Engaged in Sin (32 page)

One thought hammered in his head: He couldn’t keep her as his mistress anymore, could he? She’d been forced into this life. She had been born a lady, taken to the brothel against her will. The truth was that a life as his mistress was better than any alternative she had now. But he felt too guilty.

A fist rapped at the door. “Yer Grace,” called Treadwell. “A bloke named Taylor is here.”

Bloody hell. Taylor had the audacity to come to his house? “What does he want?” If it was Anne Beddington, Taylor wasn’t going to get her.

“To speak to ye about the murderess, he said.”

He sorely wanted to slam his fists into Taylor. But what he needed was the man’s evidence to help Anne.

Again he was thankful for the way Anne had helped him learn to stride with confidence through his house. Devon stalked into his study to confront Mick Taylor. He couldn’t see the man, but he’d had Treadwell give him a description: bald, hooked nose, sharp eyes, and thickset, muscled body. A typical bruiser who roughed up men and women alike.

Devon heard clothing rustle near the fireplace. He made his way to his desk, counting paces in his head. In his walking stick, he carried a blade. He should be able to fight Taylor by sound if necessary. But he had to play this carefully. “If you came for Anne Beddington, Taylor, I will not surrender her. As you are aware, she is innocent.”

“Your Grace, this is madness. The gel is a killer. She should be hauled to Bow Street in chains.” Taylor’s gravelly voice held a sneering note of disrespect.

“That will not happen. Miss Beddington told me her story, including the fact that you admitted to her the madam was alive. She didn’t kill the woman.”

Mick Taylor snorted. “Madame Sin was dead. I saw Annie slam that poker into Madame’s head. I checked her pulse before I went in pursuit of Annie. There wasn’t one. She was dead. I was a witness and I’d swear to it.”

“And the story you told Miss Beddington? That her blow had not killed the woman?”

“An outright lie. I never said that to her. And I would tell Bow Street Annie did it.”

Devon understood. No doubt Taylor had given Anne the truth to coerce her into going with him. Now he was denying it. Taylor was giving him a warning: There was no point in taking him captive or threatening him, as Taylor would tell a story that would ensure Anne was hanged.

Damn. He really wanted to pound Mick Taylor, but he needed information from the blackguard. “I believe you came to retrieve Miss Beddington for her cousin Viscount Norbrook.”

“For Norbrook? She said that? Hell, no.” The denial came swift and loud. Too quickly.

“I know for a fact Norbrook is involved,” Devon bluffed calmly.

“L-Lord Norbrook came looking for Annie at the brothel. She’d run away from home. When he found out she’s a whore and a killer, he left in disgust.”

The implication was clear: He was a misguided fool if he harbored Anne Beddington, a ruined woman. Devon’s anger snapped. “Get the hell out, Taylor. Now. Before I pull the sword from my stick and gore you so I don’t have to listen to your filthy mouth anymore.”

“But—”

He drew the sword with a swish and brought it down to rest on his desk. “I can take you to the magistrate and have you arrested for kidnapping Miss Beddington. I doubt questions would be asked about what condition
you arrived in. And if I catch you on my grounds again, I will beat you to a pulp and drag your arse to jail.”

He heard the scramble of Taylor’s boots over his floor as the man backed away. “Remember, Your Grace,” Taylor spat, “if I were to tell Bow Street what I was witness to, Annie would hang.”

In a sharp bark, Devon demanded his footmen come in to drag Taylor out.

“I’ll leave. But you’re mad, Your Grace, if you keep a murderess in your house. She’ll try to kill you to save her arse! You should hand her over to me for your own sake.”

“Oh, my goodness! Mick Taylor came back? What did he want?”

The sheer terror in Miss Beddington’s voice touched his heart, though Devon knew she would also be afraid if she was guilty, if what Taylor said he witnessed was true. “You, my dear.”

“Wh-what did he say?”

Following her panicked tones, he crossed the room. He found the bed by using his walking stick, then sat down on it at her side.

“He said he witnessed you hit your madam, that he checked for the woman’s pulse and found none before pursuing you.”

“That can’t be true. He told me she was alive!”

“I won’t surrender you to him.” War had honed his senses—he’d had to learn to know when an enemy was bluffing. That instinct told him she was telling the truth. How could he not trust Anne, who had helped him, helped his sister, because of the word of a brute like Taylor?

“How can I prove I’m innocent? I have no proof. No witnesses except Mick, who will lie.”

He slid his arms around her, but she didn’t fall into his embrace. She stiffened, just as she had earlier. He dropped his arms. After all, he now knew she’d never been a willing whore.

She would be arrested and charged. As a duke, he had power and influence. But would it be enough to save her? “You did have witnesses. You had the girls.”

“They wouldn’t know whether Madame was still alive. They were already out the window.”

“At least they could prove you struck the woman to defend one of them.”

“I can’t bring them back to London to tell their stories. It would ruin them.”

“You’d risk hanging to protect them?”

There was a pause. Then she whispered, “Yes.”

In that moment, Devon admired her more than he had any other woman. “The way to prove your innocence is to find the real murderer. Cerise—” He stopped. “Which name do you prefer? Cerise or Anne?”

“I don’t know. I made up the name Cerise. Anne is who I have always been.” Cerise was to have been a new name for a new life. She’d been a fool to think she could escape her old one.

“Anne, then. I’ll have to get used to that.”

Anne wished he would put his arms around her again. She had tensed before because she was thinking of Mick … and Sebastian. Now the need for his embrace was overwhelming.

His hand cupped her cheek. He turned her face and she saw his mouth come to hers. For a moment, he waited and they traded fierce breaths. Then he drew back. “Now that I know your story, I know you came to me out of desperation. I’ve never forced or coerced a woman.”

She blinked. He leaned against the bedpost, put his hands above his head, and gripped the solid column.
He’d told her he had been to brothels. Had he really thought those women were
happy
to trade their favors for money? But then, faced with the choice of bedding a handsome young peer like Devon or an aging roué with odd tastes, they probably were.

“It wouldn’t be forcing me. You never forced me. I always
wanted
you.” It hadn’t been quite true at the beginning. She hadn’t wanted
any
man. She’d seen Devon merely as an escape, not as desirable. Panic hit her. If he didn’t want to be intimate with her anymore, he would no longer be her protector and he would have no reason at all to help her.

She moved to him and splayed her hands on his chest. “I always wanted you. From the very first moment I saw you,” she whispered. She skimmed her hands up to his shoulders. Her heart pounded fiercely. As she ran her fingers up and cradled the firm muscles of his neck, she knew she did truly want this. She wanted to feel close to him again. Her heart ached for it.

She didn’t want to feel completely alone, as she had in Madame’s brothel.

Gently, she kissed his chest. He wore only his linen shirt and trousers. No cravat, and the throat of his shirt lay open. Her lips touched his warm skin. She stroked her mouth over him. Tingling leapt from her lips to flood her body. This was the way it was with Devon. She couldn’t make herself not feel anymore.

His neck tasted salty with sweat, from the exertion of hunting her down and rescuing her.

He drew back. “Love, I can’t stand to think of you being so desperate that you sold your body. I hate to think of what it must have been like. You must hate men like me.”

“I don’t,” she whispered desperately. “Ever since that first time I went to Drury Lane and you told me I deserved better, I—I liked you. I had no idea who you were,
but I held your words in my heart, along with my parents’ love for me, and it helped me survive.”

What she said was the truth. She had replayed that moment over and over in the brothel—when the dazzlingly handsome black-haired gentleman had tipped up her chin and told her she was pretty. When he had told her she was worth more. Eventually, she’d seen his likeness drawn in news sheets because he was a hero of battles, and she’d discovered he was the Duke of March.

She moved onto his lap, straddling him. With her legs spread wide, she settled on his erection. Relief struck her. He still
wanted
her, just as she wanted him.

He had been holding back, barely responding to her. Now he tangled his hand in her hair and he held her to his mouth. His lips parted wide and his kiss ravished her. He growled hungrily as he did. There was none of his usual melting skill—it was dizzying and stunning and wonderful. This was raw desire, and it left her reeling on his lap.

With his right hand, he gave a ruthless tug of her bodice. Enough to pull seams open, ruining the poor seamstress’s work. His mouth went to her breast, covered only by her shift. If his wild, hungry kisses had made her light-headed, his mouth on her nipple made her soar. He suckled deep and hard, until she was a limp puddle of whimpers and moans.

He caught her around the waist and lifted her with astonishing ease. Then he tossed her onto the bed, and before she’d finished bouncing, he climbed on top.

She was going to burst with desire. He was fully dressed and so was she, and she fumbled with the falls of his trousers. He tried to push her skirts up, but the fabric was trapped between them. She managed to get her hand into his linens, then wrapped her fingers around his hot, rigid shaft. She moaned with need; he groaned in delight.

Freeing her skirts, he bunched them at her waist. He stroked between her thighs, teasing her, as she swept her palm up and down his cock. It swelled larger and larger, until her fingers could barely reach around it. “Goodness,” she whispered. “You’re huge.”

“It’s you. Needing you is making me harder than I’ve ever been. If you don’t let me make love to you right now, I’m going to explode.”

“So am I.” For it was true. His caresses on her sensitive nub made her moan and squirm. She thrust up to rub against his beautiful fingers, and she was close to a climax too.

Together, they led his cock to her passage, their fingers tangling. He slid deep, pressing his groin to her, and she wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him. They were completely joined. The very first thrust made her scream, for his shaft drew mercilessly along her sensitive clit. He gave a raw laugh, and then they moved together. Anne couldn’t think about trying to please him. All she could do was savor every amazing thrust.

They rocked together wildly. She wanted to make him cry out in pure ecstasy and agony when he came.

“I want this to be good for you,” he murmured between pants. “I want you to melt with delight when you come.”

She almost laughed. She embraced him as snugly as she could. They both wanted the same thing—they were both working madly to give each other pleasure. Then his hips arched, his shaft gave one sweet stroke to her throbbing nub, and the head touched somewhere amazing inside her. Pleasure burst. She screamed and sobbed her orgasm, and then he cried out harsh and loud. He cried out her name.
Anne. Angel
.

After his body stopped its wild jerking, he rolled over and held her tight to his chest. She lay there, aware of tears trickling. And she knew something she had not
known before. Or perhaps it had been in her heart for a long time, but she’d known it was a dangerous thing to feel.

She loved him
. It had to be love—it was crushing her heart; it was tearing her soul apart.

He stroked her. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you, love. Unfortunately, even as a duke I can’t circumvent the law, but I believe you are innocent and I’m going to prove it. First, we are going to have to go to London. I can hide you. Not in the ducal house, though. My mother is staying there, with two of my sisters. Somehow, angel, we are going to save you.”

She couldn’t let him try to save her.

Anne slid open one of Devon’s drawers, careful not to make a sound. He had gone to the bed he always did, in the adjoining room. Even after all this, he was afraid he would awake in a nightmare and hurt her. What did it mean that he still cared that much about her?

It wouldn’t mean anything when he woke up and discovered what she had done.

When he had spoken of his family, she realized she
couldn’t
ask him to help her. It would cause a scandal for him and hurt his family. How could she bring pain to Caro, who had been her friend? He had four sisters, and the two with his mother were unwed. It would ruin their chances of a good marriage if their brother was harboring a suspected murderess. It would break his mother’s heart. It would devastate his family to have him risk so much for the sake of … of a whore. She’d hoped he could protect her. But she had to protect
him
. She had to leave.

Quickly, Anne dressed—in one of Devon’s shirts and a pair of his breeches. She had dreamed of building a life
where she could be independent, but after tonight she knew she didn’t want to be alone. But she had no choice.

She had to take one last look at him, this wonderful man she could never see again.

She crept to the doorway and watched him sleep. She didn’t dare touch him. He was too sensitive, too aware—he would likely wake. It felt like thievery to take his clothes, and she had vowed she would never stoop to that. Yet here she was, doing it.

“I love you,” she whispered. He was asleep. He couldn’t hear. It was safe to say it. She darted away, crossed to the door of the master bedchamber. Of course it was locked. He had put guards outside, and she’d almost forgotten that.