The Price of Desire (5 page)

He squared his shoulders. “I am the man of the house now. I will earn the money for all our dinners.”

He was so brave she wanted to cry all over again. “How will you earn our dinners?”

“I can sell matches on the street. I have seen other boys do that.”

“It would not be enough,” she said, hating to burst his bubble. “It would not be enough even if we all sold matches on the streets.”

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “Will we starve to death, then?”

She shook her head. “No, Teddy, we will not starve. When our money runs out and we have to sell the house, we will go to the workhouse. The kind people there will take us in and feed us.”

Dominic cursed under his breath at the ill-timed crisis with one of his major investments that had called him away from London at this juncture. Though ordinarily he would have been pleased to escape the dull, gray monotony of London skies for the clean air of one of the smaller country towns through which his railways ran, right at this moment London held a major attraction for him.

The last place he wanted to be was in this godforsaken inn in this tiny town where the beds were bad, the food was worse, and the inhabitants demanding in the extreme. If it weren’t for their unreasonable demands and the stringent conditions they wanted to place on him before he could build his railway through their land—the railway that would put their town on the map and bring them unlooked for prosperity—he would still be in London. Curled up not in a cold, lumpy, single bed by himself, but in his own clean and sweet-smelling bed, pillowed next to the delightfully soft and warm Miss Caroline.

Caroline Clemens. He rolled the name around on his tongue. It tasted sweet, as sweet as she had tasted that night in the conservatory of the oh so very proper Finsburys. A grin crept over his face as he thought of the forbiddingly fierce and purple-turbaned matron whose conservatory he had christened in such a manner. Thank Heaven that Mrs. Amelia Finsbury had no idea as to what transpired between him and the delectable Caroline among the potted ferns, or she would never speak to him again or invite him to another of her soirees.

Offending Mrs. Finsbury would, certainly, have had certain advantages. If he could thoroughly upset her, she would no longer try quite so hard to throw one of her dour-faced daughters at him. Her machinations so far to get him to take an interest in one of them had been embarrassingly, and at times painfully, obvious.

When he had expressed his surprise at the transparency of her efforts to get his attention, his fellows merely laughed at his naiveté. Such tactics were quite the norm in London. Every father wanted to get his daughters suitably settled in the world, to sons-in-law who would not embarrass the family with spendthrift habits or indigent relatives.

Social niceties were quite different from what they had been in India, where he was born and where, with the exception of a few miserable years at boarding school in the north of England, he had lived all his life. Until now.

Society in India had tried hard, too hard, to mimic exactly the manners and customs of the mother country. But nothing, not even English manners, could survive in another country, another culture, completely unscathed.

Despite his great wealth, he was forced to tread carefully in order to avoid giving offense to the grand society matrons such as Amelia Finsbury who had accepted him into their houses and their society. Fucking Caroline Clemens in the conservatory at a soiree was without a doubt enough of a social solecism to get him barred forever from the houses of respectable folk.

Not that he cared for anyone’s feelings in the matter. Other than Caroline’s, of course. He would not like to see her reputation shredded. She was his woman now, his glorious English lover. With their first kiss, he had claimed her. She belonged to him.

His groin tightened at the mere thought of her. She was far from the upright icicle maiden that he’d been warned to expect before he left India. English girls, he was informed by more than one well-meaning friend, were unfortunately not like Indian girls, not like the wonderful woman he had married. Maya, his dear, beloved Maya, whose loss had left a wound in his soul that not even time could heal.

Girls in India had their blood heated by the hot, hot sun. They were openly passionate, and none of them that he’d ever taken to his bed had any qualms about enjoying the act of love just as much as he had. Maya had certainly enticed him with her lush body, giving in to him one minute and the next minute drawing away, until she had him wrapped up in knots so tight that he had not been able to escape her.

Truth to tell, he had never wanted to escape her. If she had not died, he would be with her still, as faithful as he had been since he first met her and fell in love with her, harder and faster than he would have believed. With one sideways look from her dark eyes, she had set his head to spinning. Only her death could have chased him halfway around the world, away from the land he loved and back to cold, gray England.

Girls in England, he had been warned, were not like Maya. They were as cold and passionless as the cold, gray English skies. Water, not blood, ran through their veins. The only thing that could put a fire in their eyes and in their bellies was the prospect of marrying a man with money, lots of money. Everything else left them unmoved. They submitted to a man’s embrace only for the sake of capturing a wealthy husband.

The avid-eyed matrons he had met, eligible daughters in tow, only confirmed those warnings. The gleam of greed that he saw sparkle in the eyes of every seemingly demure young virgin he met had given him a decided distaste for English girls.

Until he met Caroline. In her, he had found the exception that proved the rule. She had not asked a single delicate yet probing question as to the state of his finances or the creditworthiness of his investments. His prospects, the ready cash held for him in the bank of England, were of no interest to her.

No, from the expression in her eyes, she had only ever been interested in him, Dominic the man. She did not care about Dominic the newly arrived from India tycoon with business interests in half the railways in England. Chances were she did not even know. Emboldened by the smoldering desire he espied in her, he’d had the temerity to introduce himself, after all, rather than making use of a go-between. No friendly acquaintance had pointed him out to her as a good catch, encouraging her to wangle an introduction, an invitation to dance, and a chance to flutter her eyelashes at him.

He would wager that Caroline Clemens never fluttered her eyelashes. She had too much pride in her self-worth to make use of such a transparent and silly ploy. Honesty and directness was more her style.

She had captivated him with the plain expression of her wants and desires, especially seeing as he had figured largely in those wants of hers. Enticement, not submission, was her game.

Although he had certainly wanted her, he was not the only culpable party. Not content with being a passive recipient of his attentions, she had urged him on, moaning and clutching at him and leaving him in no doubt as to what she needed. His tongue was in her mouth and his cock was sunk deep into her pussy before he’d had time to think better of his impetuous actions.

She had welcomed his fucking, maybe hoping that he would be in a position to help ease her financial troubles, but first and foremost because she had desired him.

He turned his pillow over, trying in vain to ignore the insistent throbbing in his groin that assaulted him whenever he thought of Caroline. The damned pillow refused to mold comfortably to his head. It was so hard and lumpy the damned innkeeper must have filled it with gravel. The lack of such a basic creature comfort as a decent down pillow did not improve his temper any.

He reached down and stroked his cock, hardened by thoughts of Caroline. Damn it, if he couldn’t have her in his bed right now, he could think of her while he pleasured himself.

He could remember the taste of her pussy and the tightness of her cunt as he thrust his cock into it. He could imagine the sounds she would make as he undressed her until she was naked for him. Laying her on the bed, he would part her nether lips and thrust first one finger and then another inside her, fucking her gently with his hands. Only when she was dripping wet and begging for him to come on top of her would he climb between her legs and pump his cock into her.

And then, when she was well fucked and about to come, he would turn her over and, his cock slick with her cunt juice, thrust it into her sweet ass. Her tight hole would grip him like a glove. She would explode under him, crying and writhing out in ecstasy and begging him for more.

He stopped stroking his cock. There really was no need for him to spend a lonely night with only his warm hand for company. He was after all a free man, with needs like any other, and the innkeeper was bound to know of a local woman who could satisfy him. No doubt a good part of his trade came from arranging to ser vice similar requests from travelers.

Leaping out of the lumpy bed, he stood naked in the cool air and looked down at his still hard cock. “Just a few moments, my friend, and you’ll be warm and well-housed. Be patient.”

With that he threw on his clothes and went downstairs to visit briefly with the innkeeper.

Barely fifteen minutes later there was a knock at his door. Opening it revealed a pretty young woman with a tired look about her eyes, as if life had already started to overwhelm her.

She first examined him, and then peered into the room appraising him and the state of his luggage. No doubt she met all sorts in her business. “You want some company this evening?”

Evidently deciding all was in order, without further invitation she walked into his room. “I’m Rosie,” she said, holding out her hand. “Two shillings for half an hour.”

Wordlessly, he handed over the two shillings she asked for.

She grabbed them and tucked them away in her pocket as quick as winking. “What do you fancy, then?” she asked, more cheerfully now.

He was already halfway regretting his decision to buy a whore. “The usual, I suppose.”

With a few deft moves she unfastened her buttons and let her gown fall to the floor. She wore nothing underneath.

While no Caroline, she was fine enough. Not too skinny, but pleasingly plump with smallish breasts and a fine patch of blond hair at the top of her legs.

“Now you, then. Let’s be having you.” Without ceremony she squatted and released his trousers, which fell to his ankles, revealing his semirigid cock.

“Ooh, that’s lovely,” she said perfunctorily, as if remarking on the weather. “Such a nice cock.”

Still, she wrapped her lips around the head without hesitation and began to pump the base with her hand. As she continued her ministrations he removed his jacket and shirt, making him as naked as she.

As soon as his cock was fully hard, she led him to the bed and lay down, legs splayed, pulling her pussy lips apart to reveal the wetness inside. “Come on then, sir, give me that cock.”

Gazing at her open cunt, he suddenly wondered if any passing travelers had given her a dose. The possibility made him lose whatever enthusiasm he had left for her pussy.

In any case, it was really Caroline he wanted. What a fool he had been to think a two shilling whore would be any replacement for her.

Still, he’d paid the woman now. She might as well provide him with the release he needed. He shook his head at her offer. “Keep going with your mouth.”

She eyed him shrewdly from the bed. “That would be an extra shilling, if that’s what you’re wanting.”

It was worth it to avoid a dose of the clap. “You’ll have your extra shilling,” he promised. A dose was one thing he did
not
want to pass on to Caroline.

Sitting up and grabbing his buttocks, she once more engulfed his cock in her mouth.

He closed his eyes and imagined it was Caroline sitting before him, sucking his cock in that enthusiastic way of hers. He imagined softly caressing her breasts, teasing the nipples to hard points. In his mind’s eye he saw her lying on the bed, alabaster white in the gaslight. He could still taste her gorgeous pussy, wet and musky, and so soft.

Rosie continued lightly sucking on the head of his cock, pumping at the base to make him come faster. With her other hand she massaged his balls, expertly pulling on the sac while grazing a finger over his sensitive asshole. As he felt his orgasm approach, he could almost feel his cock plunging into Caroline’s hot cunt over and over till she cried out in pleasure.

At that last, delicious thought, his seed splattered over Rosie’s lips and chin as she pulled her head away at the last moment. Holding her head, he had her give his cock a few more licks, his heart rate returning slowly to normal as reality intruded once more.

With a sigh of disappointment he stepped back from her. If only Caroline had been here, he was certain he would not even have noticed the discomfort of the bed. And their lovemaking would just be starting, not finishing.

Rosie stood and wiped at her face with his shirt. As she pulled on her dress, she reminded him of his debt. “So, the extra shilling, then?”

Giving the girl her dues, he escorted her wordlessly to the door, his thoughts back on Caroline once more. Damn it, why was he even bothering to argue the point with the residents of nowhere? He could afford to meet their demands. Tomorrow morning he would play the generous benefactor, give them what they had asked for and more, and escape back to London and to Caroline.

Caroline stood motionless in the drawing room, watching out the window as the bailiffs trudged up to the front door in the early morning light. She had put off the evil day as long as she could, but there was no avoiding it now. Today their house was forfeit and all the contents were to be sold. By noon she and her brother and sisters would be homeless. By dinnertime they would all be homeless and hungry.