Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (16 page)

Anger flared up in her being, replacing the bitter disappointment. So he wasn't going to be honest with her. He was going to keep dangling her on a string, so that she told him everything there was to know about her, while he remained a mystery. And he would keep haunting her dreams every night, frustrating her to no end while refusing to touch her. That was Pierce. High-handed, frustrating, and so in control of everything.

Very well. She would let him have his one night and then they would strike out for Dunstable the next day. Come hell or high water, she would find Cicely and then she would be done with Pierce and his domineering ways.

Her heart sank a bit, but she lifted her chin. "You've got one night."

Chapter Sixteen

By the time Pierce descended to the dining-room, the gentlemen were all thoroughly in their cups. A general roar of merriment echoed down the hallway as they sang the bawdiest drinking songs they could muster, and thumped their glasses on the table. Pierce paused just outside the doorway and ruffled his hair while loosening his cravat. He'd have to stay sober and keep his wits about him to get the information he sought. And that information was simple. How was the Barclay connected to the Gilded Lily? Once he knew, he could turn everything he knew over to the Runners and they would leave him in peace.

Thank heavens Penelope had elected to stay upstairs. He'd be too worried about protecting her from these thoroughly soused lechers, and would likely miss the opportunity to extract the information he so desperately needed.

He burst into the room to a chorus of loud jeers. Lord Adam stood, laughing at his arrival. "My good fellows, this blackguard is a friend of Blake's. But the stingy bastard brought his own red-headed amusement and won't share with the rest of the hunting party."

A loud chorus of boos
rain
ed
down
upon Pierce. He lurched as though thoroughly foxed and found a seat at the table. He waved his hands helplessly and laughed uproariously. "Since when has a fellow had to share all his sweetmeats?"

The general bellowing reached its normal volume once more, no longer directed at him, but just surging along as the gentlemen poured drinks and ate prodigious amounts of food—fuel, no doubt, for later that evening when they would all go join the ladies for some sport. He chewed the inside of his cheek in sudden frustration. He was not allowing himself any temptations on this trip, was he? No drinking at dinner, no Penelope afterwards. What a fool he was.

He turned to his left hand neighbor, a young buck who was drinking wine out of one glass and brandy out of another. "You'll make yourself sick, my lad," he warned in a slurred tone. "Best to stick to one or t'other."

"That's what my father said about my wife and my wench," the buck replied charmingly, with a shout of laughter.

Pierce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was most difficult to stomach drunks when one couldn't imbibe as well.

"So, where's your little bit of stuff?" The young buck eyed him expectantly. "Too fine to share?"

"We have an understanding," Pierce replied. This was an easy enough way to get to the heart of the matter. "Borrowed her from the Barclay. She's only mine—that's what I agreed to."

"Ah, well then. The Barclay. She's a fine bit o' muslin at that, I suppose. I can't afford the gels at the Barclay. Have to get them myself off the street, or else my man does. I must say, it's jolly sporting of Cavendish to share." The buck took another long draught of brandy. "But then, he can well afford to."

Pierce nodded. "He is a rich bastard, at that."

"No, not that." His companion explained in irritation. "He owns the Barclay, you idiot. That's how he can have these parties, and invite these young women to join us. He owns them all, lock stock and barrel."

Ah, so that made sense. If Cavendish owned the Barclay, he likely had a stake in the Gilded Lily as well.

"I see," he muttered, pretending disinterest.

"Don't believe me? Ask him yourself." The young buck pushed his chair away with a sudden scrape. "I've got to go toss up my accounts."

"Go—go." Pierce pushed him towards the door. He couldn't bear the smell and sight of that stupid young cub getting sick all over the floor.

With his companion gone, he was free to stake out Cavendish. He poured the contents of his glass surreptitiously in a potted plant, and sought his host's company at the head of the table. Just how drunk was Cavendish? Judging by the way he couldn't hold himself straight, the man was sloshed. There was no need for discretion. Likely he wouldn't even remember their conversation in the morning.

"What ho, Lord Adam. Got to thank you for the Barclay. Fine agency, that." He filled his host's glass to the brim. "Found several pretty gels through your agency."

"You're damn right it's good," Cavendish replied, thumping his clenched fist on the table. "Finest establishment in London, you know. Now that I've taken over the Lily, it will be even better. A steady supply of pretty young things, all brought in fresh and innocent."

So that was it. Not only did Cavendish own the Barclay, he had an interest in the Lily as well. That's why the Runners were getting nowhere. With all his power and privilege, Cavendish was likely blocking every move they made to shut him down.

"Not too fresh and innocent, eh, Cavendish?" He nudged his host with his elbow and waited.

"Ah, well. Not our fault some chits lie about their age. Why should we be held accountable? As long as they're willing, why should it matter?" Cavendish's face was flushed a dark purple. Obviously, even when drunk, this conversation was still striking a nerve. Pierce tamped down his temper, waiting a moment before speaking.

"Yes, I agree. If they are willing, it shouldn't matter." It was damned hard to push the words out of his mouth, but he managed it. "But what if they aren't willing—what then? I mean to say, have you ever had to, well, coerce the young ladies?"

"I haven't. Never. Not saying someone in my employ hasn't, but I can't be held responsible for their actions, you know. Usually as soon as some chit knows she has a chance to lay for me, she's only too willing."

Pierce swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "Lucky man."

Cavendish winked broadly and drained the last bit of his cup. "Wealth and power are very attractive, you know." He stopped a moment, and shook his head rapidly. "Wait. Who the devil are you again?"

Pierce flicked a glance around the room, picking out the only person he recognized—barely—from his work as a thief-taker. "Oh, I am
Banks
, don't you remember?"

His host rubbed his eyes. "Guess I am more soused than I thought."

Time to go, before everything fell apart. He had the information he needed, and it was enough to get the Runners off his back. "Better go. I have someone waiting."

Cavendish smiled. The only thing that ever seemed to run through his mind—fornication, and how to get it, and how to get more—was sure to derail his conversation. "Get to it, lad," he said.

With that, Pierce left the dining room. With any luck, Penelope would still be awake. He wanted to see her again. Not do anything more than that. He promised himself he wouldn't even touch her, or take advantage of her in this atmosphere. But he craved her smiles, the light in her emerald eyes, the sweet scent of peaches and gardenias that enveloped her wherever she went.

The young buck was being sick on the stairs as
Pierce
ran up them two at a time. He stopped a servant on his way up and asked him to take care of his sick informant, more out of pity for the fine Aubusson carpet than for the gentleman himself.

He let himself into his suite, but the room was dark save for a few embers glowing on the hearth. He paused inside the doorway, allowing his eyes to get used to the dark. When he could pick out the shapes of the furniture, he felt his way through the bedroom into the sitting room next door. In there, the fire had been stirred up and kept blazing, while a tub of steaming water waited.

Penelope must have ordered him a bath before she retired. What a woman. A hot bath was just the way to soak his frustration away before spending a night on the settee, twisting and turning and trying to forget the beautiful woman who lay just beyond.

He stripped off his clothing and sank gratefully into the warm water. It was impossible not to get aroused. He had spent the past several days abiding by his own rules, and he had done everything he wanted to do. He got the information he needed, and he found a new trail to track down to find Cicely. And now that he was alone—save, of course, for Penelope sleeping next door—he could finally give in to his baser emotions. Those baser emotions that had plagued him for the duration of this trip.

He lathered himself all over, scrubbing his hair and his body. He couldn't resist the urge to soap himself all over his member, rubbing and squeezing until he stood up stiffly. Bloody hell, it was nothing to being with Penelope, but it was the next best thing. He could wait no longer. He needed a release, damn it. He stood up and got out of the tub, drying himself off near the fire.

***

Penelope's heart pounded against her ribcage. She could pretend to sleep no longer. Like any brazen hussy, she wanted to see Pierce as he bathed. She didn't care a fig for his rules. If he didn't want to touch her because he wanted to prove something to himself, that was his business. But she didn't have to abide by his rules. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to the doorway
.

Heavens above, Pierce was a well-made man. She peered through the crack in the doorjamb as he climbed out of the large copper washtub, water streaming in rivulets down his muscled back and legs. He wrapped himself in a large Turkish towel. How frustrating. She could no longer see the most interesting part of him. Still, he was beautiful to behold.

Pierce rubbed himself with the towel, and then, as he dried the more private areas of his being, slowly wrapped his large hand around his member. Even under the bulk of the towel, she could discern that he had grown and stiffened all at once.
Pierce's eyes were closed. He hadn't spied her yet. Should she say anything? If she did, he might stop.

The towel fell to the floor, unheeded, as Pierce worked back and forth along his member, his head thrown back, and a slight grimace crossing his handsome face. My goodness, he was certainly big—when he was quite aroused as he was now, his member stood out well above his navel. Dampness gathered in the place between her legs. It had been too long since they had been together, and surrounded as they were by couples lovemaking in every conceivable nook and cranny of this large old house, the tension and craving for indulgence was nigh unbearable.

Yes, it had been entirely too long. She had spent the length of her marriage never knowing such pleasure existed and now—after two nights with Pierce—it was all she craved. She was as desperate for his touch, the feel and the smell of him, as an opium addict longed for the poppy.

"Penelope,
"
he muttered in a hoarse rumble
.

He was thinking of her. Not of some doxie downstairs. No—he was imagining her as he growled and pounded.

That was all the encouragement she needed.
A hot flush stained her cheeks, but there was no need for embarrassment. He wanted her and she wanted him. It was as simple as that.

She
took a few steps closer in the
doorway, and pushed her night gown off her shoulders with shaking fingers. The flimsy fabric pooled around her waist.

"Pierce."

"Oh God," he moaned huskily, his passion-darkened eyes devouring her. "Penelope, my darling, you are too good. Too generous." He dropped the towel and strode over to her, grasping her by the shoulders. His lips trailed a path of fire down her neck, to the tips of her breasts, and she had to lean against him to keep from falling.

He grasped her night gown in both hands and tugged
from about her waist until
, with a tearing sound, it floated to the floor. She sank to her knees. She was trembling so she could no longer stand.

His member still jutted upwards fiercely as he joined her on the floor. He pushed her back onto the skimpy puddle of her gown and parted her legs.

"How long were you watching me?" His voice was a strangled whisper.

"Long enough," she responded with a saucy smile.

He poised himself at her entrance, swearing softly. "I'll be damned. Ready so soon, my sweet?"

She nodded, twisting against him. She had no shame left. Why was he moving so slowly? She wanted him now.

He pushed forward a bit, but then paused. "We shouldn't be doing this." He began to withdraw. "I made myself a promise."

"No!" She locked her legs around him. "Why did you make such a daft rule? I never agreed to it. I want you now." If he didn't hurry up, she would go mad.

Swearing ruefully once more, he surged forward, moving with such fierce intensity that Penelope gasped and moaned with him, shameless as the
light skirt
she had been pretending to be. But oh, it felt so good. She sprawled backwards, resting her arms above her head and against the smooth beams of the wooden floor as he thrust again and again. Her breasts, heavy and round, bounced up and down with their movements. It was delicious to be taken so wantonly.

Without warning, a tingling surge tore through her being. "Oh, God. Oh, Pierce."

"Yes, Penelope," he shouted, plunging one last time. "Bloody hell, yes." His hot seed spilled forth as he collapsed against her chest.

They lay there together, panting, the stillness of the room broken only by the crackling in the grate. She stroked his damp hair with a gentle hand. Why wouldn't Pierce always be this honest with her—as honest and naked as they were now, when they were together? Why was he concealing things from her, and holding back? If only he would be truthful with her—completely and utterly honest—why, she could find herself falling in love with him.