Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series) (11 page)

She gazed into the mirror, frowning at a tiny line that had appeared on the side of her mouth. Quickly, she smoothed over it with a cosmetic. Jean Pierre assumed she was twenty-three, but in reality, she was his same age of thirty. She would never give him the slightest hint that she wasn’t as young as he presumed her to be.

She stepped out of her petticoat and drawers and slipped into a lace robe that left nothing to the imagination. Then she spun back and forth in front of the mirror, assessing her breasts, her profile.

“Magnifique!”
she murmured to herself. She was stunning, like no other woman who’d ever crossed his path.

He’d never been able to resist her—not from the very first—and she was eager to remind him of why he’d bought her, why he kept her. By dawn, Mademoiselle Teasdale would be but a distant memory.

She sashayed into her bedchamber, and he was staring at the ceiling and lost in thought. He heard her approach, and he glanced over, delighting her with how she captured his attention. The entire center of her torso was visible, her shaved mons luring him to misbehave.

She walked in and sat on the edge of the mattress. He was wearing his trousers and boots, but he’d shed his coat and shirt, so his chest was bare. She placed her hand on his shoulder, caressing a recent wound. A few months earlier, he’d been shot, and the injury still plagued him.

His body had been damaged in numerous ways: burns and stabbings and gunshots and broken bones. Many mornings, it was difficult for him to rise and face the day, and she always worked to ease his discomfort.

“Would you like me to massage your shoulder?”she asked.

“Not tonight,”he surprised her by saying.

He typically welcomed her ministrations, and a lengthy massage was the starting foray that led to other things.

She climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap. Shucking off her robe, she gave him a good look at her fabulous bosom, her slender waist and rounded hips.

“What shall we do instead?”she flirtatiously inquired.

“My bout with Hedley exhausted me. Let’s just rest a bit.”

“I can cure your exhaustion.”

“You certainly can,”he replied, but he didn’t sound all that enthused.

He was such a cold, aloof man. She hadn’t thought he could be flustered by any circumstance, so she hadn’t worried about traveling to Bramble Bay to ruin his cousin and aunt. But ever since they’d arrived, he’d been acting strangely.

The sooner they went back to France the better.

She scooted down, her busy fingers unbuttoning his trousers. He watched her, appearing completely detached as she pulled out his phallus. He was long and hard, and she never grew weary of pleasuring him. He was a precise and skilled lover, and she knew how to satisfy him in every manner he enjoyed.

She dipped down and sucked him into her mouth. He took a few slow, leisurely thrusts, then drew away. She sat up and glared at him, unable to read any emotion in his eyes.

“I’m not in the mood,”he said.

The comment was the most frightening one he’d ever uttered. He was
always
in the mood. He was
always
ready to fornicate. There had never been a moment in the prior two years that he had refused to proceed.

“You’re joking,”she huffed.

“I told you I was weary.”

He stood, and she was naked and alone on the bed. She felt stupid and underdressed and unappreciated. She felt like the prostitute she was.

“What is it,
mon ami?
”she asked.

“I hate it here in England.”

“Then let’s depart. Let’s saddle the horses and canter to the ship. We don’t have to remain.”

“I can’t leave yet. The situation with Hedley and Mildred is too unsettled.”

“
Merde!
Forget about them. Let Raven stay and toss them out on the road.”

“I have to see it through to the end.”

“No, you don’t. Let’s sail to Spain and lounge on the beach for a few weeks. You’re happy when you’re there.”

He scrutinized her, and the worst niggle of concern slithered down her spine. He seemed to be evaluating her for purposes he’d never previously considered, seemed to be taking her measure, deciding if she was worth the bother.

“I’m going for a ride,”he suddenly said.

“Now?”she snapped with more ire than she should have displayed.

“I need to clear my head.”

“I could clear it for you if you’d just lie back down.”

“You can’t fix what’s wrong with me.”

He looked callous and bored, and she couldn’t stand to be with him when he was out of sorts.

“Fine, go.” She waved to the door.

“And when I return, I want to sleep alone. Don’t come in and pester me.”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

“In the morning, we have to talk.”

He stomped out, and before she could think to say,
About what?,
he was in his own room, the door closed behind him.

She yearned to storm over and start a quarrel, but didn’t dare. He simply wouldn’t tolerate a show of anger, and she flopped down on the mattress and pounded her fist on the pillow.

Why was he vexed with her? Why now? Was he excited by his new virgin, Mademoiselle Teasdale? Was he planning to train her to take Annalise’s place? He had better not be!

She could kill as well as any man, and she’d committed murder once—had stabbed a violent lover to death in Paris—so she’d proved herself capable of homicide.

After all she’d done for Jean Pierre, after all she’d relinquished, if he thought he could put her aside, he would be very, very sorry.

* * * *

“Sarah, is that you?”

Raven shook his head at his absurdity. It had been many years since he’d trifled with a gently-bred female, and he’d never had any manners.

Earlier, out on the verandah, Caroline Patterson had begun a flirtation. Was she still amenable?

He hoped so, or else he’d just committed the most humiliating blunder ever.

“It’s not Sarah,”he replied.

She was in her dressing room, and she peeked into her bedchamber to discover him leaned against the doorframe.

“Mr. Hook?”

She was surprised, but didn’t scream, which was a relief.

“Yes, hello.”

“What are you doing in here?”

He shrugged, feeling stupid and out of his element. “The card game ended sooner than I expected. I figured you might be awake.”

“So you barged in?”

“Yes, I’m obnoxious that way. It’s easier than waiting to be invited.”

“It’s very late, and I’m not in any condition to walk in the garden.”

“I don’t want to walk in the garden.”

“What is it then?”

He gestured to her. “Come here, and I’ll show you.”

“I don’t care for the look in your eye. Tell me instead.”

“No. Come to me.” He gestured again, less patiently.

She’d been preparing for bed, so she was wearing only a robe with nothing on underneath. Her beautiful blond hair was down and brushed out, the lush curls falling to her shapely bottom. Her feet were bare.

She tugged at the lapels on her robe, yanked at the sash to pull it tighter, and he nearly laughed. As if a paltry sash could keep him from doing whatever he pleased. In his habits and actions, he was too much like John. He barked out commands, and people jumped to obey.

He had to calm himself, had to remember he shouldn’t scare her. She’d dangled a dalliance, and he was determined to accept what she’d offered. If she’d changed her mind, he’d simply change it back again.

He wouldn’t be denied. He never was. Not by anyone.

He went over to her, pushed her hand away and drew her to him. He loosened the sash, exposing her cleavage.

Behind her, there was a large silver bathing tub. It was filled with rose-scented hot water, steam rising. Towels were stacked on a dresser. He’d interrupted at the perfect moment, and he grinned. The prospects were ripe for misbehaving.

“What happened with Hedley and Mr. Sinclair?”she asked.

“Nothing that hasn’t already happened several times before.”

“Hedley lost?”

“Of course. He had no chance with John. He never had a chance.”

“What will become of us?”

“You have thirty days to find somewhere to go.”

She snorted with derision. “You make it sound as if it’s simple to move on. You act as if we all have a dozen homes and can flit among them at our leisure.”

“Aren’t you married? Why don’t you return to your husband?”

She stared and stared, seeming to be perched on the edge of a confession. Ultimately, she said, “It’s a long story.”

“Does he live in the area? Or is he in London?”

She nodded to the sitting room. “Did you lock the door when you came in?”

“Yes.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself. How could you be certain I wouldn’t shout for help?”

“You’re a wee mite. If you’d called out, I could have silenced you quickly enough.”

“That’s quite a…violent statement. Are you in the habit of abusing women?”

“Not lately.”

“Well…good. I’m glad to hear it.”

He pointed to the tub. “You were about to bathe.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Go ahead. I’ll pull up a chair and watch.”

Her eyes widened with shock—but with interest, too.

He wondered about her husband.

Since he and John had arrived at the estate, he’d spent his time lurking and listening, cajoling housemaids and bribing footmen. He knew most of what could be gleaned about the affairs in the house.

Mrs. Patterson had left to marry, but had recently returned and had no plans to leave. The servants were reluctant to mention why. They liked her and were extremely loyal to Sarah Teasdale. Obviously, Caroline Patterson had secrets, but he’d eventually pry them out of her.

“You’ll watch me bathe?” Her astonishment was clear.

“Yes, and I’ll enjoy myself, too.”

“But I usually wash in the nude.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“I’ve now spoken to you on exactly two occasions. It seems a tad…
forward
of you to expect to stay.”

“I can never predict what John might ask of me. I might be here for a year, or he might have me ride off tomorrow. If I’m ordered away, I’ll never have the opportunity to spread your thighs.”

“Mr. Hook! Honestly.” Her cheeks flamed, and she waved a hand to cool them. “You overwhelm me with your bold talk.”

“I don’t like to flirt and dawdle. I like to get down to business.”

“I’m not a whore in a brothel,”she starkly said. “There’s no need to hurry. I’m not peeking at the clock so I can tell you when your hour is up.”

“You know about whores and brothels, do you? From who? Your husband?”

Her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, which provided a great deal of information about her. No doubt the ass visited whores. No doubt he regaled her with details of his antics. Did he claim she didn’t keep him satisfied? Did he claim she’d failed as a woman?

Wouldn’t Raven be thrilled to show her that her husband was wrong?

He reached for the belt of her robe and untied it so the lapels were loose, so her center was bared. He slipped his hands inside and rested them on her waist, just at the spot where her tummy flared to her curvaceous hips.

“The water’s getting cold,”he said. “You’d best climb in.”

She peered up at him, her mind awhirl, and he could practically read her thoughts. She was intrigued by his suggestion, but she was a typical British female. Her entire life, she’d have been told to never flaunt herself or engage in a ribald display. But she chafed at those restrictions and was eager to break the chains that bound her to modest conduct.

“I’d have to pin up my hair,”she said.

“Then do it.”

She twisted the lengthy tresses into a knot and stabbed in a few combs so her blond curls were haphazardly balanced. She looked even more beautiful, even more sexy and alluring.

“Climb in.” He pointed to the tub again.

“I don’t know if I can.”

She was trembling and not able to proceed on her own. He went over to her and spun her so her back was to him. He nibbled at her nape, goose bumps cascading down her arms, as he cupped her breasts and pinched the nipples. She moaned with delight and dismay.

“Let me watch,”he murmured. “You want to. You want me to see.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Trust me: You can’t wait.”

She moaned again. “I can’t seem to tell you
no.”

“You shouldn’t tell me
no
. We’re alone and we’re attracted to each other. There’s no one to complain about what we do.”

Except her errant spouse, but who the hell cared about him? If Caroline committed a bit of adultery, the oaf would never learn of it. So where was the harm? Raven would make her feel better about herself as a woman, and he’d relish every minute of their risqué escapade.

He tugged on the robe, and it slid down and pooled in a heap at her feet. He laid a palm on her bottom and urged her toward the tub. With her suddenly naked, she craved the security of the water.

She dashed over, leapt in and scooted down, trying to conceal herself, but not having much luck. She turned to face him, and she was wary, as if terrified over what he’d demand next and convinced she’d go along with any insane request.

He walked over to the tub, his thighs braced on the edge. The water wasn’t very deep and didn’t provide much cover. He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue in her mouth, his finger dipping to her breast again. Being very rough, he plucked and pulled on the nipple, giving her more than she probably expected to receive, but then, that had always been his way.

He was a large man, with big appetites. An enormous amount of any sustenance was required for him to decide he’d had his fill.

He drew away, and as she eased down, his cock was hard as stone.

“You, Mr. Hook, are extremely dangerous to my peace of mind.”

“Good. Wash yourself.”

“Where should I start?”

“Just do what you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

He grabbed a footstool and sat, his gaze locked on hers. Finally, she shrugged off her anxiety, ignoring him as if he wasn’t present. She took a bar of scented soap, swished it and glided it across her arms and chest, between her legs and over her delectable backside.