The Wicked One (9 page)

Blackheath was now straining against the bonds that held him.  The cravat was stretched tight; too tight — in danger of tearing.  Fear drove through Eva — fear that it would tear, fear that she had poisoned him.  That he was in some sort of agony, she did not doubt.  "I was the one who . . . found him," he said hoarsely, clenching his fists.  "As you say, you . . . never forget."

"Are you all right, Blackheath?"

Black eyes shot open, burning her with their intensity.  "I'm in bloody agony for wanting you," he exploded.  "Christ, woman, have mercy."

It would be so easy to just leave him here, tied to the bed as she had planned; so easy to just put her clothes back on and return to the ball as though nothing had ever happened, as though everything inside her weren't aching with a reciprocal need.  She would have the last laugh; she would deal the final humiliation.  But though Eva prided herself on her calculated hard-heartedness where men were concerned, even she had more compassion than that . . . and with her enemy safely tied up and on his back, able to pleasure but never to dominate her . . . well, was there really any harm in having her way with him?

She reached out, running her hand down the side of his cheek.  His breath was hot and ragged against her fingers, and then she felt his lips, his tongue, against her palm as he turned his face into her hand and began kissing it.  Sensation exploded between her legs.  Moaning softly, she eased herself up and onto him, straddling his torso just above his arousal, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.  She drove her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, dragged it up his chest, and allowed herself to feel the muscles, so hard, so powerful, so beautifully, splendidly,
male
, bunching and writhing beneath her small white hands.

"Lower," he rasped.  "Don't tease — not now."

No question about that aphrodisiac
, Eva thought in triumph.  She had definitely stolen the right substance this time, and she — and America — would be well rewarded for her efforts.

"I'm not teasing, I . . . have to get ready myself," she said, trying to prolong the inevitable.

"Move up, then, and I'll get you ready."

"Sorry?"

"I said, move up, damn it."  His eyes opened, impaling her with their black ferocity.  "
Near my face.
"

Had Eva been a maid, she would have blushed as red as her hair.  But Blackheath was clearly moving past restraint, past the trappings of a gentleman; he was past the point of caring
what
her reaction was, wanting only relief from whatever agony the potion had put him in.  Gingerly, Eva rose to her knees and moved her way up his chest, her thighs spread wide to accommodate its significant breadth, every nerve quivering, every bit of skin shivering, her heart doing a furious
boom-boom-boom
against her sternum and ready to explode any minute.

"I will hurt you," she protested, her knees beneath his armpits now, the cords in his neck standing out in high relief and glistening with sweat in the candlelight.

"You are hurting me more by hesitating.  Get up, then, and balance on your knees.  I want to taste you, Eva."  His eyes blazed into hers; any moment now, his bonds were going to snap and he would be on her like an enraged beast of prey.  "I want to possess you.  By God, I want
all of you
."

Eva, washing hot and cold, braced herself against the headboard, raised herself to her knees once more, and thrust her pelvis forward.

Blackheath buried his face in her moist red curls.

Found the top of her hidden slit with his tongue.

"Higher," he ordered, his voice harsh.

She heard herself whimpering in her throat as she complied, arching her back and angling herself toward his seeking mouth — and then his face was totally buried against her, and she felt his hot ragged breath there, his lips, and oh — oh
God
— the stab of his tongue, expertly priming her before he settled into a controlled, ruthless stroke against her wide-open cleft, her moist folds, that sent her senses careening toward the ceiling.

"Dear God," she gasped, her fingernails gouging into the headboard, her thighs trembling from holding up her weakening body, "Dear God, Blackheath, I never dreamed it could be like this —"

"Dream harder," he snarled, and then his lips, his tongue closed around that engorged but hidden bud, manipulating it, licking it, suckling it —

Eva let out a scream of surprise.  Her legs gave out from beneath her as she climaxed, her senses exploding in a million pieces.  She all but collapsed atop the very mouth that had brought her to such a shamelessly wanton state, pushing herself back at the last moment so that she landed on his chest.  His breath came out with a loud
oomph
and he stared up at her, a man past the point of sanity, his eyes so savage, so intense, that she knew their image would be forever branded in her memory.

She knew what he wanted.

Knew what he craved.

Give it to him.

And then that wounded, perpetually suffering part of her that would never stop demanding vengeance: 
Dominate him.

She moved back, raised herself, and impaled herself on his shaft, gasping as his size stretched and filled her, stretched and filled her past the point that she could painlessly tolerate, pleasurably bear —

She had no time to rethink her decision.  His hips were already moving, the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen bunching and glistening with fine sweat.  His eyes were savage.  Harder and harder he drove, his breath coming fast and harsh now as he drove himself farther and farther inside her with every ruthless thrust.  The pain went away and Eva felt only swimming pleasure, a desperate need to take and be taken, to dominate and be dominated, and yes, oh yes, that wonderful, splinter-apart climax that she could feel rushing down on her once more —

His black gaze impaling hers, he gave a final lunge and sent them both careening out of control.  Eva cried out and fell, sobbing with the sweet agony of the experience, against his damp chest, her body still convulsing all around him.

There she lay, her lungs heaving, her hot breath dampening her hair.  She had just made love to the Duke of Blackheath.

Had just bedded her enemy.

And at the moment, she damn well didn't care.

~~~~

Rap rap rap.

Eva, her lips still buried in the hollow of Blackheath's neck, drifted lazily in her dream state.  She was a little girl again.  Her papa was home from the sea; he had candy for her, a box of spices from Morocco, and tales of grand adventure —

Rap rap rap
, harder this time, more persistent.

"Answer the door."

But the voice wasn't Papa's.  Eva, confused, moved toward wakefulness.  "Madam, answer the door," said the voice again, and with a start, Eva realized that the clipped command had come from just under her ear, and that her ear was resting at the hot junction of a man's neck and collarbone.

Blackheath's.

Remembrance hit her, hard.  Her head jerked up in alarm.  Wild-eyed, she stared toward the door, knowing that if she were caught in this position she would never be able to face any of her male peers ever again.

"Who is it?"

"Henri,
madame
.  I have ze message for you, from Dr. Franklin."

Eva froze.

"Dear me, but your assignations never cease, do they?" murmured the man beneath her.

"Quiet, Blackheath!"  She leaped from the bed, grabbed her dressing gown, and, pulling it on as she moved, stalked quickly to the door.  She opened it the barest crack, filling it with her body.

"
Je regret, madame
, but Dr. Franklin sent me to fetch you.  Said that ze Count de Vergennes eez about to make a speech concerning your American victory, and zat eet would be poor form if
madame
does not make an appearance."  The lad bowed, looking sheepish.  "
Le monsieur's
words,
madam
.  Not mine."

"Of course.  Tell Dr. Franklin I will be down in a moment."

Eva slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breathing hard.  De Vergennes was the French foreign minister, a man whose support for the Americans' cause was one that Franklin had been trying to gain for months!  To stay up here would be an insult — oh, God,
now
what?

Blackheath, still securely tied and reposing on the bed, smiled insolently up at her.  "'Twould be a pity if the good doctor is forced to come up and get you, no?"

"I don't want to hear it."

"
Tsk
,
tsk
, Eva.  I'm sure you can get yourself back into a presentable state by the time the speech is oh, at least half finished.  Release me, on the other hand, and I'll get you there in time for the whole thing."

"I can't release you, not now!"

"Whyever not?"

"I don't trust you!" she all but howled, knowing, from the gleam in his eye, that her intuition was entirely correct.  From the totally relaxed look about him, she guessed that the effects of the aphrodisiac had worn off, but Eva wasn't about to take any chances; she dared not leave Blackheath alone in her bedchamber, where he would be free to search her room and, inevitably, find the love potion.

"I'll release you, but you have to leave," she said, frantically grabbing her clothes.

"
Au contraire, madame
.  I very much prefer to stay."

"You
have
to leave, Blackheath!"

He gave an urbane smile.  "What, and miss the rest of the evening's . . . entertainment?  I wouldn't dream of it."  His smile turned cunning.  "Especially with the
real
aphrodisiac so near at hand.  Time to see if it works as well on you as it did on me, my dear."

He knew then.  Knew that she had drugged him. 
Damn! 
Eva, her blood starting to boil at this unforseen complication, turned and glared at him.  At that magnificent chest, most of which was still prominently displayed beneath the rucked-up shirt.  At the broad shoulders, the upper arms that rippled with muscle.  At the handsome neck —

The neck.

God forgive her.  But it wouldn't hurt, and if he wouldn't leave, there was only one thing she could do to contain him.  She had to do it.

She also had to get downstairs, and get downstairs
now
.

"Very well, then, Blackheath," she spat, hastily untying him and throwing her clothes at him as she hopped into her hoops and tied them on, as she yanked the petticoats over her head and let them float down over the hoops, as she turned her back so her smug lover could obligingly lace her back into her corset.  She glanced at the shelf clock in rising panic, resisting the urge to swear at him for each sharp yank, resisting the urge to curse him for not being quicker, though she could see that he was faster, even, than her own maid.

She tied on her stomacher, grabbed and donned her gown, and crammed her hair beneath a smart hat.  Downstairs, she could hear a rising commotion.  Applause.  Oh God, any moment now — she had to get down there!

"Thank you, Blackheath," she cried, turning in his arms and pretending to throw herself at him with such gratitude that he had to step backward, his legs coming up against the side of the bed.  "You are a godsend."

She hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Hard.

He never suspected, of course.  That was the magic about what she was about to do.  She let her hands slide back down, so that one fitted against the side of his waist, and the heel of the other rested just below the base of his throat, the thumb and first two fingers splayed in an innocuous V on either side of his neck as she pretended to caress him.

He'll never know.  Just do it.

It felt vile.  Treacherous.  Underhanded.

Your country needs you.

She pretended to lose herself in the kiss, pressing up against him, using desire as an excuse to get closer to him and increase the pressure against the sides of his neck. 
Come on, come on!
she urged, keeping the pressure steady, even though she regretted that this kiss was going to end as quickly as it had begun.  And then suddenly it did.

His mouth went slack upon hers, his legs buckled, and he slumped, unconscious, only the bed behind his legs and her arm around his waist keeping him upright.  Even so, Eva could not hold him up; he fell against her, his chin slamming the top of her shoulder, his dead weight nearly toppling her backward.  With all her strength, she shoved him away from her, sending him sprawling on his back across the bed.  She leaped up beside him, telling herself this was necessary, that it was kinder than a blow, that she had only moment before he came back to his senses and was on her in full fury.  She did not want to have to put him out again.

But as she fumbled to tie his wrists together, he began to stir, and she feared she would have to do just that.  His limbs began to spasm, and mighty shudders convulsed his body as he fought to regain consciousness.  Hating herself, Eva reached down and pressed her fingers to either side of his neck once more.  He opened his eyes, dazedly impaling her with a look of stunned accusation, fighting her with the strength of will alone; but will alone was not enough.  His eyes rolled back and with a sigh, he passed out once more.

She kept her fingers against him for a few more perilous seconds, biting her lip, finally releasing him and hoping she'd bought the additional time she needed.  She flew into action.  On all fours, she crawled to the head of the bed, seized his newly bound wrists, and with all her strength, tried to move him.  To no avail.  Sweat broke out on her forehead.  A seam popped somewhere in her gown.  She heaved and jerked and swore, and finally managed to slide him an inch . . . several inches . . . several more, until his lax wrists were just shy of the headboard.

Not close enough —

Rap rap rap!

"I'm coming!" she yelled frantically.

"Eva, it's me," came Franklin's worried voice from the other side of the door.  "Are you all right?  May I come in?"