Simply Sinful (27 page)

Her sexual curiosity inflamed his desires, made him want to please her, to devise new ways to amuse her so that she would never want to look at another man again. He’d never felt like that about a woman before. His fingers stilled on the silver buttons of his waistcoat.

Did James realize he had created a rival for Abigail’s affections? And if he had, would he care? Peter had to assume that the Beechams knew what they were doing to him. Part of their attraction for him was their astonishing honesty and intimacy.

“Will we see you back here tonight, Mr. Howard?”

Peter turned to face Adams, who held his discarded clothes over his arm.

“I’m not sure, so don’t wait up for me.”

“Of course, sir.” Adams bowed. “I’ll tell the other staff as well.”

After Adams left, Peter surveyed the tasteful gray hues of his bedchamber, remembered how Sara had insisted the colors complemented his fair skin and beautiful eyes. He half smiled at the memory. Sara hadn’t tried to contact him again. Her assumption that he found her pregnancy offensive, an assumption he’d chosen not to correct, seemed enough to keep her away.

Strange that Valentin hadn’t mentioned it during their last confrontation. Peter picked up his gloves and long coat. Perhaps Sara had kept that hurt to herself, fearing to make things worse between her husband and his oldest friend. Not that things could be much worse.

He ran lightly down the stairs into the small hallway, where Adams handed him his hat. He’d spent the last night here alone, wondering if the Beechams would manage to bed each other without him. Worry that they would fought the fragile hope that they still needed him. He paused midstride. Exactly when had this stopped being an amusing diversion and become so important?

“Mr. Howard? I’ve just been informed that a message was delivered about half an hour ago. Would you like to see it before you leave?”

Peter hesitated, his thoughts already ahead, anticipating the delights to be sampled at the Beechams. He held out his hand.

“Thank you. Give it to me.”

Valentin’s distinctive scrawl covered only a small part of the envelope and merely suggested Peter read what was within. He pulled off the outside layer, saw unfamiliar writing and spread the single sheet out.

Mr. Howard, I fear we parted on bad terms. I would appreciate the opportunity to talk to you again. Please meet me in my solicitor’s office tomorrow at eleven. Address enclosed. Yours, William Howard.

Peter stared at the paper. Was he being offered a second chance or was Mr. Howard’s choice of venue a veiled threat that he intended to take legal action against Peter if he continued with his claim? Instinct told him not to go. His promise to Abigail, and Valentin’s words, burned in his mind and forced his acquiescence.

He looked up at Adams. “Did the messenger leave a forwarding address?”

“Not as far as I know, sir; do you wish me to try to find out?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll take care of the matter myself in the morning.” He put on his hat. “Thank you, Adams. If I return home and don’t make it downstairs before ten tomorrow morning, please wake me up. Good night.”

“Good night, sir, and enjoy your evening.”

Peter smiled savagely. He intended to, especially as it might turn out to be the last he ever had.

James paced the carpet of the elegant drawing room, his gaze fixed on the clock. Abby sighed.

“Will you please sit down? You’re giving me a headache.”

“Peter’s late again.”

Abby checked the clock on the mantelpiece behind him. “It’s only five minutes past the hour. He might have been momentarily detained.”

“But it’s my birthday.”

“So it is. And don’t whine.”

He frowned at her, then opened his mouth to reply when they both heard Peter’s familiar voice in the hall below. Abby stood up and brushed out her skirts.

“There, you see? He’s here.”

“And about time too,” James muttered as Peter came through the door, his expression untroubled. He paused and looked at Abby and then James.

“Am I late?”

Abby went forward to take his hand. “You are perfectly on time. James is being far too particular.”

Peter smiled at James. “Happy birthday. I believe you are now thirty-four.”

James bowed. “I am indeed, although I hardly feel that old.” He shot a quick glance at Abby. “Or that I have been married for almost half my life.”

“That is hard to believe. Although sometimes I think our marriage only truly began when we met Peter.”

Peter held her gaze, the warmth in his eyes an eloquent testament to how he felt as well. James cleared his throat.

“Are we going out tonight then, Peter? Abby thought you had something planned.”

“I do. Our evening will begin and end at Madame Helene’s, so perhaps we should start there?”

Abby shivered as she crept up the back stairs at Madame’s behind Peter. It was noisy at the pleasure house tonight, the voices deeper, the very air somehow more dangerous. Apparently Thursday nights were mainly for men and not for the faint of heart. Peter paused to allow a pair of drunken half-clothed revelers to stagger across the landing before he opened the door to their usual suite.

Inside the room, a fire burned in the grate, warming Abby a little. Peter lit some of the candles and then bowed to her.

“You’ll need to put these clothes on.”

A set of male clothing lay on the bed. Abby went to examine the black coat and gray breeches. James leaned up against the bedpost, arms crossed over his chest.

“Abby becomes a man for the evening? Is this part of my present?”

Peter smiled. “Does the thought arouse you?”

“Of course it does. I’d love to see how she looks as a man.”

“Help her out of her clothes, then, while I work on the final arrangements.”

James was so eager to proceed that he had her naked and out of her dress and corsets within minutes. He stood behind her, his large capable hands resting on her hips, his attention fixed on Peter.

“We’ll bind her breasts.” Peter handed a roll of fine lint to James. “Wrap this around them.”

James obliged, his breath warm on her neck as he attended to his task. When he finished, her nipples were visible through the filmy fabric. He flicked one until it hardened.

“Is this all right?”

Peter leaned into her, licked the taut nipple James had aroused and caught it between his teeth. Abby shuddered.

“Perfect.”

Peter retreated, tossed a white shirt over her head and waited until it settled around her hips. James shifted behind her, his cock pressing into her buttocks.

“God, this reminds me of being punished at school. My breeches shoved down around my ankles, my buttocks bared to the swing of the master’s cane.”

He cupped Abby’s bottom in his hands, brought her back hard against his groin. “Some of the teachers enjoyed punishing us. Some of them used their canes in other ways too.”

“I’m sure they did,” Peter murmured. “The English public school system has a lot to answer for, doesn’t it?”

Peter knelt at Abby’s feet and helped her step into stockings and breeches. He drew the breeches up her legs, pausing before he buttoned them. She gasped as he slid a hand between her legs.

“Wet already, Abigail? James, feel her here. Imagine bending her over, shoving the shirt out of the way and having her.”

James’s fingers tightened on her hips. “Can I?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s your birthday. And imagine how wet she’ll be on our adventures tonight, your cum dripping out of her, her sex swollen and open from your thrusting cock.”

The sound as James unbuttoned his breeches was loud in the silence, as loud as his hurried breathing. Peter let go of Abby’s breeches, gave her the back of a chair to hold onto and stood to one side.

Cold air wafted over her bottom as James lifted the shirt. His wet cock nudged between her buttocks and then he shoved his way deep inside her. Abby cried out as he filled her. His long hard strokes had her gripping the back of the chair for balance.

Peter moved farther out of her vision. She sensed him come up behind James, his quiet voice mesmerizing.

“Perhaps I’d better touch you too, James? Ten lashes for not doing your homework properly, or would you prefer a cane or something similar inserted in your arse?”

James stopped moving, his cock a thick, hard, quivering presence inside Abby.

“I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”

“Hold still, then. I have the perfect piece of ivory for you.”

The sudden scent of orange oil, James’s grunt and forward thrust of his hips as Peter obviously made good on his promise. Abby held still as James began to move again, his strokes more urgent, his rhythm slowly disintegrating as his pleasure built alongside Abby’s.

Peter reappeared in front of her and opened his breeches.

“My cock in your mouth too, Abigail, to complete the picture?” He knelt up on the chair, anchoring it against James’s weight and aimed his cock at her mouth.

“God, Peter, I can see her taking you in. I can see her mouth working you.”

Abby closed her eyes, concentrated on the dual penetrations, allowed herself to enjoy the sensation. If this was only the beginning of the evening, what else was to come? James groaned and his cock spilled deep inside her, sending her into a climax of her own as Peter flooded her mouth.

After James withdrew, Peter finished dressing her, his hands lingered in between her legs as he fashioned the long shirt into a convincing bulge for the front of her breeches. His knuckles deliberately grazed her already-sensitive bud as he worked. James stood close as well to offer advice. While he talked, he fingered his cum as it streamed out of her sex and spread it over her skin like lotion.

By the time they were ready to leave, Abby was already jittery, her nerves stretched, her senses alive and ready for whatever Peter had planned for them. James took her hand, squeezed it hard, his face more animated than she had ever seen it. Just before Peter opened the door, James caught him and kissed him hard. Abby joined in, kissing them both until Peter pulled away. His breathing was as harried as hers.

“If we do not stop, we’ll never get out of this bedroom. Do you want to stay here?”

James looked down at Abby. “It’s tempting, but I’m more interested in where we’ll go next and how Abby will fare in our world.”

“I agree. Let’s get going.”

Peter opened the door and swept them a courtly bow. “After you, sirs.”

Abby felt strange without her petticoats. In the breeches she could take much longer strides. As they walked out of Madame’s, she tried to mimic James’s lordly swagger. It was cold but bright outside, stars visible in the ink blue sky as well as a full moon. Within seconds she also discovered that men’s clothing was warmer. No breezes beneath her skirts or bare arms, just solid cloth from shoulder to toe.

James and Peter took up station on either side of her, their large bodies pressed against hers, surrounding her with their strength and protection.

“I thought we’d start at the Golden Goose Tavern down by the Thames. What do you think, James?”

“An excellent choice—crowded enough so that no one will take particular notice of Abby, and yet not so busy that violence is a problem.”

Abby was marched along narrow streets that dipped down toward the unmistakable stench of the river. Their boots sounded loud on the cobbled streets. She buried her face in James’s sleeve as they passed the deserted fish market. Discarded piles of gutted innards provided a slippery addition to the already-filthy pavement.

Inside the Golden Goose, it was surprisingly bright and cozy. The hubbub of cockney voices and smell of smoke and alcohol was an almost impenetrable fug in some spots. James maneuvered Abby up against a wall near where a game of dice was going on. Peter touched his shoulder.

“I’ll go and get some ale.”

Abby watched him weave his way to the bar, his blond hair glinting in the oil lamps, a ready smile for anyone who greeted him, even the whores. James kept her close, one arm slung casually around her shoulder. She craned forward to watch the game.

“Careful, Abby.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m supposed to be a man.”

“What would you like to be called, then?”

She frowned. “Tom is a good name.”

“Tom it is, then.” James shook her hand and returned his attention to the dice game. He tried to hold her back, but she strained every muscle to see past him. With a soft curse, he reversed their positions, giving her the better view. He nipped her ear.

“Don’t even think about joining in the game. They’d be on to you in a second.”

“I’d probably beat them all, that’s for sure. If only I knew how to play.” She glanced up at him, met his frown with a grin. “I wasn’t going to do anything quite so stupid. I just want to watch.”

He relaxed slightly, his hidden hand settling over the curve of her bottom. “Just remember,
Tom
. If you try it, I’ll tan your little backside.”

“Did you really enjoy being beaten at school, James?”

“Aye, although it’s not that I enjoyed the pain as much as the aftermath. The letting myself be taken, the decision to let another use me sexually made me free.” He frowned. “Now I sound like a woman.”

“No, you don’t. You sound like a man who knows what he wants.” She took a steadying breath. “And I can’t give that to you, can I?”

“Probably not.”

“Do you want me to try?”

He held her gaze, his brown eyes considering. “I’m not sure.”

Peter arrived with three tankards of ale and handed one to each of them. James laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m going to place a bet.” He slapped Abby hard on the back. “Look after dear old Tom, here.”

Peter studied Abby’s face.

“Did I interrupt something important?”

“Not really, I wanted to see if I could get James to admit that he doesn’t really want me to try to give him the kind of sex he needs.”

She tried the ale, wrinkled her nose in disgust and took another reluctant sip.

“What kind of sex is that?”

“The kind when he is grateful to give up control to someone who might hurt him.”