accent the queen might have used.

“I doubt you'll be saying much of anything in a few moments, but if you must scream my name, you may use Max. My good friends call me that.”

“You have friends?”

“Stop talking.” He lowered his mouth to skim his lips down her arm, teasing the inside of her elbow, and she had no trouble obeying his order. But when he took her hard nipple into his mouth and suckled, she could not stop herself from crying out. She arched her hips, and for the first time, felt the hard length of him. It was not an unpleasant sensation, feeling it press against her intimately, and she gripped his hips and held him in place. “You are killing me,” he said against her, his breath making her skin pebble. “But I am determined.”

“Determined?” she asked. Her voice sounded like it was from a dream, almost as though it belonged to someone else.

“To give you pleasure.” And then his hand slid from where it cupped her bubbies down to her belly and even lower. He lifted his body, and his erection was replaced by the warmth of his hand. He cupped her, stroked her, and she could not stop herself from squirming. His fingers moved expertly over her heated skin, and she forgot to be embarrassed about where he was touching her.

“May I?” he asked. She had no idea what he wanted her permission for this time, but she nodded vigorously. His finger slid inside her, and she bucked at the invasion. She had not known that was the sensation she was looking for, but she stopped squirming and waited for what he would do next. Her body seemed to be coiling, anticipating. He slid out of her and pressed his finger up and over a most sensitive spot. She had not even known it was there, but when he circled it, she cried out.

“Max!”

“Shall I stop?”

“I'll kill you if you do.”

His fingers slid into her again, this time two fingers, and his thumb worked the little nub. She should have been embarrassed that her hips would not stay still on the bed, but she did not care. There was something more she wanted. Something very, very good at the end of this. He slid in and out, his thumb never ceasing its work, until finally an intense heat crept from her belly into her legs and exploded.

Her entire body was wracked with tiny sparks of the most delicious sensation. She threw her head back and allowed herself to enjoy it, gripping the material of his greatcoat so she might hold on to something and anchor herself. Slowly, so very slowly, the sparks faded, leaving her drowsy and heavy with pleasure.

Dane was smiling down at her. “You have the biggest grin on your face.”

“Did you know about that?” she asked.

“About orgasm? Yes. You didn't?”

She shook her head. “I can see why everyone is so eager to swive, if that's how it feels.”

He chuckled. “I would tell you it is not always like that, but it would be purely self-congratulatory. I hope I'm not so vain.”

“Must I answer that?”

“Please don't.” His face grew more serious. “I don't want to stop, but—”

She put a finger over his lips. “Then don't. Aren't you going to take any of your clothing off?”

He stood, and she watched as he tugged at his neckcloth, his coat, and finally managed to pull his shirt over his head. Now she understood why he'd wanted more light. She had seen his chest before, seen the hard, defined ridges and planes, and she wanted to see it again. Even more, she wanted to see what lay under his trousers. He sat, pulled off his boots, and she summoned the strength to sit too. She ran a hand over his back, liking the way the smooth skin felt under her fingertips. There was so much strength in him, and she bent and kissed his broad shoulders. He turned quickly, surprising her, and claimed her mouth. His kisses were no longer playful and teasing, and if she hadn't had the most wonderful—what had he called it?—orgasm earlier, she might have been afraid. But she knew what to expect now. She knew what was coming, and she kissed him back with all that she had. He groaned, and instead of retreating, he deepened the kiss, taking her breath and leaving her panting with need when he broke away.

He stood, unfastened his trousers, and slid them off. She couldn't stop herself from looking at that part of him that so fascinated her. She'd never seen one aroused, and it looked quite large and quite hard. “Can I…” She reached out a hand tentatively then looked into his face. “Can I touch it?”

“Please.” His voice was low and harsh.

She extended one finger and slid it over the tip. It was smoother than she'd anticipated, and velvety. She pressed two fingers against him and ran them up and down the length of him. He was warm and alive, and he moved in her hand.

“Like this,” he said, wrapping her hand around himself and showing her how to stroke him. She did as he showed her, and his breathing grew rapid. She watched his face, intrigued at the effect her strokes had on him. And then suddenly he gripped her hand. “Lie back.”

He'd asked her permission for everything thus far, and the abrupt order caught her off guard. She did as he asked, though. Now would be the moment he jumped on her. But he stood looking down at her, hands clenched. And then, with deliberate slowness, he slid his body over hers. The feel of his skin against hers made every single inch of her come alive. Every part of her warmed and sparked and cried for his touch. “Yes,” she murmured, running her hands up his naked back and loving the feel of his skin under her fingertips.

She could feel the hard length of him between her legs, but he didn't push into her. Instead, he kissed her again, his mouth surprisingly tender on hers. She kissed him back, eagerness and need warring within her, and he matched her passion with his own. His hands were everywhere, stroking her, arousing her, feeding her desire. And then his fingers were on that small, sensitive spot again, and she bucked up, wanting more pressure, more of him.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against her shoulder. His fingers still played her, and now her body knew the tune. Her legs slipped open, and her hips arched. “I want to make you mine,” he said, his voice husky and low, his breath warm on her skin.

“Yes. I'm yours,” she said as the first stirrings of pleasure erupted where his fingers stroked her.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes!” Pleasure slammed through her, even stronger than before. The tidal wave carried her over, and just when it seemed to peak, she felt him hot and hard at her entrance. She could not help but push against him, and he slipped inside, filling her. More heat swirled within her, and she bowed back, helpless against the onslaught.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, and then he thrust into her. She felt the pain amidst the pleasure, but when she might have cried out against it, his thumb found her, and she cried out in ecstasy instead. Gingerly, he moved, filling her and retreating, and though there was pain, she was numb from the ebbing pleasure.

She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, and what she saw in his face made what little breath she had in her lungs whoosh out. He was being so gentle with her. His jaw was tight, his face strained as he strove to control himself. He didn't want to hurt her. He cared enough about her that he wanted nothing but pleasure for her.

She tried to push away the feeling swelling within her. She tried to focus on the way he filled her or the last vestiges of pain when he moved. But despite her best efforts, she could not stop the wave of love from crashing over her. And when he came, murmuring her name in a voice so sweet and vulnerable, she closed her eyes against the sudden tears. He withdrew, spilling his seed on the bedclothes in an effort to prevent her from becoming with child. And that too made her love him. How could she not?

And then when he gathered her into his arms, whispering apologies because she was crying, the last ice around her heart melted. She gave her heart to him, completely, knowing he could not help but break it.

Dane held Marlowe and felt like an absolute arse. She was crying. He'd hurt her, and he wanted to hate himself for that. But he couldn't regret what had happened between them. He'd enjoyed it far too much, enjoyed her response too much. He was no virgin, but he'd never experienced anything like what they'd just shared. He was no libertine, so perhaps his experience was too limited. Still, he could not have ever imagined feeling the way he'd felt—the way he still felt—in Marlowe's arms. He never wanted to let her go, and God knew the bed was probably dirty and the room was dark and musty and so he should be glad to escape it. But he would have stayed here for the rest of his life, if it meant being with her.

The thought was terrifying. The strength of what he felt for her was terrifying.

He rose on his elbows and looked down at her. In the dim light of the room, it was difficult to see her expression. He could feel the wetness on his thumb when he rubbed it across her cheek. “I was too rough. Forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” Her voice was steady, indicating she had probably stopped crying. “There's nothing to forgive.”

“But I hurt you.”

“Only a little. It was worth it for the other.”

He frowned. “Then why were you crying?”

She sat, pushing herself up. He continued to hold her loosely, sitting with her. “Oh, that. Ridiculous, I know.” And she shrugged. Dane doubted he would learn any more about it from her. Whatever the reason, she didn't want to say. “I won't cry next time.”

Dane felt all the breath whoosh out of him. “Next time?”

“Unless you don't want to.”

“Oh, I want to. I'd take you again now if I didn't think I'd hurt you.” It was true. He should have had his fill of her, but his hunger for her had only increased.

She yawned. “I would not mind a nap. I had no idea swiving could be like that. It's the best thing in the world.”

Dane didn't consider himself an arrogant man—or no more arrogant than the rest of his sex—but his chest puffed up at her words.

“Except tea cakes,” she said.

“Tea cakes?” He frowned.

“And clotted cream. Oh, and bacon. I adore bacon. But besides those…oh, and ices! I did enjoy the ices you bought at Gunther's.”

Before she could continue with her list, which he was beginning to gather was rather extensive, he rose. “I've never had to compete with food stuffs before. I suppose as long as I keep you fed, I have nothing to worry about.”

“Speaking of food—”

A tap on the door interrupted her, and they both braced in surprise. “Yes?” Dane called, feeling for his clothing and pulling his trousers on.

“He's here.” Barbara's whispered words floated through the door. “And he asked about you.”

“Keep him here, Barbara. We'll be out in a moment.” Marlowe had jumped up too and was floundering to dress. Dane was not used to dressing by himself, and she was done before him. She helped him squeeze into his tight coat and brushed his hair back from his forehead.

“Do I look like the son of a duke?”

“You don't look like one of us,” she said, running a hand over the expensive material of his coat. “Let's go.”

She led the way along the dark hallway and back into the public rooms. When they reached it, Dane knew immediately who Satin was. He'd never seen the man, but there was no mistaking who had the power and command of the place. The dark-haired man sat in the center of the room. He obviously felt secure enough of his power that he didn't need to put his back to the wall. He had nothing to fear.

His hair was oily and stringy, and it was difficult to tell if the mop on his head was black or simply coated with grime. His clothing was better quality than the others in the Rouge Unicorn Cellar, but it too was wrinkled and dingy with dirt. He'd been sneering at the prostitute on his lap, but when Dane entered, he looked up and swatted the girl on the bottom. The slap was hard enough to echo throughout the room. Dane felt a strange tingle creep along his spine as the crime lord surveyed him with those small eyes. No wonder Marlowe feared him. Dane would have stayed away from him, if only he had any other choice.

Marlowe started forward, and Dane followed her. Satin must have seen her coming, but he didn't take his gaze off Dane.

At the crime lord's table, Marlowe paused. “Satin.”

He flicked his gaze at her and then back to Dane. “Didn't think I'd see you here. Not after our last conversation.” The threat in his tone was there for all to hear.

Dane wanted to pull her behind him, protect her, but he could see she had been right to warn him not to show any affection for her. This Satin was a man who would use any and every weakness.

“We can talk about that, if you like.”

His nose flared. “Oh, we'll
talk
about it plenty.”

Marlowe looked unfazed by the obvious anger Satin was holding back. “But I knew you'd be interested in what Lord Maxwell has to say.”

Satin's brows rose on the mention of his invented title. But it wouldn't be so easy to gain the man's cooperation. The crime lord's brows lowered, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Dane decided it was time he played his part.

“Am I to stand here all day like a footman?” he asked, doing his best imitation of a dandy. “I vow I haven't stood this much since the races at Ascot.”

Marlowe rolled her eyes, and Dane hoped it was part of her act. Either that or he'd just made a fool of himself. “Can we sit?” she asked Satin.

The crime lord gestured to the empty chair across from him. Dane took it, forcing Marlowe to fetch another and carry it from a nearby table. She turned it, sitting with her arms draped across the back.

“So listen, old boy,” Dane said when Marlowe was seated. “This gel says you're the man to see for the business I have in mind.”

“Is that so?” Satin didn't blink.

“Don't know if I trust her or you, so I'm taking an awful risk coming here.” He gave the room a disdainful look. “Who knows what sorts of diseases I could catch.” He withdrew his handkerchief and covered his nose.

“Must be important business for you to take such a chance.”

“It is,” Marlowe said. “But there are too many ears here. Maybe we should take Lord Maxwell to your personal rooms?”

“No.” Satin looked around. “What does it take for a man to get a little privacy? Get out, all of ye, and I'll consider not slitting yer throats.”

The few patrons still drinking grumbled, but Barbara shooed them out then disappeared herself. Dane caught Marlowe's eye, and she nodded. Apparently, she considered the fact that they were now alone with Satin a point in their favor. Dane thought it made them easier to kill. Fewer witnesses.

Satin looked at them. “You said you had business to discuss.”

Dane nodded. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“I told you,” Marlowe said. “If you want the job done, there's no one better.”

“And how do I know he won't take all the loot for himself?” Dane didn't miss the way Satin's eyes widened at the use of
loot
.

“This some sort of better-racket?” Satin asked. “There's no one who can pull off a better-racket like me.”

Dane nodded. Satin was interested now, probably far more interested than he allowed them to see. Dane made a show of looking about for eavesdroppers, then he lowered his voice. “I'm the youngest son of the Duke of Yorkshire. You know of him?”

“Course,” Satin said, which was a blatant lie.

“Then you know he's one of the wealthiest men in England. Been known to loan the king a few thousand pounds when His Majesty is running low, if you know what I mean.”

“A topping fellow,” Satin said with a nod. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I am the youngest son. I have eight older brothers, as well as assorted sisters. My share of the fortune will be very, very small.”

“Some fortune is better than none.”

“True, but I have never been good at economy, and I do enjoy a night at the faro tables.”

A smug smile crossed Satin's face. Dane had to keep from smiling himself, because he knew now that he had the crime lord.

“So ye've given out yer vowels.”

“And I haven't the funds to back them,” Dane said.

“Not very gentleman-like,” Satin said with a look at Marlowe. “But then you don't strike me as a loggerhead.” Satin's gaze was still on Marlowe, and Dane glanced over at her. He clenched his hands on his knees under the table, because to his eye—and most certainly to Satin's—Marlowe looked thoroughly debauched. Her lips were swollen and red, her cheeks high with color, and her throat was blotchy and red from the stubble on his chin. There was little doubt what they'd been doing before Satin arrived. If Dane had not already vowed to take her out of this place, he would have vowed it now. No telling what ideas Satin was forming as he looked at her.

“My father refuses to help me, and I've always believed God helps those who help themselves.”

Satin looked back at him. “That He does. But what's all this to do with me?”

Dane looked at Marlowe, acting as though he did not want to speak of such a sordid business. Marlowe leaned forward. “Lord Maxwell has learned that the duke has some plum items waiting at a warehouse on the river.”

“What sort of items?”

“Priceless antiquities,” Dane added. “Coins, jewels, art from the Continent. They arrived on a merchant ship a few days ago.”

“Why are they sitting in a warehouse on the docks?”

That was a good question, and one he and Marlowe had not discussed. He shot her a look, and she said, “Because the duke is not in London to claim them.”

Satin frowned. “Why not? Isn't this the time of year when all the swells dress up and parade before the king and queen?”

Marlowe opened her mouth to respond, but Dane interrupted before she sank them further. “It is the height of the Season, but none of my sisters are debutantes this year, and my father has gone to”—he remembered Lord and Lady Lyndon—“hunt in Scotland. He won't be back for another few days.”

“And what am I supposed to do with jewels and art? Sell 'em to a rag-and-bones shop?”

“I know where to sell them, if you can lay hands on the items.”

“This warehouse guarded?”

Dane shrugged. “Nothing you cannot handle, if what Miss Marlowe says is true.”

Satin crossed his arms. “What's my cargo?”

Dane pretended to consider. “I'm prepared to give you thirty percent.”

“Fifty. I'm the one risking my hide. I should get half.”

“Forty, and that's my final offer. Forty percent is a fortune, I assure you.”

Satin stuck out his hand, and Dane looked at it curiously. It was dark with dirt and grime, the nails long, yellow, and ragged. Keeping his gloves on, Dane shook the criminal's hand. “We act tonight,” he said, standing.

“Why the hurry?” Satin asked.

“I have debts to pay. If you don't think you can be ready, I can find—”

“He'll be ready,” Marlowe interjected.

“Good.” Dane looked at her, waiting for her to rise, and belatedly realized she hadn't moved. Satin had a hand on her pale wrist, keeping her in place. Dane stared at that hand for a long moment, wanting to rip it off, but he gritted his teeth and lifted his eyes instead. “I'll meet you there.” He gave the address. “Say midnight?”

Satin nodded. “I'll be waiting.”

***

Marlowe watched Dane walk away and wished she too could escape. Instead, she tolerated Satin's touch until Dane passed through the door, returning to Barbara's room. Then she snatched her hand away.

“Ye're a prickly one. I'm not good enough to touch the likes of you?”

“I brought you game. What more do you want?”

Satin nodded. “I always knew you would make me rich. That's why I tolerated all your sniveling when you were a brat. I could have taken in a hundred brats. Streets were full of them, but I always had a good feeling about you.”

Marlowe wondered if she was supposed to thank him for abducting her. Of course, he didn't know she'd potentially uncovered the truth about who she was. And he wouldn't know until she saw him dangle in front of Newgate.

“I should have put you in skirts more often. First you bring me an earl, now the son of a duke.”

“After those rackets, I'm done. I want out.”

“Ye're done when I say ye're done,” Satin said, leaning close and grabbing her by the back of the neck so she couldn't pull back. “You understand?”

“Yes.”

He released her, pushing her head down against the table first. While she rubbed her aching forehead, he rose. She caught a flash of gold when his coat opened to reveal his shabby waistcoat. Inside, a gold chain hung from the outer pocket. Susanna's necklace. He hadn't pawned it yet. Marlowe stood, but Satin shook his head. “Where do you think ye're going?”

“To see the cubs. I figured you'd want Gideon, Beezle, and Gap working on this.”

“Oh, no. Ye're not going anywhere. And if a word of this gets out, I'll make sure to personally slit your throat.” He leaned close, and she tried not to breathe in the scent of stale onions. “This is me and you. That's it. You bring in Gideon or Gap, and I'll make sure this racket is their last.”

Marlowe stared at him, allowing her hatred to show. How many other times had Satin cut her and the other cubs out? How many times had she gone hungry when he'd had a full belly? If she'd thought she could beat him, could kill him with her hands, she would have done it then and there. But she'd never win that way. Dane and Brook were her only hope.

“I'll see you at midnight.”

Marlowe nodded and started away.

“One more thing.”