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Authors: Jillian Stone

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BOOK: The Seduction of Phaeton Black
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His fingers deftly played over a row of covered buttons.
“Corset, please.”
“Demanding little fishwife.”
She snorted while he dutifully unlaced. “Will you be in a great deal of trouble at the Yard?”
“No more than usual.”
She stood up and stepped out of the dress; the corset fell forward and released her breasts. She folded the red doxy dress over a chair and removed the corset. Stripped down to chemise and pantalettes, his gaze followed her around the room. “And your other wire?
“The Baron is dead. Internment is set for later in the week.” Phaeton refolded both missives. “Doctor Exeter delivers his father’s confession to Farrell and Chilcott late tomorrow morning.”
“Such an odd old man, the Baron. I felt both pity and revulsion for him.” She untied the ribbon on her chemise.
His gaze moved to the edge of lace barely covering the tips of her breasts. “I should try to be there.”
“Well then.” She stepped forward. “After a good warm bath, a hearty meal, and plenty of sleep, we shall make the early morning train.” The chemise dropped off one shoulder.
He swallowed. “Bath?”
She smiled. “You and I, in the tub together. What do you say, Mr. Black?” She helped him stand up and removed his bed clothes. The thin, linen shirt tented from arousal.
“I see the duke suffered no serious injury.” She stood by the polished copper tub and admired his erection.
His eyes turned feral. “Come closer.” He tore off her chemise and ran his hand down into the back of her pantalettes. Her body quaked in response to his urgent, sensuous touch. The cake of soap fell from her hand and plunked into the water.
He pulled her back onto the bed and yanked off her underwear in one swift move. Like a beautiful injured god, he stood above her, panting. He opened her legs and stroked until she moaned. He kissed and suckled each nipple, trailing his tongue past her navel. He stopped just short of the curls below. “Someday, I mean to taste all of you, Miss Jones.”
A surge of heat rose from her chest to her cheeks. What devilish sort of lovemaking did he speak of? Vaguely she recalled an illustration in the
Kama Sutra
. A man’s face buried between a woman’s legs. She bit her lip. “Now?”
He tilted his head. “I shall save it as punishment. When you have been a very, very bad girl.” She threw back her head as he whipped her desire to a new frenzy with fingers soaked from her arousal. He placed one then two inside her and stroked while his slippery thumb circled her swollen nub. Her hips jerked and she trembled to the rhythm of his fondling. “Yes,” she gasped. “More.”
“Might this demand of yours involve my cock?”
America reached up and placed a hand on the hard, rippled surface of his bruised torso. “Does this hurt?”
He guided her hand down to the rigid staff that slapped against his belly. She massaged him softly and his eyelids lowered over a sable-brown gaze. “All I feel is pleasure.”
His fingers changed to a rapid cadence and caused an untamed spasm of arousal. She mewled a wild cry and he growled a deep snarl. On all fours, he crawled across the bed and mounted her.
Chapter Twenty-three
A
SOFT RAIN PELTED THE ROOF OF THE TRAIN STATION
. Phaeton waited for a porter to check the lady’s trunk and gazed absently at the gabled skylight. The light drizzle washed a layer of soot down glass panes. He collected the luggage tickets and joined the Harbor Master and America on the platform.
“A copy of the magistrate’s seizure order and request for an immediate hearing, lass.” Captain MacLeod handed her two envelopes. “Ye’ll file the first with the courts and the other is yours to keep. Scotland Yard will no doubt wish to share these with London Port Authority, aye, Mr. Black?”
Phaeton sprung his watch cover and checked the time. “A formal accusation of piracy should motivate the Thames patrol.”
The big Scot scrutinized the bruises around his eye and the swelling along his jawline. “If yer ever in need of employment, do not hesitate to call me. Any man who takes a beating, a keel haul, and shows up for work the following day—”
“Due in large part to the nursing skills of Miss Jones.” Phaeton smiled at her.
The man’s eyes twinkled. “Aye, a pretty lass and a glass of whiskey. Lovely cure.”
America blushed a peachy tone. The same color her pale copper skin had flushed last night, from chest to high-set cheekbones. Once before bath and supper, and again after. He had taken his time when he pleasured her a second time. Phaeton ran a finger inside his neck collar and pushed the memory away. A nagging disquiet gnawed around the corners of his mind.
“Several steamers made port last night.” The elder gent nodded to a number of travelers crowding onto the platform. “Best ye climb aboard, morning train always leaves on time.”
America flung her arms around the captain’s great bulk and kissed both of his ruddy cheeks. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“There isna’ much I wouldna’ do for you or yer father, lass.” As the train pulled away, MacLeod called out to America. “I can have her crewed and ready for service the day she’s yours again.”
Stuffed with passengers anxious to get to London, the compartment suddenly became warm and humid. Phaeton lowered a fogged window as the train chugged out of the station, and America leaned out to wave.
Phaeton snaked an arm around her waist and settled her beside him. They were only seconds out of the station before a new wave of uncomfortable, disturbing sentiments nearly overwhelmed him. Truth be told, he was more than taken by her. Soon the little minx would capture him body and soul. From the very start she had wormed her way into his life and now he could hardly believe it himself. He was soft on Miss Jones. What a horrifying development this was.
Despite his cautionary frame of mind, he studied the charming mole on the side of her neck as she conversed in French with a passenger across the aisle.
He lowered his voice.
“Un baiser entre vos jambes, Mademoiselle?”
She turned and raised a brow. The way she looked him up and down and licked her upper lip was a joy to behold. Instantly blood rushed from his brain to his lower extremity. “You wish to kiss me where, Mr. Black?”
“Slipped out. Pay no mind.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “The keel haul mangled the faculties.”
“Hmm.” Her grin feigned a playful curiosity. “I do hope there’s no permanent damage.”
He really had to cease these debauched, lurid flirtations with her. Phaeton sighed. Perhaps their return to London would put some distance between them again. He would return to his pursuit of Qadesh and she, as well, could expand on her suit against the Dutch pirate.
Phaeton could not help wondering if he was in as much danger from Miss Jones as Yanky Willem. Not that she wished to see him locked up in Newgate prison, but there were other ways to leg shackle a man. His gaze dropped to her hand and traveled over slim fingers. The large blue sapphire sparkled above the gleaming gold wedding band.
“Mr. Black, you are perspiring.” America opened her reticule and removed a delicate handkerchief.
Phaeton’s leg tapped nervously. “Miss Jones, might I ...” Great saint’s bollocks, he had to change the subject. “Might I ask how the Harbor Master came to know you and your father?”
“Captain MacLeod was my father’s first mate for several years.” She patted his forehead with the cloth square. “Not sure how he came to be employed.” America drew her brows together. “He came aboard in Port of New Orleans, under some duress, as I recall. The very day
maman
abandoned me to my father.”
She shrugged. “
Maman
promised me I could watch the parade that year. Then she gave me away.” America’s gaze drifted past him to the rolling green countryside of Surrey. “I missed Fat Tuesday.
Mardi Gras
.”
“And your father never explained?
“Never.” She sighed. “After a few years, I stopped asking.”
The rail car lurched a bit as the locomotive braked to a stop in Petersfield Station. She straightened up and met his gaze. “You would enjoy the Lent festival in New Orleans, Mr. Black. There is much drinking and dancing along Canal Street. Women bare their breasts for doubloons.” Her full lips turned up a wry sensuous smile.
He almost forgot he didn’t laugh.
She cupped his hand with hers, but kept her eyes lowered. “While I have the chance, I mean to mention your act of bravery the other night. In the face of a very real threat to your person, you distracted the pirates so that Inspector Moore and I could safely make our escape from the ship. And you endured great pain and hardship for your trouble.” She lifted dark lashes to meet his gaze. “You are my hero.”
He hardly knew how to react to the sweetness of her sentiment, so he pressed for more. “And?”
“And?” Her quizzical brow caused him to grin.
“And, I make you tingle.”
She inhaled a breath before she smiled. “Yes. You do.”
Her eyes were pale green this morning, flecked with bits of rust and gold. At the moment, he could not think of anything more hellish than having to say good-bye to America Jones.
Mercifully, he survived the remainder of the commute into town by training his attention on two disturbing newspaper reports in the
Telegraph
and the
Times
. The bloated corpse of a middle-aged male had been found facedown at the edge of the Branch Hill pond in Hamstead Heath. With no signs of assault to the body, it was assumed the man, likely inebriated, had taken an accidental fall and drowned.
He pieced together all that he knew, thus far, of the naughty and dangerous apparition known as Qadesh. With the old Baron gone and her nest on the Thames demolished, he and Exeter found themselves back at the first square of the game board. He spent the remainder of the trip, from Whitley to Waterloo Station, lost in a puzzlement over the case.
America waited by the hansom as the porter fastened her trunk onto the back of the cab. Phaeton handed the man his gratuity and joined her. “Do you still have those bank notes on your person?”
“Of course.” She loosened reticule drawstrings and withdrew the cash.
“Keep them. Use the money to get a flat for yourself. At least until your ships are returned.”
She stepped back a bit and gulped for air. “An unnecessary expense, don’t you think, Mr. Black? I am perfectly comfortable with my small—”
“Dexter Moore is correct, Miss Jones. It is unseemly for a young woman to share an apartment with any bachelor, particularly one such as myself. I want you to find a quality rooming house for young ladies as soon as possible.”
“I thought we were getting on well, Mr. Black.” She bit her lower lip. “Have I done something to displease you?”
“Just the opposite, Miss Jones.” His gaze shifted away then returned. “I find you entirely too pleasing.”
She frowned. “Then, I don’t understand.”
“Not long after our first encounter, you called me a Lothario, libertine, adulterer, and a profligate debaucher.”
She swallowed. “I believe most of those opinions were Mr. Moore’s.”
He met her gaze, steely-eyed this time. “They were also accurate.” He placed his hand on her arm and helped her into the cab. Once inside, she released the clasp and lowered the window.
“Neither a precise nor faithful evaluation of your character, Mr. Black.”
“We are two people tossed together in a moment of time. I caution you not to make any more of our friendship, Miss Jones.”
Phaeton nodded to the driver and the cab lurched off into a mangle of traffic. Something knotty and off-putting roiled in his stomach. Shoulders slumped, he made his way toward a queue of cabs at the curb. He coughed to relieve the tightness in his throat.
 
“Frankly, Miss Jones, I do not foresee a vacancy in the near future.” Mrs. Horsley shook her head and set a fast clip down the corridor.
They passed a sitting room papered in a cheerful yellow rose pattern with comfortable furniture and a lovely set of windows that overlooked the lane. It would be very pleasant indeed to live in such a place while she waited for her ships to be returned to her.
“There is such a shortage of suitable accommodations for young ladies in the city.” The very tall woman with the elegant neck and long pointed nose paused at the door.
Apparently, there was not a single room to let a young woman in all of London. America bit her lower lip and quietly evaluated whether there truly was no room available or this turn away had something to do with her copper complexion. “Might I inquire again, in a few weeks time? It is possible a tenant could leave unexpectedly.”
The boardinghouse mistress fashioned a thin, wane smile. “It isn’t likely, Miss Jones. You might try a rooming house a bit farther east. Spittlefield, perhaps?”
The woman referenced one of London’s poorer working-class neighborhoods. America looked away and exhaled softly. So it seemed there would have been a vacancy available for the right sort of young lady. She raised her chin and met the woman’s gaze. “I believe I take your meaning, Mrs. Horsley.”
America sat in the hansom and stared straight ahead. Mentally, she checked the last rooming house off her list and sighed. Mr. Black would just have to tolerate her presence a while longer. And how utterly infuriating he could be at times. As if she wanted him around, pestering her for favors day and night. She sniffed and blinked back a few angry tears. It might require a bit of ferreting about, but she would find a very posh rooming house, even if it cost her double the rent. She would be glad, indeed, to be rid of him.
“Arrogant, conceited ... bloody cockswain.” How easily he could make her laugh or cry. And the worst of it was, she would miss him terribly. Had he not shown himself to be a worthy protector in Portsmouth? Proof of his surprising gallantry, perhaps, but certainly no assurance of his affection. She inhaled a deep breath and exhaled nothing but woe.
 
Phaeton stood safely behind the tall, slight frame of Mr. Oliver as he tapped lightly on the office door. According to the director’s secretary, Dr. Jason Exeter had arrived promptly at ten o’clock and was already in conference with Chilcott and Farrell.
“Yes? What is it?” The growl in Chilcott’s voice was almost a comfort.
The clerk poked his head in the door. “Mr. Black is here.”
“Is he indeed? Please do send him in, Mr. Oliver.”
Phaeton stepped around the secretary and through the door. As he might have predicted, both the director and Zander Farrell wore decidedly grim expressions. “A bit pale around the gills are we? I take it you’ve been told the worst of it.” He nodded at Exeter who appeared relieved to see him.
“Do you ever arrive anywhere on time, Mr. Black?” Chilcott’s lips returned to a thin white line.
Phaeton tossed his hat on a nearby rack and shrugged. “Caught the first train out of Portsmouth this morning.” He stepped close enough for all the men sitting around the director’s desk to get a good look at his face.
Zander lifted a brow. “Good Christ, Phaeton, you’re quite worse for the wear. Chasing down pirates in Portsmouth, I hear.”
Chilcott bristled. “Pirates in Portsmouth? What the hell is going on, Mr. Black? A blood thirsty apparition prowling about town should be quite enough assignment for any agent to manage.” The director shifted his glare to Zander, who masterfully handled the man with a good natured grin.
BOOK: The Seduction of Phaeton Black
10.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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