* * * *
At the washstand mirror, Beth ran a final, smoothing hand over the coiled braid at the back of her neck. She felt weak with shock at her own actions. She’d never before allowed a man to come inside her. She had always demanded they pull out. She’d certainly never begged a man to do otherwise. But, in her heart, she couldn’t be sorry. She felt marked, claimed as his in a way far more primitive than mere money could claim her.
But, all right, this had been the last time. And her courses were due to come within the next day or two. Chances were on her side that she wouldn’t conceive his child. The thought made her sad.
Dear God. A little wave of nausea swept through her. She actually felt
sad
that she wouldn’t bear some wealthy New York merchant’s bastard? What had she sunk to? Her desire for Grey was making her lose control over her wits.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed eight in the evening.
“I’ll send for my carriage,” Grey said, as if the matter required no consent from her.
She turned to where he lounged on the bed, his head propped against the headboard.
“Thank you, but I can’t be seen coming home in a carriage.” She pulled on a glove.
“Couldn’t Mrs Bickle have sent you home in one?”
“She never has.”
“Well, let’s say she did today.”
“I told you, I cannot be seen leaving a carriage in my neighbourhood. Too many watchful eyes, waiting for someone to make a misstep.” She tugged the other glove on.
“You are a beautiful girl, you can’t walk home at dusk.”
“I am twenty-three—hardly a girl—and I have always walked where I wanted to go.”
“Well, you’ve never been under my protection before.”
“I am not—” Anger at his arrogant presumption bristled through her and forced her to take a deep breath. “I am not under your protection.”
His eyes darkened to the colour of gunmetal and he jerked upright. “When you’re with me, you damn well are.”
With a frisson of alarm in her belly, she took several steps backwards. “Understand me, sir—we are lovers when and only when and for how long I choose. You have no rights of protection over me.”
His dark brows drew together. “I am going to walk you downstairs and see you put into a carriage.”
“I won’t take a carriage.”
“You will if I bodily carry you to it and put you inside.” He came to his feet.
Heart fluttering wildly, she backed away. “You can’t be serious. You don’t have your breeches on.”
He glanced down at the dark blue banyan he wore, as if he’d forgotten he was not dressed. His jaw tightened and she ran for the sideboard. As she grasped her reticule, his arm latched around her waist like a band of steel.
She twisted in his arms to glare at him. “Let me go, you autocratic jackass,” she hissed.
“Just because your brother doesn’t care about you—”
The words cut into her like shards of ice. “He
cares.
”
“He lets you traipse around like a girl on the town, meeting with men—”
“We’re not wealthy. We don’t take carriages. I have to go out and work. He’s a gentle, quiet man, except when he’s angry. Believe me, if he knew I was seeing a man, he would be outraged. That’s why I have to be so careful.”
“And you’re very good at being careful, aren’t you? Like a cunning little cat. You’ve so much experience.”
“You’ve certainly enjoyed the benefit.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “We’re getting deep here, Beth. I want our relationship to be defined.”
“We’ve met three times and neither of us has any claim on the other.”
“By God, you’re in serious need of taming.” His hands tightened on her, his eyes darkened and dangerous. “Are you so unaware of how the world is? What perils you flirt with, with your reckless behaviour? I could detain you. I could take you to my yacht and take you with me to New York. I daresay a week at sea would prove ample time to tame a vixen.”
Encircled by his powerful arms, she had no doubt he could follow through on his threats.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze steadily. “If you do, I promise you I’ll get free the first moment your back is turned, and I’ll never,
ever
come back.”
His eyes widened and his grip loosened. Clutching her reticule, she dashed for the door.
“Beth!”
The anguish in his voice made her stop, her hand frozen on the doorknob.
“I wouldn’t really,” he said.
“You said it.” She would not turn around.
“I lost my head. Forgive me.”
At his contrite tone, a hot, metallic dryness filled her mouth. Fear of herself. Fear she would turn and run into his arms. Her hand shook upon the knob. She turned it, wrenched the door open and fled down the hall and into the night.
Chapter Five
Beth came out of the back room of her family’s Southwark cobbler shop, transfixed by the wavy patterns swirling in the creamed coffee she was taking to Charlie. She’d spent the past week sleepy and distracted.
“Mr Sexton, my sister, Miss Elizabeth McConnell,” Charlie said.
She jerked her gaze up. Sure enough, there he stood. Her breath caught and she set the mug on the counter with a heavy crash. Dressed in a plain, brown broadcloth jacket and nankeen pantaloons, he could have been any tradesman from the neighbourhood. Yet his height and arrogant bearing set him apart.
Those silver eyes focused on her, the momentary heat there reminding her of being abed with him. After a week spent aching with loneliness in her bed and staying away from City Tavern, tingling warmth suffused her belly. Her eyes traced the familiar contour of his angular jaw. She remembered their last meeting. When he had made her come over and over and how she had pressed a frantic rain of kisses upon that jaw. Remembered the taste of his sweat, the scent of their mutual arousal. Now wetness began to flow between her legs.
Her eyes flickered to her brother’s bland, pumpkin-shaped face and she prayed he could not read the ardent hunger on her face.
Grey was insane to have come here.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss McConnell.” Grey’s tone was cool and polite. A distant half smile curved his mouth.
“Entertain Mr Sexton for a moment, will you? I need to see how much cordovan leather we have in the back.”
She watched Charlie’s massive back as he departed, then she turned on Grey. “How did you find me?”
“There are only so many cobbler shops in Philadelphia. And certainly only one woman with such pale blonde—”
Outrage stunned her. “You were asking about me?”
“Don’t worry. I am the soul of discretion.”
“Ha! More like the soul of arrogance.” She glanced at the back room door, searching for Charlie’s huge shadow, then turned back to Grey. “And it’s done you no good. I am determined to meet you no more.”
He looked tired, as if he’d spent as many sleepless nights as she. A warm wave of tenderness suffused her. She wanted to cradle his head to her naked breasts and caress his black hair until he slept and never let him go. But she knew all about gentlemen. They viewed a woman of her class as just another bauble to possess and discard once they grew bored. This gentleman had recently proven himself no different.
But her body refused to listen to reason. Her cunt swelled and wept with need. How many nights had she hugged her pillow tightly with her thighs, trying to assuage the ache for him?
How long would it take her body to forget him? She didn’t look forward to finding out.
“You have to forgive me, Beth.”
She folded her arms over her bodice and arched a brow. “Do I?”
“Yes, you do.” He grinned. More than a grin, it was a bone-melting flash of the boy inside the man. The motherless boy who had grown up with the stern, cold father. Fleeting as a heartbeat, it spoke to her of babies and booties and long winter nights spent snuggled up to a strong, male body in bed. Things she had never let herself believe in.
To break the spell, she shook herself and took a deep, fortifying breath. “I thought you were leaving soon for New York.”
“I can’t leave Philadelphia yet.”
“Why not?”
“You
know
why.” His voice, sensual and low, invoked memories of his tall, strong body upon hers, their sweat-slick skin sliding in crisp linen sheets. “Meet with me one more time.”
Her cunt contracted hard. The temptation to say yes was almost too much to bear.
She couldn’t possibly say yes.
But where would she find the strength to say no?
“I shouldn’t.” She heard the wavering in her own voice. It made her mouth go dry. Oh, God help her.
“Come and see me on Saturday.”
She trembled at the erotic promise in his eyes. Why did he have to be so blasted persuasive? At the sound of Charlie’s boots on the floorboards, she retreated from the counter, unsure if she was grateful for the distraction or if she suddenly wished Charlie to the devil for breaking the intimacy.
“I’ll be waiting in the lobby,” Grey whispered.
* * * *
Beth promised herself this was the absolute last time. A proper goodbye. Grey had insisted on taking her for a ride. Now the carriage stopped in front of a small but stately red-brick Georgian house.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“We’re going inside.”
“But I don’t want to visit anyone.”
“I own this house. I gave the housekeeper the afternoon off. We shall be quite private.”
She drew her brows together. “Why do you stay at City Tavern if you have this house?”
“Because until recently it was occupied.” He threaded his fingers through hers and picked her hand up. “Let’s go inside.”
* * * *
Beth allowed Grey to lead her by the hand through the dining room, passing by its glossy cherrywood table with the vase of pale pink peonies, and back into the foyer. Why didn’t they go to the bedchamber? That was why they were here, after all.
Light dotted the wall like rainbow-hued butterflies, drawing her eye to the sunlight sparkling through the crystal chandelier. “You keep this house, furnished this splendidly, and never use it?”
“I am using it today.” He embraced her from behind and nuzzled her neck. “God, but I have missed you.” His erection pressed huge and hot against her bottom. Then, abruptly, he swept her up into his arms. She squealed and clung to his neck.
“You’ll break your back!” she said, laughingly.
“You weigh nothing. You want fattening up,” he said, smiling down at her.
In the bedchamber, with his angular face hard with the determination of a man set to a delicate task, he deftly undressed her. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” he asked, all formality and politeness.
Moments later he returned, clad only in a black dressing gown.
He handed her a flat, rectangular box, his expression so serious she was almost afraid to take it.
“Well? Open it.” Boyish earnestness made his handsome face all the more gorgeous. All thumbs with the latch, she dropped the box.
He picked it up, unlatched it and handed it to her. She opened it. Inside, against plush red velvet, laid a double strand of luminescent pearls, small and perfectly matched. She traced her finger over them. She’d never touched anything so lovely in her life.
And she knew they didn’t come without a price.
Chapter Six
“I don’t need these.” She stared at the pearls as if they might turn into a snake.
“But I want you to have them.”
The edge in his voice made her jerk her head up. “Where would I wear them?”
“You could start by wearing them for me.”
He picked the box up, removed the necklace and moved behind her. Brushing the hair off her shoulders, he placed the strand about her neck. The pearls lay cool and heavy against her throat and collarbone.
He traced his fingers across her nipples. “See how erotic the pearls look against your beautiful breasts.”
She glanced down. His dark hand contrasted with the twin rope of pearls gleaming against her pale flesh. Her cunt clenched and wetness seeped over her inner folds.
“Come here.” He led her to the mahogany Chippendale dresser, then cupped her face and kissed her deeply. After several moments, he lifted his head and turned her to face the framed mirror and hugged her from behind. She’d never seen herself like this. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the image of her pale, petite nakedness and his strong arm latched about her waist. His dark head fitted into the curve of her neck.
He slowly pulled the necklace backwards, the smooth beads a cool, continuous slide along her skin. Snug against her throat, the pearls made an expensive-looking collar. He brought a hand to rest beneath them, at her collarbone. His other hand rolled the pearls against her back, a slow and steady silken sensation. Her nipples drew into tight, pink points, as if jealous of the attention he lavished on the necklace.
He traced the clasp with a fingertip, bringing her attention to it. She hadn’t noticed it before but the latch wasn’t a simple latch. It sparkled with fire. Tiny diamonds surrounded an oblong, deep blue stone gleaming with the slightest hint of violet. She sucked in her breath.
A sapphire—oh, but surely not real. No, it must be paste.
But he didn’t strike her as a paste kind of gentleman.
She opened her mouth to speak but he stroked her breasts in feather-soft circles, driving whatever she had intended to say out of her mind. Soon all she could do was long for him to touch her aching peaks but he seemed to be purposely avoiding them.
Finally, he brushed them with his fingertips. She whimpered for more and he gradually increased the pressure, pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers.
In the mirror, she watched his hand slide down her belly to the pale blonde hair at her junction. He traced her outer lips, an unhurried counterpoint to the urgent throb of his erection against her bottom. At the barest touch of his fingertip to her nub, she writhed, wriggling her bottom against his cock.