Notorious Pleasures (20 page)

“Oh!” With her hips tilted up, his body was hitting that spot exactly, each pull of his cock adding somehow to the exquisite sensation.

“Feel, my heart,” he whispered, and she saw that his eyes were glistening. Before she could speak he dipped his head to tongue her nipple.

She arched helplessly underneath him. His strong body guided and pleasured hers, his hips moving relentlessly, grinding down on that one special spot. It began again, a glistening heat between her legs, growing and spreading outward until she quaked and clutched at his shoulders. There was something else here as well. It was a terrible sorrow, a welling joy, as if all the emotion she’d ever held in check or pushed away was suddenly rising to the surface. She couldn’t control her face, couldn’t control her body. She was coming apart, and she’d never be able to pin herself back together again.

Griffin
was making love to her, and she knew in that moment that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Here and only here would she ever be truly free. She held him close, terrified he would somehow stop and leave her behind.

But he didn’t. He gently bit down on her nipple and rocked against her faster and faster, sweat gleaming on his neck and on his chest, until she shattered under him. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, and he filled it with his tongue and lips, shuddering into her, continuing his ride, until he suddenly left her.

She felt the splash of warm liquid on her belly and opened her eyes. He was above her, his cock in his hand, his face relaxing from the sexual tension of before.

It was over. She was no longer a virgin.

“Aye. Three men killed outright and another two injured and lyin’ in bed.”

Charlie grunted, scooping up the dice. He rolled them between his fingers, the familiar clink of the bones soothing to his ears. “And we’re still dealing with the duke’s damned informers.”

Freddy didn’t answer that, probably because there was no need.

“But you say Reading was seen with the duke’s sister?” Charlie asked thoughtfully.

“Twice in St. Giles,” Freddy replied.

Charlie nodded, feeling the skin on his cheeks pull as he smiled. “The duke, the duke. It always comes back to the duke, doesn’t it? The duke and Reading, our dear friend.”

Freddy licked his lips nervously.

A thump and a feverish murmur came from overhead.

Charlie glanced up as if he could see the woman lying above. “How is she today?”

Freddy shrugged. “The nurse says she took some broth this morn.”

Charlie looked down without comment and threw the dice. They tumbled to the edge of the table, a trey again and a
cater—
four. Lucky seven. “Perhaps it’s time we use the duke’s informers to our own end. Perhaps it’s time His Grace learns what Reading really does in St. Giles.”

When the bed shook, he realized that his lover might not be in a similar state of enervated shock.

Griffin cracked one eyelid and watched, bemused, as Lady Hero jumped from the bed and ducked below the side. She straightened a minute later, trying to struggle into the remains of her chemise.

He yawned. “I know you’re new to this, sweeting, but the usual thing is to lie about for a bit, perhaps do the thing over again, God and my cock willing. No need to go haring off.”

As soon as the words left his lips, his brain finally—belatedly—roused itself, and he knew, absolutely and fatally, that it was the exact wrong thing to say.

She gave up on the chemise and bent to pick up her stays. Her face was half averted, but he could see even in profile when her lips thinned. “I must go.”

He couldn’t think very well—something more than the ordinary had happened here—but he knew he didn’t want her to go. Griffin scrubbed his hand over his head, trying to find some measure of wakefulness. “Hero—”

She ducked down again.

He propped himself up and peered over the side of the bed. She knelt, rummaging through her pile of clothes. Her head, even down-bent, did not look welcoming.

He sighed. “Stay a little while and I’ll call for some tea.”

She stood again, pulling on her petticoats. “I can’t be seen here.”

He was tempted to ask why she’d bothered to come in the first place, then, but prudence—not usually a virtue of his—stilled his lips. He knew he should talk to her, but he couldn’t think of the words that would persuade her to stay. His head felt thick, filled with dirty lint and smoke left over from the night awake in the warehouse.

He wasn’t prepared for this, damn it.

She had on her stays now and was clumsily lacing them. No doubt she usually had the aid of a maid. He felt a strange kind of tender pang at the sight.

He rolled to sit on the edge of the bed, his legs spread, and pulled a corner of the sheets over his lap. “Let me help you.”

She stumbled back—and half turned away. “I… I can manage.”

“Are you weeping?” he asked in horror.

“No!”

But she was.
Dear God
. She was
crying
.

He didn’t know what to do, how to make this
right
. “Marry me.”

She stilled and turned, her eyelashes spiked with tears.
“What?”

Had he just said that? But he looked her in the eye and repeated the words. “Marry me.”

It was as if something clicked into place—a missing piece he hadn’t even known he lacked—and he knew, suddenly and completely, that marrying Hero was the right thing to do. He didn’t want anyone to ever hurt her. He wanted to be a shield for her. For the first time since he’d come back to London, he felt as if he knew what his purpose was. He felt
right
.

Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to feel the same way.

She shook her head, stifling a sob, and bent to pick up her dress.

His pride was pricked. He stood, the sheet falling away. “What say you?”

“Don’t be silly,” she muttered as she fought her way into the dress.

His head reared back as if she’d struck him. “You find an offer of marriage from me
silly
?”

“Yes.” She had the dress over her head and started lacing up the front. “You only ask because you’ve bedded me.”

He set his hands on his hips as anger rose in his chest. His head throbbed—he hadn’t enough sleep in days—and he tried to keep his voice even. “I’ve taken your virginity, my lady. Pardon me if I think that a good reason to take you to wife as well.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” She turned to face him. Her eyes skipped over his nude body, and then she held her gaze firmly above his waist. “Have you not listened to a word I’ve said these last days? Marriage is a contract, a bargain between families. A pact for the future, solemnly thought out and sincerely entered into. It isn’t something one just jumps into on a whim.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t a whim.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me before you bedded me?”

He stared at her, tempted to answer that he’d been thinking with the smaller of his two heads before he’d bedded her, thank you very much.

But she was already continuing, her voice horribly gentle. “You and I have no similar goals or intentions. You told me less than a fortnight ago that you never intended to marry. You’re offering out of guilt or misplaced gallantry, neither of which is a solid foundation for a marriage. I’ve made a terrible mistake”—her voice wobbled, making his heart constrict—“but calling off my marriage to Mandeville would simply compound it.”

He gaped at her. When had she thought all of this out?

He could refute all of her points, given a night’s sound sleep, but one stuck out in particular. “You’re not going to marry Thomas.”

She arched her eyebrows. “Is that why you bedded me?”

“No!” he roared.

“Good,” she said, perfectly reasonable, perfectly perfect. “My arrangement with Thomas is between him and me. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, the words sounding stupidly pompous even to his own ears, standing there naked, arguing with the woman he’d ignobly deflowered. “I’m Thomas’s brother and the man you just fucked.”

She flinched. “I hate that word. Please don’t use it around me anymore.”

“Damn it, Hero!”

“I need to leave now,” she said politely, and did just that.

For a moment he stared, incredulous and stunned, at the closed door. What had happened? What had he done?

His eyes dropped to the white sheets on the bed, and he saw a small smear of blood there. The sight tore at his heart. Griffin swore and slammed his fist into the bedpost, splitting his knuckles.

Deedle came in the room, looking around brightly. “I passed a lady in the hallway, m’lord, in quite the hurry. Right pretty, though. Didn’t think you was up for it, if’n you know what I mean, after last night.”

Griffin groaned and dropped back to the bed, his aching head in his hands. “Shut up, Deedle.”

Silence laughed and stopped. “How much?” she asked the bonneted apple seller. William had once praised her apple pie—long ago when they’d first been married.

The woman winked, the wrinkles in her tanned face deepening. “For you and such a bonny lass, only threepence a half dozen.”

Normally, Silence would bargain the seller down, but the apples did look good and the price was fair. “I’ll take a dozen.”

She handed over the coins and called Mary Evening over with the marketing basket she held. She watched as the seller carefully picked out and filled the basket for her. The apples would make a nice pie or two for the children.

She continued on her way through the stalls. Besides Mary Evening, she had Mary Compassion and Mary Redribbon to carry her purchases, and the girls trailed her like obedient ducklings. They’d already purchased onions, turnips, and a nice lump of fresh butter, and Silence was making for a stall with a pretty display of beetroots when a shout made her glance to the right.

A small gang of boys was there—a common sight in St. Giles and indeed all of London. These boys were intent on some type of dicing game on the ground, and one boy had obviously won or lost. He jumped up and down and was immediately cuffed by another lad. In a moment, both boys were rolling in the dust, no one paying much attention to them other than to walk around the scuffle. Then as she was idly watching, she saw something—someone—beyond the boys. A graceful male figure, inky black curls brushing broad shoulders, the hint of wide, cynical lips.

It couldn’t be.

She dodged to the side, trying to get a better look. He’d turned away, and there were other people, other stalls, between them. She couldn’t be sure, but if she could just get a good glimpse…

“Where are we going, ma’am?” Mary Evening panted.

Silence looked around and realized that the girls were running to keep up with her swift steps. She turned back, searching the place where she’d last seen that too-familiar face.

But he was gone.

Perhaps she’d imagined him; perhaps she’d mistaken another man with long hair worn undressed about his shoulders. Mary Darling fretted and reached for an apple in Mary Evening’s basket. Silence picked one out with fingers that trembled and gave it to the baby. She’d not seen him since that one awful night; surely she must be mistaken.

But she knew she wasn’t. She’d caught a glimpse of Charming Mickey O’Connor, the most notorious river pirate in London.

“It’s time we were home,” she told the children.

She turned, hurrying away from the market. Perhaps it was merely a coincidence that Charming Mickey should be in the market at the same time as she. He did live in St. Giles, as she had good reason to know. Except she really couldn’t see Mr. O’Connor doing his own marketing. Her steps quickened until she was nearly trotting. Her heart was beating in triple time, so fast and light she thought she might faint.

Mustn’t show fear before the wolf.

She half laughed, but the sound was more a sob. Mickey wasn’t anything like a wild, savage wolf—at least on the surface. The one time she’d seen him, he’d been dressed in velvet and lace, every finger of his hands adorned with jeweled rings. He’d been elegant and suave. But underneath, dear God,
underneath
he’d been exactly like a ravenous wolf.

Silence was panting by the time they made the home. Her fingers were clumsy with the key, and she nearly dropped it twice before getting it in the door. With a last nervous look over her shoulder, she pushed the girls inside the home and slammed the door shut behind her. Quickly she flung down the bar.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Mary Evening asked anxiously.

“Yes.” Silence placed a hand over her breast, trying to calm her breathing. Mary Darling munched messily on her apple, unconcerned. At least she hadn’t alarmed the baby. She smiled. “Yes, quite, but I’m dying for a cup of tea, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am!” was the general consensus.

So she marched back to the kitchen with her charges, feeling marginally better.

That feeling stopped, though, when she saw Winter standing in the kitchen, his face grave. Winter never came home before his luncheon at one of the clock.

She frowned. “What are you doing home at this hour?”

Winter looked at the eldest girl. “Mary Evening, please set the marketing on the table and take the other girls with you upstairs. I believe Nell has just made some tea for the children there.”

The girls obediently trailed from the kitchen.

Silence looked at Winter, her chest squeezing, “Winter?”

He glanced distractedly at Mary Darling, still in her arms. “Perhaps we should send the baby upstairs as well.”

“No.” Silence swallowed, laying a cheek against Mary Darling’s soft, black curls. “Let her stay with me.”

Winter nodded. “Will you sit?”

She lowered herself to one of the kitchen benches. “What is it? Tell me.”

“We’ve received word from the owners of William’s ship,” he said gently.

Her head started to spin, Winter’s words becoming indistinct.

Still, when he continued, she heard him. “William’s ship has been lost at sea. There were no survivors. I’m afraid William is dead.”