Reckless (23 page)

“Heartless wench,” he growled, coming down on one knee on the bed. “Turn over.”

She stilled, looking up at him questioningly. “Turn over,” he said again. “And get on your knees. You know I won't hurt you. Don't you?”

Yes, she knew. She did as she was told, for a moment feeling embarrassed, undignified. But there was no dignity to be sought in sex, and she felt his mouth at the small of her back, heard his sigh of dreamlike appreciation. “You're beautiful, you know,” he murmured, his hands sliding over her back, pulling her forward so that she rested on her elbows. “Your skin is like cream. I want you every way I can.” His fingers slid over her buttocks, hard, caressing, then moved down between her legs, to the wetness there, and she jumped, her sensitized flesh quivering.

He rubbed her, spreading the dampness, and he slid his long fingers inside her, making her start. And then she pushed back against his hand, wanting more.

A moment later she felt his hard thighs at the back of hers, his cock nudging at her damp sex. And when he pushed in again it was tighter, deeper, rubbing against a different place that suddenly made
her climax again, a long, powerful shudder. He held her, one hand palming the front of her to hold her steady.

“Try not to come so hard, love,” he said in a shaky laugh. “You're pushing me out again. And I need to be
deep
inside you.”

His words made another paroxysm hit her, and she was powerless to do anything about it. “I can't…stop it,” she said, dropping her head down on the heavy linen cover that smelled of bleach and sunlight and dust. “Just let me…” Her momentary breath was enough, and he pushed in, deeper than he'd ever been before, so deep she could taste him again.

His fingers tightened on her hips, and it was as if permission had finally been granted. He thrust into her, fast now, so hard she had to muffle her cries into the covers beneath her, again and again and again, and she knew if he pulled out she'd die, she needed all of him, spilling inside her, she needed him filling her, over and over.

He took one hand from her hip, slid it around in front of her and rubbed his palm against that magic place, just as his cock slid along a spot so powerful inside her that even the mattress couldn't muffle her shriek, and with a final, slamming thrust he climaxed, inside her, and her body pulled him deeper rather than pushing him away as she dissolved.

It seemed to last forever, his rigid outpouring that seemed to scald her very heart, her shivering,
clenching, mindless release, and all she could think was more, more, more, and then suddenly it was enough, and they collapsed together onto the narrow, dusty bed.

E
tienne de Giverney was a very unhappy man. He had spent a lifetime in search of the legacy he deserved, he'd broken the laws of God and man, and just when it looked as if it was in his reach that overgrown, red-headed bitch had thrown all his plans in the sewer.

It was impossible. Three weeks ago, when he saw Adrian head after her instead of sharing drink and decadence with him, he'd assumed he was perfectly safe. The girl was awkward, older than his cousin's son and heir, ordinary looking and too outspoken. He would fuck her once and abandon her.

But he hadn't. He hadn't emerged from that little room he kept, preferring his privacy to the audience most of the Heavenly Host preferred. And Etienne was there under sufferance. Not a member, not even a guest, but a hanger-on to be tolerated. Oh, they laughed with him, gambled with him. But
he knew the English and their misguided sense of superiority.

Etienne had finally chosen to interfere. It hadn't been that difficult, to tease Adrian into leaving her behind. And just to make certain she didn't cause any more trouble he'd arranged her tumble down the cliff before he caught up with Adrian.

She hadn't hit her head, or suffered more than a few bruises. More damnable luck. And the men he'd hired to finish Adrian for good had bungled. They'd waited too long. He'd turned away from home instead of coming toward them, and their necessary pursuit had ruined everything.

Etienne had been waiting at Adrian's house, prepared for the tragic news, when that stupid English vicar had helped him into the house. It had taken all Etienne's sangfroid to keep from screaming in rage.

And then the moment Pagett had informed Adrian that Charlotte Spenser would be in Sussex what must he do but go haring off almost immediately, like a love-starved moonling. Who would have thought it?

Etienne had done everything he could to stop him, but for some reason his influence over Adrian was waning. It wouldn't be long before he was dropped, and he'd lose his entrée to anywhere in English society.

He wasn't going to let that happen.

Indeed, it wasn't his fault. The heir, Charles Edward, had been too much like his father, with a neck-or-nothing style in all of life. He rushed into things without thinking them through, and it hadn't taken long to goad him into riding Etienne's favorite horse, Meutrier. With typical English arrogance he hadn't known that the horse's name, and temperament, meant “murderer.” The horse was mad, there was no other word for it. He'd been abused, and only Etienne could ride him.

But Charles Edward didn't like being told he couldn't do something. The fall had broken his back. The pneumonia that followed had finished the job, leaving Francis Rohan with only one heir.

It had been child's play to corrupt Adrian. He was already well on his way by the time he was twenty-five, old in the ways of sin and decadence. It wouldn't take much for Adrian to succumb. Opium was a dangerous drug, the interesting concoctions he made from plants could be even worse, and he had watched Adrian use them indiscriminately, with his help, of course.

An overdose would be so easy, but he preferred not to help things along. Adrian had been doing just fine by himself. His wretched father, Francis, was old now, close to seventy. He couldn't live that much longer, though he seemed damnably healthy. If Adrian predeceased him Francis would quickly
follow, and there would be no one but Etienne to step into the title, the house, the monies.

He intended to be kind to Francis's wife. He would remove her from his houses, of course, but he would settle a small amount on her, enough to keep her relatively comfortable if her needs were few. And what needs would she have? She'd be in mourning, unable to attend social functions, which made things a great deal simpler. After that time was up he expected her to simply fade away without her husband. They were far too attached to each other—Etienne considered it bad ton to be so besotted, particularly after so many years and six children. No, she would die soon and he wouldn't have to worry about even the tiny stipend.

But none of that would happen, that rosy future would vanish if Adrian lived long enough to reproduce. And Etienne could no longer afford to be patient.

The small village of Huntingdon boasted an indifferent inn, but they were used to the strange comings and goings connected to Hensley Court, and no one paid any notice to the big Frenchman. They weren't even concerned about traitors. Most of the stupid English expected him to sell them out the first chance he got. They didn't realize that the so-called French government would rather have his head on a pike than theirs.

Fortunately he knew Hensley Court and its grounds very well—he'd been most observant on the
few occasions when he'd been invited to join their silly games. It would be easy enough to slip in unnoticed, once he'd decided how he was going to handle the situation.

In retrospect, he'd clearly been mistaken in thinking things could resolve at their own speed. Instead of getting weaker, Adrian was growing stronger, and there were times when Etienne caught him looking at him with the same cool contempt he saw in Francis's eyes. It infuriated him.

He could blame all this on Miss Charlotte Spenser, a woman who'd never known her place, who had somehow managed to ensnare Adrian when Etienne had done his best to throw women of his own choosing at the man's head. Women who owed him a favor and would do what he told them to.

He took a deep breath. Indeed, it was most aggravating, and it would take days to handle this. He would have to kill them both, of course. Adrian because he stood in the way, Miss Spenser because there was always the remote possibility that she carried an heir.

An heir who would be just as much a bastard as he was. And yet, Etienne had no doubt Francis would contrive to allow his grandchild to inherit the title. His English cousin had had things his way for too long. The loss of a second heir would slow him down where age hadn't managed to.

And how it would gall him to know that Etienne
would inherit everything. The pleasure in that was almost better than the inheritance itself. The smug bastard who'd always had everything that should have been Etienne's by right, who'd given back his French title and estates just in time to have them confiscated by the canaille. A man who'd done everything he could to make sure Etienne was disliked. It would be revenge most sweet.

There were times when he wondered how he had come to this. He'd been a healer—Francis had paid for his medical training and bought him a surgery in Paris, a poor compensation for the title he'd stolen. But still, he'd spent decades helping people. Perhaps it would be tallied into the final reckoning, perhaps not. He wasn't sure he believed in anything after this life.

Which made him all the more determined to get what he wanted from it.

 

“I think she's pregnant,” Lina said in a disconsolate voice. “And you know what a disaster that is.”

“No,” said Monty, “I don't. Babies are lovely, new life is divine. If you're worried about what society will think then that's a new experience for you. To hell with society.”

“You're right, of course,” Lina said, managing a smile. “I tell you what, why don't we move in here with you? Charlotte can have her baby, and we'll make our own odd little family.”

“I get to be the mother,” Monty said with a faint grin. “I'm not cut out to be a paterfamilias.”

“Of course you are. You're very grand and controlling, like all good patriarchs are. You have to get better, though. No lolling about in bed like this. If we're going to have a baby we'll be very busy.”

“I'll do my best. Of course, we haven't taken Rohan into account.”

“How did you know it was Rohan?” she asked. “You've been in bed for the last three weeks.”

He looked affronted. “Do you think my servants don't report everything to me?”

“Everything?”
she said.

“Everything. I do think Rohan might have other plans for Charlotte, my pet. But that doesn't mean I don't want you to move in here. You'll make a perfect mistress of Hensley Court. I've long imagined you here.”

“Bless you, sweetness. I'll marry you. I think we should do very well together. Sexual congress is really a great deal less important than people say.”

“Sexual congress is really a great deal more important, my pet. You just haven't had anyone do you right.”

“Fat lot you know,” she said.

“I do. I know very well how men make love, and I can tell you don't. So no, my sweet, I won't marry you. I don't think there'd be time even if I wanted to.”

“There'll be all the time in the world,” Lina said,
leaving the chair and climbing up onto the bed, curling up next to him.

“If you say so.” His voice was faint. “But if, by any strange occurrence, I don't, I'll be very happy to think of you here. I think you should have many, many children.”

She was already feeling close to tears, and at this they threatened to spill over. “I can't have children, Monty.”

“I think the right man will give you many children.”

“Then I'll need to find the right man,” she said with a watery chuckle.

“I'll take care of it.”

She took his frail hand, and they lay there in companionable silence. “Do you think Rohan and Charlotte could possibly be happy? He's a rake and a libertine.”

“His father managed to reform with the love of a good woman. Adrian's the man his father is, despite his current shortcomings. I expect he and Charlotte will end up disgustingly happy, doting on each other into old age.” He shook his head. “There's nothing worse than a reformed rake. Just look at Simon. He'll probably end up the same. It quite breaks my heart,” he said cheerfully.

Lina laughed. “I promise I'll be wicked till the end of my days, Monty.”

He lifted her hand to his and kissed it lightly. “We shall see, my precious.”

 

Charlotte rolled over, stretching. Sunlight was coming in through the shuttered windows of the old nursery, and dust motes danced in the air. Adrian lay beside her, sound asleep, naked and beautiful, and she lay back, cradling her head in her arms, and watched him, her eyes sliding over all the mysterious parts of his body that were so different from hers. She felt wonderful, full of life and energy, as if she could dance and fly and sing.

“Go back to sleep,” he muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I can't. I'm too happy.”

At that he did open one eye to survey her. “Delighted I could help… If you let me sleep I can do it again and you'll be even happier.”

“I can't…” His arm shot out and caught her around the waist, pulling her back against his body. He was cool, lovely, all that flesh against hers, and she could feel his penis begin to stir at her backside, and instinctively her nipples hardened.

He felt them against his arm, having positioned himself deliberately. “Then again, now's as good a time as any,” he said in her ear.

She pulled away, and he let her go, reluctantly. She sat up on the bed, looking down at him for a long moment. “Lina's going to raise a fuss.”

“Then we avoid Lina. She doesn't need to know until it's too late.”

“Too late for what?” she asked, confused.

“We'll get married, of course. It's not the best possible solution—I certainly had no intention of marrying anyone, but there doesn't seem to be any help for it. I don't seem to be able to get you out of my system. It requires long familiarity for that to happen—I was enchanted with my favorite mistress for more than two years before I finally tired of her. I fully expect it to take that long with you.”

She stared at him, her face expressionless. “And what happens then? If we're married you can't pension me off with a diamond brooch.”

He laughed. “It costs a lot more than a diamond brooch to dispense with those kinds of entanglements, my sweet Charlotte. No, we should do fairly well together once society recovers from the shock. Even when desire fades and we move on to other partners I imagine we'll still be friends.”

Her skin was like ice. “I would get to move on to other partners as well…?”

“Of course. Would you think I would be so unfair?” He frowned. “Though I must admit that right now the idea makes me furious. But I'll change my mind, of course. I always do.”

“You always do,” she echoed.

“In fact, that's why it took me so long to get here. I was able to obtain a special license from my
godfather, who happens to be the bishop of London. I imagine we could prevail upon Pagett to marry us.”

“I don't think so,” she said in her sweetest, softest voice.

He raised an eyebrow. “You don't want him to marry us?”

“No, my lord. I don't wish to marry
you
.”

His expression was almost comical. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course you do.”

“No,” she said calmly. “I do not. You're a cold-hearted, arrogant son of a bitch, and I deserve better.”

He just looked at her in astonishment, as if she'd suddenly grown a second head. “I beg your pardon?”

She rose, ignoring her own nudity, and grabbed the Holland cover off the adjoining bed, wrapping it around her with great dignity. “I'm smart, I'm talented, I'm essentially kindhearted and I'm not a complete antidote. I shouldn't have to settle for the kind of cold-blooded union you're suggesting. It's so kind of you to condescend to offer for me, but you can take your proposal, if that's what it was, and stuff it up your bum. I'm worth more, I deserve better, and I'm not settling for someone like you.”

She started toward the door, the heavy linen trailing behind her, and he was up off the bed, at the
door before she made it there. He looked confused, furious, bewildered.