Simply Voracious (28 page)

“I’m going to fuck your arse, Lucky.”

“Like you fuck Constantine?” she whimpered and he bit down on her lower lip.

“Just like that, Lucky.”

He rolled her on to her front and positioned her over the pile of pillows, her back arched, her beautiful, shapely arse exposed. He slicked oil over his cock and went inside her with his finger to test her readiness.

“Please, Paul.”

He slowly pressed the crown of his cock against the tight ring of her arse and eased forward, rocking back and forth to gain entrance, aware of how narrow the space was and how much his cock loved that.

She made a low sound, and he kissed the back of her neck. His fingers played lightly with her clit and cunt, distracting her from what else he was doing. “It’s all right, Lucky; relax and let me in. I won’t hurt you.”

Her breath hissed out, and he slid deeper, devoured by her body, his cock a throbbing, thrusting presence buried inside her tight sheath.

“Ah, God.” Paul breathed out hard as he waited for Lucky to adjust to his penetration. “So tight, Lucky.”

He stroked her clit and gently rocked his hips. “Con’s bigger than me, thicker, wider. When he fucks me, I feel so full I can’t think of anything except what he is doing to me. He’d feel big to you here, in your sex and in your mouth.” He shuddered and started to move a bit faster, his fingers plunging inside her in counter-rhythm to the thrust of his shaft. “Oh, God. Lucky, can you imagine Con in your mouth, in my mouth, both of us inside you?”

She climaxed so suddenly that he came with her. The intensity of it left her gasping and sobbing his name. Paul remained on top of her, his heart beating so hard that his whole body was shaking with it.

When he moved away from her, he went to wash himself and brought a clean bowl of water and a cloth back to Lucky. For once she wasn’t asleep; her gaze was fixed on him as he carefully wiped her clean. She was so sensitive that she flinched when he used the cloth too heavily, which made him hard again, which made him want to lick her clean instead and make her come for him until she was screaming his name and begging.

Aware that she still hadn’t spoken, he sat back and studied her. “Did I offend you?”

“No.”

He cupped her face. “I shouldn’t have brought Constantine Delinsky into our bed.”

“I started it.”

“Sometimes a fantasy can make lovemaking more exciting,” he said carefully. “It doesn’t mean it has to become a reality.”

Something changed in her expression and she struggled to sit up. “Are you still denying that you want Constantine in your bed?”

“I can hardly deny it, can I? But as I said, it doesn’t mean that I have to act on it.”

She raised her chin at him, and there was a gleam in her eyes that reminded him of the Duke of Wellington at his most belligerent.

“When we married we made a bargain.”

“Indeed we did.”

“You said you would take a lover after I found one.”

He desperately searched his memory. “I believe I said
something
to that effect.”

“Actually you
promised
.” She smiled at him, and he had a sense of impending doom. “I have decided to take Constantine Delinsky as my lover, which means you can have him, too, with a clear conscience.”

Paul stared at her and then started to laugh.

21

“A
h, Delinsky, a pleasure.”

“Ambassador.”

Con bowed to the Russian ambassador and took a seat in front of his desk. His head was pounding and his mouth dry. After the ball on the previous night, much to Gregor’s annoyance, he’d drunk his way through a whole bottle of brandy and passed out on the floor. He’d woken up late, his dreams full of a naked Paul and Lady Lucinda entangled with him in bed.

“. . . as I mentioned, Lieutenant Colonel, I have some information for you.”

Con focused his attention on the smiling man in front of him. “I appreciate that, sir.”

“You might not feel that way after you have heard what I have to say. It seems that there is more than one witness who saw your wife leaving Moscow with the French army.”

“So it is highly likely she survived, then.” Con frowned. “Have you received any news of her since then?”

“My contacts are still working on that. If we can find no further word of her, it might still be safe to assume that she died on the retreat. Many thousands did.”

“I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, ambassador, but I hate to cause you so much extra work. Would it be easier if I took up the investigation myself at this point?”

“There is no need.” The ambassador smiled. “In truth, I am quite enjoying myself.”

“Then I will gladly leave it in your capable hands.” Con rose. “I hope Countess Lieven is well?”

“Indeed she is. In fact, she has proved most useful in your little affair. Her acquaintance is legion.”

“So I understand. Thank her for me, won’t you?”

“You can thank her yourself. She told me to invite you to dinner on Friday night. She intends to gather a select group of people together who might be able to help you.”

“I would be delighted.” Con bowed. “Thank you, ambassador.”

He exited the ambassador’s office and headed down the wide staircase. There were several people milling around in the hallway below, mainly petitioners hoping to be allowed to speak to the ambassador or one of his staff. Con recognized several old army uniforms from units decimated by Napoléon. The people who inhabited those uniforms bore the look of survivors from hell. And it had been hell. Beneath his polished exterior he bore the same scars.

“Vashe vysokoblagorodie.”

Con stopped as one of the veterans grabbed hold of his sleeve.
“Da?”
he automatically answered in Russian.

“Have pity on an old soldier, sir. My English is not good. Help me explain my case to the ambassador.”

“How can I help you?” Con drew the man to one side and listened patiently as he listed his grievances. Finally he nodded. “I’ll do my best for you, Ivan Petrov. Wait here.”

He strode back up the stairs, intercepted one of the ambassador’s secretaries, and explained his errand.

The man sighed. “They all want our help, and we can’t please them all.”

“He is only asking for what is his by right. His pension for fighting for his Tsar and his country.”

“And he might be lying, sir. He’s just a peasant. They are simply too lazy to work for a living.”

Con stared at the young secretary until the man had the grace to blush. “Did you fight in the damn war?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you have no right to judge those who did.” Con favored the man with his best commanding stare. “I suggest you attend to his claim, or I will be speaking to the ambassador.”

“Bravo, Delinsky.”

Con looked up into the face of one of his old army comrades. “Sergei Kalasov.”

Sergei turned to the hapless secretary. “Do as Lieutenant Colonel Delinsky says, imbecile.”

The man scuttled away, and Sergei held out his hand to Con. “It’s been a long time, my friend.”

“Indeed it has. Thank you for your help. It seems those who served Mother Russia are to be ignored or forgotten in these more peaceful times.” Con returned the handshake. “Have you been in England for long?”

“I’m just visiting. I’m attached to the Russian embassy in Paris.”

“Indeed? That must be interesting.”

Sergei grimaced. “It is hard sometimes to forget the past, but needs must.”

Con nodded. “Do you have an hour to spare for me? We could have dinner at my club.”

“That would be delightful.” Sergei followed Con down the stairs and out into the street. “I’ve been waiting to speak to the ambassador, but he’s been busy all day.”

Con hailed a hackney cab and they were soon deposited at the door of his club, which was populated mainly by former and current military men and was far less intimidating than White’s or Brookes’s.

When they were seated, Con turned back to Sergei. “When did you sell out?”

He grimaced. “As soon as I could. After our regiment was practically annihilated it seemed there was nothing left to fight for.”

“I understand. I almost sold out myself,” Con replied. “I was lucky enough to be seconded to one of the British regiments. After that, I had no time to question my commission; I was too busy.”

“Killing Frenchmen.”

“Yes.” Con thanked the waiter, who brought them a bottle of brandy. In his present condition, he reckoned the cure to his headache might prove to be more brandy. At least it would dull the pain.

“You are situated in London, then?”

“Indeed. The regiment is overseas en route to India. I was asked to stay behind and liaise with the Duke of Wellington’s staff.”

“Lucky for you.”

“I suppose so. But it is more likely that they simply do not need me anymore and have found a way to keep me busy.”

Sergei laughed. “You can hardly wish for more fighting, my friend, can you?”

“Good God, no,” Con said. “I hope I never have to go to war again.”

“Amen.” Sergei held out his glass and Con clinked his against it. “And how are your family, Delinsky?”

“My mother is still in Saint Petersburg. My cousin Michael continues to administer to what remains of my estates.”

“Only Natasha accompanied you then?”

Con made himself meet Sergei’s interested gaze. “Unfortunately not. My wife went missing in Moscow.”

“During the French occupation?” Sergei groaned. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to raise such unhappy memories.”

“There is no need to apologize. It is in the past.”

“You have not remarried?”

“No.” Con decided it was time to change the subject, although it was strange that no one from the embassy had already asked Sergei about Natasha. “Have you married?”

Sergei looked smug. “I recently married a beautiful Frenchwoman named Louise.”

Con raised his glass. “Congratulations. I wish you many years of happiness together. Did she accompany you on this trip?”

“She did. She wanted to see London and have some riding habits made for her.” He shrugged. “Apparently London tailors are the best in the fashionable world at this.”

“So I’ve heard.” Con smiled. It seemed that Sergei’s wife already had her husband under her thumb. Louise also might be able to help Con. “Are you perhaps going to Countess Lieven’s dinner party on Friday night?”

“I believe we are.”

“Then I look forward to meeting your wife.” Con looked up at the waiter who had come to stand by his chair. “I believe we can go into the dining room now. Perhaps you can tell me more about your charming wife while we eat.”

Lucky stared at the letter in her hand and then at Milly. “Did the person who brought this say why it was returned?”

“No, my lady.” Milly frowned. “Should I have asked?”

“It doesn’t matter, Milly. It just seems rather odd.”

Lucky studied the crossed-out address, trying to see whether the pen strokes resembled Jeremy’s. Now she was even more worried that Paul had somehow found out about Jeremy and arranged for his murder. She placed a hand over her belly. Surely that was ridiculous? But Paul did have a deadly side that most people were completely unaware of.

Part of her wanted to forget about Jeremy and accept this convenient disappearance as the good thing it undoubtedly was for her peace of mind. Her conscience, however, still troubled her. She’d rather Jeremy was alive somewhere, fomenting mischief, than lying in an unmarked grave.

“My lady?”

Lucky smiled at Milly. “It’s all right. Thank you for bringing me the letter. I must have written down the wrong direction.”

“That’s probably it, my lady. Good thing His Grace can frank the letters for you, so you don’t have to pay to send it out again.” Milly moved toward Lucky’s wardrobe. “Are you dining at home tonight, my lady?”

“I believe I’m going out, but only to see Miss Ross, so I don’t need to dress up.”

“Right you are, then.” Milly brought out a plain cambric gown in a yellow print. “Will this do?”

“It is perfect.” Lucky stood so that Milly could help her undo the back of her dress. “Can you make sure to have the carriage ready for me in half an hour?”

After helping Lucky into the clean gown and pinning up her hair, Milly went off to arrange for the carriage. Lucky glanced at the clock and hurried to find a suitable bonnet and her gloves. It was almost six, and Paul would be home soon. She’d managed to avoid him all day. She had no intention of speaking to him until she’d thought about Constantine Delinsky’s extraordinary proposal and her equally provocative offer to Paul.

She assumed Paul wouldn’t be happy with her avoiding him, but she needed to speak to someone who wasn’t directly involved in the matter. Who better than Emily, who combined a shrewd common sense with a female insight into the pleasure house no one else in Lucky’s world had.

She shivered as the carriage moved off and hastened to cover her knees with one of the thick fur rugs and rest her booted feet on a hot brick. It wasn’t far to the Knowles town house, but the frigid air had a breath of snow in it and a stillness that warned of worse to come.

Emily greeted Lucky with a smile and immediately invited her up to her bedchamber to chat. She explained that she was having her dinner on a tray upstairs and that Lucky was welcome to join her. There was no sign of the other members of the Knowles household, either Emily’s parents or her brother, Richard, which at least explained the dinner tray.

After a nice warming meal, Lucky tucked her feet up under her and sat beside the fire with Emily opposite.

“You seem a little perturbed, Lucky,” Emily said. “Is there something wrong?”

“Too many things to count.”

“Can I help you with any of them?”

Lucky gave Emily a grateful smile. “I’m not sure, but you are my only hope.”

Emily frowned. “What has Paul done?”

“He hasn’t done anything. Well, not much. In truth, he’s the one who is trying to stop anything from happening by being too noble and self-sacrificing and I . . .”

Emily held up her hand. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Can you slow down?”