If He's Sinful (4 page)

“Not really.” She sighed. “If you are offering me choices, might I choose to be untied now?”

“In but a moment I will untie your ankles.” He began to encircle her long, slender neck with soft kisses and gentle nips. “I thought this a silly game but allowed my friends to push me into playing it.”

“This is a game? What is it called?”

“The Pagan Sacrifice game. Did they not tell you?”

“No one told me anything. I did not realize that one played fanciful games in a brothel.”

“A lot of games are played in brothels. I was never one to indulge in that. I have never been an imaginative man. Then I saw you. At that moment I realized that I did indeed possess a powerful imagination. My mind became crowded with ideas of how I would enjoy you, pleasure you. I realized I could do anything I wanted to. I intend to make you want it, too.”

Penelope knew she was not herself when the heated images his words created in her mind were more exciting than alarming or shocking. She wondered if, somewhere in those many dreams she had had about this man, her thoughts had taken her far beyond kisses and sweet words of love. She did not recall anything particularly lascivious in her dreams but she had enough knowledge to have made them so. That would certainly explain why she woke up so many times all asweat and aching with a need she did not understand. Those dreams worked against her now, almost as much as Mrs. Cratchitt’s potion did.

She shivered with pleasure so sharp it was almost painful when he covered her breast with a warm hand and slowly licked the space between her breasts. “Should you not kiss me first?”

When he lifted his gaze from her breasts, Penelope caught her breath too quickly and nearly choked. It was as if she stared into the heart of a thundercloud. The gray of his eyes had darkened nearly to black and there was such heat in his gaze it warmed her skin. There was also the glint of amusement and curiosity. She had obviously just said something else that did not suit the role she was being forced to play.

Such inconsistencies did not prompt him to ask any questions, though, she thought, and anger began to stir inside her. She knew enough about Lord Radmoor to know he was not some thick-witted dandy so it puzzled her that he would so blindly accept what a brothel madam had told him about her. It was not as if a woman who made her living selling other women was one a person should put much trust in. Like far too many people did, he simply accepted what he saw and used that to soothe away any doubts stirred by her words. Penelope wondered sadly how often that happened in such places, how often innocent girls and women were forced into this hellish life because no one asked questions and no one listened to them.

Ashton saw the sadness in her beautiful eyes and gently framed her small, lovely face in his hands. He never kissed courtesans and whores, was even very sparing with his kisses with the rare widow or flirtatious wife who had favored him in the past. It was an idiosyncrasy others shared with him so it did not worry him too much. Despite the temptation of her soft, sensuous mouth, he had thought to hold fast to that rule, but the sadness in her eyes broke his resolve.

He brushed his lips over hers and the warmth of them flowed through his body. “You taste so good.” Ashton hoped she could not hear the surprise in his voice, then wondered why he was so concerned about offering some insult. “You are a feast I could linger over for hours.”

“My deepest apologies, sir, but I fear you shall have to step away from this banquet before you have had your fill. It would be best for your health.”

Chapter Three

Ashton tensed. He was not sure what chilled him more, the subtle threat uttered in that deep, cold masculine voice, or the feel of the hard, cold metal of a pistol muzzle pressed against the side of his head. It astonished him that he had not immediately gone soft, all passion fleeing his body in a rush, but he was still achingly erect. That could prove embarrassing. There was no sign of fear upon Penelope’s sweet face. In fact, she looked an enchanting mix of delighted and annoyed.

“Artemis,” Penelope said in a gentle but firm tone, “there is no need to hold a pistol on his lordship. It is rather evident that he is not armed.”

“He looks cocked and primed to shoot to me.”

Penelope lifted her head enough to scowl briefly at the four boys gathered at the foot of the bed who laughed at Artemis’s crude jest. She was pleased to be rescued, but appalled by what the boys had risked in coming to her aid. Artemis was only sixteen, Stefan only fourteen, Darius not yet ten, Hector but newly turned nine, and Delmar barely seven. All were far too young to be wandering the dangerous streets of London at night but she could not bring herself to taint her gratitude with a scolding, or to pinch at their boyish pride. She would, however, try to remember to have a little talk with Artemis concerning the fact that Hector and Delmar understood his jest. They were too young for that knowledge. They were also too young to be seeing her tied to a bed with a naked man on top of her but there was nothing she could do about that. She frowned when she realized Lord Radmoor was no longer “cocked and primed.”

She also felt a distinct pang of disappointment. It was not just the drug that made her sorry this sordid interlude had been interrupted before she had even gotten a real kiss. Penelope was certain she would never get another chance to fulfill even one of her wishes or have even one of her dreams about Lord Ashton Radmoor come true. The feel of small hands untying her ankles pulled her free of her wandering thoughts and she lifted her head again to smile her gratitude at Delmar.

“Get off her,” Artemis ordered Lord Radmoor.

“That could prove awkward,” Penelope said, blushing as Ashton began to slowly lift his body off hers.

“I do not think we will be shocked by seeing a naked man.”

“I did not think you would be, but
I
am also naked, or as good as.” She blushed again when Artemis looked her over and his eyes widened.

“Lads, look away until I can get Pen decently covered,” Artemis ordered the boys.

“But what about the man?” asked Delmar as he and the other boys obeyed the command.

“I have a gun on him,” replied Artemis even as he fixed his gaze on Ashton again. “Now, my lord, remove yourself from my sister. Very slowly. Do not think that, because I am young, I will hesitate to shoot you.”

Ashton did as he was told. When he finally stood at the side of the bed, he looked across it at the one who held a pistol aimed directly at his heart. His first clear thought was to wonder how such a tall, too thin youth could possess such a deep, manly voice. Then he looked into the youth’s icy blue eyes, eyes that remained steadily fixed on him as the youth moved to untie one of his sister’s wrists. Ashton had no more doubt that there was enough strong, furious man in the boy to make him a true threat. He could also see a slight family resemblance in the youth’s face, an almost pretty face despite how his cold anger hardened his expression.

A fleeting glance at Penelope revealed her having trouble untying her other wrist, and Ashton looked back at the boy. “If you will allow it, I could assist her.”

“No tricks,” said Artemis.

“My word of honor.”

The youth nodded and Ashton quickly untied Penelope’s wrist. He moved back to stand by the side of the bed. She struggled to sit up and he frowned at her awkward movements. She acted as if she was a little drunk yet he had not smelled or tasted any spirits on her breath. Ashton studied her very closely as she fumbled with her gown in a vain attempt to achieve some semblance of modesty.

“Were you tied up for a long time?” he asked. Guilt pinched at him over the fact that he had not asked her that before and had hesitated to untie her.

“Oh, nay. I mean, no, I do not think so,” Penelope replied, beginning to experience an alarming unsteadiness in her body and her mind. “Where are my clothes? I think I must hurry and dress. That nasty potion Mrs. Cratchitt forced down my throat does not feel so very pleasant now. I think I may soon be very ill or very unconscious and very soon.”

Ashton cursed and heard the youth echo it. “I will get her clothes,” he muttered even as he looked around the room. He spotted them piled on the floor near the door and went to get them. “Put the gun away,” he told Artemis as he set Penelope’s clothes on the bed. “You will need some help getting her dressed.” He sighed when the boy hesitated. “It is a little late to worry about her modesty in front of me. I also have no desire to take a woman who has had to be drugged to share a bed with me.”

“How late?” demanded Artemis.

There were very few men Ashton knew who could have put such cold, deadly fury into two small words. “Not that late,” he replied and was relieved when the boy set his pistol aside and moved to help him dress Penelope.

“But I will be naked,” Penelope protested as her brother and Ashton started to remove the thin gown Mrs. Cratchitt had forced her to wear.

“You are as good as naked now,” muttered Artemis and then he frowned at her. “You were given some potion?”

“Mrs. Cratchitt forced it on me. It made me very calm for a while, very accepting of my fate. Now it is making me very dizzy and a little nauseous. How did you find me?”

“Paul slipped out and followed you for aways. He saw those men grab you, ran back home to us, and told me about it. I had already sensed that something was very wrong and was preparing to set out after you.”

“I was very frightened.”

“I know,” he said in a soft, gentle tone and he stroked her hair. “Between that and questioning a few boys here and there, we were able to pick up your trail. Then, well, it was as if a lantern had been lit to lead me straight to this place and this room. I did not have to roam about outside for very long before I knew exactly where you were. The potion, I suppose. It has made things uncomfortable for you?”

“Quite uncomfortable. This is a very sad place, full of ill feelings and angry spirits. Someone died in this bed,” she added, sorrow weighting her every word. “Poor Faith.”

“What are you saying?” asked Ashton, eyeing the siblings warily as he finished tugging Penelope’s dress on her increasingly limp body. He did not completely understand the meaning of their words but what little he guessed at made him very uneasy.

“Oh, you are still naked,” murmured Penelope, unable to stop herself from looking him over very thoroughly. He was so handsome, she thought and sighed.

“I can finish this unaided now,” said Artemis and he scowled at Ashton. “You can go and get yourself dressed now. Boys, watch him closely.”

Ashton moved to where his clothes had been set down. He looked at the boys who had been ordered to watch him, caught the direction of the interested gazes of the younger ones, and hurried to get dressed. He understood a young boy’s fascination with that part of a grown man’s body but he was in no mood to be the object of their study. He was embarrassed enough by how matters had turned against him.

What little he could hear of the conversation between Penelope and her brother made him inwardly shake his head. They seemed to believe they could feel things and see things others could not, could snatch emotions from the air and speak to the dead. She spoke of this specter named Faith as if the vision were not born of the potion Cratchitt had given her, which it certainly must have been. He then wondered if they were part of that group of charlatans who swindled foolish people out of money by claiming they could contact the dead or tell one what the future would bring.

That would explain their fine speech, that air of gentility, he mused. Unless one went to a gypsy at some fair, most of the charlatans of that ilk dealt with the ladies of society and were as genteel as their customers, or pretended to be. He frowned as he tied his cravat under the intense scrutiny of the boys, wondering uneasily if the game was not over yet. Were they going to try to entrap him in some way? Perhaps even try to claim honor demanded he marry the girl?

A little voice in his head whispered that it would not be such a hardship if they did and he brutally silenced it. It was his lust talking, nothing more. He could not marry just anyone, especially not some lovely woman whose bloodlines and purity were in question. He had a duty to his title and to the future of his line, as well as to his family. He had to marry a woman of the appropriate bloodlines, and one fully accepted by society. He also had to marry a woman with as large a dowry as possible to help rebuild the family fortunes. It did not please him to admit, even if only to himself, how swiftly he would toss aside the need for good bloodlines if this wide-eyed girl were wealthy. In a way, he had already done that by considering marriage to Clarissa for the barony her brother now held was very new. The family had been very minor gentry before then.

For a moment he feared he was like his father, a slave to his passions. He pulled on his boots and shook his head, fighting to dislodge that fear from his mind. One moment of madness with one woman did not make him the satyr his father had been. Ashton knew he could never treat a woman as his father had treated his mother. Nor could he ever leave his wife and children nearly destitute just to sate those unbridled passions. He had to stop fearing that he was going to become his father. That fear could easily choke all the life out of him.

What if I told you that I was the daughter of a marquis?

He tensed as he heard her say those words again in his mind. That would make her bloodlines more than acceptable. Ashton silently cursed. He was grasping at the air, at any reason he could find not to tie himself in marriage to the beautiful but cold Clarissa. Even if Penelope was what she claimed, she was not the heiress he needed. The gown she now wore proved that. It was pretty enough but not of the finest quality. Neither were the clothes the boys all wore. His curiosity was now piqued, however. Just who were these people?