Tonight or Never

  "That makes sense. I never realized you were so smart, John." She tickled his ribs.

  He quickly grabbed her hand. John was very ticklish there and she knew it.

  "Since we just had an arrival, I think we won't see any action for several days. Starting tomorrow night, I'll be waiting for him."

  "Let's say he does appear; then what?"

  "Then I follow him."

  Chloe paled a little. "You don't think he could be dangerous, do you? I mean, they do say he is a pirate, John, and I don't want you in danger."

  "Thank you, my carrot," he said dryly, "but I can assure you that I am not worried."

  John was said to be an expert shot and just as good with the blade. He had fought enough duels with irate husbands and jealous lovers to prove it. With his reputation he would have to be the best bloody swordsman in England.

  She frowned at the annoying thought. Then she kicked his shin.

  "Ow! What did you do that for?"

  "I have my reasons."

  "Do you care to share them?"

  "No." She stuck her chin mutinously in the air.

  No matter how much he thought he understood women, they always came up with something totally new and unfathomable to present to the sea of floundering males.

  He exhaled deeply, deciding to let the matter pass. There was no telling what arcane misdeed of his had set her off.

  "I'll get Cook to pack us some food."

  His brow furrowed. "What for?"

  "In case we get hungry during the night."

  "We? Who said anything about we? You are not going, Chloe."

  "Yes, I am." Her finger trailed down the center of his torso.

  He stopped her when she reached his navel. "No, you are not; it is too dangerous."

  "You just said it wasn't."

  "For me. You are not going anywhere near the Black Rose."

  "Well, John, if it is too dangerous for me, then it is too dangerous for you, and I simply cannot allow you to do it."

  John's jaw dropped. "What?"

  "I'm sorry, but that's the way I feel." She patted the side of his face consolingly.

  The rogue was speechless. No one had ever even hinted at telling him what he could and couldn't do, not even his uncle. "A wife does not tell a husband what to do!" he sputtered.

  "This one does." She yawned, snuggling into his chest.

  "What makes you think I would ever allow that, Chloe?" he said in a very low voice.

  Chloe wasn't the least concerned. She licked his flat nipple. "So you are going to leave me here… with the Cyndreacs?" she asked sweetly.

  Dead silence ensued. For several minutes.

  "We take one horse, mine. And you'd better be prepared for a long vigil."

  She smiled secretly. "I'll speak to Cook about that food."

  He exhaled gustily. "It is not a bloody picnic, Chloe!"

  "You'll be happy I thought of it; you'll see. I wonder if I should pack an extra blanket…"

  John threw his arms up in the air. "Chloe!"

  "Very well, I'll forgo the blanket." Her face lit up with excitement. "This is really intriguing, John. Just think—we might be the ones to discover the Black Rose's identity."

  But who will we tell? he wondered.

  Chloe nibbled teasingly along his collarbone. "How long do you think it will take?"

  "To discover who the Black Rose is?"

  "No." She laved a spot under his chin. "For you to show me…"

  He watched her with an altogether sensual expectation, his clear green eyes sparkling. "For me to show you… ?"

  Her lips followed a trail down the center line of his muscular chest, stopping to tease at his navel. Here she used the tip of her tongue to swirl around the perimeter, taking small, delicate licks. John shivered.

  "For me to show you…" he prodded her, surprised yet pleased at her bold actions.

  Her mouth dipped lower, laving the sensitive skin beneath his flat stomach. John was falling under the sensual spell she was weaving, which was just the way Chloe wanted him.

  "For you to show me everything you know. How long do you suppose that will take?" She punctuated her question by taking his member in her hand and running her tongue across the tip in a quick, light swipe.

  It took a moment for her words to sink in over the splendor of her action.

  John sucked in his breath just before comprehension sank in. She was asking him how long it would be before she could assume her life as the premier female rake of England!

  "It will take me a long time, Chloe," he uttered softly. Very softly.

  Her fingers drummed along his shaft as she thought about his answer.

  She bent her face, taking him in her mouth briefly before she stopped to ask him, "Do you know that much then, John?"

  He placed his hands on her head, guiding her back to him. "Yes," he drawled in a low-pitched tone. "I know that much."

  Her lips pressed against him. "And you don't mind if it should take a long while?" She brought him fully into her mouth and suckled on him.

  John moaned aloud. "No, love, I don't mind," he rasped, his normally smooth voice of a sudden unusually husky.

  Chloe smiled to herself. For a notorious rake, John was really doing well. She was quite proud of him. This Lord Sexton tasted very, very good, she decided; he tasted of rich possibilities.

  He tasted of the man she loved.

  John closed his eyes, letting the feel of her mouth sink deep into his senses. The only thing he seemed capable of thinking about was of that mouth on him. Those lips . . . Those incredible lips which haunted his every waking hour of late—tempting him beyond reason!

  The fact that she was unpracticed in such a recreation only seemed to add to his enjoyment. He didn't think he had ever felt anything so splendid as what he was feeling now.

  Not counting when he was inside her, of course.

  Her industrious, active little tongue was driving him mad. She nibbled softly on him, causing his fingers to clench in her thick hair. He moaned anew.

  Chloe watched him. His eyes were closed and he appeared quite overcome by the moment. Almost awed. Dark lashes rested against his high cheekbones in a spiky crescent.

  With those breathtaking eyes closed, the rest of his face came into relief and she marveled as she always did at the pure, classical lines of his features. He was so incredibly handsome.

  He was also a complex human being who had enormous depth of character.

  "Chloe." He whispered her name as she massaged him, kissing him tenderly. The ends of her long hair swept over his thighs. A deep groan rolled from his throat.

  Taking that as a cue, Chloe sat back, tossing her head forward to let her hair fall in a cascade over him, entangling him in the strands. She wondered what his reaction, if any, would be to such a—

  He bit out something that sounded savage from between his clenched teeth and, surprising her, lifted her right up to sit atop him.

  "John!"

  He sank into her, his strong masculine hands firmly planted on her hips.

  The thick fullness of him was exquisite!

  Her lips parted and a small sigh escaped. She knew John heard her exclamation, for she felt him twitch inside.

  His eyes opened a slit.

  Lazy green orbs dilated with desire viewed her from underneath those sexy black lashes. He rolled his hips.

  Chloe cried out in ecstasy.

  "I have always believed in giving as good as I get, madam." His velvet voice was a husky rumble. "For that, you, my beautiful wife, are going to get very, very… good."

  With that brief warning, his knees came up, forcing her down and forward on him. He entered her, very, very deeply.

  "Mon Dieu!" Chloe gasped, levering her palms on his chest.

  When Chloe began uttering French, John knew he was on the right path to driving her wild. He didn't give her a chance to adjust to the new sensation before he gave her another.

  Knees bent, he maneuvered
himself up to a sitting position, bracing himself against the pillows at his back. He brought her legs forward to either side of him before his powerful arms locked around her in a tight embrace.

  "Mer—"

  His mouth seized hers in a deep, fiery kiss, his tongue delving as he thrust into her.

  Chloe moaned into that hot mouth. He rolled into her below.

  Kissing her with strength and purpose, he pulled her to him tightly and stroked once more. The sensations he created within were so intense, Chloe clutched at his shoulders, her fingers pressing into the taut skin. She began whimpering.

  John flexed inside her. Twice.

  She cried out at the unbearable pleasure.

  Chloe suddenly realized the danger she was in; John was too focused—what if he made her lose control? This had to stop! She pushed at his shoulders, afraid to allow him to continue.

  She tried to break away but John wouldn't let her.

  Instead, he locked her more firmly to him, his arms embracing her closer, and he rocked against her.

  Her fingernails scored his back, her breath coming in short gasps. Chloe was not even aware she was scratching him.

  "Yesss…" John purred sexily into her mouth. "Oh, yes…"

  He ground into her, refusing to release either the captive hold he had on her mouth or his captive embrace.

  She began yelling in French. "John!" She panted, "C'est coup de maitre!"

  John's lips curved into a hidden smile as he continued to ravage her. Chloe had just told him in French that he was delivering a master stroke to her.

  "Mmm-hmm," he murmured in amiable agreement, pressing deeper into her.

  "Fin! Fin!" She pleaded with him to put a finish to the torture.

  "I've only just started, love." He growled. Taking hold of her ankle, he lifted her leg over the crook of his arm.

  Chloe was shocked. "Wh-what are you doing?"

  "This." He thrust, angling into her. The friction of the tight movement sent her immediately into a release.

  "Ohhh…"

  Before her spasms had stopped he had rolled over with her across the bed from one side to the other. He stopped with her positioned directly under him.

  Chloe looked up at him in a stupor, her hair hanging half over her damp face as if someone had put her through a grain mill.

  John locked onto her wrists, pinning them down on either side of her.

  He raised himself above her and stopped for a moment to stare down at her. Golden hair swung forward to tease at the peaks of her breasts.

  Silently, Chloe watched him with bated breath.

  Then John slowly plunged into her dewy warmth. His movements became languid and measured, as if he had all the time in the world to stroke her to heaven.

  "Ohhh, John, ohh… please… please… !"

  His clean, hot breath drifted across her lips. Tiny drops of moisture dampened his brow. He lowered his face to her so his lips almost but not quite met her mouth to whisper in a mere hint of sound, "Tant mieux."

  Much better.

  Capturing the rosy peak of her breast, he began to suckle on her as he continued his pulsing, flowing movements. The pace he set served only to inflame her further. He was leading her to follow this building dance.

  The chain around his neck slid forward, its tiny carrot dangling across her breasts as he drew on her. When he lifted his head, he let the carrot slide across each pointed tip.

  The gold metal was almost hot from his skin, and it seemed to scorch right through her. John's personal brand.

  She jumped, moaning. Her hands twisted but he would not let go of his hold on her wrists.

  When he began to imitate his earlier motions of rolling his hips while deep inside her, Chloe actually said, "Non… Non …" as if she were being tortured. Which she was.

  The edges of his sensual lips curved slightly as he went right on with what he intended. He rocked them both as he stroked and rolled. Oh, but he was killing her! The little death. Chloe bit her lip to keep from saying anything she absolutely did not want him to know.

  "Look at me." His strong voice penetrated her senses. She opened her eyes to stare up at him. He looked wild and masculine and beautiful.

  And he said but one word.

  "Now."

  His mouth again seized hers. He began to move in her with powerful force, determination guiding his strokes. His hands released her wrists, sliding up her upturned palms to tangle with her fingers in a threaded grip.

  Chloe mewled into his mouth, his relentless thrusting motions completely devastating her. It did not take long before she felt the powerful tremors rise up in her once more. The spasms shook her frame from head to foot as she found her release yet again.

  With one last mighty push, John ground his hips in a circular motion to put exclamation on the sliding deed.

  He actually shouted out his own satisfaction.

  He lay heavily on top of her, trying to recover his breath.

  "Voilà tout," he whispered huskily in French into her neck.

  He was telling his wife that it was finished for now. Chloe never heard his final words; she had lost all sensibility with the outstanding pleasure her husband had afforded her.

  John had "given" her very, very good.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ships that Pass In the Night

  Once again carriages began lining the drive as the ton descended.

  Always a popular spot for the beau monde due to its location near Brighton, the house generally drew more than its share of guests. With the Prince of Wales in residence at his farmhouse on the west side of Steyne, Chacun à Son Goût was often a convenient resting spot for the ton who wished to freshen up for a few hours before heading on to Brighton.

  Fortunately, the house was situated far enough off the main roads so this wasn't an unbearable occurrence but rather an anticipated one. Guests arriving on a regular basis from London kept the house lively in between periods of relaxation.

  John always thought the estate had the perfect location. Only a five-hour carriage ride to London town, it afforded country living with all the amenities of town life within reasonable travel.

  Apparently the Black Rose thought the estate perfectly situated as well.

  In whatever extraordinary way gossip travels, it was soon discovered that many French aristocrats were showing up at the estate, miraculously saved from beheading by the infamous Black Rose.

  Everyone was dying to hear the stories first hand. Chacun à Son Goût became the place to be.

  So they came.

  They descended upon the estate and its new lord like locusts upon a field of grain. It wasn't long before the house was full to overflowing with guests once more, and Chloe lamented finding room to put the next group of the "saved" should such a group arrive.

  Grandmere had taken herself back to the sanctuary of the garden conservatory, Maurice was hiding somewhere, Deiter had probably fallen asleep in some obscure corner with no one to wake him, and Percy was sometimes seen here and there flitting about, dropping jewels of innuendo and wit wherever he went.

  The countess had threatened not to show her face again until Chacun à Son Goût was back to normal. This caused Lord John to laugh outright, remarking drolly that the house had never been normal.

  With all the people in the house it was impossible for John and Chloe to keep track of the comings and goings of various people, most notably the Cyndreac brothers, one of which John still suspected of being the Black Rose.

  The Cyndreacs were aware of his suspicion, seeming puzzled and proud of it at the same time. Apparently the young men reasoned they had to cut quite dashing figures to be suspected of being such a man.

  This did not stop the notorious brothers from getting into trouble on the half hour, however.

  Besides chasing all of the females in residence, the brothers had a knack for causing mayhem wherever they went. In the pantry, one of the undercooks had told Chloe two of the Cyns had come looking for a so
mething to eat and somehow dislodged half the shelving on the walls. It had taken the kitchen staff the better part of an afternoon to clean up the mess. Chef LaFaint had removed himself from the upset, refusing to prepare the evening meal due to his nerves.

  He wasn't the only one.

  The upstairs maids refused to enter the Cyndreacs' rooms for fear they would be cornered by the frisky youths. John had been forced to speak to the boys about that, feeling very uncomfortable at having been put in the position.

  The Lord of Sex giving a lecture to the young men on proper behavior seemed about as effective as having a highwayman chastise a pickpocket on the impropriety of thievery.

  In the end, John simply threatened them with bodily harm. This the Cyndreacs understood, and so they switched their focus to the feminine guests, which was not much of an improvement, but at least they had clean linens for their rooms.

  The groundskeepers reported that three of "them black-haired Frenchie devils" had a roustabout, knocking over several urns and one garden statue of an angel, which immediately cracked in two, its head rolling from its shoulders to land under the feet of the portly Marquise LaClempe.

  The marquise, upon seeing a lolling head rolling by her feet, immediately fainted onto poor little Marquise LaClempe, who was now bedridden with a wrenched back.

  Meanwhile, John's garments were disappearing from his wardrobe at a brisk clip.

  "Aren't you glad you married me, John?" Chloe teased him. "Look at what you would have missed if you hadn't."

  John laughed, hugging her. "I still would have been here; I just wouldn't have had to deal with it."

  Chloe's face brightened. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

  He tugged a lock of her hair. "Of course, we could simply disappear back to our chambers like the rest of the family and let the madness carry on by itself while we…"

  Chloe sucked in a breath. "We can't, John."

  "Why not?" he drawled suggestively.

  "You know how carried away you get, Lord Sexton." She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot playfully.

  "Ah, yes, all that sighing and moaning and screaming I do." He flashed her a steaming look from under his lashes, his lips twitching in amusement.