Sinful (Hot Regency Romance Novella) (10 page)

“Your Grace.” Her voice was barely a croak.
“Your Grace, I—I did not mean you any harm. I am the woman the Earl
of Ashton sent.” The lie dropped off her lips. She prayed he
believed it. Lord Ashton had no idea she’d overheard his
conversation when he had been trying to coax another woman to come
to the duke—her friend Kat, who already had a protector.

The duke’s heart pounded against her breasts.
His gaze still focused over her head. His eyes didn’t look injured
at all. It was only because he didn’t focus on her that she could
tell he was blind. Everyone in England knew the hero of war, the
Duke of March, had miraculously survived a bayonet wound to the
head that should have killed him, but had lost his sight. A deep
scar disappeared into his hair.

“Hell,” the duke muttered. His head dropped,
then he rolled off her, landing hard on his side on the floor.
“Ashton sent you? You are the whore he thought would heal me with
pleasure?”

Anne flinched. She still did at the word
whore
. Even though she had been one for a very long time. He
spoke with such a dismissive tone, her stomach churned. “Yes,” she
said, trying to sound confident. As saucy as a paid ladybird
should.

“Didn’t Treadwell frighten you away?”

“He made an admirable attempt, but I was
insistent. After all, I had direction from Lord Ashton to see you.
I do not understand why you would engage such an odd creature as
your butler. Do you wish to frighten callers away?”

“Yes, angel, I do.”

Anne struggled to sit up and her corset
jabbed into her, below her breasts. She hissed in pain.

The duke reached for her. She took his hand
and he pulled her upright.

“I’m sorry I leapt on you, my dear. But why
in Hades did you creep up on me without announcing yourself?”

“Your butler directed me to your study, then
left me to my own devices. I entered alone and found you
asleep.”

“Passed out, you mean.” The lashes dropped.
He stroked the stubble on his chin—more of a beard than simply
stubble. He must not have shaved for many days. “Don’t ever do it
again. I could have killed you.”

“Killed me?” she squeaked.

“Yes, angel,” he snapped. “I could have
wrapped my hands around your pretty neck and broken it before I
came to my senses. It’s a souvenir from the war: When I’m not
expecting someone to touch me, I sometimes think the person is
trying to kill me.”

A shudder tumbled down her back. “Well, I am
not.” What had she gotten into? Could he really have killed her and
then, when it was far too late, discovered she was no danger to him
at all? Should she run from him now, before he hurt her?

She almost snorted at her own cowardly
foolishness. Where would she go? Back to London to face the noose?
Surely she had nothing to fear around him if she was careful.

“Angel, just what kind of whore are you?” The
duke had cocked his head, obviously focusing intently on her words.
“You sound as ladylike as my sisters. I haven’t heard such a
cut-glass accent out of the most cultured of London’s
courtesans.”

Of course she sounded ladylike. She had been
raised as a lady until she and her mother had fled their home. It
was her speech that had distinguished her at Madame Sin’s brothel.
She’d been called “the little duchess”.

His eyes narrowed; his expression was cold,
and suspicion laced his voice. “This isn’t some sort of plan to
push me into the leg irons of matrimony, is it?”

“Of course not,” she gasped. “I am very much
a courtesan, I assure you.” She might have an ulterior motive, but
it certainly wasn’t
marriage
. “If you want me to be a lady,
I will play one, Your Grace. If you want me to be the boldest,
brassiest siren who ever climbed on top of you, I’ll do that too.”
Her cheeks flamed as she spoke—even after years of being exactly
what she claimed to be. He couldn’t see it, thank heaven, but what
on earth was
wrong
with her?

She saw his bare chest rise on a long, sharp
breath. Apparently she’d said something that he liked to hear. But
when he let out all that air in a whoosh, he groaned.

“Ashton had no right to engage your services,
my dear.”

She froze. “P-Pardon, Your Grace?”

“Ashton thinks a good fuck is all I need.
He’s wrong.”

Wrong? Raw panic flared. Then she remembered
what she’d overheard the Earl of Ashton tell Kat when he had
pleaded with her friend to come and service the duke. “Lord Ashton
worries because you are…hiding here, Your Grace. That was how he
put it. He thought you should have some pleasure. That it would
make you…feel better,” she ended lamely.

“Angel, I can’t even see you. You could be
the most voluptuous beauty in England for all I know. Not seeing
you is only frustrating me.”

Unfortunately, she was not the most
voluptuous woman in the country. Fear was coursing through her,
making her ice cold. She had known she was not the courtesan Lord
Ashton wished to hire, but she’d thought the duke at least
wanted
a courtesan. She had not anticipated he would be as
unwilling now as he’d been outside the theatre. She didn’t know
what to do. At Madame Sin’s, she’d never had to work to coax a man
into bed. She hadn’t had many clients. Madame had kept her
exclusively for valued customers, had charged the earth for her.
The men had willingly paid the exorbitant price, because they
wanted her.

“He’s very concerned for you, Your Grace.”
Her nerves jangled like bells, but she managed to drop her voice to
a purr. “He only wanted you to be pleased. I’m very good.” She
stroked her fingers along his arm. Along the largest bulge of
muscle she’d ever touched. He was correct: If he wanted to, he
could hurt her badly. Once more, fear rippled through her veins,
but she forced herself to speak. “We could do it in the dark. Then
it wouldn’t matter that you can’t see me.”

“It will always matter that I can’t see,
angel.”

He grasped her hand, gently this time, and
lifted her fingers from his skin. He didn’t even want her to touch
him. Groaning, he leaned back, his broad shoulders falling against
the side of a chair. There was such a look of emptiness on his
face. “You’ve wasted your journey.”

“Please.” She had to become this man’s
mistress.
That
would not happen if she did not get into his
bed. She scuttled across the floor until her breasts pressed
against his muscular arm and her words brushed across his ear,
which was mostly hidden under his long, unkempt black hair. “Won’t
you let me pleasure you?”

He took a harsh breath. “God…you do have a
lovely voice, angel. I grant you that.”

Her voice was tempting him. He could not see
her, but he could hear her. That and touch were the only weapons
she had. She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “Thank you.”

“But it’s not enough.” He moved away from her
so they no longer touched.

She refused to let hope sputter out, but why
wouldn’t he yield? A man didn’t need sight to make love. Any number
of gentlemen preferred the dark.

“You can travel in my carriage to the staging
inn at Welby, my dear. My man will purchase your ticket to London
and see you safely onto the coach.”

Harsh laughter fell from her lips before she
could stop it.

Safety and London did not belong in the same
thought for her. She could not go. Instead, she had to take
desperate action. Even if she had to leap upon him. Or take him
into her mouth and drive him so mad with desire he couldn’t resist.
Surely once they were joined, he would forget his lack of sight and
think only about pleasure—

Abruptly, he grasped the side of the chair,
hoisted his long, powerful body with one swift motion, and landed
gracefully on his bare feet.

He towered above her. Gazing upward, she felt
her jaw drop. Despite spending the last five years first as a
viscount’s mistress and then a lowly prostitute, she hadn’t seen
many men completely naked. Certainly none with broad chests and
abdomens formed solidly of muscle. None as lean, roughly hewn, and
beautiful as the duke.

A strange, long-forgotten yearning fluttered
deep inside her.

Fool
. This was business. Best dealt
with unemotionally.

The duke went to take a step but swayed
slightly on his feet. He let out a ripe curse and clapped his hands
to his temples. “Bloody head. I should hack it off with an ax for
all the use it is to me now.”

Anne supposed he meant he was suffering the
aftereffects of too much brandy, but there was so much bitterness
in his voice. The Duke of March was troubled and angry. She
understood why the Earl of Ashton had pleaded with Kat to help his
friend. Good sense told her to agree with the duke—how could sex
make up for being injured in battle and losing his sight? But she
had to believe in it, and convince him of it, or she would have to
return to London with nothing and probably end up hanged.

She needed a different approach.

She clambered awkwardly to her feet, but at
least the duke could not see that. Hesitantly, she touched his
elbow. Perhaps because she did it lightly, it didn’t disturb him.
He didn’t move away.

“I came all the way to make love to you, and
that is exactly what I intend to do, Your Grace. The earl said you
have not been with a woman for ages. Months. Why deny yourself the
release you must need?”

Her dress was one of Kat’s old ones, but
still too fashionable for her to reach the fastenings herself. A
few tugs and she managed to push the bodice down. Gathering
courage, Anne clasped his hand and placed his palm over the upper
curve of her left breast.

She gasped at the contact. At a sudden,
surprising jolt that made her breasts ache. It must be the fear
roiling through her that made the simple touch so intense—she had
never felt anything like that. A shock of sensation rushed through
her as the calluses on his palm scratched across her bare
nipple.

“It is just sex,” she whispered. “Surely you
must want to have sex.”

But instead of cupping her breast, he dragged
his hand away, then raked it through his hair. He looked as though
he had accidentally stuck his fingers in the fire.

She had to try harder.

His lips parted, and she knew he was about to
command that she go. She surged forward and did the one thing she
hadn’t done for years and years. Arching up on tiptoe, she kissed
him.

She hooked her arms around his neck. She felt
the strong, corded muscles of his throat, unyielding against her
arms. He tasted tart—of brandy. His lips were hot and firm and
stayed closed against her assault. She pressed her tongue to the
tight seam of them, but he wouldn’t let her inside. Instead, he
moved his face back, breaking their kiss.

Refusing to give up, she wriggled against him
until there wasn’t a breath of air between them. Then she felt
it—felt his shaft lift and stiffen against her skirts. It was hard
and long, pressing against her belly. A surge of victory took her.
She had done it. She’d made him want her.

Breathless, she slid her hand from his
shoulder, across the curls of hair on his chest, following the line
of the soft downy hair to his navel, then lower. To take him in her
hand and caress him.

“Stop,” he growled.

She did. But she kept her fingertips against
the firm, warm skin of his lower abdomen. He didn’t move her hand.
It must mean his resolve to send her away was weakening.

Suddenly, idiotically, she felt
guilty
. It seemed wrong, this calculated seduction she must
carry out. Normally, her encounters were straightforward. Madame’s
brothel had rules, of course. Any gentleman who purchased her knew
exactly what she was willing—and allowed—to do. If he desired
something different, he must go to another girl. She’d never had to
be a seductress and entice a man to do what
he
didn’t
want.

The duke hadn’t wanted her five years ago
either. But she had to win now: Her life depended on her
success.

She teasingly stroked the hard ridge of his
nude hip. “I want to pleasure you. Nothing more than that.”

“And payment,” he pointed out drily.

“Of course I have to earn a living,” she said
simply. “But you must need sex, after so along.”

“I attacked you, you damned stupid girl.
Didn’t that frighten you, or do you not have the wit to understand
what I am?”

“You are a wounded man—”

“Hell.” The duke grasped her arms and pushed
her away. He took a brisk step back. His hip banged the arm of the
settee, but he did not even flinch. “Do you know what wounded
animals do, or haven’t you encountered a beast like me in Town? We
bite. We just might kill.”

“You did not really hurt me, though.” No, she
knew what it was like to be truly beaten and wounded. If she
clamped her teeth together, pain shot through her bruised jaw. Her
face was still sore from her madam’s slaps. Her chest and back bore
faded purplish-yellow bruises from the punches inflicted by Madame
Sin’s brute of a bodyguard. Her only saving grace was that the duke
could not see how battered she was.

Every twinge of pain from those bruises was a
reminder she was facing death. Whether it came at his hands, the
hands of the law, or from starvation, what difference did it make?
He was, in fact, her best hope for survival.

She forced her voice to lower an octave. “How
would you like to have sex, Your Grace? Perhaps hard and fast, with
a big explosive climax at the end? Or slow and sensual? You could
spend an hour or two lazily thrusting your hard cock into me.”

“Damn…damn. Damn.” His breathing was ragged.
It was obvious, when she let her gaze slide below his waist, what
her suggestions and his imagination were doing to him.

“All right.” He bit the words off.

She couldn’t quite believe her ears. “You
want to do it?”