Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel (30 page)

“A dinner party is the proverbial tip of the iceberg.” He leaned back in his chair, linking his fingers behind his head. “Whole libraries could be filled with books on etiquette and proper, moral behavior.”

“What a waste of paper.”

“But excellent fodder for writing lewd things in the margins.”

She stared at him, appalled. “You
wrote
in your books?”

There it was again, the proof that they led disparate lives. The cost of a book meant nothing to him when he was growing up. It didn’t mean much now. He had a bookseller in the Strand who often set aside for him items of particular interest—travel narratives, studies of geography, Monsieur Verne’s latest novel—and he’d buy them by the stack.

“Boys like me grow up believing the world is ours to scribble on,” he said.

“Then they grow up, but they still think they can scrawl all over everything.” She gazed at him, contemplative. “Not all of them, though.”

He resisted the impulse to shift in his seat. With each glance from her, he felt more and more the weaving of an invisible thread, joining them. He ought to cut that thread, but the idea created a physical pain that ached through him.

“The men tonight,” he said instead, “even their wives, they’re going to say things that will shock you. Anger you. But above all else,
they can’t know this.
The smallest hint from you that you disagree with their beliefs and we’ll be out on our arses.”

“I’ll sit on my hands so I don’t punch anyone.”

He leaned forward. “Listen to me, Alyce. Class division is the god these people worship. They hate and adore the people above them, and don’t acknowledge the humanity of the people below them. If you cast stones at their idol, we’ll be crucified.”

The earnestness in his voice appeared to shock her. After a moment, she nodded tightly. “It’ll hurt like hell, but I’ll keep quiet. Or even”—she shuddered—“agree with them.”

He exhaled. “There’s my lass.”

They stared at each other, caught. He’d spoken like a miner, as if she really
were
his lass, and neither of those things was true. They never could be.

A knock sounded on the door. Simon lurched to his feet and opened it, to find the porter standing in front of aproned maids with buckets of steaming water—it was far easier and faster to heat the water on the stove downstairs than try to draw bucket after bucket from the bathroom sink. A burly man in uniform carried a hipbath, as well.

“You ordered baths in half an hour, Mr. Shale,” the porter explained brightly. “And thirty minutes have elapsed.”

Simon waved the hotel staff into the room. Some of the maids filled the tub in the bathroom, while the others emptied their buckets into the hipbath now set before the fire. Simon tipped every servant as they filed out, but one maid lingered, glancing shyly at Alyce.

Understanding at once, Alyce stood and strode into the bathroom. The maid followed, shutting the door behind them. Simon waited, drumming his fingers on the mantel, fighting his thundering pulse as he imagined Alyce being undressed. Bodice unhooking from skirts, skirts sliding to the ground, petticoats, bustle, and corset cover being removed. Corset next. Then wearing only a chemise, pantalets, and stockings. Then those were gone, too, and he could actually hear Alyce sink into her bath. She gave a long, luxurious sigh.

The maid emerged, her arms full of Alyce’s clothing. She tucked everything back into the trunk, blushing all the while at the intimacy between supposed husband and wife. Simon made certain to keep his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to terrify the poor maid with his aching erection.

“Just give a pull on the bell when you want the missus dressed for tonight, sir,” the maid whispered.

“Your gratuity is on the dresser,” he managed to growl.

The girl pocketed the coin, bobbed a curtsy, then quickly left. Simon locked the door behind her.

From within the bathroom, he heard the soft, intimate sounds of Alyce in her bath. He bit back a groan. With any luck, the water in his own bath had turned cold.

*   *   *

When she emerged from the bathroom later, her hair was damp and loose about her shoulders, and she was wrapped in a long flannel robe. She stared deliberately at her feet—her bare, pink feet that he, too, found fascinating—until Simon said, “I’m bathed and dressed. No need for modesty.”

Simon had slipped on a pair of trousers and a shirt, but that was as far as he’d gotten. They still had hours to go until dinner, and he’d be damned if he’d spend all that time fully clothed. The bath had still been warm by the time he’d gotten into it, and now a lethargy weighted his eyes and limbs. He was sprawled on the chaise, with a book in his lap, but the moment Alyce had come out of the bathroom, he completely forgot what he’d been reading.

“It’s your own sense of modesty I’m thinking of,” she answered, glancing up. Pink stained her cheeks, despite her bravado. “Working at Wheal Prosperity, watching the men come in and out of the wash house, there’s not much I haven’t seen.”

“I haven’t seen any miners come racing out with their goods uncovered and dangling.”

Did she know that her gaze shot straight to his groin the moment the words left his mouth? He suddenly remembered the book in his lap, and gave thanks for it.

“You remember that lake in the cavern? The boys bathe there in summer.” She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Lace-patterned light drifted across her face as the afternoon sun wove through the curtains.

He grinned. “Naughty girl. You spied on them.”

“Of course I did.”

Goddamn it, but he liked her. “Did they get the chance to return the favor?” He half dreaded her response, thinking of those slavering country boys getting a look at what he was dying to see.

“Girls couldn’t use the quarry.”

He exhaled.

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t sneak out at night and have a bathe with some of my girlfriends, though.”

And there went his breath again, and the throb of his cock. The image was almost too much: Alyce, sleek and nude, cavorting in ink-dark water in the lamplight. Doing as she pleased because she’d bend to no one’s will but her own.

Desmond had once taught him some special techniques for calming his thoughts, and he used them now. It was either that or lunge for her like an animal. He emptied his mind, filling himself with a bright nothingness, thinking of absolutely naught.

“Simon? You’re not ill, are you?”

He blinked back to awareness. “Only tired.”

She covered her mouth as she let out a huge, lusty yawn. “I’m starting to see two of you.”

Glancing at the clock, he said, “We still have a few hours until we have to be at Harrold’s for dinner. Better get some sleep.”

“Doubt I could get a wink. I’m too wound up.” But she yawned again.

“Soldiers know that if they don’t get rest before a battle, they could make a fatal mistake on the battlefield.”

“That’s not much of a lullaby, Sergeant.”

The idea that Alyce knew about his past didn’t send immediate needles of panic through him. He was glad, actually. It felt so bloody liberating to be around someone without any wall or distance. As if, for the first time, he was more whole than he’d ever been.

“Just lie down and shut your eyes,” he said. “If you sleep, good. If not, lie there and entertain yourself with thoughts of how utterly we’re going to ruin those bastards.”

Naturally, that idea made her smile. Still wearing her flannel robe, she pulled back the covers and nestled beneath them. The sight of Alyce in a big, welcoming bed was one of the greatest tests of his life.

Or so he thought, until she held the covers open. “Come on, soldier. You need your rest, too.”

His body turned to rock, and he gripped the back of the chaise until his knuckles whitened. “Over here is fine for me.”

“It can’t be as comfortable.”

At that moment, it felt like a bed of nails. He said through gritted teeth, “I get into that bed, the last thing we’d do is sleep.”

Her eyelids lowered. “So we won’t sleep.”

God, he was so tempted. So bloody tempted.

“No,” he said.

“But—”

“Don’t fight me on this, damn it. One of us has to make the right decision.”

Her look was pure mutiny. He half expected her to jump out of bed, haul him up by his shirt, and throw him into bed. Almost wished she would. Instead, she turned away from him.

“I’m trying to be rational,” he said gently to her back. “I want you. So much. But we just … can’t be.”

A long silence. “You’re right,” she finally said, still with her back to him. “But I hate it.”

“I do, too.”

Neither of them spoke. Her body relaxed, and within minutes her breath grew steady and deep.

He let out his own breath. It was easier, actually, with her asleep. He’d never bestow his attentions on a sleeping woman. That was for scoundrels and artless seducers. No, if he was going to make love to Alyce, he’d want her fully awake, ready and eager for his touch.

I need to take my own advice and rest.
But that was impossible with his cock pressing like a branding iron against the front of his trousers. No help for it, then.

Noiselessly, he rose up from the chaise and slipped into the bathroom. He almost laughed at himself as he tore open the buttons of his trousers. When was the last time he’d had to hide himself away for a secret wank? Years and years. But this was what he needed.

He fought back a hiss as he took his cock in his hand. Since he’d arrived at Wheal Prosperity, he hadn’t had any kind of sexual release. Weeks of tension and need had built within him. With Alyce as the sole focus of all that hunger. Now she slept in the other room, after filling his head with images of her undressing, taking a bath, going for late-night nude swims. God, she’d be so incredible naked. So tight with muscle, so long and curved in all the right places. Would she have dusky or light nipples? Of a certain, the curls between her legs would be dark and silky.

His hand froze when the door creaked open.

In the washroom mirror, his gaze met Alyce’s. She gripped the door frame with one hand, and the other pressed against her belly. Her eyes traveled from his face to his hand, still wrapped around his cock. It pulsed beneath her scrutiny.

“Don’t,” she said when he started to release his hold on himself.

Goddamn it.
He grew even harder.

“Then get out of here,” he growled, “and let me finish.”

She stepped into the washroom. “We’re supposed to be married. But the minute we show up at that dinner tonight, they’ll know we’ve never really touched each other. Not very convincing.”

He cursed. “Sit on the edge of the tub and watch, then.”

“No.” She closed the distance separating them, pressing herself to his side. Her breast brushed his arm, the hard point of her nipple a delicious rasp against him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

He closed his eyes, praying that he didn’t spill right there and then. “You’ve done this before?” His voice was pure gravel.

“Some fumbling at the cavern. Nothing like this.” Her own voice was husky. “Show me what to do.”

Shuddering, he let go of himself. Then took her hand in his and wrapped it around his shaft. They both moaned.

“God,” she breathed. “I never knew. The
feel.
”

“Hard.” That was the only word that came to mind. He’d never been so hard in his life.

“Soft, too. The softest thing I’ve ever touched. And hot.” She tore her gaze from her hand around his cock and looked up at him. “I make you feel this way?”

“You make me feel everything.”

She gazed back down to her hand encircling his shaft. “What do I do?”

He could barely get the words out. “Stroke it. Move your hand … up and down. Tight. Don’t be afraid to be rough.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Her hand began to move, pumping him. Tentative at first, and then with more strength. He’d never felt anything half so delicious. It was all the more exquisite because it was
her
touching him, stroking him. The woman he’d wanted for so long. And she was so strong, so wondrously strong. In every way.

He shut his eyes. If he looked down, if he saw her hand around his cock, it would be over in seconds.

She took some time to circle her fingers around the head, finding the exact spot that scoured him with pleasure. “Yes.” He hissed. “Just like … just like that.”

“Simon,” she said breathlessly. From beneath her gown, her breasts quivered against him, and she deliberately rubbed them along his arm. “Feels so good, so wicked.”

“Ah, God.
Alyce.
I’m—”

He arched, groaning. The climax shredded him. It tore from his body, from somewhere deep inside himself, and he reached one arm back to grab the towel bar behind him for support. His body was molten, his throat raw. The world dimmed around the edges. All he knew was his release, and Alyce.

Slowly, her fingers uncurled, releasing him. The small washroom filled with the sounds of their panting. He finally opened his eyes and saw her studying her hand, fascinated. He quickly grabbed a washcloth and cleaned her up, then himself.

They stared at each other. A febrile blush darkened her cheeks, and her pupils were fathomless.

Christ.
He’d just had the most intense sexual experience of his life. All from Alyce’s hand. From
her.

“That was…” She shook her head, as if unable to find the right words. He understood completely. Words were too small, too defined, for what had just happened.

“I can make you feel more,” he rumbled. “Much more. We’ll get through this damned dinner and then the rest of the night is ours.”

She pressed a hand to her belly. “I won’t be able to concentrate, knowing that.”

“Don’t concentrate on anything now. Just rest.” He led her to the bed, then collapsed onto the chaise as exhaustion overwhelmed him.

She got into bed. “Simon … thank you.”

He managed to choke out a laugh. That she should thank
him
was ridiculous. And wonderful.

Within minutes, Alyce’s eyes closed, and her breathing slowed. She was truly asleep.