Simply Sinful (34 page)

He groaned as wetness spurted out of his cock and coated James’s fingers, making his job easier with every flex of his hand. He kicked off his breeches and boots and leaned back against the high side of the bed as James penetrated him with his tongue and his fingers.

“Let me love you, Peter.”

James murmured close to his ear as he turned Peter to face the bed and moved behind him, the hard, hot heat of his cock sliding between Peter’s buttocks. They both groaned as James entered him and started to move. His strokes long and controlled, one hand guiding Peter’s hip, the other wrapped around his cock, urging him on.

Peter gave himself up to the sensations and turned his head so that James could kiss him. His climax built along with James’s, and soon they were both panting and thrusting against each other in a desperate need for completion, for pleasure, for love.

Peter came first, his cum spurting out over James’s pumping fist and soaking into the counterpane. James gave one last thrust and rammed into him, filled him until he could no longer move. They rested together, Peter wrapped in James’s arms, their bodies in perfect alignment.

“Are you quite sure you need all that pain and humiliation as well, James?”

James chuckled as he withdrew after a last kiss on the nape of Peter’s neck. “Unfortunately I do. Don’t ever tell Mr. Hodges that I can make love like that.”

Peter turned to study James. “Will you bring him to visit us, then?”

James shrugged. “If he wishes. I’m not sure I’ll even find him again.”

“You’re sure that you want to try, though?”

“Aye. It’s important to me.” James smiled. “Now leave me to get some sleep, man. We have a busy day in the morning.”

Peter went to him and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Thank you, James. Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Let’s wait to see what Abby has to say in the morning.”

Peter picked up his clothes and headed back to his own room. God, he was tired. The evening at Madame’s had gone on for far too long. He was both emotionally and physically drained. He needed his sleep and a clear head for the morning before he faced Abigail with his fragile hopes for their future together.

His room was in darkness, only the orange glow of the banked fire adding a tint of warmth to the black. He pulled back the bed covers, encountered skin much finer than his silk sheets and a scent he would never forget. He stepped back, struck a flint and used the spark to light a candle beside the bed.

“Abigail, what are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

She sat bolt upright and stared at him, arms folded over her naked breasts.

“I do hate you. Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours and it took me a considerable amount of time to talk my way past Mr. Adams.”

“I’m here now. What do you want?”

She faced him, her chin held high. “I refuse to let you leave me.”

“You refuse?”

“It’s quite simple. I’ll talk to James. We can work something out together.”

He fought a smile, awed by the mixture of bravery and desperation in her voice. Emotions he thought he had owned that last dreadful week. It seemed that none of them were prepared to give up their unique relationship without a fight.

“I was intending to leave tomorrow.”

“Adams told me. I never thought of you as a coward.”

“Perhaps I thought I was doing the best thing for everyone.”

“For everyone but you, perhaps. What if I don’t want to settle down and be the way I was? What if I want more and don’t give a damn what the polite world thinks of me?” She shrugged. “It’s not as if the
ton
knows much about me anyway. I’m already considered an eccentric country nobody.”

Peter sighed. “But I wanted to visit my new family.”

“There is nothing stopping you visiting them as long as you come right back and don’t decide to move there or something equally ridiculous.”

He fought a smile. “But I wanted to be the martyr. I wanted to give up everything for love.”

Her expression changed, “Why, you…”

She threw herself at him, fists thumping into his chest. He twisted and allowed her to bear him down onto the bed. She loomed over him, her breast perilously close to his mouth.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No, ma’am, I would never do that.”

He licked her nipple, tried to bite and she jerked away. He simply turned his head and suckled on the other one. She moaned deep in her throat, allowed her body to rest against his, her wet core against his stomach. He threaded his fingers through her short hair and brought her head down to meet his, kissed her hard until she could no longer speak, only breathe.

He released her mouth, looked into her eyes. “I love you, Abigail. I don’t want to leave you either.”

She reared back. His cock sprang free and slid against her sex. “Then why didn’t you say so?”

“Because I am a fool?”

Her satisfied sigh was balm to his soul.

“If only James listened as well as you do, my life would be so much easier.”

“Actually James is an excellent listener. He has come up with a solution for our problems all by himself.”

“James has?”

“If you approve, of course.”

“Well, tell me then.”

“He wishes to go back to Jamaica and find his Mr. Hodges. Valentin and I have plenty of ships that travel that route and he is welcome to take a trip on one of them. Of course, that leaves him with a dilemma. He doesn’t wish you to think he has abandoned you.”

“I assume that is where you step in.”

“Exactly. As his good friend, I will guarantee to keep an eye on you while he is away traveling.”

She stared at him for so long that he began to doubt himself.

“Abigail? Is something wrong?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely sure.”

He smiled at her, hoped she saw his deep love and thankfulness for his second chance.

“It will take quite a long while to prepare for James’s journey and find out any new information about Mr. Hodges. By the time he departs, hopefully you will be noticeably pregnant, and no one will think anything at all of our friendship after he leaves.”

“Do you really think it might work?”

He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “If we all want it to, Abigail, and we love each other enough, why not?”

She bent forward, her hands cupping his face. “I do love you. I love James as well, but you are the one I would miss with all my soul.”

He stared up at her, her face blurring as he fought his emotions. With one swift move, he rolled her beneath him and shoved his cock deep. Finesse deserted him as he pumped into her, determined to possess her at some instinctive level that demanded more than technique or artifice, just his body joined to hers in the most primitive way, his seed inside her, and the mark of his teeth on her skin. He groaned with each hard stroke and pounded into her welcoming flesh.

She didn’t stop him. She simply wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on, nails digging into his flesh, her cries devoured by his mouth as he kissed her. This was what he wanted and needed, not money or power but a woman who welcomed him into her body and into her life, who held him like she would never let him go.

His cum gathered at the base of his thrusting cock and he rocked harder, undulated his hips against her pubic bone, ground himself against her clit. He shoved a hand into her hair, tried to stare into her face.

“Come with me, now.”

His words ended in a growl as he climaxed, swiftly followed by hers. Her body gripped him with all the strength of an iron fist and milked him dry. He collapsed over her, his breathing ragged, his emotions scattered over the counterpane along with his heart. Would she have the strength to gather up his needs and love him anyway?

She kissed his ear, her lips warm on his flesh.

“I love you, Peter. We will work this out.”

He closed his eyes, inhaled her scent and realized—he believed her.

EPILOGUE

Beecham Hall, Henham, Essex
September 1st, 1819

My dearest James,

Thank you for your latest letter. It seems you and Mr. Hodges are enjoying your partnership and that your business is also thriving. We look forward to seeing you both here for Christmas and hope that your insistence on discussing a divorce will not be allowed to spoil the festivities. Rest assured that despite your concerns
, we are quite happy as we are.

We also expect the Sokorvskys. Peter and Valentin continue to baffle me with their complicated relationship, but Sara has become a good friend. Luckily, the Sokorvskys’ child is of an age to play with ours.

Your son, William James, has decided that crawling is no longer stylish enough for a boy of his advanced age and has begun to walk, albeit with mixed results. Peter insists I tell you that William is no longer bald. He sports a full head of curly brown hair, which your mother swears makes him the image of you.

With fondest love,
Abigail, Lady James Beecham
and Mr. Peter Howard

P.S. Peter also insists I tell you that “his” grandfather says his hair was black until the age of five and to make of that what you will…

Turn the page for a touch of
HOT SILK,
by Sharon Page!

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1

Before the start of the London Season, March of 1818

“T
he choice is yours, my love. I want you—you know that. Meet me tonight, in the gallery. Don’t wear your gown. Wear something easy to remove…”

Grace Hamilton knew she should be scandalized by Lord Wesley’s proposition. She should refuse. But she had been trying to stay strong and good and proper for a week and she could not resist any longer.

“I do not know, my lord,” she whispered. He stood behind her, away from the hot, sparkling chandeliers and the swirling crowd, in the shadows of the ballroom at Collingsworth, ancestral home of the Marquis of Rydermere. Lord Wesley’s home and a place she had no right to be.

Grace stood by dark gallery doors, wearing a borrowed gown, terrified everyone would see her for the fraud she was.

His lordship rested his hands gently on her waist, his long fingers splayed to meet across her middle—she hadn’t expected him to touch her yet and the contact stole her breath. “I will be waiting,” he murmured, his voice a possessive growl. “If you aren’t there at midnight, I will have to assuage my broken heart elsewhere.”

How many other ladies here would accept his proposition? A wave of his hand and any number of women would beg to be kissed by him, would eagerly agree to meet him for sin. Dozens of women here wanted to marry him; their calculating eyes fixed on the prize—to become Marchioness of Rydermere.

This house teemed with lovely ladies of good birth, but Lord Wesley had singled her out, had pursued
her
ever since her arrival. From the first moment he had bent over her hand and let his lips play magic on her fingers through the thin muslin of her glove, she had been entranced. And each look he cast her way, each hot and intense glance, had assured her he felt the magic every bit as much as she.

Or was she wrong? What, after all, did she know about men in love?

“Midnight. By midnight,” she teased, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel, “you will know if I am coming or not.”

His breath tickled her neck, a hot caress. “Wicked wench. I’ll be there.” He moved closer to her, leaving the shadows to press his body against hers. She both stiffened and melted as a hard ridge snuggled against her silk-clad bottom.

“I can’t wait to grasp hold of this lush, fashionable arse—” With a groan, he ground his erection against her curves, setting her heart racing. “That, my golden nymph, is for you.”

And then he was gone.

Grace snapped open her fan and beat it so feverishly the thin silk tore from the spokes. She’d never had a man do this to her before. Be so bold. Be so gruff and direct and lusty—

“What was my rascal of a brother saying to you? Oh, Grace, you aren’t going to faint, are you? Your face is aflame.”

Grace started guiltily as Lady Prudence joined her in the private corner. Her friend’s closed fan rested against her lips, half hiding their firm line. “Did you let him coax you here?”

“No…I needed a rest,” Grace lied.

Lying had never been her talent and she doubted Lady Prudence was fooled. Her friend gave a tip to her head so the candlelight caught the tiny diamonds and sapphires threaded through her dark hair. Lady Prudence was so lovely. It was astonishing to Grace that she had such a friend.

“Don’t believe a word he says,” Lady Prudence warned, her gray-blue eyes very solemn. She bent close to be heard clearly over the graceful melody of the waltz. “My brother is a scoundrel.”

Couples twirled past, elegant and glittering beneath the glow of a thousand candles. Gentlemen’s hands rested lightly on slender backs; ladies’ gloved hands entwined with those of their partners. Skirts swirled around graceful ankles and coattails fluttered to give glimpses of muscular male bottoms.

Grace sighed. “Aren’t most of the men we encounter scoundrels at heart? That is what makes them so interesting. But no gentleman would ever really behave as a scoundrel with me.”

“For which you should be profoundly grateful.” They were the same age, both eighteen, but Lady Prudence suddenly looked wise and mature. “You are so exceptionally beautiful, Grace, you will make a devastatingly successful marriage.”

“Will I?” She was running out of time. Within a week or two, the fashionable world would all be in London. Her eldest sister Venetia was already in London, in a rented townhouse, drawing erotic art to save their family, and their mother was sick with worry.

And Grace could save them all. All she had to do was marry.

She ground the toe of her slipper into the gleaming parquet floor and gripped her fan until the splintered spokes bit through her gloves. All she had to do was capture a titled man and she could keep her family from the workhouse. She could return her mother to the world that had cast her out.