Forbidden Pleasures (21 page)

Caroline’s mother had immediately removed the gold-and-pearl chain and crucifix she wore about her neck and handed it to him. “Will this do?” she asked quietly.

“For now,” Captain Arnaud had answered with a leer.

They had not known what he had meant then, but several days later Caroline, her mother, her aunts, and all the younger woman servants were taken to the château cellars, and imprisoned. Every night Captain Arnaud would come with his righthand man, Citizen Leon. They would pick two of the young serving girls, and return them in the morning. Now and again a girl would not return for several days, if at all.

“What is happening to them?” Caroline had asked her mother.

“Better you not know,” her mother had replied.

And it had been better, until the night that Captain Arnaud had pointed his thick finger at Caroline and beckoned her to him.

“
Non!
” her mother had said, standing up and facing their captor. “My daughter is the only child of an English lord. He will pay you a very generous ransom for her safe return.” The countess had put emphasis on the word
safe.
“I have told you this before, Captain Arnaud. My husband will pay for all the women here. You have but to send to his yacht, which by now lies anchored in the village cove, waiting to return us to England. Ask what you will. My husband, the Earl of Chetwyn, will pay. Have you no desire to be a rich man?”

“Why is it that all you damned aristos think money is the answer? I’ve come to get a woman for a night’s entertainment. If you do not want me to take your daughter, then come with me yourself. And your sister will do for Leon.”

Lady Caroline Thornton had not known then the terrible sacrifice her mother and her aunts had made for her that night—and in the nights that followed, for Captain Arnaud and Citizen Leon delighted in degrading the two women. Yet the two sisters retained their dignity in spite of it all. Her mother managed to write a note to the earl, and with the aid of the château cook it reached the yacht captain, who sailed immediately for England. And the Earl of Chetwyn had come immediately to rescue his family from the hands of the Revolution.

But it had been too late. Now bored with the two sisters, Citizen Leon had had them restrained by his men as they were taken from the cellars to the main salon. They were then forced to watch as the youngest of them, Louisa, had been raped first by Captain Arnaud, then Citizen Leon, and finally the other six men in their ragtag band. Her aunt had at first struggled and screamed to her sisters and then to the Holy Virgin to save her. The taking of the girl’s virginity was a painful event, made more so by her eager rapist. Her pitiful cries had set Caroline’s
tante
Justine into a frenzy of hysterical fury. She fought against her captors wildly, and then to their surprise she managed to break free. Snatching a knife from one of the men’s waistband, she stabbed him to death before she was subdued by the others and her own throat was slit.

By now Caroline was numb with her fear of what was to come. But then, to her surprise, she was returned to the cellars of the château. She did not see her mother again. One of the serving women returned in the morning and told her that they had strangled
pauvre
Madame Claudine, but not before the countess had been forced to endure every possible indignity a man might visit on a woman. She had been raped over and over again, and beaten. As for her
tante
Louisa, she had not survived long after Caroline had been taken from the chamber. Now Caroline was alone. But Captain Arnaud did not point his fat finger at her again. And several weeks later she was led from the cellars to the château’s elegant salon, where she found her father waiting with the captain. A ransom had been paid, and she was free to leave France.

The Earl of Chetwyn, while heartbroken at losing his wife, never knew how she had really died. He had been told she and her two sisters had suffered from the damp and cold of their prison. And Caroline had never told her father the truth. How could she? And if she could not tell her father, how could she tell her husband? How could she explain that when she disappeared from Malincourt it was to travel to France on her father’s old yacht, which now belonged to her? Would he understand that she was the rescuer, Lavender, whom all the ton was talking about, and that at least half a dozen of her close friends were Lavender’s Ladies? She had a mission to rescue those poor souls caught up in the Terror of the Revolution. It didn’t matter if they were aristocrats or bourgeoisie. But most of all she wanted her revenge upon Captain Arnaud and Citizen Leon. But she had yet to be able to find them again. They had disappeared from her grandfather’s château.

“Tell me where you go, Caro,” the duke said once again.

She looked up at him with desperate eyes, and shook her head. “You must trust me, milord,” she told him.

“How can I when you do not trust me, my love?” he asked, anguished.

And then there was the sound of a tinkling bell, and Emily awoke in her bed. The television screen had gone to snow, as it always did when the Channel closed for the night. She gazed briefly out of her window. The leaves were turning, and in just a few days she would be off for England. Devlin had left for Frankfurt last Thursday, and she missed him. Sighing, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. She had a busy few days ahead of her, and in the morning she would rewrite the scene that had just played out in the Channel. It was much better than her first draft. It seemed she was hardly asleep when Essie was shaking her awake.

“Honestly, Emily,” she said, “you’ve got to stop all this burning of the midnight oil, girl. It’s past nine o’clock. The phone in your office has rung twice now. Can I fix you some breakfast? I’m washing windows today, and getting the slipcovers off in the living room. October is my turnover time.”

“Bring me a yogurt and an English muffin up to the office,” Emily said, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.

“Coffee?” Essie asked as she turned to go.

“God, yes!” She stumbled into the guest bathroom and started the shower. Essie was right: She had to stop burning the midnight oil. Essie, however, would have been shocked to know why she was burning it. With Michael Devlin away, Emily had discovered a need for daily sex that she had never anticipated. Ever since he had gone back to the city after Labor Day and his visits were limited to the weekends, her insatiability had been growing. She was in the Channel every night he wasn’t with her, sporting with her duke. And then in the morning she would translate it into pages for the book. Emily was frankly amazed by her own appetite for fucking.

She stepped into the shower. Just thinking about it made her hot as a firecracker. She slicked the body wash over herself and thought it felt like a rough tongue. Her nipples grew tight, and an ache began between her thighs. A hand moved to push between her labia to play with her clitoris. It felt so damned good, Emily thought with a sigh, and then she caught herself. Her hand reached out, quickly turning the shower lever all the way to the left. She gave a little yelp, and winced as the icy water hit her, but it sure as hell took her mind off of endless sex. This had to stop! She needed Devlin—not just on the weekends, but forever after.

Just two more days until she flew to England. Emily packed. England in autumn in Suffolk. She’d need her riding pants, which were put away, but she knew where to find them. They would need a slight alteration. Her boots and a tweed jacket, and two pairs of slacks, sweaters, one little black dress, because she knew they would eat out at least once, and her London Fog raincoat. Savannah would have Wellies if the weather was mucky.

She paid a visit to Lacy Nothings and stocked up on a few outrageous items: two garter belts, one in black, and the other a wild magenta with matching stockings; and four very naughty teddies, one a very hot pink, one red, one cream, and the other black. She also bought a pair of wicked black stilettos with rhinestone studded heels; and she couldn’t resist a pink feather boa.

The local girl totting up her purchases looked at her somewhat askance. “These all for you, Miss Shanski?” she said, one eyebrow just slightly raised. Emily was known to love beautiful lingerie, but some of these items were positively raunchy.

“For my friend Savannah Banning. I’m going to England to visit her tomorrow,” Emily said. “She just loves all the things I have from the shop, and she’s got a birthday coming up soon.”

“Ohhh,” the salesgirl said, smiling. Now it all made sense. She had read Savannah Banning’s novels. “Yeah, some pretty naughty stuff in this lot.” She grinned. “Hope Miss Banning likes ’em.”

“I’m sure she will,” Emily lied. Why did people think only someone like Savannah Banning would wear racy lingerie? But she knew the answer to her own question. Emilie Shann wrote romantic love stories with chaste heroines and manly heroes who only alluded to sex. Well, not anymore! And she almost giggled aloud.

The flight was perfect. Emily always flew first-class. Like pretty lingerie, it was one of her weaknesses. She could afford it, and she liked being able to stretch out her legs. And she always booked the entire row, so she didn’t have to talk if she didn’t want to talk. A young stewardess in first class was a fan, however. She oozed compliments, and practically swooned when Emily agreed to sign her copy of
Vanessa and the Viscount,
which she just happened to have with her. The senior stewardess, who had flown with Emily before and knew her habits, nodded to her passenger with a sympathetic smile. Then she murmured quietly in the younger woman’s ear, and the rest of Emily’s flight was a peaceful one. Lord Palmer’s car was there to meet her. The drive down to Barrow, in Suffolk, was smooth.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Savannah Banning squealed, flying from her house to greet her guest. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman with a mane of midnight black hair, gardenia skin, and gray eyes. “Did you stop at the inn and leave your bags? Devlin phoned from London. He’ll be down by teatime, and he’s meeting you here.” She stepped back and looked at Emily. “Oh, God, you really are in love with him!”

Emily laughed. “I am,” she admitted. “Now all I have to do is bring him up to scratch, as they say in my novels.”

“I read what you e-mailed me, darling,” Savannah said, and she smiled her little cat’s smile. “Your fans are in for both a shock and a treat, Em. I love
The Defiant Duchess.”

“Give me a quote then,” Emily said. “That should please J.P.”

“Screw J.P.! The woman is a dreadful bitch, but if she knew you got what she didn’t I suspect she would explode in a puff of her own nastiness, darling!” Savannah laughed. “Is he good? Really good?”

“Savannah, we had this conversation before, and I have no real comparison,” Emily said, laughing. The two women linked arms as they went into the house.

“Is there a similarity to the duke?” Savannah wanted to know. “I thought we’d wait for tea until Devlin gets here.”

“There is, and there isn’t,” Emily said as she settled herself into the cushions of a flowered sofa. “Trahern seems a bit rougher, but then, he is eighteenth-century, Sava.”

“Actually I think he’s quite dreamy,” Savannah murmured. “And so in love with his defiant duchess, darling. It’s a wonderful book, Em. It will make you oodles of money.” And at Emily’s look of disbelief, Savannah Banning giggled. “I know, I know.” she said. “Authors don’t make money. Publishers make money.”

“If it weren’t for the early books I couldn’t have my simple small-town lifestyle,” Emily said. “When was the last time you saw royalties?”

“Oh, let’s not talk about publishing,” Savannah replied. “I think I hear a car.” She got up and went to the bay window of the room. “Yes, Devlin is here.”

Emily felt her heart jump. He was here. Would he feel the same way he had felt before he left for Frankfurt almost two weeks ago? Did she? The door to the lounge opened, and oh, yes, she did! Emily launched herself at Michael Devlin, whose handsome face was suddenly wreathed in a broad smile at the sight of her.

His arms closed tightly about her. “God, angel face, I’ve missed you,” he said, and then he was kissing her.

“I’ll go and check on tea,” Savannah said diplomatically, wondering if they even heard her as she left the room.

“I can’t wait,” Devlin growled in her ear. He unzipped his fly.

“Neither can I!” Emily moaned as he turned her about, bent her over the padded arm of the couch, and yanked her skirt up. “Oh, God, yes!” she sobbed as his long, thick penis pushed into her. His hands held her steady as her hips moved in rhythm with his. He stopped for just a moment, and the throbbing of his talented cock made her dizzy with her own heated desires. “Make me come, Devlin,” she begged him. “I have missed you too. Oh, yes! And yes again!”

He had become an engine of lust with her. He felt himself growing harder than he could ever remember. He plumbed her depths first with slow, almost majestic strokes of his dick. She whimpered with her need, and so he increased the tempo until he was moving with increasing rapidity, and he could feel her orgasm approaching. He slowed himself, and she protested, but, laughing, he first kissed and then nipped at the nape of her neck. “Be patient, angel face. I want it to be extra good for us this time.” Then he began to thrust harder and harder, until she was crying out to him with her need for release. He gave it to her, his come spurting in thick gobs into her vagina. Then with a groan he fell forward briefly, his hands reaching around her to clasp her breasts.

Lord Reginald Palmer, Baron Tilbury, had come upon the scene shortly after it had begun. He smiled and watched as Michael Devlin fucked the adorable Emily Shanski, his own dick getting harder and harder. The scene seemed to go on forever, and he was sorely tempted to pick up where the Irishman had left off. But then his wife was drawing his penis from his riding breeches, kneeling down, and sucking him off. “Good girl,” he murmured low as she swallowed every bit of his salty cum.