And he was ferociously eager for that engagement to begin, more so now than just a few moments ago when he’d simply been looking forward to it.
She held out the kerchief to him, but yanked it back when he moved to accept. “You have to promise to call on me, if you want this.”
“Extortion,” he said hoarsely, seeing the answer to his question in her evasion. His blood was boiling. She thought he would be deliberate and levelheaded? He was far from it.
“Coercion,” she corrected. “Just so that I may see for myself that you are not unduly damaged.”
Michael’s jaw clenched against undeniable helplessness. There was no way for him to intercede. What a man did with his wife was his own affair. The only recourse available to him was the one he’d set in motion a week ago—a few far-too-brief moments in a boxing ring, during which he could pummel Regmont to his heart’s content. “I promise to visit.”
“Before a week is out,” she persisted, her green eyes narrowed in silent admonishment.
“Yes.” He accepted the kerchief with fierce possessiveness. A beautifully rendered “H” in the corner made the token even more personal. “Thank you.”
“Be careful. Please.”
With a curt nod, he exited the hackney. It pulled away before he’d set foot on the bottom step of Remington’s wide entrance staircase.
“Don’t be fooled by his size.”
Hopping from foot to foot to limber himself, Michael glanced in the direction of the voice speaking at him. He found the Earl of Westfield, an unmarried peer who suffered the same sort of matrimonial attentions he did. Lauded for his good looks and charm, the earl was liked by both men and women. “Nothing about the man fools me.”
“Interesting,” Westfield said thoughtfully. He stepped into the eight-foot-square boxing area, which was delineated by painted lines on the hardwood floor. “Makes me very glad I bet on you.”
“Did you?” Michael’s gaze drifted around the massive room, which was damn near packed with spectators.
“Yes, I am one of the few.” The earl flashed the grin that stole many women’s hearts. “Regmont’s shorter stature makes him quick and nimble. And he has stamina such as I’ve never seen, which is how he wins so often—he can outlast damn near everyone. That’s what the others are wagering on: that you will tire before he does.”
“I should think that would be dependent upon how hard he is hit, and how often.”
Westfield shook his dark head. “For some men, such as myself, losing is an inconvenience we’d rather avoid. For others, like Regmont, it unmans them. His pride will fuel him long after you’ve satisfied whatever grievance you may have against him.”
“This is simple sport, Westfield.”
“Not with the way you’re looking at him. Clearly you nurse a personal score to settle. I don’t care. I just want to win my wager.”
Michael might have smiled at another time, but he was too furious now. Regardless, he knew when to take the advice given to him. He also knew from the broad grin with which Regmont started the fight that the other man believed he would win. Although physical pain was the least of what the earl deserved, Michael decided humiliation would be the longer lasting punishment. He feinted around a few exploratory punches from Regmont, then channeled all his fruitless love for Hester and his hatred for her unworthy husband into a single solid blow.
Regmont crashed, unconscious, onto the hardwood less than a minute into the match.
“It’s very difficult to concentrate when you are staring at me.” Jess looked across the deck to where Alistair sat with his back to a crate. He’d removed his coat and now rested with one leg stretched out before him and the other pulled up to support the papers he worked with. It was a pose she’d seen him adopt in bed while reading or working, and it never failed to rouse her admiration.
“Pay me no mind,” he said.
An impossible request. Not with him looking so handsome and rakish in his shirtsleeves. Not with his long, powerful legs showcased so beautifully in expertly tailored breeches and polished Hessians. Not with the wind playing in his hair the way her fingers wished to.
It was a lovely day, slightly overcast. Cool enough that she needed a shawl, but warm enough to still be pleasurable. She’d come above deck for the fresh air and was joined an hour later by Alistair and one of his portfolios. He’d chosen to sit a few feet away from her, but he looked up at her often and with unexplained intensity.
Jess snorted, then returned her attention to her needlepoint.
“Did the exemplary Lady Tarley just snort at me?” he asked, glancing at her with a raised brow.
“Ladies do not snort.” She thought it was sweet how often he went out of his way to be near her, even while occupied with affairs far removed from her.
He’d become a friend. Someone she shared most everything with. It was a miracle that she’d found two men who wanted her just the way she was. Not because of the exterior crafted by her rigid upbringing, but for the woman hidden inside, the one they made it safe for her to reveal.
“Perhaps not other ladies,” he said in a voice pitched low enough to reach only her ears. “You, however, make all sorts of delightful noises.”
Jess became aroused by the simple provocative statement. She’d gone a week without sex with him, and the craving she felt now that her courses had passed was nigh intolerable.
“Now, you are the one staring,” he teased without glancing at her.
“Because you are too far away for me to do anything else.”
His head snapped up.
Smiling, she stood. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Mr. Caulfield. I think I’ll retreat to the comforts of my bed for a spell before supper.”
She returned to her cabin, where Beth was working industriously on freshening her gowns.
“Lord ’ave mercy on Mr. Caulfield,” Beth said, pausing. “You ’ave a wicked look in yer eye.”
“Do I?”
“You know you do.” Beth smiled. “I ’aven’t seen you this ’appy in years. I’m beginning to pity the man.”
“You said he was well insulated from heartache.”
“I am occasionally wrong, milady. Rarely, but it does ’appen at times.”
The thought widened Jess’s smile. It was a relief to hear Beth’s opinion. The only thing tempering Jess’s contentment was the fear that such happiness couldn’t last and that she was incapable of holding a man like Alistair Caulfield’s attention for long. Not because she was unworthy of him, but because there were women who were worthier. Women who could give him things she couldn’t—experience, an adventure-some spirit to match his own, children …
As she removed her shawl, her smile faded. They were both young. For all that he’d accomplished so far in his life, Alistair still had years yet before he would feel the urge to wed and breed. He couldn’t know now that such instinctual longings would assail him, but she knew. It was up to her to do the correct and responsible thing in regard to their relationship.
Alistair’s easily identifiable brisk knock came at the door. Beth laughed softly and draped the gown she’d been working with over a trunk. She opened the door with a broad grin. “Good afternoon, Mr. Caulfield.”
Jess kept her back to the door, her eyes closing with anticipation and pleasure at the sound of his smooth, cultured reply.
“Will you be needing me for anything else, milady?” Beth asked.
“No, thank you. Enjoy your afternoon.”
The door had barely shut when she heard the thud of something hitting the sole. A heartbeat later she found herself pinned to the bulkhead by over six feet of wildly aroused male. Delighted by his unexpected fervency, she threw her arms around his lean waist and returned the passion of his kiss.
“Vixen,” he accused, his mouth moving across her jaw. “You are deliberately trying to incite me to madness.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He nipped her ear with his teeth, and she
arched away, laughing. Her gaze fell to the portfolio he’d dropped on the floor, and she stilled.
“When you are no longer indisposed,” he growled softly, seething with sexual intent, “I intend to make you pay for teasing a man who’s gone without you for a sennight.”
“I am not indisposed,” she said absently, riveted by the drawings she saw peeking out from the edges of his carelessly discarded portfolio. “I haven’t been for two days now.”
Alistair pulled back. “Beg your pardon?”
“What are these?” She slid out of his arms and bent down beside the scattered parchment.
“Two days,” he repeated.
Lifting the black leather front cover, Jess’s breath caught. “My God, Alistair … These are astonishing.”
“What’s astonishing is your lack of desire for me.”
“Don’t be absurd. A woman would have to be dead to escape desire for you.” She stared at her image rendered in fine, precise pencil lines. The uppermost picture was of her on the deck mere moments ago, explaining his preoccupation with watching her. “Is this how you see me?”
“It’s how you are. Bloody hell, Jess. I’ve been dying for you this last week. You had to have known this. You could not have missed the cockstand I’ve been sporting for the last several days.”
Her fingertips floated gently over the rendering. He’d made her beautiful, with softened features and warm eyes. She had never seen herself look lovelier. “Yes,” she breathed, distracted. “It would be impossible to ignore an appendage of that size when it’s prodding you in the back as your cock is wont to do when you lie with me.”
“Don’t jest,” he snapped. “Explain.”
“Do I truly look like this?”
“You do when you’re looking at me. If you don’t answer me, Jess, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”
“Stuff and nonsense. I wanted you to know, with proof, that I desire your company for more than the multitude of orgasms you are so adept at eliciting.” Standing with the portfolio in hand, her breath left her in an audible rush. She flipped through the other portraits he’d drawn of her, awed by his talent and skill. “There is no mystery to me at all, is there? I do not wear my heart on my sleeve; I wear it on my face for all to see.”
“You needn’t sound so put out about it,” he muttered, coming to her. “I’m certain to regard you the same way.”
Jess looked at him then. “No, you don’t. You look at me like a feline about to pounce on its prey. While I yield and melt, you become sharp as a blade.”
“I’m a sexual man,” he said brashly. “That doesn’t mean I’m not soft on you. I should hope you see how I feel in other ways, if not on my features.”
“Yes, I do.” She shuffled his drawings, stilling when she found a picture of herself from a distant time. She was clearly younger and the parchment was yellowed with age, but what truly arrested her was the pure lust radiating from the rendering. Her eyes were wide and dark, her pupils dilated, her lips parted as if panting. The picture was a raw, intimate glimpse into the very heart of her craving for the man who stood beside her. “Alistair …”
“The night in the garden.”
“How can you possess an image of me like this, yet doubt my desire for you?”
He pulled the items from her hands and tossed them on the table. “I swear you will drive me insane. You deny me the means through which I feel the most connected to you in order to prove the depth of your affection?”
Her mouth curved wryly. “You are hot blooded. Sex is like eating and sleeping to you.”
His insatiability had been established early in their affair, and it helped to explain how he’d been physically able to prostitute himself. Sex for her was an intimate act, always. For Alistair, it was as necessary to his health as polishing his teeth and was equally inconsequential to his emotional state. That wasn’t to say she didn’t feel cherished when she shared his bed, but she knew he used the sexual act to achieve ends she didn’t fully understand.
He claimed the sale of his body had been born of necessity, and she believed him, but not for the reasons he presented. As young and randy as he’d been, as needful of funds as he had felt, those truths didn’t explain how he’d come to monetize himself as a commodity. That, she suspected, came from something within him. Not without. Whether it was due to Masterson or his absent father or something else entirely, Alistair had come to find value in himself through the prices others paid to be with him. She’d wanted to counter that experience by showing how she valued him in other, nonphysical ways, but it seemed he wasn’t yet ready for such demonstrations. Though he relentlessly and ruthlessly forced them both to reveal their most private and painful memories to each other, in the end, he still needed her touch and her lust to feel wanted.
He backed her into the bulkhead once again, thrusting his muscled thigh between her legs to pin her in place. With one hand pressed to the wood on either side of her head, he glared down at her. “You are severely trying my patience.”
“That isn’t my intent,” she said honestly, her body heating in response to the aggressive proximity of his. “Personally, I am so touched by your drawings and amazed by the purity of your talent that my heart aches.”
His firm lips brushed across her temple. “Do you ache elsewhere?” he asked gruffly, his stance altering so that his knee pressed against her sex.
For a moment, Jess closed her eyes and absorbed the feel of his hot, hard body and the beloved scent of his skin. His desire permeated through her pores, sinking into the very marrow of her bones, forging her into an uninhibited wanton capable of reaching between his legs and cupping the rigid, pulsing length of his penis.
Alistair jerked violently, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Christ.”
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you,” she confessed, licking her dry lips. “Every hour I want you more.”
His blue eyes were dark with need. “Have me every hour.” She stroked him through his breeches and smalls, her body softening and moistening in heated expectation. “Sex is innate to you; you exude it like a heady and addicting fragrance. But how can I distinguish myself from the other women who’ve desired you, unless I show you that I want more than your body?”
“What other women?”
That made her smile, but the severity of his features didn’t change. “Touch me,” she begged, feeling as if she’d inadvertently created a gulf between them.
“Not yet.” Alistair’s refusal to put his hands on her was an unexpected enticement. She was so accustomed to his command of their bedsport that his lack of participation made her want him even more.
“Why?”
“You should burn as I have, as I do, every minute I’m not inside you.”
Tilting her head back, she kissed his tense jaw. Prickles of heat swept across her skin. “You want to punish me.”
He caught her face in his hands. “No. You’ve wedged sex between us. We have to put it back into its proper place.”
Jess tugged his shirttails free of his breeches and touched the scorching skin of his back. “You are forgetting I deliberately lured you here to ravish you.”
“While you seem to think I’m exceptionally obtuse.”
“I do not!” she protested. “In fact, I think you have an exceptionally fine mind.”
“Oh?” The pad of his thumb stroked along the curve of her lower lip, the chaste touch igniting a raging hunger to feel his hands everywhere. “You’ve been teaching me how to make love for weeks, yet you do not believe I’ve learned the lesson.”
Her fingers clenched into the rigid muscles bracketing his spine.
“The very first time I had you,” Alistair whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, “I understood the difference between what I thought I knew about sex and what I had yet to grasp. Now, I cannot remember how I ever managed the act before you or how I could ever possibly attempt it without you.”
Pushing onto her tiptoes, J
ess surged into him, hugging him tightly in an effort to expend the surfeit of emotion rushing through her.
“I need you.” Her face pressed into his throat. “You’ve made me need you.”
“I cannot believe I ever thought of an orgasm as anything other than deeply personal.” Alistair withdrew his thigh from between her legs.
She made a small sound of protest, the aching of her sex unrelieved without the pressure he’d exerted. “Please …”
He caught up fistfuls of her skirts until he bared her pantalettes. He gripped her buttocks firmly, squeezing hard enough to be almost painful. While there were times when he was playful or tender in bed, she was most violently aroused when he was ferociously lustful.
Her fingers fumbled with the hidden buttons securing the placket of his breeches. She eventually released his straining erection, her breath catching as he fell heavily into her palms. She stroked the thickly veined length with eager hands, her desire stoked to a fevered pitch by his words and his drawings and the haste with which he’d followed her from the deck. He had the ability to make her feel special and emminently desirable, as well as safe and secure. He enabled the freedom she needed to be whoever she wanted to be. As wild and unrestrained and overly bold as she chose.
Alistair watched her from beneath his lush, inky lashes. His hips rocked, thrusting his cock in and out of her greedy grip. Her sex grew slick and swollen, jealous of her hands.
As if he knew, he reached between her legs from behind, piercing the slit of her pantalettes to part her. “You’re wet for me.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Nor do I want you to.” Without warning, he clutched the backs of her thighs and lifted her. He was pulled from her hands, eliciting a soft cry of protest.
She felt the silky heat of his erection brush across her opened sex, and she whimpered in longing. Her arms encircled his broad shoulders, her mouth seeking the sensitive spot behind his ear to goad his passion.
“Pay attention,” he ordered grimly as he began to push inside her.
Jess’s head fell back against the bulkhead with a helpless moan. He lowered her onto his rigid penis with excruciating slowness, making certain she felt the stretch of every incredible inch.